disadvantage. Some sort of mystical portal waited beyond. "Stay here with the dragons. Kendra and I will go in and get the sword."
"Are you kidding?" Strom said. "No way."
"None of you have to go," Sinjin said, not even looking at his wife. There was no need to ask. He already knew where she stood on the matter.
"Try to keep me away." The smith crossed his arms.
"You're not leaving me here alone," Osbourne said and went to stand by Strom. So Sinjin, his wife beside him and his mother's good friends following in their wake, walked away from Valterius, hoping the dragons could take care of themselves. It did not escape him that he was likely in far greater danger. Perhaps he should worry about his own survival.
Square corners and runic inscriptions marked the entranceway; sand covered the rest. Sinjin could not imagine how such a structure could exist amid massive dunes and not be entirely filled with sand, but here, at the threshold, they were asked to remove their shoes. He expected them to ask for his weapons as well, but they did not. The Arghast were a strange people, he thought; swords were just fine, but where do you think you're going with those shoes . . . in the middle of the desert? Madness.
Within awaited an even more unlikely place. Lush carpets colorfully depicting Arghast history decorated walls and floors. Deeper within, paintings adorned the stones themselves, faded and chipped but still beautiful. The air itself spoke of age, mysticism, and power, making Sinjin's arm hair stand on end. Ahead awaited a chamber one could only describe as an arena. Here, under the sands, hid a small field. Though Sinjin had no idea what games were usually played there, the sight of the tribal leader waiting for him made it clear what would happen today. The man's size was perhaps the only thing Sinjin could hope to exploit. Smaller and quicker, he could perhaps outlast a larger man.
Kendra grunted behind him. Sinjin looked back and noticed she and the others were kept from staying with him. No one else was allowed to follow, and his friends had little choice but to sit on stone benches with the crowd. A small bubble surrounded them as none chose to sit close to them. They were on shaky ground. This had the potential to be a very bad day. Duty to his mother was all that kept him from running away. Everything Uncle Chase had taught him became jumbled in his mind; he hoped for muscle memory from all his sparring time. It was a thin hope.
An older man waited along with Sinjin's opponent. He raised his hand and asked, "Will you fight?"
The question surprised Sinjin since he had issued the challenge. Still, he answered to satisfy protocol. "Yes. I will fight."
The crowd erupted. The older man raised his hand again and turned to the tribal leader, whose muscles flexed. "Will you fight?"
"No," the big man said. An even louder roar filled the arena, the acoustics somehow amplifying the sound, making it seem as if thousands were present. "I use my right to a champion."
The hooting and celebration in the crowd indicated they all knew something he did not.
"Sarjak of the Scorpion Clan, will you fight?"
The arena exploded with activity. Skirmishes broke out in the crowd, bets were made, and more than one person fainted. Sinjin had a very bad feeling.
Cheers followed a young man emerging from the crowd. Shoulder-length black braids and coarse facial hair were signs of manhood, but he was smaller in stature than most Arghast. Sinjin wondered if it was a joke, but his spear and graceful gait said otherwise. His weapon was scaled down from what most Arghast warriors used, but the way Sarjak of the Scorpion Clan carried it made it appear just as deadly.
Standing beside the older man, Sarjak waited, grinning. It was a tactic Sinjin's uncle had taught him: intimidate the enemy by showing no fear. He'd always had a hard time pulling it off. This occasion was no exception. The tribal leader tossed a rigid wooden spear at his feet and
"Are you kidding?" Strom said. "No way."
"None of you have to go," Sinjin said, not even looking at his wife. There was no need to ask. He already knew where she stood on the matter.
"Try to keep me away." The smith crossed his arms.
"You're not leaving me here alone," Osbourne said and went to stand by Strom. So Sinjin, his wife beside him and his mother's good friends following in their wake, walked away from Valterius, hoping the dragons could take care of themselves. It did not escape him that he was likely in far greater danger. Perhaps he should worry about his own survival.
Square corners and runic inscriptions marked the entranceway; sand covered the rest. Sinjin could not imagine how such a structure could exist amid massive dunes and not be entirely filled with sand, but here, at the threshold, they were asked to remove their shoes. He expected them to ask for his weapons as well, but they did not. The Arghast were a strange people, he thought; swords were just fine, but where do you think you're going with those shoes . . . in the middle of the desert? Madness.
Within awaited an even more unlikely place. Lush carpets colorfully depicting Arghast history decorated walls and floors. Deeper within, paintings adorned the stones themselves, faded and chipped but still beautiful. The air itself spoke of age, mysticism, and power, making Sinjin's arm hair stand on end. Ahead awaited a chamber one could only describe as an arena. Here, under the sands, hid a small field. Though Sinjin had no idea what games were usually played there, the sight of the tribal leader waiting for him made it clear what would happen today. The man's size was perhaps the only thing Sinjin could hope to exploit. Smaller and quicker, he could perhaps outlast a larger man.
Kendra grunted behind him. Sinjin looked back and noticed she and the others were kept from staying with him. No one else was allowed to follow, and his friends had little choice but to sit on stone benches with the crowd. A small bubble surrounded them as none chose to sit close to them. They were on shaky ground. This had the potential to be a very bad day. Duty to his mother was all that kept him from running away. Everything Uncle Chase had taught him became jumbled in his mind; he hoped for muscle memory from all his sparring time. It was a thin hope.
An older man waited along with Sinjin's opponent. He raised his hand and asked, "Will you fight?"
The question surprised Sinjin since he had issued the challenge. Still, he answered to satisfy protocol. "Yes. I will fight."
The crowd erupted. The older man raised his hand again and turned to the tribal leader, whose muscles flexed. "Will you fight?"
"No," the big man said. An even louder roar filled the arena, the acoustics somehow amplifying the sound, making it seem as if thousands were present. "I use my right to a champion."
The hooting and celebration in the crowd indicated they all knew something he did not.
"Sarjak of the Scorpion Clan, will you fight?"
The arena exploded with activity. Skirmishes broke out in the crowd, bets were made, and more than one person fainted. Sinjin had a very bad feeling.
Cheers followed a young man emerging from the crowd. Shoulder-length black braids and coarse facial hair were signs of manhood, but he was smaller in stature than most Arghast. Sinjin wondered if it was a joke, but his spear and graceful gait said otherwise. His weapon was scaled down from what most Arghast warriors used, but the way Sarjak of the Scorpion Clan carried it made it appear just as deadly.
Standing beside the older man, Sarjak waited, grinning. It was a tactic Sinjin's uncle had taught him: intimidate the enemy by showing no fear. He'd always had a hard time pulling it off. This occasion was no exception. The tribal leader tossed a rigid wooden spear at his feet and
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