It seemed that the Feast was about to commence.

  As the resounding echoes of the trumpets faded, all eyes turned to Herewyn. The crowd grew so silent that its stirring was little more than the lapping of waves on a beach.

  All work nearby — even cooking — must have come to a halt. Aefric could hear the cries of distant birds louder than anything closer.

  Herewyn slowly raised her hands, spread as though to praise the gods. Everyone in the crowd did so as well, though none of the nobles or knights — or the soldiers, for that matter — up on the battlements followed suit.

  She crossed the two middle fingers of each hand. So did everyone in the crowd.

  She brought her hands down to cross at the wrist, in front of her chest, with the tips of her thumbs touching. The crowd echoed the movement.

  “At the command of Emperor Orsk,” she called in a ringing voice, “armies swept across the face of Qorunn. Conquering, yes, but also burning.”

  She paused then, and many in the crowd chanted those same words in hushed voices. The sound sent a chill up Aefric’s spine.

  “They burned temples and shrines. They burned priests and clerics. They burned the faithful wherever they could. If Orsk could not be a god, there would be no gods.”

  Aefric had to fight down a shiver as those words were chanted back. Something about all those hushed voices, saying such things.

  “Cities fell before them. Kingdoms fell before them. Human and na’shek alike. Borog and tarok alike. All stood before the massed derekek armies and fell.”

  The sun beat down, and there was no breeze to mitigate it, but the day had begun to feel downright chilly to Aefric.

  “People beyond counting died.”

  Those words were also echoed softly up here on the wall.

  “Until Emperor Orsk’s armies came here,” Herewyn said, and her tone shifted away from lament to the first spark of something like pride.

  The crowd’s repetition was less hushed now.

  “This land was not called Norra then. Nor the kingdom Armyr. But this is the ground where Dereth Sehk arose. This is the ground where Dereth Sehk said ‘No more!’”

  The crowd’s voice rang out now with fire of its passion as it repeated Herewyn’s words.

  “Dereth Sehk rallied the peoples together. Human and na’shek alike. Borog and tarok alike. All came together as one, under the banner of Dereth Sehk.”

  Aefric could feel excitement from the crowd now, as some began shouting Herewyn’s words back at her.

  “Dereth Sehk gave us hope,” Herewyn continued. “Dereth Sehk gave us plans. And Dereth Sehk gave us victory!”

  Half the crowd was cheering loudly now, even as the rest echoed Herewyn’s words.

  She threw her hands up wide again, middle fingers still entwined together.

  The crowd grew still as they made the same gesture.

  “And so we feast his name and memory!” she cried.

  “And so we feast his name and memory!” the crowd echoed, including almost all on the wall.

  The crowd cheered so loudly then that the sound was a physical force Aefric could feel beating against his face and chest.

  Herewyn brought her hands back down, wrists crossed once more, and thumbs touching.

  Most of the crowd abandoned mimicking her movement, but they did settle down to hear what she said next.

  “Today is the first day of the Feast. The Day of Challenges. So make your challenges well. And strive to your utmost, in the name of Dereth Sehk!”

  “In the name of Dereth Sehk!” the crowd cried out, and cheered. The cheer went on longer than Aefric expected this time, and he started to wonder why.

  Except that a great many of them pushed to crowd a little closer to the walls…

  “And now,” Herewyn said, still pitching her tone to ring out over the crowd, but turning a smile to Aefric, “by tradition, the chief noble among us must accept the first challenge. And I would like—”

  “I wish to offer that challenge,” Ferrin said, stepping forward.

  The glare Herewyn turned on Ferrin then could have shattered good steel.

  But apparently it mattered that he’d gotten the words out first.

  Through gritted teeth she said — not in echoing tones, but only a conversational voice — “And just what challenge does your excellency present to his grace?”

  “Agility!” Ferrin cried out. And though he couldn’t project his voice as well as Herewyn, he carried well enough that some of the crowd cried the word back to him.

  “You are certain, your excellency?” Herewyn said, frowning. And by her tone she seemed to be saying, pick something else.

  But Ferrin only smiled a vicious smile back and said, “I wish nothing more.”

  “Your excellency knows where we stand,” Herewyn said. “A test of agility here risks—”

  “I have made the challenge,” Ferrin said, turning that vicious smile on Aefric. “But I have yet to hear it accepted.”

  Beornric stepped forward. Said in a hushed voice, “Perhaps his grace should be told what the challenge involves—”

  “Of course I accept,” Aefric said, letting his words ring out. He’d long ago learned the tricks of being heard over the clash of battle, and the same skill ensured that his acceptance would be heard even over the crowd’s excitement. “In the name of Dereth Sehk!”

  As the crowd echoed those words, he said softly to Beornric, “I was going to accept, whatever the challenge was. Refusing in front of the crowd hardly seemed like a good option.”

  Beornric gave Aefric a grim smile, and a nod likely intended to show confidence.

  But Aefric had gotten to know the knight too well to believe that nod. He could see the concern in Beornric’s eyes. And Herewyn’s as well.

  Ah, well. Time to find out what Ferrin was made of.

  Aefric found himself standing atop the crenellation at one corner of the wall that surrounded the courtyard of Herewyn’s tower keep. Beside him stood Ferrin, still smiling as though this were the finest moment of his life. On his other side, the Brightstaff stood tall and secure at the very edge of the granite.

  Ferrin had removed his heavy gold chain for the challenge, and allowed Aefric to hang it from the Brightstaff, for safety.

  Just below Aefric, on the battlements, stood his Knights of the Lake, a dozen or so other knights, and all the nobles whose hands he’d kissed before Herewyn officially began the Feast.

  The nobles stood grouped, closer to the gate, but the knights were spread out along the battlement. Perhaps to catch Ferrin, if he should fall.

  For certainly Aefric’s own knights ought to have known that falling presented no threat to their duke.

  The many soldiers on the battlements had cleared out from this part of the wall, making room for what was to come.

  The whole of the massive, assembled crowd remained outside the tower’s walls. Aefric’s earlier count had to have been low, because he was sure now that there had to be close to five thousand people gathered in the streets nearby.

  And all of them stared eagerly up at Aefric and Ferrin as they prepared to engage in the first official contest of the first day of the Feast.

  What was worse, the breeze had picked up. Warm, and from the east, putting it in Aefric’s face.

  “Your grace understands the challenge?” Ferrin asked, smiling as though he hoped Aefric would ask to have it explained again.

  Once, though, had been enough.

  “We move, one at a time, along the crenellations to the gate and back. If one of us falls, or even stumbles, that one is the loser, and the contest ends. If neither of us fall, we move on to stage two.”

  “When the spiked helmets are added, yes,” Ferrin said with a brusque nod.

  “A warning, first,” Aefric said. “You might be tempted to touch the Brightstaff—”

  “I know its reputation, your grace,” Ferrin said, raising a halting hand. “I’ve no wish to taste its lightning, as my poor castle doors did. Shall we begin?”

  Aefric nodded.

  They’d already drawn lots. Ferrin was to go first on the first stage. If the second stage was necessary, Aefric would go first. If the third and final stage was necessary, Ferrin would go first again.

  Ferrin held up his hands as Herewyn had, middle fingers crossed. The crowd didn’t mirror the movement, but their restlessness did settle somewhat.

  “I have won the lot, and shall go first,” Ferrin said, doing a better job of projecting his voice this time.

  “Do your best for Dereth Sehk,” the crowd chanted back.

  Ferrin was making a show of it, but Aefric didn’t think the first stage sounded all that challenging. The crenellations were easily three feet across and two feet wide, with no more than three feet between them. True, there was the height to consider — elevation alone could make a simple task feel tricky — but overall, not very hard.

  And after a couple of short steps to get moving, Ferrin made it look just that easy. Single strides carrying him from about the middle of one crenellation to the middle of the next, until he reached the gate, turned around, and came back the same way.

  Aefric had already been told not to address the crowd before his try. Only the first to attempt the challenge had that right. Still, feeling the need for a little show, Aefric didn’t bother with any short steps. He used one step to reach the edge of the corner crenellation, then made a light run of it, striding smoothly all the way to the gate and back.

  “Not bad, not bad,” Ferrin said, nodding appreciatively as Aefric returned to the starting point. “I’m glad your grace will give me something of a test, at least.”

  As Ferrin spoke, servants clambered up onto the wall to place large, spiked helmets in the center of each crenellation. No more easy steps, using the safe center portions.

  Ferrin and Aefric would have to step closer to the edges now. Much less room to maneuver.

  “What say we make this more interesting, your grace?” Ferrin asked.

  “Gambling on the contests if forbidden,” Aefric said. “As I understand it, we strive not for reward, but for the honor of Dereth Sehk.”

  “Yes, yes,” Ferrin said. “Because Dereth Sehk forbade all duels and allowed only nonlethal challenges between his soldiers, who were to save their weapons for the enemy.”

  Which made Aefric wonder why holding the challenge up here was deemed permissible. True, if Aefric fell, he could save his own life with magic easily enough. If Ferrin fell, Aefric might be able to save him, but it would depend on where and how he fell…

  “But I do not speak of gambling,” Ferrin continued. “Only to make the contest more challenging.” Ferrin nodded at the helmets. “Shall we say that dislodging a helmet counts as failure?”

  “I’d already assumed that was true,” Aefric said.

  Ferrin laughed. “Excellent, your grace.” He turned to announce it to the crowd, but Aefric stayed him with a hand on the shoulder.

  “As I get to go first this time,” he said, “I believe I have the honor of making this announcement.”

  Ferrin frowned, but nodded for Aefric to go ahead.

  Aefric raised his arms in what appeared to be the appropriate way, middle fingers crossed.

  He was surprised to see most of the crowd mirror his movement at once, and a decent percentage of stragglers join in.

  “His excellency and I have agreed to honor Dereth Sehk further by increasing the difficulty of our contest. Should one of us dislodge a helmet, he shall be regarded as failing!”

  The crowd cheered.

  Aefric didn’t try for speed this time. He watched his footing and hopped along. He knew he could reach the gate and back without falling. He’d done trickier things in his adventuring days, when he’d had to cross more than one unstable mountainside. Not to mention a few collapsing floors in ancient ruins, and other untrustworthy surfaces.

  But getting to the gate and back without knocking off a helmet. That he wasn’t sure about. So he moved slowly and made sure each step went right where he wanted it.

  Aefric was sweating by the time he returned to the starting point, greeted by applause from the crowd.

  “That was good, your grace,” Ferrin said. “Better than I expected, I admit.”

  “Thank you, Ferrin,” Aefric said, smiling at the unexpected compliment.

  But Ferrin smiled back triumphantly. Raised his hands with elbows bent, in what was unmistakably a dancer’s pose.

  Ferrin then danced a jig across the crenellations, all the way to the gate and back. He never looked down, and he never came close to falling, or even to touching one of the spiked helmets.

  He also covered the distance much faster than Aefric had.

  “So this is why you wanted a test of agility,” Aefric said, when Ferrin returned. The count wasn’t breathing hard, or even perspiring in the least.

  Ferrin smiled as though he’d already won.

  “I am the most accomplished dancer among all the nobles of Deepwater. Perhaps all of Armyr,” he said. “Your grace has overcome many challenges during his adventuring days, I’ve no doubt. And he’s proven the master of several since ascending his duchy. But today, I fear, he shall face defeat.”

  “Perhaps,” Aefric said. “You haven’t won yet.”

  But the words felt hollow as Aefric said them. After all, stage three was timed. Speed was now as important as precision.

  Herewyn began the timing clap. Quick. Steady. Rhythmic. And as soon as Ferrin took his first step, she would count the claps he needed to reach the gate and back.

  There were thirty crenellations between the corner and the gate. Then there was the matter of turning about and coming back.

  Quite a distance, all told.

  At the starting point, Ferrin raised his hands once more. With another smile at Aefric, he repeated his jig. But with even quicker steps. He seemed to fly to the gate and back, and yet Aefric knew no magic was involved. He’d’ve felt it.

  Ferrin did, at least, have to watch his feet this time.

  As he returned to the starting point, Herewyn called out, “Ninety-three claps!”

  The crowd roared approval, and Aefric applauded.

  “Well done,” Aefric said, sincerely.

  Ferrin started as though praise was the last thing he expected. He didn’t speak. Perhaps not trusting what he’d say. Either way, he nodded cautiously.

  Aefric drew a deep breath and let it out.

  He knew he had to get creative here. He couldn’t just do what he’d done before. He’d lose, and by a good margin. Of course, he couldn’t use magic, either. That would be cheating.

  So instead, Aefric used memory and imagination.

  There was a time, when Aefric was young, and traveling with Karbin’s adventuring band, the Last Sons, when they’d managed to take down a youngish dragon that had been terrorizing local towns.

  The battle had lasted … Aefric never did find out. Felt like hours. Days, maybe. By the time it was over, he and the others weren’t just exhausted. They were done. Wounded, and badly. Hardly able to stay awake, and debating the wisdom of sleep against the allure of finding the dragon’s lair first.

  That was when the dragon’s mother arrived. Ancient. Vast. Powerful.

  Furious.

  There was no attempt at a battle. Aefric and the others turned and fled for their lives. Sheer terror feeding urgency to their spent limbs.

  That mother dragon’s roar reverberated through the very mountain itself. Caused their tunnel to collapse around them. Dust and rocks falling from above. Under their boots, what had been solid stone began to crack and come apart…

  Aefric tried to recall that day. To imagine the usable parts of the crenellations as the only safe places to step as he fled a dragon’s righteous wrath.

  When he felt the fire of desperation burning in his limbs once more, he began.

  Swift running steps this time. Land on one edge. Over the spiked helmet to the next edge. Cross to the next crenellation. Repeat. Faster if possible.

  Aefric’s mind was in the past. In that flight from death. He didn’t hear the clapping of the count. Not over the race of his own heartbeat, while memory supplied a dragon’s roar, and the awful sounds of that collapsing tunnel...

  Some part of him must’ve been paying attention to the contest though, because he turned about at the gate and started back, feet still flying as though that mother dragon were right behind him.

  As though her breath might engulf him any moment…

  Closer and closer came the end of the race. Closer and closer, safety from that dragon.

  One step shy of the door to that temple, his goal that long ago day, Aefric felt his ankle bump a rock. But his pace held steady.

  He reached the end. He stood once more safely in that underground na’shek temple, where the quest had started. Too solid for the dragon to collapse. And with the tunnel gone now, no way for the dragon to reach him.

  Alive. Time to rest and heal.

  Hands on his knees, Aefric bent forward. Panting for breath. Sweat stinging his eyes.

  But he’d survived. He’d gotten away from the dragon. He’d…

  Memory faded. The sound of riotous applause reached his ears.

  The warm, gentle summer breeze was what he tasted. Not coke and metal on air heated by na’shek forges. No furious dragon hunted him. No wounds to tend, save the twitching complaints of muscles from his desperate run.

  Oh.

  Yes.

  This was just a race, wasn’t it?

  Straightening up, Aefric turned to see Ferrin smiling. Pointing at the crenellation one step out from the corner.

  Its spiked helmed was missing.

  The “rock” Aefric had felt himself bump. He must’ve knocked that helmet loose.

  Which meant he’d lost.

  Herewyn climbed up onto the crenellation that was now missing its helmet. That helmet was handed to her by Beornric, who was looking relieved that the contest was over and that Aefric was still alive and unharmed.

  Herewyn held up the helmet.

  The crowd grew silent.

  “Both men proved their agility today,” she said, lowing the helmet again and gesturing towards Aefric and Ferrin. “Both men honored Dereth Sehk by striving with all that they had. Let us celebrate their efforts.”