Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 56: THE TELGAM GAMES ( Chapter 25 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Rejoining civilization, the Greil Mercenaries took simple jobs as needed to get by. They guarded a wagon laden with tax money. They tracked down and apprehended a variety of criminals: a man suspected of murder, a known killer, a large group of thieves, a couple infamous poachers, and so on. Some of their jobs were less typical: a group of parents paid them to scare their gang of kids into giving up their burgeoning lives as petty criminals, and some young men and women paid them to teach them how to fight. When jobs were scarce, they could always count on Mist and Rhys healing sick folk in return for food and shelter.

They spent the next four months wandering the regions of Gaddos and Seliora, where they found winter in Begnion relatively mild. Now that spring had come, they were planning to head north for Tor Garen, when their most recent employer offered a different suggestion.

“Why go to Daein, when there’s so much fortune to be made here?” he said (although no one had asked him). “All these upstarts headin’ north haven’t a clue the opportunities right under their noses!” He was happily patting the neck of one of his mares (a beast that would no longer have to fear horse thieves thanks to the Greil Mercenaries).

“Such as?” Titania asked, because it was obvious he wanted them to.

“I double my earnin’s each year in one week. Do you want to know how?”

“Sure,” Mist offered politely.

“Gamblin’.” The man stopped patting his horse to cross his arms.

“That sounds risky,” Oscar observed.

“Hah! Only someone bad at gambling would say that!”

Oscar looked slightly offended.

“Can someone be good at gambling?” Ike asked, bored and skeptical.

“Of course you can!” the stablemaster returned confidently. “You just got to know your stock. I bet on horse racin’ most often, but one week a year, I do my real earnin’.”

“And what happens on this particular week?” Titania asked, annoyance creeping into her voice.

The stablemaster smiled smugly. “The Telgam Games, of course! Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Telgam Games?”

Ike seemed to be thinking hard. “Telgam is the region west of here…”

“Exactly, exactly.” He nodded. “It’s the most famous strongman competition in all of Begnion. Been tradition for about a hundred years, prob’ly.”

“And you bet on the contestants?” Ike asked, as if he were having trouble following.

“And win,” he corrected.

“You’re particularly excited,” Soren observed, “which suggests the games are taking place soon. You hired us to hunt down those thieves so you wouldn’t have to worry while you’re gone. When is it? And what is the reward for the winning contestant?”

The stablemaster, who’d been warry of Soren since first meeting the mercenaries, appeared unnerved by his direct questions and analytical tone. “Just a couple weeks’ time. I’m headin’ out the day after tomorrow.” He paused, but Soren held his gaze to remind him of the second question. “Let me think… The pot changes e’ery year, but it gets the thirty-gold ante from each contestant, and us’ally some rare and valuable items too.”

Soren turned to Ike. “What do you think?”

“You’re saying we should check it out?” Ike asked, confused.

Soren shrugged. “I am asking you what you think.” He didn’t care about these games one way or another, but if it meant delaying their visit to Daein, he was willing to make the trip.

“I’d like to go!” Mia exclaimed, hand in the air. 

“I bet I could win,” Boyd laughed, flexing the muscles in both his arms.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Titania shrugged.

“Ladies probably wait all year just to swoon at the sidelines…” Gatrie mused with a dreamy expression.

Ike sighed. “I guess Daein can wait.”

The stablemaster glanced from mercenary to mercenary as if surprised. But then his gaze grew stern and focused. He blatantly examined each man in the company (although completely passing over Soren, Rhys, and Rolf). The mercenaries grew quiet and awkward under his gaze.

“Are we done here?” Ike asked, obviously annoyed.

The stablemaster laughed, his expression changing again. He stuck out his hand so Ike could shake it. “Perhaps I will see you in Telgam!”

“Perhaps you will,” Ike agreed, accepting the handshake. “I don’t know much about gambling, but I do know one thing for sure: we’re all good bets.”

The man guffawed. “Now you’re speaking my language!”

 

Instead of heading north to Daein, the Greil Mercenaries continued west to Telgam hold. It was easy to get directions, since everyone they met was familiar with the festivities. Many were nearly as excited as the stablemaster, and some were even participants themselves, also on their way the games.

When they finally arrived, the first thing they saw was the enormous arena atop the hill just outside Telgam City. The road between the two was lined with vendors, and the base of the hill was similarly lined. In the plain beyond, a second city of tents had been erected with more arriving every hour. On either end of the campground were two more arenas. These were smaller and squarer than the one on the hill. Two roads connected them to the main hill, and these were lined with yet more vendors.

Smoke rose from countless cookfires. The spring air smelled like simmering meat and fried breadstuffs. The brisk night was kept warm by the proximity of so many bodies, and even as the evening hours drew on, the atmosphere was pervaded by laughter and drunken voices. There were so many torches and lanterns, the light seemed to overpower the stars in the sky. (Then again, their invisibility may also have been due to all the smoke.)

Having arrived several hours after sunset, the mercenaries explored the encampment and sought more information about the games. If Soren’s count was correct (which it always was), the competition was set to start the day after tomorrow.

“That’s not fair!” Mia cried suddenly. She ran her eyes over the document pinned to a wooden post for a second time, but the message didn’t change. It was a notification about the games’ rules. “No girls allowed?”

“Well it is a strong-man’s competition,” Gatrie chuckled.

Mia glared at him with fire in her eyes. “You wanna go?”

Gatrie raised his palms in mock-surrender. They sparred hand-to-hand often enough and were well matched if allowed to use the full extent of their strength and wits. But this was no place for such a brawl.

“What are the other rules?” Ike asked, edging to the front so he could read. “The age limit is eighteen, so you’re out too, Rolf.”

Rolf shrugged as if he didn’t mind. “Ah, that’s okay. I would’ve only wanted to do the archery competition anyway.”

“What kinds of competitions are there?” Boyd asked eagerly. However, this poster only listed the rules, not the outline of the games, so the mercenaries moved on. Most of the vendors were still open despite the late hour, so they picked up some greasy food and asked the stand’s owner about the games.

“Ah! You’ll be wantin’ to go the game hall. That’s where you sign up too. You boys thinking about participatin’?” He was clearly addressing Ike, Gatrie, and Boyd—the biggest of the group and the only ones who seemed the ‘strongman’ type. Oscar and Shinon were both on the leaner side, Rhys looked at first glance exactly how weak he was, and Rolf was still muddling through puberty (even if he’d had a significant growth spurt recently). Soren, of course, was Soren.

“We’re considering it,” Ike said with a shrug. “Can you point us in the right direction?”

“Sure I can,” the cheery vendor replied and quickly relayed instructions.

“Thanks,” Ike nodded and turned.

“Hold on, hold on!” he stopped them before they could slip away. “What towns are you representing? You don’t sound like you’re from around here—don’t tell me you came all the way from Tanas?”

Ike looked confused. “Do we have to represent a town?”

“Well, no.” The man seemed offended. “But the Telgam Games are a big deal! Bringin’ home the winner’s pot means bringin’ home a lot of honor for your hometown. We get more and more people every year. They’re comin’ from all over Begnion these days.”

“We’re mercenaries,” Ike explained. “From Crimea. But I guess if one of us wins, it makes our company look good.”

This answer seemed to annoy the vendor. A dark expression covered his friendly smile, like shreds of clouds passing over the sun. “Well, just make sure you respect the games,” he said by means of farewell.

The Greil Mercenaries headed toward the game hall. It was a long trek, and they ate their sticky, greasy cakes and licked their fingers as they walked.

 

The game hall stood at the edge of the city, and its porch opened outward so the front room had a perfect view of the hilltop arena. Heavily armed guards were stationed both inside and out. They eyed the mercenaries (and their weapons) warily.

A warm fire crackled in the hearth, beside which was a counter with two tired-looking young women behind it. Even at this time of night, they each had a line (albeit a short one). Eavesdropping for only a moment revealed that the people in line were all signing up to participate.

Rather than join the procession, the mercenaries turned their attention to the north-facing wall, which was plastered with information about the games in large, bold print. (Though Soren wondered how many of the participants could even read.)

The Telgam Games lasted seven days, and each day was themed. The first contained preliminary examinations: a series of exercises and demonstrations for all participants to prove their fitness. (It didn’t say to whom, but Soren could only assume it was to prove their abilities to the bettors in the audience). The next day was the first set of real events, and these were speed-based competitions ranging from footraces to horseracing. Participants had to compete in two of the offerings (this seemed to be the requirement for most of the days). After each event, the participates would be given scores based on their performance relative to their competitors. At the end of each day, a certain percentage was eliminated from the bottom ranks.

Day three featured accuracy-based events, ranging from archery to throwing javelins.

Day four promised still more throwing of things, this time for distance. Events ranged from disc-throwing to a simple stone toss.

Day five was balancing games. These ranged from trying to stand on a log in the middle of a pond to completing an obstacle course with an item on one’s head.

Day six was designated for two-on-two fighting, in which participants were paired and forced to fight against other pairs. Despite being competitors, they would have to work together in order to succeed and move up in the rankings. The types included punch-outs, wrestling, and some sort of fight with short wooden sticks held in each hand. Participants only had to choose one in which to compete.

The final day was the grand finale, during which the remaining contestants fought each other one-on-one in a tournament style until a single winner was left. The types of fighting were the same from the previous day, with the addition of something called shin-kicking. The participants could choose what style they started with, but as the day wore on, they would potentially have to fight in each of the four styles.

“It seems pricy given there’s no guarantee you will make it to the end…” Titania observed despite being unable to participate. “I recommend we spectate only.” Soren agreed, but he had a feeling as least one of the mercenaries would end up wasting their coin on the entrance fee.

“Hold on a second.” Shinon raised his hands. “We haven’t seen the prize.”

“This way,” said a young woman beside them. Apparently she’d been there the whole time. With hands clasped in front of her, she led the mercenaries to a tight-linked iron grate closing off a side room. Two guards were stationed on either side. “You may see for yourself,” she said, and the mercenaries crowded to see.

Inside the room was a trove of gold coins, red and blue gems, a fancy-looking sword, and two ancient-looking staves. Shinon whistled appreciatively under his breath.

A moment later, one of the young women at the counter deposited the coins she’d collected from participants into a slot in the wall. They clattered down a chute and dropped into the room on the other side of the grate. “Those are all from participants?” Ike asked.

“Yes, we have about six hundred competing this year,” the woman answered tonelessly. “With the ante at thirty gold per person, we expect a pot of eighteen thousand gold, with the additional items donated by generous families around Telgam.”

“Those staves,” Mist whispered to Ike, her voice filled with awe. “That’s a Hammerne and a Fortify Staff. They’re both really rare!”

Ike glanced from his sister to the staves. “Are you sure?”

Mist nodded.

“Would you like them?”

Mist looked embarrassed. “Oh, no it doesn’t matter.”

Ike wasn’t convinced. “I am going to win the games and get them for you.”

“Really, Brother, that’s not-”

“You’ll have to beat me to do it!” challenged Boyd. “Don’t worry, Mist, I will win you those staves. And then you’ll have to drop the Boss and be my sister instead. Muhahaha!” 

“Boyd, you- you idiot,” Mist stammered.

“If we’re doing it for Mist, count me in,” Oscar said with a smile.

“Naturally, I will be participating as well,” Gatrie said, with a wink aimed at the young woman. She grimaced in reply, no doubt used to this every day.

“I’ll give it a shot, but for the sweet, sweet cash,” Shinon said, crossing his arms. “Nothing else.”

“Rhys! Soren!” Ike laughed, throwing his arms around the necks of Boyd and Gatrie on either side. “You should join too!”

“I-I couldn’t possibly,” Rhys stuttered. Soren just stared, dumbstruck by the fact that Ike would even suggest such a thing.

“You don’t have to worry about winning! It’ll be fun to do it together.”

“You mean compete against each other,” Soren couldn’t help but point out, finding his tongue.

“Still sounds fun!” Boyd laughed. He shrugged off Ike’s arm and aimed a friendly punch at his kidney, which he easily blocked, smiling and only taking his eyes off Soren and Rhys for a second.

“No roughhousing in the game hall,” droned the young woman. (Again, she probably saw this a lot.)

“Well, I suppose I could try to last for a day,” Rhys said timidly. Soren blanched again, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“C’mon, Soren, now you have to do it,” Ike urged. The others were already migrating toward the counter. Mia was pouting with her arms crossed and shoulders scrunched. Mist still looked embarrassed.

“Come on, Soren,” Boyd mimicked Ike’s urging.

“Absolutely not.” Soren crossed his arms in a manner he hoped looked more dignified than Mia’s. Rhys was already making him look like a coward by joining when Soren dared not. But actually participating and putting himself on display just to be humiliated would make him an even bigger fool. On this he would never budge.

   Gatrie and Oscar had each reached a counter and were counting a combination of gold coins and Begnion credits. The others continued to urge Soren to join.

Except Shinon of course. “He couldn’t join even if he wanted to,” he sneered. “Don’t you guys remember? No kids allowed.”

This made Soren bristle, but he still didn’t concede.

“C’mon, Soren, prove him wrong!” egged Ike.

Soren just wished they would all stop. “No.”

But then Ike’s laughing subsided, and he grew more serious. This new expression was one of harsh kindness. “You owe me, Soren. Do this one thing.”

That made Soren freeze, and his walls came tumbling down.

Apparently, this showed on his face, because Ike grinned as if he knew he’d already won. “That’s right. I’m calling in my favor.”

Soren couldn’t believe Ike was bringing that up here, now, with everyone around. Their expressions were curious. They must never know, he reminded himself, They wouldn’t forgive me like he did. Fear of this conversation continuing, rather than the actual favor itself, forced the next word from his mouth: “Fine.”

Ike looked victorious.

Soren glowered. He couldn’t believe Ike had cashed in his favor on something as meaningless as this. But if he wanted him to do it that badly, Soren would grit his teeth and play along.

“So mysterious,” crooned Titania.

Fortunately, the matter of Soren’s debt was soon forgotten. Mia stamped her foot and cursed loudly. “Damn it! Why can’t I play?”

“Perhaps you and I can coach the others,” Titania offered in consolation. “You’re right that it is an unfair and outdated rule. But I think you’ll find we’re better off for it this time.”

In reply, Mia snorted like an ox.

Soren and the others paid their ante. It was probably the largest waste of money he’d ever spent, and he found himself hoping someone in the company would win so they could earn all of their money back. But even as he thought it, he didn’t know if he believed it was possible

“You won’t make it past day one,” Shinon sneered in a low voice.

Soren glared. Then, recalling what he’d read on the wall, he said, “I’ll take that bet. Thirty gold.”

Shinon’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth twisted cruelly. “Confident are ya?”

“Very,” Soren returned.

“Fine, thirty gold, then.”

They shook hands, and Shinon’s grip was a sharp squeeze.

Soren’s mood instantly improved. What Shinon had either forgotten or hadn’t read clearly in the first place was that no one was eliminated on day one. Therefore, Soren was sure to make back his money.

  

The mercenaries pitched two tents among the hundreds of others. As usual, the women took the smaller one and the men the larger. They were cramped quarters but nothing the Greil Mercenaries weren’t used to.

None but Soren seemed immune to the festive atmosphere, so rather than preparing a simple meal at their own cookfire, everyone wanted to venture forth and buy their breakfast. At the vendors’ trumped-up prices, Soren disapproved. But he went along anyway.

The rest of the morning was spent completing their registration by choosing the events they would participate in and receiving their time slots and the locations where the various events would take place.

After an overpriced lunch, they broke into groups to train. Soren, Rhys, and Shinon had all signed up for swimming as one of their two races on the second day. Since it had been a good long while since any of them had actually swum, they practiced in the river nearby. They were joined by at least twenty other men, and Soren hated every minute of it.

Meanwhile, Rolf was instructing Ike and Boyd in archery. Apparently they’d been emboldened by their middling success at Astrid’s and signed up for the archery competition on the third day. Similarly, Mia later gave knife-throwing lessons to Soren and Rhys, Oscar javelin-throwing lessons to Soren, Rhys, and Shinon, and Boyd axe-throwing lessons to Ike, Gatrie, and Oscar.

Next to Rhys, Soren needed the most tutelage. He abhorred the feeling of the knife grip in his palm, the uneven weight of the javelin on his right side. He felt like a fool throwing these things, and he knew he looked like one. His arms felt like noodles he couldn’t fully control. But he swallowed his humiliation for Ike’s sake.

 

After their lessons, Mia slipped away. Soren still had one of her knives, and rather than hold on to the dreadful object, he tracked her down to return it. Even in the crowded camp, it was relatively easy for Soren to locate one of the familiar mercenaries.

To his surprise, however, when he finally found Mia, she didn’t look familiar at all. Her hair was tied in a tight bun. Her usual brightly-colored clothes had been replaced by a loose gray shirt and brown pants. The neck of the shirt was high, and there was dirt on her face, which was shaded with a wide-brimmed straw hat. And most striking of all—a bushy blue mustache adorned her upper lip, which she seemed to keep suspended by contorting her face in a ridiculous expression. When she saw him, her jaw dropped and the mustache held (clearly affixed with some sort of adhesive). “You’re competing,” he noted.

Mia pulled him aside to where they were less likely to be overheard. “I sure am,” she declared in an indignantly hushed tone. “Don’t tell the Boss.”

Soren didn’t think Ike would care; he would probably just laugh and wish her luck. Titania was the one to watch out for. She had an unhealthy respect for rules. “Give me a reason not to,” he said, although he didn’t actually care one way or another. If he had leverage, he was going to use it. While he considered his next move, he handed Mia the knife.

She took it without looking at it and whined under her breath: “What do you want?” She flipped the knife once in her hand, as if out of frustration, and then it disappeared into her shirt.

Soren couldn’t think of anything he wanted that Mia could actually provide. There was always money, but that was boring. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“Well, that shouldn’t be my problem,” she pouted, arms crossed. 

“I will think of something,” Soren decided. “You’ll just owe me until then.”

“That’s not-” Mia growled under her breath. “Fine. Whatever. But you’d better not tell anyone about this, and you have to cover for me if anyone wonders where I’ve gone, got it?”

“Agreed.”

She extended his hand, and Soren shook it. A mischievous smiled played across her lips. Then she saluted conspiratorially before disappearing into the crowd.

 

Soren considered pretending to be sick in the morning, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even had a runny nose and doubted he could fake it. He could feign food poisoning, but that was just embarrassing (and he knew the mercenaries would see right through the act).

There was nothing to do but rise when the others rose. Sleeping crammed together in a single tent, it wasn’t difficult to synchronize their morning routines. He dressed normally but left his wind tome behind; it wasn’t going to help him today. The rest of the men left their weapons behind as well. Rhys held his Heal staff hesitantly, seemingly uncertain about letting it go.

“What if someone gets injured?” he asked tentatively.

“I’m sure they will have healers on hand,” Oscar replied.

“It’s the preliminaries,” Boyd laughed. “No one’s going to get hurt.”

“You should worry about yourself,” Shinon sneered under his breath. It was unclear whether he was addressing Rhys or Boyd.

 

A cool mist hung over the tent camp, and it was just beginning to rise when the mass migration began. Hundreds of men sauntered toward the hilltop arena. Some walked arm-in-arm with old friends and new. Others had an arm around the waists of their wives and girlfriends. Others walked alone, arms pumping as if the commute to the arena itself might be a secret test. Many of the competitors left their campsites in the hands of boys and girls they’d hired from town to watch their things. Titania was their own tent-sitter today, which allowed Mist, Rolf, and Mia to walk with them.

Ike was wearing his headband as if heading into battle, but he looked off-balance without his sword and armor. In fact, everyone looked a bit strange. Naturally, Soren had seen them without their weapons and armor countless times before, but rarely like this. The mercenaries were walking toward a fight, but not because they had to or because anyone was paying them to do it. They were fighting for fun. The only other time Soren remembered seeing them like this was when they’d participated in the games at Phoenicis’s autumn festival. Fighting without weapons or armor—fighting for fun—it was a laguz thing to do.

 

After checking in and receiving their numbers, the six hundred or so participants assembled in rows on the arena floor. By the time the town mayor began his announcements, the raised seats around the arena were filled with spectators and bettors. Mist and Rolf were up there somewhere, but Soren had no idea where. He had better luck locating Mia, who was standing several rows back. The rest of the mercenaries stood on his right, because they were assembled in the order they’d signed up.

The mayor finished his less-than-inspiring speech, and the preliminaries began at the sound of a low, ceremonial horn. The mass of men (plus Mia) was then sub-divided into six groups, and each group began exercising their members. The results were monitored by officials scratching away at scrolls of paper held against wooden boards. Soren endured the incessant sound of scribbling, the nasally voice of their group’s director, and the hungry gazes of bettors raining down from above.

The true trials, however, were even worse. First the competitors were all weighed and measured like meat at a butcher’s shop. Then they began completing the required tasks one at a time. Weight-lifting, sprinting, jumping for height, jumping for distance, climbing over a wall, climbing up a rope, throwing a punch, kicking a dummy, stretching for flexibility and balance, throwing things, catching things—the tests seemed endless. And each seemed even more humiliating than the last.

Soren ignored the snickering, the whispered insults (and the shouted ones) whenever it was his turn. It wasn’t anything he didn’t already get from Shinon. They called him kid, girl, invalid, faggot, freak, waif, and so on. They demanded to know why he was here, what audacity had led him to join, and what joke the administrators were playing by letting him stay. The mocked him; they laughed. But they didn’t threaten him. Naturally, they weren’t intimidated enough to bother.

Soren wasn’t the only recipient of unkind words. Everyone called insults, challenges, and threats to each other. They described in detail the brutal (and often disgusting) things they were going to do to each other on the sixth and seventh days. But this was a sign of respect. They actually expected the victims of their verbal slaughter to make it to the sixth and seventh days. Naturally, Ike, Boyd, and Gatrie each received a barrage such as this.

Soren was used to the slurs and insinuations, and yet they grated on him like never before. He was conscious of Ike’s ears hearing all of this and Ike’s eyes comparing him to the rest. Soren didn’t usually care about how small and weak he looked, but he did wonder if Ike cared. He wondered what Ike preferred.

These were pointless musings. Not for the first time, Soren reprimanded himself and told himself to stop thinking about Ike that way. Sometimes he succeeded, but never for long. At least for now, he would try to focus on these ridiculous challenges.

 

They broke for two hours around the middle of the day, and the mercenaries returned to Titania. She greeted them with a cheery wave and a cold lunch. She was looking very relaxed, apparently having made a throne for herself by piling up everyone’s belongings. She had a pair of needles and a ball of red yarn in her lap, but the tangled mess strung between the needles could hardly be called knitting. “How is it going?” she asked brightly.

“Not well, I’m afraid,” Rhys pouted, sitting beside her and relieving her of the yarn. He raised an eyebrow in concern. “How has it been here?”

“Dreadfully boring!” Titania sighed. “At first I chatted with some of the other ladies who’ve stayed behind, but I don’t think they liked me much.” (She shrugged as if to say she didn’t know why that would be.) “Where’s Mia? I thought she was replacing me for the afternoon?”

Ike’s brow drew in concern. “I thought she beat us back. You haven’t seen her?”

Rolf and Mist exchanged glances, and she added: “She slipped away when we were taking our seats—saying she was going to look for an outhouse. But we haven’t seen her since.”

Ike frowned. “Should we go looking for her?”

“It’s Mia,” Gatrie guffawed, “She can take care of herself just fine.”

Ike didn’t appear convinced.

Realizing it was time for him to keep his end of the bargain, Soren spoke up. “I know where she is.” Everyone looked surprised. “She is helping me place bets,” he quickly lied. “She is probably charming the bettors now.”

“Mia? Charming?” Shinon snorted.

“Why didn’t you say so! I think I’d like in on that action.” Gatrie rubbed his chin.

“But, isn’t it against the rules for competitors to place bets?” Mist asked.

“I didn’t take you for a gambler,” Titania said disapprovingly

Soren turned to Ike, the only one whose reaction mattered, and awaited his judgment.

“What you do with your own money is your own business, but you should leave Mia out of it. Tell her the deal’s off after lunch.” Ike uttered the words as if passing a sentence. Everyone accepted this and turned their mouths to their meals. Soren was satisfied his lie had held for now.

After lunch, he pretended to search of Mia but walked around the camp until it was time for the competitors to return. He played with the idea of not going, but then Shinon would win the bet, and Soren would have lost sixty gold in the debacle. Grudgingly, he put one foot in front of the other and headed to the arena for a second round of humiliation. 

 

By the end of the day, Soren was exhausted. Not that it had been particularly hard work—the vast majority of the time had been spent waiting and watching the hundred other men performing their exercises, which had quickly become mind-numbingly boring. Only Ike’s turns had captured his interest.

When each of the six groups were finally finished, the town mayor declared the end to the first day, announcing that the results would be made public in three hours’ time at the game hall. He added that participants in the carrier race would be given priority to look at the board.

“Why’s that I wonder?” asked Oscar as the mercenaries exited the arena.

“We have to choose our partners before tomorrow,” Ike yawned.

“The person we carry during the race has to be another competitor in the games,” Gatrie explained, “someone from the weight class directly below us.”

“I see,” Oscar nodded. “And if you can’t find anyone?”

“Oh, you just get matched with somebody,” Boyd answered. “I’m not worried about it.”

“So all three of you are signed up to compete?”

Ike grinned. “Yup—tomorrow we’ll be opponents!”

“Why wait until tomorrow?” Boyd wrapped Ike into a chokehold, but he easily pulled out of the hold and wrenched Boyd’s arm behind his back. Rather than hold him there, however, he released him and kept walking with a satisfied smile.

“So who’s getting Soren?” chimed Shinon in an oily voice.

“What?” he snapped back.

“You’ve got to be the scrawniest competitor in the games,” Shinon explained. “Which makes you the prettiest girl at the party. For once in your life, everyone’s gonna to want to dance with you.”

Soren glared for a few moments before saying, “Yes, I am a competitor, and the first day is over, which means it is time for you to pay up. I’ll accept gold, Begnion credits, or Crimean silver. Don’t try to dump Daein copper on me. You know it’s worthless these days.”

Now it was Shinon’s turn to scowl. “This didn’t count as the first day.”

“What else would you call it?” Soren asked. “Pay up if your word is worth anything.”

Shinon growled something under his breath about taking care of it when they got back to the tent (with a few choice words scattered in), but Soren was satisfied he would uphold his end of the bargain.

“What is with you and gambling today?” Gatrie laughed.

“It is half the fun of the Telgam Games, remember?” Soren replied icily. “Besides, it wasn’t much of a gamble. Shinon is just an idiot.”

Shinon lunged to throttle him, but Soren skipped smoothly around Gatrie’s opposite side. “Hey, hey! Save it for the games!” Gatrie laughed, seizing Shinon in a side-hug to keep him from pursuing Soren any further.

Just then, Titania jogged to them though the quickly-thinning crowd. Mist had elected to stay at the camp since Mia had never returned, and Rolf had elected to stay with Mist. “Good show, boys!” Titania congratulated them. “How about we celebrate with a dinner in the city tonight?” She held up a scrap of paper the size of her hand that screamed ‘Coupon!’ in thick black ink. “They were passing these out in the stands. I was lucky to get one.” She passed it to Ike, and Soren suspected luck had nothing to do with it. He imagined Titania pushing other spectators out of the way—possibly launching herself over their heads.

“Sounds good,” Ike said, handing the coupon off to Soren. “Let’s get back to Mist and Rolf, then we can wash up a bit before we go.” He glanced around. “Hopefully Mia shows up too.” His gaze settled expectantly on Soren.

Soren considered saying he couldn’t find her. But he didn’t want Ike to worry, so he decided to spin a more elaborate lie: “I was able to track her down, but unable to speak to her. She was fighting at the time. It seems she’s started up an unofficial competition among women and boys too young to compete.”

“Well, that sounds legal,” Shinon snorted sarcastically.

“Oh well,” Ike sighed. “At least she’s having fun.” (Soren made a mental note to catch Mia up on her growing list of alibis the next time he saw her.)

 

Gatrie, Shinon, Oscar, Boyd, and Rhys departed for the river soon after arriving at camp, but Ike, Mist, Rolf, and Titania went to see a man performing fire tricks several tents down. Soon after they disappeared, Mia snuck back into camp.

“You’re helping me place bets, and you’ve started a fighting ring for women and children,” Soren said by way of greeting.

Mia raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been busy.”

Soren shrugged.

“Well, thanks.” She smiled brightly. “I did pretty good today. How about you?”

“Dismally.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” she laughed. “Where have the other’s gone off to?”

“Bathing—we’re all going to dinner in the city. I am fairly certain Titania mauled some innocent bystanders to procure a deal for us.”

He hadn’t meant it as a joke, but she laughed anyway. “Alright, I’ll try to catch up. Are you coming along?”

Soren shook his head and ducked inside the empty tent. He would rather use the wash basin than join the others at the river. He’d faced enough humiliation for one day and would hate it if someone recognized him and continued to mock him outside of the games

He was aware of the others returning outside and words passing between them and Mia when their paths crossed, but he tried to ignore them. He removed his tunic, dampened his hair, and started twisting a rag down the strands to remove the dirt and sweat. But then the tent flap burst inward, and the peaceful bubble popped.

Ike strode in. “Hey Soren, I wanted to talk to you-” he was saying (which were hardly ever good words to hear).

“Yes?” He put down the rag and searched for his tunic, which was draped over a rope loop hanging from the tent’s peak. Ike grasped it before he could and handed it to him. But his movements were slow, and he seemed suddenly distracted by something. Soren couldn’t help but notice his gaze lingered on the ugly scar Petrine had engraved on his chest. Of all the pockmarks the war had left on his body, this had attracted the most attention from the people of Zunanma too. But Soren would have hoped Ike was used to it by now. “What?” he asked in irritation, pulling on the tunic.

Ike shook his head. “Sorry. It’s just, every time I see that scar, I remember how close we were to losing you that day… You could have died.”

The scar stretched horizontally across his chest, sweeping across his heart and ending near his left shoulder. It was dark pink, raised, and gruesome—a remnant of a wound most people wouldn’t have walked away from. As someone with a Brand in the center of his forehead, Soren knew it was foolish to be vain, and yet he was glad the ugly thing was now covered. “It was war,” he said dismissively. “We all could have died every second of every battle.”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Ike drew a hand down his face as if struggling with a difficult thought. Soren doubted this was the original purpose of his intrusion, but apparently Ike wanted to have this conversation now. “It never seemed like it at the time, but you’re right. That day by Riven Bridge, I saw you fall and I fought Petrine instead of checking on you. When I defeated her, I left you with Mist and ran off to fight someone else. Anyone else. I left you there, and I didn’t give it another thought.”

“You couldn’t.” Soren hoped Ike wasn’t actually beating himself up about such a small thing. “You had a battle to win—and Crimeans to treat with, if I remember correctly. If you’d allowed yourself to be so easily distracted, we never would have won the war.”

“Maybe…” Ike didn’t seem convinced.

Silence stretched between them until Soren put an end to it. “What did you want to talk about?” he asked. “I am sure you didn’t come to reminisce about old battle scars.”

“Oh yeah, well…” Ike shook his head. “I just wanted to say thank you—and sorry, I suppose. I realize why you might not want to put yourself in front of all those people, and I heard the things some of those guys were say-”

“I am used to it.”

“But still-”

“I am used to it,” he repeated more firmly. “It’s fine. If this is how you want my debt repaid, then I will pay it.”

“That’s not the point,” Ike said, frustrated. “It’s not supposed to be a punishment. It’s supposed to be fun.”

Fun? Soren thought in disbelief, All this ridiculous showmanship? He wondered what could possibly be fun for him in this. Comparing himself to others was humiliating, and he certainly didn’t have an actual chance to win the prize. But the opportunity to prove people wrong didn’t sound too bad. No one expected him to last tomorrow, let alone the day after that. If he did, he wondered how upset people would become. Perhaps they would even be embarrassed.

“Fine,” Soren finally agreed. “I will try to have an open mind.”

This made Ike’s face light up, and he appeared satisfied to have gotten what he wanted. He clapped Soren on the back. “Alright then! I’m off to catch up to the others.” He waved goodbye as he left.

Soren picked up the rag from where he’d set it on the edge of the basin and resumed washing his hair, but he did so with only half his attention. The other half was scheming:

Tomorrow he would have to swim and sprint as fast as he could just to stay in the competition. Greil had taught him to swim when he was young, during the time he’d spent with Ike’s family. Considering it a valuable skill, he’d tried to maintain the practice over the years, but he was no master. As for running, he was generally quick and light on his feet in battle, but in a straight race, the men with longer legs would have the advantage.

If he somehow survived tomorrow, then would come the accuracy and distance contests. These he was sure to fail—unless he cheated. Soren’s true strength was magic. With wind magic in particular, he could achieve pin-point accuracy. However, the use of tomes and magical items was strictly forbidden. Even when they’d entered the arena today, all the competitors had been patted down. The guards were watching for vulneraries, olivi grass, enchanted pure water, holy statue fragments, strength bands, and whatever else a man might bring with him in an attempt to improve his standing. Sneaking a tome in would be impossible. Not to mention the punishment if he was caught would be disqualification and (according to the signs posted around the campgrounds) a day spent in stockades.

But Ike had told Soren to have fun, and to have fun, there had to be a certain level of risk involved. This would be a worthwhile challenge for him, unlike the games themselves. He smiled at the thought; perhaps he could have some fun after all.

 

Soren pulled Mia aside just before dinner. The restaurant was mobbed, and the eleven mercenaries were waiting for a space to clear so they could be seated inside. “I need to talk to you about those bets,” Soren said, loud enough for the others to hear.

“Just a moment,” she said cheerily to Boyd, who happened to be the closest. He just raised his hand in farewell.

Soren and Mia walked until they were out of earshot.

“What is the alias you are using to compete?” he asked first, to throw her off guard.

“Uh, Percival,” she managed, clearly confused. “Percival of Melior. I’m an immigrant from Crimea.”

Soren looked at her skeptically.

“I’m no good with accents, okay?” she said in exasperation. “I was raised just outside of Melior, and I sound about as Crimean as you can get.”

“Fine. What events are you doing on the third day?”.

“Why?” she asked cautiously. When he didn’t answer, she sighed: “Knife and javelin.”

“Perfect.” Soren had expected as much. “Those are the same I will be doing. You are going to help me cheat.”

“What? Why?” She seemed more confused than surprised.

Soren just shrugged. “It could be interesting.” And less embarrassing, he added mentally.

“How?” Mia crossed her arms.

“I’ll bring a page from my tome and use wind magic.”

“They’ll disqualify you if they find out.”

“It’s just a page. I’ll hide it well enough.”

“Alright,” Mia cocked her head. “So how do I play into your plan?”

“Percival and I are going to practice together, and you will help me synchronize my throw with my spell until it looks natural.”

“I’m surprised,” Mia said after a few moments’ pause. “You were completely uninterested in practicing yesterday.”

“Playing by the rules was boring.” It was the only explanation he was going to offer.

“So helping you practice is all?” Mia asked uncertainly. “I suppose that’s safe enough.”

“Do we have a deal?”

Mia spat into her palm and held it out (a practice Soren despised).

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, refusing to take her hand. He made his way back to the restaurant. Wiping her hand on her dress, Mia skipped along too.

 

The mercenaries stood outside until the ground grew cold with frost. But not long after that, they were finally seated inside. The place was packed, smoky, hot, and loud. Most of the patrons appeared to be groups of competitors or competitors with their families.

The mercenaries made the wait worth their while by stuffing their faces, and Soren watched the bill climb. The others were digging into their eighth course (but Soren had laid down his utensils long ago), when the restaurant suddenly seemed even fuller.

Seven tall, red-faced men stood from their table and stepped across the narrow aisle to the mercenaries’. Soren stared at them, perfectly aware of their ill intentions. He’d overheard them murmuring snide comments about the ‘disrespectful foreign bastard mercenaries’ for the past quarter hour. 

Ike noticed them from his place at the head of the table, and he rested both of his fists on the wooden surface. It didn’t take long for the rest to notice, and they all met the men’s surly glares.

“You lot the Cry-me-ants?” asked the one in the middle—possibly the leader of this merry band. His horrendous mispronunciation of ‘Crimea’ was clearly intentional, and Soren wondered why he thought sounding so stupid could be at all threatening.

“What’s it to you?” Ike asked.

“Nothing,” the second man sneered, “You mean nothing to us.” He seemed pleased with himself, as if he’d said something particularly clever.

Ike raised an elegant blue eyebrow. “Alright then.”

“If you’re looking to start something,” Shinon yawned, “get to the point.”

“Why? You looking for a fight?” the first one said, fists raised.

Shinon shrugged and started amusing himself with the mess of bones and gizzards just beyond his plate. He seemed content to ignore them.

A third man, the meekest of the bunch, put a hand on the first’s shoulder and said in a hushed voice, “Hey Bordo, there’s ladies and kids.”

Mia, who was sitting between Ike and Boyd, suddenly stood and slammed both hands on the table. “There are no ladies or kids here. Say what you came to say!”

The second fixed Mia with an amused glare. “Feisty one, aren’t you?”

Mia crossed her arms but didn’t sit back down. “I’ll show you feisty,” she muttered under her breath.

“We just came to deliver a friendly warning to our foreign friends,” the leader—Bordo—said. He leaned back on his heels, getting into the groove of his threat again.

“Shoot,” Ike said almost lazily.

“Maybe you don’t realize this, but this is a Begnion competition. It’s tradition.”

“I think we realized that,” Ike answered. He turned to either side of the table. “You guys realize that?”

“I realized that!” Rolf announced obediently, hand in the air.

This made Bordo actually snarl. “So then maybe you realize that something here doesn’t belong.”

“Is it you?” Gatrie offered, glancing around. The restaurant had fallen silent, and everyone was staring. “I think it might be you. Everyone’s sta-”

“Shut it, big boy!” Bordo shouted.

Gatrie seemed surprised at first, but then he just started laughing. The other mercenaries snickered. Ike stood, and it was a sign for everyone else to stand with him. They tried their best to look intimidating, and the laughter died instantly.

“Why don’t you fellows head home?” Titania suggested.

But the seven men didn’t budge. To their credit, they stood their ground. The moments ticked by until the restaurant owner came pushing his way through the crowded room. “No fighting! There’s no fighting in here or you’ll all be kicked out! Save it for the games!”

Bordo finally relented. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave town before the first competition tomorrow.” Then he and his friends turned to leave.

Satisfied that they were backing down, Soren glanced to see what Shinon was up to. He hadn’t stopped moving his hands this entire time. He seemed to have constructed a tiny crossbow-like mechanism out of fragmented bones and a single stripped sinew. Before Soren’s eyes he loaded it with a toothpick, lifted it to eye level, and released the prop holding back the sinew.

To Soren’s amazement, the toothpick flew through the air and found its mark just below the nape of Bordo’s neck. He slapped the spot as if bitten by fly, successfully lodging the sliver of wood in his palm. He screamed in surprise and pain. His friends were instantly on guard.

Rounding on the mercenaries, the man plucked the toothpick from his palm and bellowed, “You shot me!”

But Shinon had already dropped his mechanism to the floor and crushed it underfoot. Ike spared Shinon an admonishing glance before turning his full attention to the man. “With what?” he said innocently.

“Outside! Take it outside!” the owner cried, obviously confused about what had just happened and desperate to avoid a fight. For good measure, he placed himself between the departing party and the mercenaries’ table.

After a few tense moments, the men spilled their money on their former table and left the restaurant. The owner sighed in relief when they were gone, but he was still angry. While his wife collected the scattered coins, he turned to the mercenaries. “You’re done,” he declared, “Pay and get out of here. It’s busy enough without your kind stirring up trouble!” He returned to the kitchen without another word.

Ike sat down, so the others mirrored him. Gatrie pushed the final potato from his plate into his mouth in one steaming bite. Mist pushed her plate away with a sigh. “I’m stuffed anyway.”

Ike nodded. “Let’s finish up and head over to the game hall before it gets too late.”

The others nodded while Rolf peeked under the table at the remains of Shinon’s contraption. “Can you teach me how to do that?” he asked eagerly.

Shinon wiped his greasy hands on his pants. “Maybe someday, kid.”

“Do you always have to escalate things?” Oscar asked. As usual, he seemed annoyed by Rolf’s interest in Shinon.

The archer shrugged. “Why not?”

Titania sighed. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to keep an eye out for our ‘friends’ now.”

Ike shrugged. “We’re not breaking any rules. We paid our ante like anyone else. We’re in the games, whether those guys like it or not.”

“Try explaining that to them,” Mia said, jerking her head toward the door.