The Shadowbearer (An Aegis of the Gods Book)

Chapter 11

The journey to the amphitheater dragged by without any further conversation. Although he didn’t fear Cerny, Stefan still kept an eye on him. He would be a fool to overlook the man now. He’d considered bringing his own guard complement, but that would have played into Cerny’s hands. He much preferred the man to be confident. Overconfident, if possible. For now, he intended to keep up appearances that Cerny’s maneuvering did not bother him. He doubted the Knight General would have the nerve to make an attempt on his life in daylight anyway. Cerny was more the type to brandish a knife in the dark.

Marching ahead of them, the Dagodin guards kept the avenues and roads clear of people on their way to the games. From the way the men managed to stay in front of the trotting horses without appearing to tire, Stefan figured they must have drank some kinai concoction before the trip. Dressed in vibrant colors and designs, the townsfolk bowed as he and Cerny rode past. The stench of sweat and unwashed bodies made him glad to be riding. Children pointed from roofs and windows, and the occasional dog’s bark echoed amongst the murmuring crowds.

“Make way! Make way!” yelled one of three soldiers at a crossroad. The other two helped to funnel people to one side or another, keeping the intersection as clear as possible.

Thousands of conversations droned in an incessant buzz. Ahead of them, a coach carrying some noble trundled along the cobbles, its driver dressed in red and gold livery. Stefan had lost count of how many such carriages they’d passed. It appeared everyone but he had remembered the games. Not that it bothered him. Dartan fights and duels between slaves did not hold his attention as they once did as a youth. However, he did understand the need for sport, especially, the games. They brought the Setian together. The coin gained filled the city’s coffers as people from all across Seti and the surrounding lands attended and spent lavishly on everything from clothes, to food, to wagers.

The huge sandstone and alabaster construction of the amphitheater dominated the landscape below as they turned onto the King’s Road. Here, the throngs packed to the sides in a milling mass as they inched forward in the lines leading to the arena’s main entrance. At certain sections, food vendors shouted out their wares beside their carts and stalls either by themselves or with criers. Their calls added to the cacophony. Smoke and steam rose from pots and cook fires. Meat roasted on spits, and stews and soups boiled in large pots. Spicy smells of peppered deer, quail, and roast chicken drifted through the air. Stefan’s stomach growled in protest. He hadn’t eaten yet. An image of the feast the King always provided brought on another grumble.

He hadn’t seen Nerian since the day he returned from Astoca. Not that he minded. The time had given him a chance to think. Whereas the Chronicles mentioned a link to the Dorn line, who was to say the King they referred to might not be someone who overthrew Nerian? Maybe even Cerny. Or could it all be some grand Tribunal scheme Galiana was unwittingly tied up in? All the years spent under her tutelage and upbringing made him doubt she involved herself in a conspiracy to harm not only the man he thought of as a father but the Seti people as well.

Whether or not the Eztezians could see all these different threads of the future was something he couldn’t simply dismiss. The Svenzar, Kalvor, seemed to believe, and so did Galiana. Head throbbing from the way his thoughts spun, he was still undecided as they rode into the amphitheater’s shadow.

“A moment, General, Lieutenant,” a gold clad guard announced.

At first, Stefan didn’t acknowledge the soldier. Then he realized the guard had used the new titles attributed by the King. Stefan gave a slight dip of his head to the man. The guard nodded toward a line of dartans crossing the street. They headed toward the ramp that led to the arena’s bowels.

Stefan frowned at the sight of the beasts. Prize fighting dartans were nothing new, but the way the handlers dealt with these ones certainly was. Normally, it took several armored men prodding and poking at the animals with long lances to keep them in line. Even then, he’d witnessed once when a creature went wild and ignored the sharp points that too often did not penetrate their tough hides. The dartan snaked its head out, snatched the closest handler, and ripped him in two. Another time, a dartan plopped to the ground and withdrew its head and six limbs inside of its shell. No amount of stabbing or poking bothered the beast. It took an Alzari’s Forging to make the animal move.