A Year of Stories (Collection Two)

The Champions of the God Isles

"I call on you mistress, you of the silver hair – you who is known to all the faithful as the Master of the Hearth, the Sharpener of Blades, the Bringer of the Soft Sleep, the Youngest of the Old Gods – I kneel before you Lorelei, an empty vessal waiting to filled with your..."

"Stand up Samas."

"But Mistress, I haven't finished..."

"Yes, you have."

"But..."

"I grant you my favor in the battle to come, you may call on me three times to gird your loins or whatever. Now, would you just pay attention for a second."

"Of course, Mistress."

"Great. You'll be fighting Ashkent's pet today."

"The Lord of Pain, the Harvester of Wounds, the..."

"Yes, the same."

"I will be sure to make it a battle worthy of your honor!"

"I want you to be sure that you don't get yourself killed out there. Ashkent's children tend to go a little overboard when he lets them off their leash."

"I do not fear death Mistress, if pale-faced Indriel wishes to brush her lips against my cheek this day, my final breath will be spent in your honor."

"I don't think Indriel wants to come out for this one Sam, just be careful, OK?"

"For your honor!"

"Yes, for my honor..."

With that, my Mistress waves me away. It would be...indelicate to be standing by her side when Ashkent arrives at the dais.

This is a Palaver, she should be given time to speak in private, to resolve whatever matter of Gods or Men or War or Death brought her and her noble cousin to this point.

I am her Champion, it's my job to make certain that she has that time, time enough to win their dispute.

I step towards my appointed place.

Below me is sand and above an iron sky, a circle of rune-carved stones mark the arena's boundary. The twin thrones of the Gods sit at its center – shielded by their celestial Authority.

I stop at the eastern edge of the circle, known also as the Gate of the Wronged.

As I wait, I allow the first prayer to slip from my lips. I feel the Mistress' power coursing through my blood, strengthening my flesh and bones until they are steel bands, sharpening my long knife until it glows white hot with the fire of her hearth.