The Stolen Prince (Blood for Blood Book 1) (12 page)

Bavol faced the crowd. “I fight for the Terra, people of the earth, who are rulers of this land, who stand with honor, who were betrayed by the Su, who were driven to the mountains by the Alem, where we became a mighty people, a people who fight. We are not afraid to draw blood when vengeance is due!” He spun around, looking at the people gathered. All were silent. He held up his knife in his right hand and a rock in his left. He ceremoniously threw the rock to his left, indicating that this fight would be fair.

Tadi stepped into the ring, voice booming. “I swear as second to uphold all that my brother, Bavol, and my tribe fight for.” Hakon was surprised that his voice was strong for one so young.

Hakon looked at his dagger and then up at the people—his people. “I fight for the people of the Desolate Forest, of The Drums, who have been carved from its cruelty. I fight so that we might live. I am not afraid to step into the enemy’s camp, to reveal who I am—what I have been bought in blood for.” He looked at the other Terra’s eyes. For the most part, they were quiet, respectful, and stoic. But he could see a few faces betray looks of disgust. There were still many who were not on his side. He raised his dagger and dropped his stone.

Behind him, Skeet spoke. “I swear as second to uphold all that Hakon, Prince of Atmen, fights for.”

Hakon looked back at Skeet. Why would he remind everyone he was the prince when he needed the Terra on his side? Skeet met his eyes and gave a bow of his head. The word “prince” made Hakon realize suddenly that, technically, he was heir to be king, should his father accept him. Was that the plan then if his mission failed? To make him king? An Alem king on the side of the Terra?

Hakon pushed these thoughts out of his mind. He wouldn’t even have a mission to complete if he lost.

Bavol was pacing around the ring. Hakon took a deep breath, keeping his eyes open as Gage had instructed. He ignored the throbbing in his leg from the healing wound and tried his best to ignore the drumbeats inside his head. He watched Bavol’s footsteps. Bavol was stepping in time with the rhythm of the mountain. Hakon followed his patterns. The knife felt good in his hand. Fortunately, this was not a duel to the death. His only goal was to draw blood.

There were two stages to every duel. The first stage was meant to draw blood, giving an advantage to the dueler who struck first. When the dagger drew first blood, the duelers would drop their knives and move to the second stage, fighting only with their bare hands until one of them yielded.

He focused on his breath, trying to pattern it after the drumming he felt from the earth. It pulsated through him, like a second heartbeat inconsistent with his own.

He could see Bavol bending to leap, so Hakon leapt first.

He was not a cautious fighter. Some waited for their opponent to move first, but Hakon preferred to pounce first. Bavol met him midair, and their arms locked. Hakon used his left hand to cut Bavol to the left, but Bavol anticipated it and scratched him with his long nails. Hakon often regretted his dull hands in a fight like this. He did not have the claws that allowed for an advantage.

Bavol gripped his left arm now with his sharp claws. Hakon swallowed the scream at his throat. He drove his heel into Bavol’s knee, hoping to make him stumble. It worked. Bavol dropped one knee, but their knives remained in a deadlock.

Bavol slipped out of Hakon’s grip and drove his elbow into his thigh, right on Hakon’s wound. Hakon howled, and then swallowed the shock of pain that ripped through his leg. Someone had told Bavol about his wound.

“You have the blood of the enemy,” Bavol whispered in his ear. “You share their murders.”

Hakon let his anger take over, and he threw Bavol back, letting the man’s claws rip a gash along his left arm.

“Blood drawn!” the dueling master announced.

“Not knife blood!” Skeet shouted.

Hakon attacked again, aiming for the waist. Bavol swiped out his knife hand, hoping to catch Hakon midair, but Hakon ducked and rolled, reaching up to swipe Bavol across the side rib, drawing blood.

“Metal blood! Yield Bavol!”

Bavol backed away and threw his dagger into the dirt, and Hakon did likewise. They had moved to the second stage of the duel.

“That’s a pretty trick for a duel, but it won’t work in a fight for your life,” Bavol hissed. “Have you ever killed a man, Alem?”

Hakon roared and charged towards Bavol. He could hear Gage mutter “fool” behind him. Bavol anticipated his move and grabbed his arms and spun him to the ground. Hakon landed hard on his back, but he was able to get his feet under him before Bavol threw himself down on top of him.

They rolled, gripping each other’s arms with legs knocking.

Hakon could see that the cut along Bavol’s ribs was deep and bleeding a great deal. Hakon roared and pulled Bavol’s arms, slippery with blood, closer to him and jabbed his elbow into Bavol’s wound. Bavol grunted. Imitating Hakon’s move, Bavol dug his claws into Hakon’s bleeding arm.

With a surge of strength, Hakon threw him down. His eyes blurred for a moment, the blood rushing and the pain excruciating. The Drums were louder, pushing against his head. He couldn’t waste any more strength. He needed to finish this.

He closed his eyes—however Gage hated it, it allowed him to focus for even a brief moment. He pulled away from Bavol’s grip, letting the claws rip deeper into his arm. Before Bavol could react, Hakon punched the man’s wounded side again, hard. The impact was enough that Bavol flew back, wincing and winded. Angry, he charged toward Hakon.

This time, Hakon waited and stepped to the side. He kicked Bavol’s exposed legs from behind. As he fell, Bavol dug his claws into Hakon’s back, ripping through his skin as he fell. Hakon ignored the searing pain, twisting sharply to throw Bavol to the ground, tearing out little chunks of his own flesh in the process.

The full momentum of Bavol’s fall winded him enough that Hakon could push him to the ground. He pinned him down, restraining his chest and arms. Perhaps Bavol’s claws gave him an advantage, but Hakon was stronger.

Bavol struggled underneath Hakon’s strength. Bavol tried to throw Hakon, allowing himself one roar of emotion, but Hakon held fast.

Seconds passed, an eternity.

“Bavol yields?” the dueling master asked.

“No!” Bavol yelled.

“I will hold you here as long as it takes,” Hakon said.

Tadi called from outside the ring. “I’ll finish him!”

“No!” Bavol yelled again. He glanced for a moment to the side. Hakon followed his gaze and saw Windfather frowning. Then the chief nodded ever so slightly.

Bavol nodded and relaxed, yielding. Hakon stepped back, relieved and a little surprised that Bavol was so easy to overcome. The dueling master nodded and let Bavol retreat. Bavol walked outside the ring, avoiding his father’s eyes. Hakon stepped back, taking a moment to assess his injuries. For the first time, he noticed the quiet solemnity of the room. It was as if the entire company of Terra was holding their breath.

Most duels weren’t this silent.

Tadi stepped into the ring as soon as Bavol crossed the line. He grabbed the dagger from the dirt and charged.

“Hakon!” Skeet called in warning as Tadi leapt after Hakon before he could recover his dagger. Hakon leapt to the side, but Tadi countered and slashed a deep cut in Hakon’s thigh, right along the tiger’s scar. Hakon bit his own cheek from the pain.

“Blood drawn!” the judge cried. A cry was heard across the crowd, their first sound. Warm, salty blood filled Hakon’s mouth, bringing him to attention. He would not let this fall in Windfather’s favor.

Tadi threw his dagger in the dirt in satisfaction and bared his teeth the way a ziff would. He howled and stomped his feet. Hakon hadn’t even had the chance to pick up his knife.

Skeet shouted, “He’s quicker than you, but you are stronger, Hakon.”

Hakon jumped toward the howling boy. Tadi dodged him, as if knowing the only way he could beat Hakon was by trickery. Hakon leapt after Tadi, grabbed his arm and twisted it back, flipping the boy. He was light, and easy to throw.

Tadi recovered quickly. He used Hakon’s arm as leverage to leap and kick him hard in the back. It was enough to make Hakon stumble. Tadi was behind him now. He leapt onto Hakon’s back and pulled him into a choke, securing his grip with his claws.

He was strong for a twelve–year–old boy, but Hakon was stronger.

He grabbed the boy’s arms, twisting them away. He spun quickly, grabbing Tadi in a tight embrace in front of him, his arms bound. Knocking his knees from behind him, he threw him to the ground and held him.

The boy howled and kicked. Then, too soon and too suddenly, he cursed and relaxed.

“Tadi yields!”

Hakon stood up, immediately applying pressure to his wounds. Skeet ran into the ring with several pieces of cloth and fur. He began wrapping Hakon’s wounds. Hakon glanced at Tadi and Bavol, who were nursing their own wounds. Had it been that easy? Hakon’s victory over two of the Winds had come so quickly, he wondered why they had the reputation they did.

“Was the duel fair?” The dueling master asked the guardians and chiefs.

One by one they nodded, agreeing they saw no porting. Finally, it came to Windfather, who reluctantly nodded. “I saw no cheating.”

Tip stood up then, peering at all around him. “Fate and strength have decided then. Prince Hakon.” Hakon looked up, disturbed to be called “prince.” “You will find a way to make peace, but we will still prepare for war. Our tribe will accompany you, but you will have two to remain most faithful and loyal to you. You will take a second and a third. Who volunteers as second?”

“I do,” Skeet said immediately.

Hakon looked back. Skeet’s hands were covered in blood from Hakon’s own wounds. He gave him a look of thanks. He hadn’t even asked him to become his second when they had spoken earlier. He wondered if Skeet had been prepared to go this entire time.

“Who will be third?”

Hakon looked at the group where his tribe sat. Most of them believed in him and were his friends. They were a team—his family really. He saw several eager faces stand up and prepare to speak.

“I will.” The voice didn’t come from his tribe but behind him. Hakon turned to see Tadi standing, wearing a peculiar grin. Several cries of protest came around the ring.

Windfather stepped forward. “We have a right to have a representative from our tribe accompany Hakon, to make sure he does not betray the Terra.”

A guardian stood up. “But Tadi is just a boy. He has not even been through his Survival.”

“He is a good fighter and a great hunter. He will be invaluable to the prince.” Windfather sneered when he said
prince.

Hakon glanced at Bavol, who was tending to his own wounds. What went unsaid was that because Bavol had challenged Hakon, he was not allowed to go. Tadi, however, was free to join him. The positions of second and third were volunteer positions.

Tip looked helplessly at Gage. There was nothing they could do to prevent Tadi from being his third if he volunteered.
This must have been their plan all along
, Hakon thought,
to infiltrate the mission in case they lost
. Hakon wondered if they had lost on purpose. Hakon glanced at Tadi, who couldn’t conceal his smile.

Tip turned to Skeet and Tadi. “Then Skeet will go as Hakon’s second and Tadi, son of Windfather, will accompany him as his third. Do you swear to defend your first, to defend his mission, and avenge him should he fall?”

“I do!” Skeet shouted behind him, bowing his upper body to the ground, dagger to his forehead.

“I swear,” Tadi said, staring straight at Hakon.

He didn’t bow.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

From the shadows, Arden watched the guards standing outside the queen’s door. He trusted these two men. They were good fighters, some of his best. He knew they hated night guard duty and would prefer to be sleeping in the barracks right now, but he only trusted his best to guard his wife. He had a habit of spying on his soldiers, and in due course, rumors had spread that the king was always watching.

He liked these rumors, letting them fester—it made people feel they were being watched. His parents had done it with him when he was a child. They told him that not only was the eternal Master always watching, but so were his many Alem ancestors. As he grew up, he realized his parents were only motivating him to behave, but he could never shake the feeling of being watched. Such were the powerful lessons of childhood. He had known this and trained his guards accordingly.

His slaves as well.

He hoped that his slaves were terrified enough not to rebel. The Terra’s real anger was hidden out in the forest, coaxed by the environment to grow into hatred. How had the Terra survived? It was a great mystery to him and a much–discussed topic among the keepers. The Keepers of the Future said that his great ancestors, the first settlers, had thought they were scourging a land of an evil people, but perhaps the Master had a different plan. These thoughts unsettled him.

He stepped into the light. The guards didn’t move in surprise or shock—they had expected him there.
Good
, he thought. He walked to the door softly and knocked.

“Come in,” Sabola said.

He entered, parting the curtain that hung behind the door. Sabola had the curtains at the window open, even though it was a cold night. She didn’t have the ability to zip, but she still loved the fresh air, as if it gave her greater strength.

His wife’s powers lay elsewhere. She was descended from a line of prophets, the Keepers of the Future. Publicly he denounced it and even made his wife believe he thought it was all rubbish. But even he couldn’t be blind to the strange way she saw things. Little things, things that the king wanted to explain away simply as a mother’s tender deference but somehow came true.

Keepers of the Future were masterful storytellers, while the Keepers of the Present tended to be dull administrators. They were what truthsingers were, but instead of interpreting the past, they made up the future. They were living imaginariums, and not much of what they said was true. Only a few here and there touched on something really prophetic. In mythology, it was said they had the ability to zip through time the way a porter zips through air.