.
Had my father written that book? What was it about – an account of his contests in Arena 13? It was something I’d love to read, but I couldn’t mention it to Tyron without admitting that I’d been prying.
I heard him climbing the stairs, so I quickly returned to my seat.
He came in, closed the door behind him and sat down facing me. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Why on earth did you do it?’
He was staring at my face, examining the tattoos that now covered the left-hand side – the jaw, cheek and temple. Dark lines and whorls followed every contour. I wanted to tell him that the tattoos had been earned bymy defeat of the werewight; that only the bravest of warriors were entitled to them. I wanted to explain that it was a great honour that marked you out as someone who had cheated a werewight of its prey, saved the lifeof a child . . . But I had to remain silent. I’d been bound to secrecy. I couldn’t break my word to Konnit.
Nor could I admit to using blades. Strictly speaking, some might consider it to be breaking the oath, though my conscience was clear. That was a rule designed to keep peace in the city; the demands of life in the forestwere very different.
‘I didn’t fit in with the Genthai. At first I felt like an outsider. Getting the tattoos helped,’ I said by way of explanation. Strictly speaking, I hadn’t lied.
‘Well, it won’t help here, boy. As you well know, even your father never wore tattoos like that. Those facial markings will make you an outsider. They will draw attention. Don’t you see that? The Protector’s Guardwon’t like it, either. It could cause you all sorts of trouble.’
Tyron was right. The guard didn’t like outsiders. My skin was darker than that of city dwellers – a small patrol had once beaten me for that and driven me out. The tattoos would draw even more attention. I’d beenworried about Kwin, but the reaction of the Guard had hardly crossed my mind.
I looked at Tyron. He was stocky and muscular, with a ruddy complexion topped by his stubble of grey hair. He looked a little older, even though only a few months had passed since I last saw him. He had more finelines around the eyes, and the furrow that divided his brow was deeper. No doubt it was due to the death of his son-in-law, Kern, and the terrible effect this had on his elder daughter, Teena.
‘I’m sorry,’ I told him. ‘I don’t want to cause any bother.’
Tyron sighed. ‘Well, what’s done is done. We’ll just have to make the best of it. Anyway, on Friday the Trader will call at the Sea Gate. I intend to go there and buy some lacs. I think it would be useful for you to seethat, so you’ll be coming with me.’
‘One of the Genthai told me that after retiring from the arena my father worked for the Trader for five years. Did you know that?’ I asked. ‘He probably saw what it’s like beyond the Barrier.’
‘Yes, he probably did. He was sometimes there when I visited the Sea Gate. We never got a chance to speak alone, but he always greeted me warmly.’
‘Maybe the Trader will be able to tell me more about my father.’
Tyron frowned. ‘No, boy – nobody asks questions of the Trader unless it’s relevant to what’s being bought. It’s just not done. I’ll introduce you simply as Leif, my trainee. I can’t tell him that you’re the son of Math –we want to keep that a secret for now. So hold your peace. We’ll be setting off before dawn – that’s if you can manage to get up,’ he continued. ‘You look exhausted. Did you walk all the way back?’
I nodded. ‘It’s taken me almost three weeks. What’s the winter been like here?’
Judging from the look in his eyes, Tyron knew what I meant. Hob preyed on the city after dark. I was wondering how bad it had been during the long dark winter nights.
‘It’s been a cold winter here, and Hob hasn’t confined himself to taking people from the streets. He’s broken into houses and snatched over twenty people from their beds, most of them women. He seems to betargeting the families of those who work at the Wheel. The wife of a patterner was taken, and the daughters of two Arena 13 combatants. That’s new and disturbing. He’s usually left people with links to the Wheel alone– except in Arena 13. Maybe we’re all Hob’s prey now.’
‘Has nothing been done?’
‘Aye, the usual. We’ve petitioned the Protector, who’s promised to put more guards on the streets after dark. But relying on him to help is like trying to swim wearing lead boots. Everyone’s being vigilant. This houseis better fortified than most, so we should be safe. But I don’t want you out after dark – especially not on your own. Now we walk in twos and threes once the sun’s gone down – Hob tends to snatch lone victims. Well,life goes on, doesn’t it? I think you’ve grown a couple of inches and you’ve certainly put on more muscle. That’ll help in the arena, providing you still have your speed. What have you been up to?’
‘Mostly chopping down trees.’
Tyron smiled, but he seemed weary, a tired man trying to put a brave face on things. ‘Well, now it’s back to chopping down lacs! Go down to the kitchen and get some breakfast. Then go to bed. You’re in no fit stateto start training yet. Deinon isn’t back till the end of the week, so we’ll start then.’
‘I thought he’d have been back already.’
‘He’s had a few problems at home. It caused a bit of a delay, that’s all.’
Kwin was eating breakfast at the kitchen table. She looked as beautiful as ever, and my heart leaped in my chest at the sight of her. How I’d missed her!
The scar was there, on the side of her face where her hair was cut shorter. She’d done that to draw attention to it; it was something she was proud of. It didn’t detract from her beauty one jot.
She looked up at me and my heart began to pound.
‘Leif!’ she said, starting to smile. ‘Good to see you back . . .’
Then her expression changed and her eyes widened as she saw my face. I couldn’t read her expression and my stomach turned over as I waited for her reaction. I had almost refused the honour of the tattoos, worriedthat she might think me ugly.
She got to her feet and came over. To my relief, she smiled up at me and touched my left cheek with her forefinger, tracing the contour of one of the lines.
‘That suits you, Leif,’ she said. ‘It makes you look fierce. Maybe I should get it done too!’
‘I don’t think your father would like that,’ I told her.
‘You look taller,’ she said, studying me, ‘and broader. That’s good, but don’t take those muscles too far. Speed is more important than strength.’
I suddenly felt a twinge of anxiety. Perhaps chopping down trees was the wrong type of activity for fighting in Arena 13. Maybe the muscles would take the edge off my speed? I tried to dismiss this thought. After all,hadn’t I managed to defeat the werewight? Hadn’t I allowed the first wolf past me, and then, after slaying the other two, caught it before it reached the child?
However, my doubts wouldn’t go away.
The following day I rested, as Tyron had advised, but the day before the visit to the Trader I spoke to him.
‘I feel much better today,’ I said. ‘Could I try a workout against a lac?’
‘Itching to get started, Leif? That’s good. I can spare an hour this afternoon. Meet me on the training floor at two.’
Tyron had constructed the best training floor in the city. It was a replica of the one in Arena 13: fifty feet long and twenty-five wide. I was down there fifteen minutes before two. Immediately memories came floodingback. I remembered how, before Hob slew him in the arena, Kern used to train us here. A wave of sadness washed over me. I still missed him. How much worse it must be for his widow, Teena. It made me all the moredetermined to destroy the djinni that had brought so much horror and misery to this land.
I lit the wall torches and swept the wooden floor.
I was nervous. Would I still be as fast? I wondered.
Tyron came in and nodded to me, then walked across to where the armoured lac stood, inert. It was the one with the dented armour that we used for training; the one that had been modified for my use, its speedincreased for the Trainee Tournament.
‘Awake!’ Tyron commanded, and the lac raised its head, eyes flickering behind the horizontal slit in the face armour. It was nothing like the four selves of the werewight that I’d confronted, blade, tooth and clawseeking my life, but it seemed to be staring at me; as usual, it made me slightly nervous.
‘What do you want to do? Some warm-ups dancing behind it?’ Tyron said, turning back to face me.
‘I’d like to try the game – the one where the lac uses a leather ball.’
Tyron nodded. ‘Yes, let’s do that. It’s a good test of speed and reactions.’
He went over to the weapons that hung on the wall and drew a short-bladed Trig knife from its leather scabbard. Handing it to me, he went back to the lac.
‘Selfcheck,’ Tyron commanded. Now the lac would be checking its internal systems, sifting through its patterns of Nym code.
A few moments later he barked out a new command: ‘Report!’
‘
Had my father written that book? What was it about – an account of his contests in Arena 13? It was something I’d love to read, but I couldn’t mention it to Tyron without admitting that I’d been prying.
I heard him climbing the stairs, so I quickly returned to my seat.
He came in, closed the door behind him and sat down facing me. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Why on earth did you do it?’
He was staring at my face, examining the tattoos that now covered the left-hand side – the jaw, cheek and temple. Dark lines and whorls followed every contour. I wanted to tell him that the tattoos had been earned bymy defeat of the werewight; that only the bravest of warriors were entitled to them. I wanted to explain that it was a great honour that marked you out as someone who had cheated a werewight of its prey, saved the lifeof a child . . . But I had to remain silent. I’d been bound to secrecy. I couldn’t break my word to Konnit.
Nor could I admit to using blades. Strictly speaking, some might consider it to be breaking the oath, though my conscience was clear. That was a rule designed to keep peace in the city; the demands of life in the forestwere very different.
‘I didn’t fit in with the Genthai. At first I felt like an outsider. Getting the tattoos helped,’ I said by way of explanation. Strictly speaking, I hadn’t lied.
‘Well, it won’t help here, boy. As you well know, even your father never wore tattoos like that. Those facial markings will make you an outsider. They will draw attention. Don’t you see that? The Protector’s Guardwon’t like it, either. It could cause you all sorts of trouble.’
Tyron was right. The guard didn’t like outsiders. My skin was darker than that of city dwellers – a small patrol had once beaten me for that and driven me out. The tattoos would draw even more attention. I’d beenworried about Kwin, but the reaction of the Guard had hardly crossed my mind.
I looked at Tyron. He was stocky and muscular, with a ruddy complexion topped by his stubble of grey hair. He looked a little older, even though only a few months had passed since I last saw him. He had more finelines around the eyes, and the furrow that divided his brow was deeper. No doubt it was due to the death of his son-in-law, Kern, and the terrible effect this had on his elder daughter, Teena.
‘I’m sorry,’ I told him. ‘I don’t want to cause any bother.’
Tyron sighed. ‘Well, what’s done is done. We’ll just have to make the best of it. Anyway, on Friday the Trader will call at the Sea Gate. I intend to go there and buy some lacs. I think it would be useful for you to seethat, so you’ll be coming with me.’
‘One of the Genthai told me that after retiring from the arena my father worked for the Trader for five years. Did you know that?’ I asked. ‘He probably saw what it’s like beyond the Barrier.’
‘Yes, he probably did. He was sometimes there when I visited the Sea Gate. We never got a chance to speak alone, but he always greeted me warmly.’
‘Maybe the Trader will be able to tell me more about my father.’
Tyron frowned. ‘No, boy – nobody asks questions of the Trader unless it’s relevant to what’s being bought. It’s just not done. I’ll introduce you simply as Leif, my trainee. I can’t tell him that you’re the son of Math –we want to keep that a secret for now. So hold your peace. We’ll be setting off before dawn – that’s if you can manage to get up,’ he continued. ‘You look exhausted. Did you walk all the way back?’
I nodded. ‘It’s taken me almost three weeks. What’s the winter been like here?’
Judging from the look in his eyes, Tyron knew what I meant. Hob preyed on the city after dark. I was wondering how bad it had been during the long dark winter nights.
‘It’s been a cold winter here, and Hob hasn’t confined himself to taking people from the streets. He’s broken into houses and snatched over twenty people from their beds, most of them women. He seems to betargeting the families of those who work at the Wheel. The wife of a patterner was taken, and the daughters of two Arena 13 combatants. That’s new and disturbing. He’s usually left people with links to the Wheel alone– except in Arena 13. Maybe we’re all Hob’s prey now.’
‘Has nothing been done?’
‘Aye, the usual. We’ve petitioned the Protector, who’s promised to put more guards on the streets after dark. But relying on him to help is like trying to swim wearing lead boots. Everyone’s being vigilant. This houseis better fortified than most, so we should be safe. But I don’t want you out after dark – especially not on your own. Now we walk in twos and threes once the sun’s gone down – Hob tends to snatch lone victims. Well,life goes on, doesn’t it? I think you’ve grown a couple of inches and you’ve certainly put on more muscle. That’ll help in the arena, providing you still have your speed. What have you been up to?’
‘Mostly chopping down trees.’
Tyron smiled, but he seemed weary, a tired man trying to put a brave face on things. ‘Well, now it’s back to chopping down lacs! Go down to the kitchen and get some breakfast. Then go to bed. You’re in no fit stateto start training yet. Deinon isn’t back till the end of the week, so we’ll start then.’
‘I thought he’d have been back already.’
‘He’s had a few problems at home. It caused a bit of a delay, that’s all.’
Kwin was eating breakfast at the kitchen table. She looked as beautiful as ever, and my heart leaped in my chest at the sight of her. How I’d missed her!
The scar was there, on the side of her face where her hair was cut shorter. She’d done that to draw attention to it; it was something she was proud of. It didn’t detract from her beauty one jot.
She looked up at me and my heart began to pound.
‘Leif!’ she said, starting to smile. ‘Good to see you back . . .’
Then her expression changed and her eyes widened as she saw my face. I couldn’t read her expression and my stomach turned over as I waited for her reaction. I had almost refused the honour of the tattoos, worriedthat she might think me ugly.
She got to her feet and came over. To my relief, she smiled up at me and touched my left cheek with her forefinger, tracing the contour of one of the lines.
‘That suits you, Leif,’ she said. ‘It makes you look fierce. Maybe I should get it done too!’
‘I don’t think your father would like that,’ I told her.
‘You look taller,’ she said, studying me, ‘and broader. That’s good, but don’t take those muscles too far. Speed is more important than strength.’
I suddenly felt a twinge of anxiety. Perhaps chopping down trees was the wrong type of activity for fighting in Arena 13. Maybe the muscles would take the edge off my speed? I tried to dismiss this thought. After all,hadn’t I managed to defeat the werewight? Hadn’t I allowed the first wolf past me, and then, after slaying the other two, caught it before it reached the child?
However, my doubts wouldn’t go away.
The following day I rested, as Tyron had advised, but the day before the visit to the Trader I spoke to him.
‘I feel much better today,’ I said. ‘Could I try a workout against a lac?’
‘Itching to get started, Leif? That’s good. I can spare an hour this afternoon. Meet me on the training floor at two.’
Tyron had constructed the best training floor in the city. It was a replica of the one in Arena 13: fifty feet long and twenty-five wide. I was down there fifteen minutes before two. Immediately memories came floodingback. I remembered how, before Hob slew him in the arena, Kern used to train us here. A wave of sadness washed over me. I still missed him. How much worse it must be for his widow, Teena. It made me all the moredetermined to destroy the djinni that had brought so much horror and misery to this land.
I lit the wall torches and swept the wooden floor.
I was nervous. Would I still be as fast? I wondered.
Tyron came in and nodded to me, then walked across to where the armoured lac stood, inert. It was the one with the dented armour that we used for training; the one that had been modified for my use, its speedincreased for the Trainee Tournament.
‘Awake!’ Tyron commanded, and the lac raised its head, eyes flickering behind the horizontal slit in the face armour. It was nothing like the four selves of the werewight that I’d confronted, blade, tooth and clawseeking my life, but it seemed to be staring at me; as usual, it made me slightly nervous.
‘What do you want to do? Some warm-ups dancing behind it?’ Tyron said, turning back to face me.
‘I’d like to try the game – the one where the lac uses a leather ball.’
Tyron nodded. ‘Yes, let’s do that. It’s a good test of speed and reactions.’
He went over to the weapons that hung on the wall and drew a short-bladed Trig knife from its leather scabbard. Handing it to me, he went back to the lac.
‘Selfcheck,’ Tyron commanded. Now the lac would be checking its internal systems, sifting through its patterns of Nym code.
A few moments later he barked out a new command: ‘Report!’
‘
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