Empire of Ashes

Chapter XCVI - Sunset

"Are you sure, Anlai?" Sami demanded for what felt like the hundredth time.

She seemed to think Anlai wasn't entering the melee for her sake, but I knew better. He didn't want the job, not even a little, because he was a lazy cow's arse. That was fine with me. I would much prefer Sami as Ragnyr, and besides, I reckoned Melia would divorce him before she became a Valkyr, and they were only just starting to get along.

"Yes," he snapped. "Are you? It's a bloody death sentence."

"Aye, perhaps," she muttered. She was better this morning, as far as I could tell, but still far from her usual self. "But yes, I'm sure."

I smiled to myself. It was a warm morning in Sierra, and all of us were sweating a little. We were sat around the lip of a circular basin. Someone had dug into the ground and then heaped all the earth around its edge to create a sunken pit which the northerners called an 'amphitheatre.' There were benches built into the walls, which sloped gradually upwards like a staircase, and I was in the very front row.

There was not room for the entirety of the Sierran warband, of course, but more than half were packed onto the benches around us. I was squashed between Fendur and Glyn, who had my kitten in his lap for some reassurance, given that he was about to watch his sister cross blades with some of the finest swordsmen in Sierra.

Not that she was in any danger. Melees were not fought to the death, and even drawing blood was frowned upon, apparently — it was about skill, not wearing your opponent down with pain and blood loss. For that reason, they could wear armour and helmets. It was almost a disadvantage, because your opponents were allowed to land blows on the metal, and it would only slow you.

Still, Glyn had buckled on greaves, vambraces and a pauldron for his sister, and she had her helmet tucked under one arm. If she won, this was the last time she would ever wear it. And gods, how I hoped she would win.

"You will be challenged before moon's end. You know that, don't you?" Fendur asked. "Even if they let you ascend, there will be plenty of men who want to try their luck. Perhaps even other warlords looking to follow in your brother's footsteps."

"I will take my chances," Sami drawled. "Once I've gutted a few idiots, the rest will think twice."

And with a grin like wildfire, she tucked her hair behind her ears and wiped the gleam of sweat from her forehead. She had been warming up with her cousin for the last half hour, but they had stopped when the other contestants began to arrive. Seven men had entered the melee, and all of them were brilliant fighters, according to Fendur, with the exception of one idiot who was competing because he had lost a bet with his friend while drunk the night before.

"Can anyone challenge?" I asked Fendur. It seemed to me that their laws left room for any enemy to demand single combat.

He gave a non-committal grunt. "Most people, but not anyone. Anglians aren't allowed. We didn't tell you in case you were a spy, but that has been written in law since the Age of Steel. The Dreigan warband have a stone tablet inscribed with the words dei Ragnyr anglo on display in their amphitheatre. It must be nearly a millennium old."

I resisted the urge to snort. "What about Sihons? Are they allowed?"

Fendur inclined his head. "Sihons can, yes. We had a Sihon Ragnyr once. He was issued with seventeen challenges in the hour after his ascension, and the third one killed him. I was only five at the time, but I do have some recollection of sitting in the amphitheatre and eating a few too many almonds."

"Why don't you just make a law that you have to be Cambrian to challenge?" Melia demanded. "Or, even better — from the warband?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "That is a sensible idea, Melia, truly. I'm not sure."