Will I be the thing one day? Will someone drag me to the pile?
He gritted his teeth, entered the alley, climbed to the roof, and pulled back the board. Leaving the brilliant sunlight, Mince crawled blindly into the crevice. The Nest was dark and silent. There was no sound of breathing—wheezing or otherwise. Mince reached forward, imagining Kine’s cold, stiff body. The thought caused his hand to shake even as he willed his fingers to spread out, searching. Touching the silken material of the robe, he recoiled as it began to glow.
Kine was not there.
The robe lay on the floor as if Kine had melted during the night. Mince pulled the material toward him. As he did, the glow increased enough to reach every corner of the room. He was alone. Kine was gone. Not even his body remained.
Mince sat for a second, and then a thought surfaced. He dropped the robe in horror and kicked it away. The robe’s glow throbbed and grew fainter.
“Ya ate him!” Mince cried. “Ya lied to me. Ya are cursed!”
The light went out and Mince backed as far away as possible. He had to get away from the killer robe, but now it was lying between him and the exit.
A silhouette passed in front of the opening, momentarily blocking the sunlight.
“Mince?” Kine’s voice said. “Mince, look. I got me lamb chops!”
Kine entered and replaced the board. Mince’s eyes adjusted until he could see his friend, holding a pair of bloody bones. His chin was stained red. “I woulda saved you one, but I couldn’t find you. By Mar, I was famished!”
“Ya all right, Kine?”
“I’m great. I’m still a little hungry, but other than that, I feel fantastic.”
“But last night…” Mince started. “Last night ya—ya—didn’t look so good.”
Kine nodded. “I had all kinds of queer dreams, that’s for sure.”
“What kind of dreams?”
“Hmm? Oh, just odd stuff. I was drowning in this dark lake. I couldn’t breathe ’cuz water was spilling into my mouth every time I tried to take a breath. I tried to swim, but my arms and legs barely moved—it was a terrible nightmare.” Kine noticed the beef shank Mince still held. “Hey! You got some meat too? You wanna cook it up? I’m still hungry.”
“Huh? Oh, sure,” Mince said as he looked down at the robe while handing the beef to Kine.
“I love Blood Week, don’t you?”
Trumpets blared and drums rolled as the pennants of twenty-seven noble houses snapped in the late-morning breeze. People filed into the stands at Highcourt Fields on the opening day of the Grand Avryn Wintertide Tournament. The contest would last ten days, ending with the Feast of Tides. Across the city, shops closed and work stopped. Only the smoking and salting of meat continued, as Blood Week ran parallel to the tournament, and the slaughter could not halt even for such an august event. Many thought the timing was an omen that signaled the games would produce a higher number of accidents, which only added to the excitement. Every year crowds delighted in seeing blood.
Two years before, the baron Linder of Maranon had died when a splintered lance held by Sir Gilbert pierced the visor of his helm. The same year Sir Dulnar of Rhenydd had his right hand severed in the final round of the sword competition. Nothing, however, compared to the showdown five years ago between Sir Jervis and Francis Stanley, the Earl of Harborn. In the final tilt of the tournament, Sir Jervis—who had already borne a grudge against the earl—passed over the traditional Lance of Peace and picked up the Lance of War. Against council, the earl agreed to the deadly challenge. Jervis’s lance pierced Stanley’s cuirass as if it were parchment and continued on through his opponent’s chest. The knight did not escape the encounter unscathed. Stanley’s lance pierced Jervis’s helm and entered his eye socket. Both fell dead. Officials judged the earl the victor due to the extra point for a head blow.
Centuries earlier, Highcourt Fields had functioned as the supreme noble court of law in Avryn. Civil disputes inevitably escalated until accused and accuser turned to combat to determine who was right. Soon the only dispute became who was the best warrior. As the realms of Avryn expanded, trips to Highcourt became less convenient. Monthly sessions were eventually reduced to biyearly events where all grievances were settled over a two-week session. These were held on the holy days of Summersrule and Wintertide, in the belief Maribor was more attentive at these times.