Page 39 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
That even with such different lives, they were also remarkably the same, and that tied them together. Maybe more than the Bloodbound mark etched into Zarathos’s arm. He had spun the vampress into his life, and now their fates were intertwined.
As the great doors to the throne room burst open, he straightened in his seat. He had nearly forgotten about the meeting, having been entirely absorbed in dealing with his vampire princess.
The trial council entered in their flowing crimson robes, followed by a small demon with short spikes curling over his scaled head and back. He walked up to Zarathos and bowed. “Your Majesty, I am the council-appointed announcerfor the trials. If I may?”
Zarathos nodded. “You may begin.”
The creature unfurled the scroll, his movements slow and deliberate, as he cleared his throat and turned to face the council. They stood in two stark lines, the space between them heavy and silent, stretching toward Zarathos’s throne resembling a dark omen.
“When I call the name of each champion, they shall present themselves before the arch king and then a member of the council will escort them over to the tables to sign their oath agreement.”
Zarathos masked his grimness with a facade of apathy. Today the other champions, each vying to take his throne, would sign their contracts and bind themselves to the rules of the tournament.
He was to oversee it all.
“From the Kingdom Inferna,” the announcer projected in a raspy voice. “Lentira the Ash-caller and Noctyssa the Hollow Mouth.”
A shadowed hush crept into the chamber, dimming the light like a veil. Two women emerged with the unmistakable grace of the underworld.
They moved with a fluid, lethal poise. The only color on their dark forms came from the glint of the daggers strapped to their bodies and the elongated scythes they held in hand. They were mirror images of each other, draped in cloaks that seemed spun from the shadow itself, short horns jutting from their foreheads, and eyes like pits of endless night, swallowing the light from the room.
Only a single detail set them apart—Lentira’s hair was so pale it appeared almost ethereal while Noctyssa’s was a deep raven black.
Women rarely competed in the trials. Their presence was a message to Zarathos and every kingdom watching. Inferna would honortheir alliance. They wouldn’t challenge him for the crown. At least that is what they pretended. But their move was calculated. Too clean. Too visible. And he knew better than to underestimate them.
Lentira, with her deadly shriek, and Noctyssa, whose breath-stealing touch had ended legions. Both were legends in their own right.
Every contestant in the trials would be a terror.
But he had nothing to worry about from these two. He inclined his head and said the traditional line that was expected on this occasion. “May you fight with ferocity and without mercy to your last breath.”
After bowing. Noctyssa placed a fist against her chest. “Long live Kingdom Inferna and all those who seek her welfare.”
He ground his teeth. He avoided such blatant displays. They could easily alienate the council. He met Noctyssa’s gaze. “Move along.” The two champions stepped to the side and the members of the council from Inferna joined them, presenting them with their oath agreements.
“Next from Terra Monstrum, Tigon Shatterhand and Prince Kaelroch the Molten Vein,” the announcer said.
The ground trembled, a web of fine cracks splintering across the uneven stone floor as the champions of the earth-walker nation entered. Tigon lumbered through the doors first, ducking as he came in. It was probably the only reason King Salen hadn’t assigned a full giant to the trials. They wouldn’t have fit inside the castle.
Prince Kaelroch stalked in close behind, his massive frame radiating heat and his bull’s eyes locked on Zarathos with unflinchingintensity. Curved horns jutted from the sides of his head, catching the light with a dull sheen. The scent of scorched earth and smoldering rubble clung to him, thick, heavy, and unmistakable.
Their stone-forged armor groaned with the weight as they struck it with clenched fists, a wordless challenge echoing through the hall.
Zarathos suppressed a dangerous smile, but couldn’t resist the bait. His gaze settled on the son of King Salen. “So glad you could make it, Prince Kaelroch,” he said coolly, “even after your father’s tragicaccident.”
Kaelroch snarled, veins across his arms and neck lighting up in a molten red-gold. He lunged, but Tigon caught him with his massive hand.
“Save it for the arena,” the half-giant rumbled. Violence radiated from him like heat from a forge. Zarathos felt a flicker of unease. He was glad he had a bargain with this one.
“You do not command me. Release me, filthy half-brute,” Prince Kaelroch spat.
Tigon obeyed. The champions might arrive in pairs, and may strategize together on behalf of their kingdom, but once inside the trials, allegiances could shatter. Only a lone victor would win in the end.
Prince Kaelroch growled low, dragging his mace across the stone floor before slamming it down with a thunderous crack. The room trembled again, but he didn’t strike.
Zarathos had rattled the nest of Kingdom Terra Monstrum, and Kaelroch would be watching for his moment.
“May you fight with ferociousness and without mercy to your last breath.”
