Drakenfeld (36 page)

The noise had returned to the same ferocious timbre of before. Criers, who walked the rim of the dust track with all the swagger of prostitutes, announced the races. While the build-up
continued, I contemplated the rest of the senators. Veron told me there would be a small interval between races and the day’s events would continue until sunset. Five more senators from his
list were present today, and there was plenty of time to question them, so we nestled right in their midst, as I was eager not to be regarded as an outside threat.

The first race began. Fourteen figures on horseback rode out into the stadium to deafening cheers. Coloured banners were waved more wildly than before; they corresponded to the coloured vests
the riders wore above their breastplates. The riders did not just wear vests, however – they carried weapons, spears mainly, but a few with swords or maces. Each wore a helmet, but apart from
that, there seemed little in the way of protection. This was their moment of glory and, no doubt, a moment of dread too. They each seemed to handle it in different ways, some waving, some beating
the metal of their armour with the flat of their swords, others quietly absorbing the scene.

‘Why are there no archers among them?’ Leana asked me.

‘Look carefully and you’ll see there are no stirrups,’ I said. ‘At these speeds, archers tend to fall off quickly and end up trampled into the dust. You’ll notice
there’s little armour, too, because it weighs too much. These fellows need to get around as quickly as possible.’

Leana said too loudly, ‘Seems easy. You said these races were the toughest sport going.’

‘Your servant,’ a senator called deridingly, ‘speaks bravely – from this distance.’ A ripple of laughter spread around us.

‘She’s not my servant,’ I replied, then turned back to her. ‘The event can be rather nasty once it gets going.’

‘Spirits save me, we did far more than this in Atrewen games as girls and boys,’ she said with exasperation. ‘We had to jump obstacles as well.’ Again she spoke
forcefully.

I chuckled awkwardly, not wanting to create a scene. The looks we received from the others were unfavourable at best. Insults were muttered about the ‘dark foreigner’ and my temper
began to flare.

Veron calmed me down, and we discussed the rules of engagement: how the riders could do whatever they wanted, throw what they wanted, hit with anything; but they had to be quick, and weigh up
the amount of attacks they made against their overall speed. The only rules were not to cause harm intentionally to the horses: those riders who did found themselves disqualified and paraded at the
end for the crowd to jeer and hurl whatever they could at them.

The riders didn’t so much line up as group together and then they started the race, thundering around the figure-of-eight in a cloud of dust. One rider received a spear to the ribs and,
whether or not it drew blood, he fell off his horse and he was out of the race. The dust cloud arced along the other side of the stadium, well beyond the thick wooden poles and back around. Ahead
of it came the charge of the horsemen, riding close together, throwing their weapons this way and that, with the more nimble and skilful riders out in front, away from the fray.

There were two riders, one in a red vest, the other in a blue, edging ahead of the pack, but as if to impress the king himself, right in front of us a rider in yellow threw a dagger at the red
leader, striking his thigh; they both tumbled to the ground on the corner, both falling under the feet of the horses, to cheers and jeers from the various factions in the crowd.

The noise seemed to precede the riders around the stadium like a tidal roar. Dust drifted into the bold blue sky. The two fallen riders lay completely still in the bloodied dirt while a team of
helpers came to clean up the mess.

Leana muttered, perhaps louder than she realized, ‘Spirits save me, they’re terrible riders. Bad fighters also.’

‘You should keep your voice low,’ I hissed. ‘This is a noble sport in Tryum.’

‘Drakenfeld,’ someone said, ‘this outsider seems to think she could do better.’

‘I could!’ Leana shouted back.

‘Don’t react to their taunts,’ I said. ‘Don’t show that their words have any effect. They’re baiting us.’

‘Nonsense,’ Veron interrupted with a grin. ‘Leana, if you honestly think you can do better, you’re more than welcome to try.’

‘Tell me which way I must go, and the next time you see me will be there, in the field,’ she declared, glaring at the senators behind. ‘I have done more dangerous things in
Atrewe as a child.’

A lot of the others were laughing at us, and let their disgust of Leana be known to all.

‘It’ll be a disgrace, but I’m happy to watch that happen to an outsider.’

‘The woman will not even finish, let alone come in the top three.’

‘I bet she buggers him at night.’

‘They probably don’t have horses where she comes from.’

I tried to maintain a cool and professional manner, half wishing Leana could smack one or two of them around the head.

Leana touched my arm, and leaned in closely. ‘I would like to do this. If you will permit it.’

‘You honestly don’t need my permission.’

‘But I want you to understand.’

‘Understand what?’

‘These people walk in small circles. Unlike those down-city, they have maybe never met anyone from Atrewe. I want them to know that Atrewens are every bit as good as the best Tryum can
produce.’

‘What happens if you end up injured or killed?’

‘Spirits save me.’ Her eyes revealed a desperation I had never before seen.

‘Very well.’ Turning to the smug senators, I called over, ‘All right then. She’ll ride.’

At least the view was good down by the side of the dirt track. The crowd was behind us, an intimidating sight, and there were a few people taking bets nearby, chalking up
numbers on pieces of slate while young boys collected and distributed coins. I’d also found a decent pastry seller, too, so I munched glumly on one of his pies as I waited for Leana to emerge
from what Veron lovingly described as ‘the pits’, where the riders equipped themselves with armour and weapons. Veron bought himself a cup of wine and rejoined me.

‘I wouldn’t worry,’ he said, slapping me on the shoulder. ‘She’s got spirit.’

‘She’ll become a spirit if she’s not careful.’ I became acutely aware, yet again, of how much I depended upon Leana’s skills, and how much I would miss her if
anything happened out there.

‘You think she’ll meet her death?’ Veron asked nonchalantly, as if he was talking about the weather.

‘I’ve no idea,’ I replied. ‘Upstairs I made an offering to Polla and, shortly after, made a five pecullas bet. That should cover all eventualities.’

‘Worry not, I’ll help find you a new assistant should the worst happen.’

I opened my mouth to reply, but Veron continued, ‘I’m joking, Drakenfeld. I know you’re some strange unit together. What I still don’t understand is, how come she’s
not attached to anyone.’

‘She was. Once.’

‘Once?’

‘Remember the massacre I told you about, in Atrewe, when I met her?’

‘Ah.’ Veron nodded. ‘Her fellow died in that?’

‘Decapitated. She doesn’t talk about it much, as you can imagine.’

Veron shook his head. ‘Surely she could move on though, and take other lovers?’

‘Even in death, Atrewens who were married are still bound. It makes things rather complicated, so I understand. Well, even more complicated than marriages between the living, that is.
I’m sure she’s met other men on the road with me, who she’s been interested in. If I’m honest, I have encouraged her to go and have some fun with them, too, but as far as
I’m aware she kept to her vows. Though I think it’s a shame, given how short life can be, I respect her decision.’

‘Love, eh? Almost as messy a business as politics.’ Veron chuckled and we took our place by the barriers, talking to some of the race stewards nearby. Apparently two riders had died
during the first race, three during the second and one more during the third, and in addition to this there had been ten further life-threatening injuries. The best I could hope for was that Leana
would not join the corpses. I knew, however, that she would be seeking nothing short of a victory, and would push herself to make a point.

I suspected Veron had taken some strange delight in the whole process. It was like he was a god who arranged worldly events purely to see what happened. ‘Are her people, the Atrewens, good
with horses?’

I scoffed the last of my pastry before replying. ‘I can’t speak for her people. I don’t think horses are part of their heritage in the same way as the nomads in Koton, but
Leana’s always been a good rider. She’s never worn a saddle to my knowledge, but riding across a plain is a good deal different to riding at speed on that dust track.’

‘That is a safe assumption,’ he said.

‘You’ve grown fond of Leana.’

For a moment Veron let his mask slip and I got to see the man behind. ‘Every time she opens her mouth I dream of far-away lands . . . I never went on military campaigns like Maxant. Never
really ventured too far across Vispasia, such is my rather dull life. And there was a girl, when I was younger, who I once met in a tavern on the border of Maristan, and who I managed to remain
attached to for a month at the most . . . She was probably the only woman I felt a genuine, deep affection for, and Leana reminds me of her greatly.’ Veron trailed off and regarded the track.
‘The things we can and cannot do in our station of life, right, Drakenfeld?’

It’s a lot worse at the stations lower than ours, I wanted to say, but decided not to. ‘It’s never too late to walk down old roads.’

‘It depends if one knows where those roads are to be found. I have no such maps. One gets such reflections when you get to my age, Drakenfeld. Leana reminds me of simpler, more honest
times in my life – nothing more, nothing less.’ Veron tipped the rest of his wine down his throat and threw the cup to one side. ‘I’ll tell you more about it some
day.’

‘At least you’re kind towards her. Those other senators—’

‘Oh, ignore those bastards. They’ll never change. They think anything that doesn’t come from within Detrata’s borders is either to be feared or turned into a
slave.’

A horn blew and there was an announcement by one of the criers; the crowd noise flared up once again.

‘She’s on.’ Veron steered me further along the way to a better spot to view the race. I glanced around behind me, interested to see if any of the men from earlier were still
following.

‘You look as if someone’s trying to kill you,’ Veron said.

‘No, simply taking it all in, senator. There she is!’ I called out. I recognized Leana’s nimble frame atop her horse. Again she had refused a saddle, wore a light breastplate
with a black vest pulled over the top, as well as a steel helmet, and a sword clutched in one hand. Another two dozen riders in various colours crowded around her and she was soon lost in their
energetic mass. Above them, the sun roasted the spectators in the midday heat.

‘How long are they going to take until it begins?’

‘Relax,’ Veron said.

Another announcement, another cheer, and the horses thundered off into the distance, leaving only a cloud of dust.

‘There they go!’ Veron shouted.

My heart beat so fast it hurt to breathe. I waited to see what happened, but the raised dust obscured the view. Moments later, the yellow cloud arced in the distance and I saw the riders heading
back towards us. Eventually, even the determination on the riders’ faces could be perceived.

To my utter amazement, Leana was in the first three.

She seemed to hang back on the corner then lurch across behind the path of the leaders, undercutting them slightly; one of the others jabbed a spear towards her and she managed to lower herself
forwards and yank back the spear, in a display that surprised even me. Her attacker collapsed from his horse and went skidding across the dirt before he slammed into the barriers.

The crowd hollered; the race moved on.

‘Impressive stuff.’ Veron seemed even more excited than me.

Again we waited, my hand tapping repeatedly on the barrier. The crowd gave off a deeper boom while the riders were out of sight and I simply hoped that Leana had not fallen.

Moments later, there she was, this time in the middle of the pack. The front rider and his horse collapsed, taking two other riders out with them: one rider slammed into a barbed post, ripping
open his chest, while the rest of the pack veered around the carnage and raced off into the distance again.

‘I’d wager that hurt,’ Veron called, cringing. ‘The best he could have hoped for was a quick death.’

The process repeated itself several times, each occasion bringing me to the edge of my senses. I was a man who appreciated logic and control where possible: my mood did not improve when matters
were in the hands of the gods like this. Each time Leana passed us, the field around her had been thinned considerably, but all that mattered was that she was there.

‘Oh, do cheer up, Drakenfeld. Stop looking so glum. It’ll all be over before long.’

Finally, on the last lap of the race, none of the riders seemed to pay much attention to fighting each other: they were simply engaged in a sprint to the finish. Leana was towards the front of
the field, but not first, and she remained fully in sight all the way to the finish, where her head was down as she crossed the line.

I cannot describe my relief or elation as it all came to an end: the crowd’s energy peaked and fell, back to the background murmur. The horses slowed, the excitement died away.

Leana rode towards a man in red clothing, who shook her forearm in solidarity – I assumed he had won the race, but I wasn’t yet sure. The results were recorded in a ledger and the
criers commenced the announcement. The man in red came in first, Leana following only a few paces behind, before two other riders and, eventually, what was left of the rest of the pack.

‘Tryum’s thunder,’ Veron declared, ‘Cettrus the Red won the race. You remember the fellow from the party, Drakenfeld? He was only fairly new to the sport at the time, but
now this will improve my credentials even further. I will be seen as an excellent judge of character. Soothsayers will soon be coming to me for advice . . .’ Veron was losing himself in the
creation of his own mythology.