Page 110 of Keran's Dawn

“I, Jorak, heir to Clan Arthol, challenges the heir, Jakar Keran, for the throne of Braxia,” Jorak said with a haughty tone. “While we all appreciate the Jakar’s efforts to thwart a plot against us, everyone with eyes can see how strenuous that single mission was on him. We need a stronger man to lead the fearsome people of Braxia.”

Where cheers and jeers had saluted the previous challenges, a deafening silence greeted his. The wretched son of a krillik… His words didn’t sting as much as they infuriated me. But I kept a neutral expression. I could feel anger rolling out in droves from my woman. Without glancing at her, I placed a hand on her lap and gave it a gentle squeeze to let her know it was okay. We had all expected it.

“Your challenge has been recorded,” my father said in a neutral voice. “A Marghor battle will be held.”

Although his face revealed nothing of his feelings, my father wanted to run across the arena to go beat Jorak’s smug face into a pulp. As I expected more challenges to be issued, Jorak’s chances of winning were slim to none. No one would sign a hush-hush backroom deal when the role of Magnar came into play. A pity really. A part of me almost wished that snake would win, just so that I would have the pleasure of obliterating him in two weeks once I was back to my old self.

Back-to-back, six of the seven remaining clans whose leader had stood to speak also challenged me for the throne, the last one wanting to settle a dispute with Clan Zorook.

“Are there any other challenges?” my father asked.

The entire attendance appeared to hold its breath, many eyes, mine included turning towards Clan Aldriss’ section. When Gavin rose to his feet, I almost felt faint with relief. Of all the clans who had challenged me, Clan Zotan held the highest chances of winning. They were fanatics. In the two to three weeks it would take me to be able to challenge their leader, he could cause severe economic and diplomatic damage.

The somber mood that had settled over the arena immediately lifted, as the crowd began shouting its approval—the hybrids all reunited in a section of their own shouting the loudest. Grace gave her son a stunned look and attempted to catch his hand to hold him back. Anton stopped her, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. Whatever he told her, it didn’t seem to reassure her at all.

“I am Galvin Aldriss, and speak on my behalf, not on my clan’s,” the boy said with an air of authority that commanded respect. “As seven clans chose Marghor instead of Reconciliation, I feel compelled to join the fray.”

A deafening roar erupted from the crowd. Despite the relief I felt, my heart nonetheless ached a little. Gavin smiled and raised his arms with a smugness that had people chanting his name. I snorted. The boy knew how to play to an audience. Someone who didn’t know him would think he had an ego to match his incredible strength and combat skills. But he was the sweetest, humblest male I knew… until you crossed him or those he loved.

Gavin lowered his arms and gestured for people to hush. An almost electric energy thrummed over the overexcited attendance, even as they quieted down.

“But as I have stated before, I do not wish to be Magnar, and that’s not going to change. Ravik has been a wonderful Magnar, and Keran will be just as great.”

His words acted like a nuclear bomb going off in the arena. Every face reflected the same shock and consternation I felt.

“So why do I enter Marghor if I do not want to be Magnar?” Gavin asked with a glimmer of amusement in his amber eyes. “Because Marghor isnotexclusively about becoming the next ruler of Braxia. That’s onlyoneof the potential outcomes. Read the law. Marghor means the winner takes the most valued possession of one of the losers. As the current Magnar or his heir are the only people who cannot refuse this challenge, the thronecouldbe the chosen prize but doesn’thaveto be.”

“Marghor has become a fight for the throne for centuries now!” Jorak exclaimed, sounding outraged.

“The boy is correct,” Elder Pattel Veelan said, his voice barely audible at first as he was still approaching the microphone from his clan’s section. “Marghor isnotabout the throne. The fact that it has only been used this way for generations does not change the law. Two or more men enter the arena. The last one standing can either claim the throne or one of the losers’ most valued possessions, which cannot exceed one third of that person’s total wealth.”

I felt faint as excited and flabbergasted mumblings rose over the crowd, sounding like the buzzing of a swarm of insects.

“So tell us, Gavin, son of Anton, what prize do you seek from one of those you defeat, should you be the victor?” Elder Pattel asked.

“WhenI win—and I will—I’ll take the one thing I do not possess in my own right on Braxia: land.”

The crowd gasped almost as one. I was too speechless to react.

“The law allows a maximum of five acres to be claimed in this fashion. And I can think of exactly which acres I want,” Gavin continued with an almost malicious grin as his gaze shifted intently on Jorak Arthol, then on Stamor Zotan.

The audience burst out laughing, hooting, and hurling taunts at Jorak and Stamor. Forgetting all sense of decorum, my own brother was laughing out loud, while Mercy was pressing a finger to her lips to hide her own hilarity. Where Stamor clearly displayed his displeasure, Jorak’s face was so red, I almost worried he’d give himself a stroke. Almost…

I shook my head in awe at the boy. He was truly the proud son of Anton—who was a master at evaluating and negotiating contracts. Gavin had learned from his sire how to assess the strength and weakness of any written document and use any loophole to his advantage. In this case, to mine.

“Gavin Aldriss’s challenge has been issued,” my father said, failing to hide his amusement. “Nine Reconciliation challenges have been recorded, and eight contenders have decided to enter into Marghor. If no one else wishes to be heard, the battles will begin in the order they were entered.”

“Magnar Ravik! Clan Zotan rescinds its challenge for Marghor. Gambling our lands isnotwhat we’re looking for,” Clan Leader Stamor quickly said, looking highly uncomfortable.

“Same with Clan Lorvis,” Horus Lorvis said.

One by one, the seven Clan Leaders who had challenged my reign pulled out, their humiliation heightened by the mocking crowd. I was speechless. Of all the possible outcomes, I never even thought of this one.

“Only one contender remains. Gavin Aldriss, do you still wish to uphold your challenge?” my father asked.

“No, Magnar, there is no one left that I wish to fight,” Gavin said. “But if you would allow me, I would like to say a few words.”

Although surprised by that request, my father nodded and gestured for Gavin to proceed. The boy let his gaze roam over the attendance as he gathered his thoughts. A deafening silence had settled over the arena as we waited for him to speak.

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