Tournament of Losers (9 page)

No. That wasn't true. He'd wanted it over with before he did something stupid like get attached.

At least Tress's nasty parting shot confirmed everything Rath had said. If their fight hadn't happened tonight, it would have happened later, and been all the uglier and more painful for the delay. He'd done the right thing getting rid of Tress now.

But he still felt sick to his stomach and ready to put his fist through a window. Laughter spilled out of the pub as the door opened briefly, and it was like salt in his wounds. Shoulders hunched, Rath turned away and headed home, grateful when he was finally able to fall into his creaky little bed and ignore the world for a few precious hours.

He'd get some sleep, and everything would be better in the morning.

Three days later, Rath felt worse than he ever had about anything. He anxiously swept his gaze over the crowds as he headed out of the city and down to the fairgrounds, but no matter how hard he looked, he still saw no sign of Tress. But it had always been Tress who had found him, and if he were in Tress's position, he'd be making damn certain Rath didn't see him.

And as he'd stupidly pointed out the night of their fight, he knew nothing about Tress that would let him find the man somewhere else. His only hope was that since Tress had admitted he was one of the marriage candidates, Rath would eventually see him somewhere on the fairgrounds.

Strictly speaking, the candidates and their families were not allowed to interact with the competitors, since it could indicate favoritism, cheating… If they got caught together, Tress would be in a world of trouble, and Rath would be disqualified. Which meant he'd have to pay back the ten slick.

So it was definitely for the best that he'd driven Tress away.

Rath still felt wretched and sick at heart about it, even three days later. He shouldn't, but should never had much to do with anything.

When he reached the blue tent he was thoroughly sick of, he slumped to the ground and wished the whole stupid day was already over. Hopefully today, he would finally get to do the maze. The first day they'd drawn lots, and Rath's number had been all the way at the bottom. Technically, the whole thing was supposed to run five days, but the criers had said to show up two days early because things tended to move quickly, since as one person finished the maze, another was sent straight in.

"You've been looking rather glum for a person who's made it this far," Kelni's familiar, friendly voice greeted.

Rath pushed to his feet and mustered a smile. "Tired, sore, would rather be abed, you know?"

"Mmm," Kelni said. "I do miss home, but I'd rather win a new home that'll see me and mine never live on fish heads and stale bread six months of every year, while the nobles throw out more fish than they eat."

"Very true," Rath murmured.

He was grateful the horns rang before the conversation could continue. He didn't want to talk to anyone but Tress. The only good thing about the past two days was that he'd found time to work, get his laundry done, and buy some staples to keep in his room.

"Competitors!" The crier announced from his barrel. He clapped his hands until everyone had quieted. Once they'd done so, he rattled off the ten starting numbers. Only twenty or so away from Rath's number. He'd be waiting a few hours, but that was better than waiting the whole day. He might actually be able to buy some food and ale and just relax in his room for the night.

The first ten shuffled off toward the enormous maze that had been constructed in the large field beside the fairgrounds. Time was marked for each person as they entered the maze, again when they reached the center, and at the end when they came out of the maze.

When everyone was finished, their times would be combined with their melee and duel scores, and the top ten would be competing for 'the honor of marrying His Royal Highness Prince Isambard'. The next fifty would compete for the six duchies, the next hundred for the seventeen earldoms, and the remaining for the fifty-four baronies.

At least it was a maze. Even Rath's foul mood cheered slightly at the thought. He'd always loved the little mazes they set up for children during the Spring Festival and the Harvest Festival. They were one of his fondest memories, some of the only days where he was allowed simply to play. There hadn't been much chance for leisure growing up, but even his Counter-Fate mother had always taken him to the city celebrations on festival days. He'd do the mazes over and over until he got hungry or someone made him stop. Had always felt a pang walking by them on his way to or from work once he'd gotten too old for such things.

He found a bare strip of grass and stretched out, wrapping his threadbare cloak about him to ward off the worst of the chilly morning. A couple more weeks and there'd be frost. The tournament was not going to be fun going then, but there was too much work to be done to do it any other time of the year.

If he was a fancy lord whose fate was resting on the tournament, a lord who generally preferred to have his nose buried in a book, where would he be? Rath sighed. He'd be safely in his comfortable home reading a damned book and forgetting completely about the ungrateful whore who'd told him to go away.

Rath was such a fucking fool.

He dozed for a bit, stirring whenever the horns announced another competitor had completed the challenge. He was about to go mad with waiting when they finally called his name. Practically leaping to his feet, he hastened over to the crier, who motioned to one of the two north-facing entrances.

The clerk stationed there consulted a fancy little watch that was slowly becoming popular amongst High City folk. He marked something by Rath's name, then looked at him. "You are not allowed to mark the paths, walls, or anything else within the maze. You are not allowed to speak to any other competitor you may encounter. When you reach the center, you will be given a flag by the officials there. I will give you a slip of paper that they will request. They'll return it with the flag, and when you come out of the maze again, give both to me or another clerk. Once we've marked you, take both to the high table. If you do not emerge after two hours, you automatically fail the challenge and default to competing for the baronies. Any questions?" Rath shook his head. The clerk jotted something on a small scrap of paper and handed it to Rath. Once he'd taken it and tucked it away, the clerk said, "Begin."

Rath headed into the maze, heart pounding, mind scrabbling frantically. He shouldn't
care
, but now that he was doing it, the desire to do well sprang to the fore.

He went left at the first split, heart pounding harder when it didn't immediately lead to a dead end. The second split he went right and that
did
dead end. He backtracked carefully, kept going, marking every twist and turn on his arm with his nail the way he'd done as a youth while still trying to learn the city and the docks without getting hopelessly lost.

How long it took him to find the center, he had no way of knowing. It felt like at least an hour had passed, but hopefully, the way back would move faster.

There was a cluster of guards and clerks at the very center of the large square. One clerk snapped his fingers. "The slip of paper they gave you at the start."

Rath pulled it from his coin purse and handed it over. The clerk grunted, looked at him with something that almost seemed like approval, and said to one of the guards, "Purple."

"Really?" The guard smiled as he bent to pull a small square of purple cloth from the chest in the center of the cluster. He handed it to Rath, and the clerk handed over the slip of paper again with new markings upon it. Tucking everything away once more, Rath gave them an awkward salute and trekked back, following the marks on his arm to get out of the maze.

Winding up where he started, he promptly dug out the slip of paper and purple flag and handed them over. Like the other clerk, this one gave him a startled look. He gestured to the nearby guards. "Gold."

"Gold it is," the guard said with an easy grin and pulled a bit of dark yellow cloth from the sack at his hip. "There you go."

"Thank you," Rath said. The clerk handed back his slip of paper and purple flag, and Rath carried it all over to the tables.

The clerk there perked up the same as the other two. Had he done well? Done poorly? He wasn't sure which he preferred, but it didn't matter since he had every intention of doing whatever it took to lose the first challenge of the final round.

"Well done, competitor," the clerk said formally but with a smile. "What's your name?"

"Rathatayen."

Her expression turned sympathetic. She glanced at the slip of paper, nodded to herself, then shuffled through the papers in front of her and made several marks by his name. Half the names on that page had been completely marked out. Had they not shown or something?

Looking up again, the clerk said, "Report here tomorrow at the market bell, just in case everything finishes early. If it looks like the challenge will continue throughout the day, they'll send you away, and you should come again the same time the day after. If you are not here when the sorting announcement is made, you will be disqualified. The challenges will begin on lenday and will take up all of your time for the next three months. Make certain that you tell anyone who needs to know. You will be given suitable time for rest, food, and so forth. Should you ever fail to complete a challenge, you will be immediately disqualified. Further rules will be explained after the sorting ceremony. Any questions?"

"No," Rath said.

"Give me your left hand, then," the woman said. Rath frowned but offered his hand. She wrapped a bit of string around his second finger, then made more notes by his name. "All right, you are free to go for the day."

"Thank you." Slipping away, Rath slowly made his way back to the city, once more looking anxiously around for any sign of Tress. But even in and around the spectator seats, Rath could not spot him. Well, what had he expected? For Tress to seek him out after everything Rath had said? Rath was more likely to win the tournament.

Not that he had forgotten what Tress had said, either. It
was
completely like a noble to sling around those kinds of insults the very moment they didn't get what they wanted. He hadn't realized how much he'd wanted Tress to be different until he'd proven to be just like all the rest.

Rath still kept hoping they'd both been wrong and might make amends, even if they once more went their separate ways in the end.

He tried to shove the fretting over Tress aside as he reached the gates. He had plenty of other matters to worry about and also happier things to focus on. Like going to see his mother to tell her all was well for the present. He might even have penny enough to buy her a sweet.

Yes, that was what he'd do. Buy his mother a sweet and tell her the good news. It was too late in the day to pick up work, anyway, and Trin wasn't expecting him, so he could enjoy a few hours with his mother and then have the whole rest of the night to himself.

Heading quickly across town, he waved to Anta as he slipped in the back door and quickly climbed the stairs to his room. He washed his face and hands, combed his hair, then retrieved his money from its hiding place in the wall behind his bed.

All set, he hit the streets again and headed out on the long walk up Low City, bound for the common bridge. He'd almost reached the end of Apple Street when men grabbed him up and shoved him into a narrow alleyway—too narrow for him to slip by the three men blocking him into it.

Rath swore loudly. Had his father pissed off Friar again already? But no, he knew most of Friar's goons, and at least one familiar face would have come along—if only for the personal pleasure of getting back at Rath for some comment he probably shouldn't have made.

These guys were unfamiliar and wore the kinds of clothes that wealthy people, or the goons that worked for wealthy people, wore when they were trying to blend into Low City. Tress dressed similarly, but on him it had somehow been charming.

On these men it was ominous because it meant he'd pissed off someone with money, which in Low City usually meant he was going to wind up floating in the harbor.

The man in the center of the cluster sneered. "Been looking for you, you uppity little whore."

"Piss off," Rath said. "I haven't been bothering anyone."

"You're bothering plenty," the man in the center said, baring his teeth in a smile probably meant to be threatening. It lacked something due to the missing and broken teeth. He surged forward and grabbed Rath by the front of his shirt, twisted, and slammed him into the wall. Pain burst in the back of Rath's skull and his thigh, where it struck a broken, sharp-edged bit. He could feel blood, hot and sticky, soaking into his pants and running down his leg. "If you know what's good for you, you'll not show up to the tournament tomorrow, understand?"

"If I don't show up, they'll want back the marks they gave me!" Rath said. "I don't need the city guard coming after me anymore than I need you."

The man thumped him against the wall again, then dropped him to the ground and kicked him in the stomach. "Guess you'd better get out of it quickly, then. You ain't gone after the first challenge, you'll find yourself regretting it sorely, understand?"

Rath would have happily replied that he did, but he was too busy not being able to breathe. The man gave a mean laugh, kicked him again, then bent and rifled roughly through his clothes. Rath tried to push him away, but the man just swatted his hand off, slammed his face into the ground so hard that Rath's nose started bleeding, and finally found the coins stashed in an inner pocket of Rath's jacket. He fumbled around a bit more, then after a painful warning squeeze to Rath's injured thigh, signaled to his men and departed.

Tears stinging his eyes, Rath just concentrated on breathing until it mostly didn't hurt to do that. Then he focused on sitting up, a difficult task between his scraped palms, injured thigh, and two solid kicks to his gut.

Standing was even less fun.