Elven Legacy

Chapter 43

Kitera

Late afternoon sunlight glared down at her as she strode away from Thebrenna's North Harbor stables, after sparing a few coppers to leave her tall gray with the attendants. She had glanced dispiritedly at the shaded stalls, but as expected she hadn't seen Strider, Dharkan's black stallion, anywhere.

As she heard the thrum of distant cheering, Kitera looked up at the stadium-like construction that sat on the harbor's northern end. It sounded like she was too late to stop the fight.

Hopefully not too late to stop a death.

With sword and saddle bag hauled over her shoulder and back, Kitera took off at a sprint across sea salt-scented air, her boots stirring dust off the narrow cobbles.

She skirted the strips of unloading wharves, where seafarers and merchants' staff went about their business under the harsh glare of the sun and the cries of seagulls. Breathless moments later, she ran up the packed-dirt road that led to the stadium with long leaps of her legs. She ignored the curious glances people tossed her, quickening her pace when the cheering reverberated again through the air.

But this time punctuated by some jeering, and booing.

Her best guess, the cheering from earlier had been for the local champion. The less enthusiastic welcome was most likely for Dharkan.

Earlier, as she'd hit the city center, Kitera had slowed Bolt to a walk to ask around for directions, the Azurian locals generally happy to oblige. The Thebrenna Pit apparently attracted visitors from all over the Empire, looking to have a good time by watching and betting on some high-thrill fights.

Kitera's Azurian blood and appearance had never been more convenient. Besides, she'd been practicing her pronunciations over the past couple of days; not much else to do when riding from town to town.

Presently, her next few moments were spent catching her breath and begging the man at the door to reopen it for her. After some coaxing, she bought her way in with the precious few imperial coins she had left.

Kitera slipped inside the stadium. Her ears instantly filled with the clash of swords, followed by loud thumps and grunts, and then an awed reaction from the crowd.

But she couldn't see anything.

For starters, the circular rows of seats were packed full, crammed almost to overspilling in front of her and to either side, with many people standing to get a better view of the aptly named sand pit down in the center of this whole affair.

Frustrated, Kitera scanned her surroundings for a way to the higher rows. She located narrow wooden stairs to her left, which climbed up the structure. She elbowed her way over, hauling sword and bag, sweat beading her forehead and temples.

She wasn't the only one – Kitera crinkled her nose at the stench of too many humans pressed together, along with the heady perfumes some ladies had ill-advisedly daubed over themselves.

More people sat and stood cluttering the stairs, and Kitera was obliged to painstakingly apologize and awkwardly meander her way up. Until she stood on the highest walkway, perhaps twenty feet above ground, and could now get a decent view of the fighting pit below.

Dharkan was there all right.

Sunlight slanted hard over the jet-black tangles of his hair, and caught his blade in a blinding gleam. The saber looked like Steelrose. Well then, at least they'd let him fight with his own blade.

As she watched, Dharkan circled his opponent – a towering darkly-skinned man with a shaved head, wearing metal armor and bearing both shield and long sword. Dharkan was in his normal black clothing, and he only had his sword.