Tournament of Losers (18 page)

But the relief he kept expecting to feel at that realization never came. Instead, he just felt despondent, like he'd let himself down. Which just made him mad, because he was making no sense to himself, and Rath wasn't used to being a stranger inside his own damned head.

Montague bent to speak in low tones with the other two clerks, one of whom briskly began writing and marking things on the papers in front of him. After a moment, Montague drew back and held the velvet bag out to Rath. "Have you looked at your token?"

Rath shook his head. "No, my lord. There wasn't time, and it didn't seem to matter much; it's just proof of completion of the challenge."

"Open the bag, Master Rathatayen."

Stifling a sigh, Rath took the bag and untied the knots, tipping the bag so the contents spilled into his palm. His breath caught. Given the title of the challenge, he'd expected a little gilded heart, or something along those lines, but what was inside was a small
glass
heart, cut so it scattered rainbows everywhere whenever the fading light or the torches around the stage struck it. He held it up to catch more light, entranced. Would they let him keep it? His mother would love it. He'd have to see if he could afford to have it made into a necklace for her. Maybe if he did some work for a few days, the jeweler on Silver Street would give him a lower price…

He startled as someone coughed, face burning as he lowered the heart and held it out. "Apologies. It's beautiful."

"Hold it high enough for all to see," Montague said. When Rath had done so, he stepped forward and bellowed out, "Your Majesty, good people, I present the Champion of the Heart of Gold Challenge!"

Rath jumped, nearly dropping the heart. "What?" He could practically feel the glares from Jessa and a few of the others. "I was the last to return
.
My challenges were eating and picking out a new jacket. I don't understand."

Montague clapped him on the back so hard that Rath almost fell over. Lifting a hand for silence, waiting patiently for the cheering to die down, Montague boomed out loudly enough that the next kingdom over could probably hear him. "A true heart of gold is not one who fulfills a kindness when bid and to his own benefit. A heart of gold is one who is willing to sacrifice his own ends to see to the well-being of others. Though many competitors here today performed their challenges with honor and kindness and diligence, only one stopped on the road to help those in need, though it guaranteed he would lose the challenge." He clapped Rath on the back again. "The token is yours to keep, and…" he trailed off as the clerk came out of the silk screen and dashed back down the stairs and onto the stage. He held out a note to Montague, who took it and quickly read.

Tucking the note away, Montague smiled at Rath and said, "You should know that the child on the cliff was not a task we arranged. The others were, but that boy was meant to have dropped something over the side that would have been easily and safely retrieved. We would never endanger anyone. What you did was very brave, to be admired by the Fates themselves. His Royal Majesty grants you a boon in reward: you may ask for anything in his power to give, so long as the granting brings no harm to another and does not give you an unfair advantage in the rest of the tournament."

"What—?" Rath felt like his heart was going to pop. He wanted to laugh and scream and cry all at once. "I don't
know.
I didn't do anything special. Anyone else would have done the same."

"On the contrary, by your own account there were other people there who could have acted as you did, and they did not. Instead, they stole your belongings and left you to risk your life. Name your boon."

"I don't know what to ask," Rath said.

Montague quirked one brow, gave a soft laugh and slight shake of the head. "Most would be asking for money right now, or jewels that could be sold slowly over time. A shop? A house—"

"I can ask for a house?" Rath's gut clenched. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "That's what I want. For my mother. Can I really ask for that?"

Montague smiled faintly. "You want a house for your mother?"

"Yes. She's getting on in years, and her hands hurt a great deal. She won't be able to work forever, and the teashop where she works doesn't pay especially well. I don't have a steady income. I want to know she'll have somewhere to live, that no one can take away, no matter what happens to either of us. Can I ask for that?"

"Yes," Montague said softly, smile widening. "It shall be so. Your mother will have her home within the month."

Rath swallowed, clenched the glass heart so tightly he was afraid he'd break it. "Th-thank you. I mean, my thanks to His Royal Majesty. I mean, thank you both, yes."

Montague smiled and gripped his shoulder, giving Rath another one of those teeth-rattling shakes. "Stand in line, Master Rathatayen, and let us get on with this tournament."

"Y-yes, my lord," Rath said and fled to the line, right at the far end of the stage, well away from the gawking and glaring of the others, his eyes stinging as he struggled to hold himself together. It was too much, too fast. Had he really just gained his mother a house? He wouldn't believe it until he saw it. Probably wouldn't be able to believe it even then. The whole affair seemed so surreal.

He startled as Montague clapped his hands several times. "Competitors, it has been an honor to host your second challenge. I know leave you in the capable hands of Lord High Constable Quinton, who has charge of the third challenge. Fates see you well."

Applause consumed the crowd as a fierce-looking woman climbed the stage, dressed in the dark leathers and green-and-blue tunic of the royal guard, a sword at her hip, and a gold badge shaped like a triangle with a silver three-headed griffon pinned to her breast. "Competitors," she said, folding her arms across her chest. They were bare, heavily muscled, peppered with blade and burn scars. "I am Lord High Constable Quinton, and it is my honor to host your third challenge: The Weary Traveler Challenge. It will begin tomorrow, but requires some preparation tonight. You will each be visiting three villages, which will be told to you after you leave the stage. At each village, you will complete the task given to you by the village leader. Upon completion of the task, you will be given a token. Those who best perform their given tasks will move on to the fourth challenge.

"Tonight, you are to pack for your journey. Tomorrow, you will gather at the city gates at the waking bell. You will be given a horse, and suitable travel supplies will be provided, along with an escort of two royal guards apiece. They are not allowed to advise or assist in the completion of your tasks, but they will protect you on the journey and ensure you do not get lost or unfairly waylaid. Any questions?"

Fates, he was exhausted already. He had to travel to three villages? How long would that take? What sort of tasks would he be expected to do? But he was too tired and tightly strung to voice any of his questions, could barely comprehend the questions and answers that went on around him.

When they were finally finished, Rath fled as quickly as he possibly could, all the way back to his room above the sausage shop. He paused only to ask Anta to wake him at the gate bell, which would give him an hour to pack his few belongings and hurry to the city gates. Lord Quinton had told him to pack warmly after telling him the villages he'd be visiting—names that meant nothing to Rath—but Rath had little time or money to buy the sorts of costly winter clothes Lord Quinton had suggested.

"You never look anything but tired these days," Anta said as she pressed a plate of food on him, which Rath was happy to take with him upstairs. He ate quickly, then stripped, flopped into his bed, and succumbed almost immediately to exhaustion.

Rath stared at the horse as one of the two guards assigned to go with him offered the reins.

They seemed decent for guards. Rath had a checkered enough past that he preferred to avoid guards as much as possible, especially since, until only a few years ago, they'd been led by the most unreasonable, vindictive bastard the city had ever seen. The new bailiff was nice for a guard, always willing to let people go for a minor bribe after several hours behind bars or in the stocks. The old one and his favorite goons had taken far more unpleasant bribes, and usually they were just as happy to be as mean and brutal as they could get away with.

But Teller and Fynn were friendly and willing to chat, which was unusual for guards in Rath's experience. Teller was tiny, barely big enough to hold the sword at his hip, and constantly smiled like he'd heard a joke no one else had. Fynn reminded Rath a great deal of Jen, but friendly, and not one of Friar's favorite goons. She was definitely as big as Jen, which meant she left Rath almost feeling small.

The horse, however, looked like evil incarnate, and he wasn't getting anywhere near the damned thing. "I have gone over thirty years of my life without needing a horse. I wouldn't have ridden one yesterday if Their Holy Eminence hadn't insisted. I'd much prefer to walk."

The guards laughed, and Teller clapped him on the arm. "Walk, indeed. We'd be gone for the better part of the year."

"I don't see a problem with that," Rath said sourly. "I won't have to ride the horse, and nobody will want to kill me."

Teller's levity went out like a snuffed light. "Why would someone want to kill you?"

Rath almost didn't say; he should have kept quiet. That was what he got for not guarding his tongue. But they were meant to keep him safe, and it seemed malicious not to warn them of possible danger. "A couple of guys roughed me before the challenges started, said I should quit or I'd regret it. They haven't done anything since, but they can't be happy I've made it this far—especially after I told them I'd quit."

"Wait here," Fynn said and strode off back to the gate, where Lord High Constable Quinn and a cluster of other guards were talking while they watched the competitors depart. Quinn's easy demeanor was gone in the span of a heartbeat as Fynn spoke with her. They conversed for several minutes, then Quinn looked at Rath, gave a nod, and then turned and vanished through the city gates with the rest of her guards at her heels.

Fynn rejoined Rath and Teller. "Lord Quinn is going to look into the matter and will see that your family is protected. Competitors should feel safe at all times, and we apologize you were attacked."

"Thank you," Rath said. "I'm sorry for the trouble."

"It's why we're here; no trouble at all." Teller's smile returned. "Now, onto the horse, Master Rath. You don't want to lose because you were bested by a harmless beast."

"I'm not convinced it's harmless."

"Oh, now," Teller scoffed and patted the horse's side. "She's a good girl, this one. Thief, we call her, because if we don't keep watch and make sure she's securely in her stall, she'll wander around stealing whatever food she can."

Rath gave the horse another look. "Really?"

Teller and Fynn laughed. "Really," Teller promised. "Come on, I'll help you up. In a few days, you'll have the hang of it and wonder how you ever lived without her."

Rath very much doubted that, but he surrendered to the inevitable and let them help him up. After a brief lesson, still half-convinced he was going to suffer a horse-related death, Rath and his guards headed out.

Lord Quinn had told each of them the villages they were to visit in private, with strict admonition not to tell anyone else where they were going. They were to visit each village, complete the task, and move on to the next, in the order Lord Quinn had given them.

The only thing more terrifying than the horse was leaving the city. Visiting the Faded Temple had been adventure enough for Rath. Just thinking about not seeing his home for at least a couple of months left his stomach in knots, a gloomy cloud hanging over him.

"You'd think the highest-scoring competitor would look happier about his quest," Fynn said with a laugh, drawing Rath from his thoughts. "What's wrong, Champion?"

"I'm not a champion," Rath muttered, then said more clearly, "I've never been away from home. I don't think I like it."

Fynn smiled. "The homesickness will ease, don't you worry about it. First time I left home, I was stuck on a boat for six months. I cried and cried the first few days. The other sailors teased me mercilessly, but the captain was kind. After a few weeks, I was just fine."

"I spent most of my first trip away from home getting blinding drunk," Teller said. "Was either so drunk or so sick I didn't have time to miss home, and the rest of the time, I was being yelled at for my deplorable behavior. By the time I eased off the drinking, I didn't miss home quite so acutely. I think Fynn was smarter about it, but she usually is. Don't worry. You'll be so busy with your tasks and such, you won't have time to miss anything. If you want something to occupy your thoughts, just think about how much you're the talk of the castle! Talk of the city, I daresay. Your family and friends must be so excited to know you're doing well. And granted a boon! They say Lord Swinder swooned from shock."

Rath hunched his shoulders and wished he were back in bed. "That sounds like an overreaction."

"His Majesty doesn't hand out boons lightly," Fynn said. "The last time was ten years ago to a soldier, and he asked for a truly impressive number of crowns."

"That probably would have been a smarter thing to ask for," Rath said. But money could be taken, lost, foolishly spent. He'd rather his mother have a house she'd never lose. Fates knew they'd never had that.

"I think it was sweet," Teller said. "Your mother must be excited."

Rath shrugged. "Probably, but she lives above the teashop she works at in High City, and I haven't had a chance to go see her. Hopefully, when I get back, I can visit her in the new house." He smiled at the thought and clung to the warmth that curled through him, easing the sting of the city fading from sight and the unknown looming before him. "How far is it to the first village? Cartina, right?"

"Yes, Cartina," Fynn replied. "Good ale and bread—they have a watermill there that provides flour for the whole area, even sends some to the city. Should reach it tonight, hopefully before dark, but at worst, shortly after. It's the other two towns that will take days to reach. Tremark is about six days from Cartina, and Falton is about two weeks further on from there. The whole trip will take even longer if we get heavy snowfall. We're going to be sleeping on the ground a great deal." She sighed. "Wouldn't be so bad if winter wasn't coming on. Hope you brought a warmer cloak, Champion."