The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)

She was ushered into a room filled with other participants. It was a cavernous space, made more so by the vaulted ceiling. Guards wearing the duke’s colors were stationed everywhere, probably thirty in all, and each held a polished black staff. The combatants were of all sizes and shapes, but most were big and young and they were talking and jostling each other as young men tended to do.

She cast her gaze around the room, feeling out of place and strange. Slowly, she walked around, seeking the source of the Fountain magic. The feeling came from a tall, gawky lad who was probably sixteen. He had straw-blond hair, ears that stuck out, and a narrow face that was quite ugly. The gangly look was almost comical.

And she realized, almost at once, that it was a disguise. It was as if the waters of the Fountain parted around her. Upon a closer look, she noticed the ring on the young man’s hand. She could literally feel the magic burning from it; it was the source of both the power and the feeling.

The lad was Fallon.

Almost as if in answer to the thought, the young gawky man looked at her, his eyebrow lifting. Had he recognized her? Her stomach shrank and she kept moving, not giving him a second look. She cursed herself as he started to approach her. It was Fallon. She was sure of it.

“From Edonburick?” said a voice behind her in a thick brogue. It was Fallon’s voice.

Before she could answer, a loud gong sounded, sending ripples of noise through the hall. The chattering and nervous voices stilled at once.

“His Excellence, Prince Elwis Asturias!” shouted a voice, followed by a ribbon of trumpets.

Trynne couldn’t see well amidst the throng, but she recognized the prince’s voice. “Welcome to Marq. Welcome to the Gauntlet.” He sneered the words as he walked forward, casting his eyes over those assembled. “Only some of you will actually be able to compete this evening. The rest are going to end up at the healers with broken bones. But you are here now, and it is too late for you to back out. To compete in the Gauntlet, you will need a black staff. Try to wrest one from one of my guards. Now!”

At his command, the guards with the black staves came rushing toward the middle of the room, striking the young men with the very weapons they had been charged to take.

In a moment, all was mayhem.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


The Gauntlet




Each of the realms under the sovereignty of Kingfountain had their own Gauntlet, and each was given the right to conduct it as they saw fit. Trynne was shocked to see this one begin in such a brutal manner. The guards went after the foreigners first, but they were soon wrestling with all the contenders for their weapons. She heard the crack of wood against bone and watched people slump to the ground only to be trampled on in the melee.

Trynne’s magic rushed in without being summoned. The murmur of waterfalls in her ears guided her through the haphazard violence. She identified a guard, the strongest, who was bringing down a man with almost every stroke, and chose him to disarm. Keeping her eyes fixed on him, she ducked a blow aimed at her forehead and prepared herself to strike. The guard saw her approach, grinned viciously, and swung the staff down in an overhand arc. She twisted sideways, feeling the wood hiss in front of her. When it clacked on the stone ground, she grabbed the quivering pole with both hands and used it to absorb her weight. She kicked the guard in the knee and then the groin, and wrenched the pole from his hands as he bowled over in pain. Whirling the staff over her head, she brought it down on his neck to stun him before kicking him in the chest to knock him down. Through her efforts, she felt her store of magic draining rapidly.

The gawky blond who could only be Fallon had already seized a weapon and was charging through the only open door. She hesitated a moment, wondering if she should go after him or help some of the others struggling in the room. Was this a contest of brute strength or a test of the principles of Virtus?

Another competitor had managed to grab a staff, but he was bleeding profusely from his scalp. So many had crumpled onto the floor, where they were writhing in pain, befuddled by the blows they had received. Very few would be competing in the rest of the Gauntlet, it appeared. Trynne struck a guard behind the knee and then whacked him upside the head. Not enough to knock him out, but enough to jar him. Another guard saw her do this and rushed at her. She kept the staff at the ready and then parried his blows effortlessly before countering with a sweep that knocked his legs out from under him. Curiously, using the magic for defense only sapped a little from it. A cheer rose up from the mob—people had seen her stop to help. The man with the bleeding face rushed past her to follow Fallon. Trynne tried to subdue her anger. She wanted to stay and humble all of the guards, but the delay would cost her later, especially if her power vanished before she made it through the other obstacles.

Trynne watched a smaller fellow grab the fallen staff of the guard she’d just injured. He gave her a grateful nod; after nodding back, she fled down the path.

The corridor was lit with fluttering torches and lined with tapestries, which made shadows wriggle and dance on the walls. She heard the sound of bootsteps rushing up a set of stairs and hurried to follow, feeling her heart thrum with excitement in her chest. The corridor took a sharp turn ahead, and she reached out with her magic to search for any obstacles. She sensed a bar had been fixed to the wall, about chest level, meant to surprise and harm someone running recklessly. Prepared to meet the challenge, Trynne ducked as she went around the bend, keeping her staff parallel to the floor. She dodged the bar easily, not losing her stride, and rounded another corner, where she found a cramped stairwell leading up to one of the manor towers. The sound of a slamming door came from above.