Book 3: Interlude XIV: A Nest of Scorpions
Interlude XIV: A Nest of Scorpions
Tristan shivered beneath the cold desert morning breeze as he tightened the black scarf around his face and neck. The bastard prince's hybrid lamellar armor, composed of witch steel scales laced together into a tunic-like shirt that covered him from neck to knee, offered little warmth in the early morning hours just before dawn. Beneath the scaled armor, he wore a simple black arming doublet designed to reduce the impact of any blow on the lighter armor, along with witch steel vambraces, spaulders, greaves, cusses, and knee guards, which were much lighter than full plate or ordinary steel.
'It might be more flexible than a knight's plated armor, but the real advantage is how comfortable and cool the armor remains during the day.'
Isleen moved ahead of him, dressed similarly, though the double-edged halberd the lithe, powerful pureblood carried differed from Tristan's specialized twin swords. The pair made their way through the early morning market, already swarming with merchants, traders, and other contestants traveling toward the grand arena built at the eastern end of Skreigh, Ventrayna's capital city.
The past week of rigorous magic combat training spent beneath Farrell and then Isleen had given the bastard prince a boost in confidence, along with a few humbling bruises to remind him to stay cautious. The mix of dread, eagerness, and uncertainty that had clouded his thoughts when Tristan went to sleep last night had transformed into excitement and anticipation by dawn.
Despite having lived nearly a year in Ventrayna, there was still so much of the city and its customs to discover, not all of which the bastard prince approved of. Even on a day like today, when the three great fire covens of the Hawk, Serpent, and Lizard focused their attention on Skreigh's arena, the slave markets never closed. And today of all days, the slave masters were focused on securing a deal by bartering their scraps of old, feeble, or crippled wares to this year's arena master, Duke Zenaku, to be used as sacrifices for the entertainment of the crowd before the Trial Testing Tournament, or Tri-Tournament began.
‘Still not sure if they call it the Tri-Tournament because of the absurd name or because the three covens compete against each other during it.’
The looks of hopelessness in the slave mortal's deadened eyes, many of whom had yet to reach their late thirties, never failed to unsettle Tristan. The disparity between witches and mortals in Ventryna was such a stark contrast to the population and culture of Lafeara. And yet, despite his disgust, resentment, and self-loathing, he could only turn away. No free mortal would survive on the streets of Skreigh, especially on a day like today when the scent of blood lust, witch fire, and the inner turmoil of the competing covens hung heavy in the air.