Approaching the gate entrance, a voice called out, “What brings you to Shadowspire?”
A veteran sergeant, bald on top with white hair on the sides, asked at the main entrance. Four guards in chainmail and helms stood nearby and watched with long spears and backup longswords.
My‑re and Vomarian looked at each other and said in unison, “Pleasure.” “Business.”
The guard’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Which is it?”
My‑re and Vomarian considered each other and said in unison. “Business.” “Pleasure.”
“What my husband and I mean to say is both.” My‑re reached for Vomarian’s hand; he flinched. She grabbed it as his face went red. Using her other hand to take it lovingly, she continued. “We’ve just recited our life vows to each other and came to enjoy our honey mead and moon celebration in your fair city.”
“Ah, I fondly remember mine with the wife, though I’d say we didn’t see much of the city outside our bedroom,” the sergeant chuckled and winked. “Ya know what I mean.”
“Great,” My‑re said with forced enthusiasm and pulled Vomarian’s hand to cross into the city.
“Whoa, wait.”
“Wait, what?”
“I understand the pleasure part,” the guard said, nodding and gesturing knowingly with his hands. “What business do you have in Shadowspire?”
“Oh, that,” My‑re stammered. “Yes, my husband is a renowned and skilled fighter and wishes to test his mettle in the gladiatorial arena.”
“Wonderful, we could always use more talent on the sands. What stable did he join?”
“Uh…”
Clearing his throat, Vomarian said, “I’m here to find a stable. I’ve heard it pays well.”
The Shadowspire sergeant considered them momentarily and asked, “Where are you two from?”
“The village of Sanaras. It’s within the Rirorni Empire,” My‑re said. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”
“I have.”
“Great.”
“Now, since you are coming from the Empire, all I need to confirm is that you two aren’t spies.”
“We’re not spies,” My‑re and Vomarian said together.
“Yes, something I would expect a couple of spies to say.” The guards around the sergeant stepped closer, their hands gripping their spears.
“Just kidding,” the sergeant exclaimed, smiling, and the other guards stepped back. “I love doing that. Go on in kids, and enjoy yourselves. I was about to say not too much, but I think, in this case, it’s expected.”
“Thank you very much,” My‑re said, exasperated, pulled Vomarian’s hand again, and proceeded to enter.
“Oh, one more thing,” the sergeant said.
The two Lord Protector’s turned toward the veteran sergeant.
“Egan!”
A middle-aged, clean-shaven warrior with graying dark hair emerged from the crowd dressed in fine leather armor, with two longswords at his side and two more daggers thrust through his waistband. He had a multitude of healed scars as a testament he’d been in many fights. He regarded My‑re and Vomarian and took a step closer to study them.
The sergeant of the guard nodded toward Vomarian and said, “Arenamaster Egan, this one is interested in joining the games. However, they are on their honey mead, moon celebration, so you might allow them a fortnight together before getting him on the sands.”
“Welcome,” Egan said to the couple. “Your names?”
“I’m Vomarian Fae, and this is My‑re.”
“I’m his new wife,” My‑re added and scooted closer to him.
“Yes, my new wife,” Vomarian echoed with a pleased smile racing across his face at saying the words.
“You’ve been on the sands before, haven’t you? Actually, both of you have.” Egan then clarified, “Your feet are in a fighting stance. You’ve received training. That’s good, but we have strict rules about ringers and tournament fighters in the arena.”
“And that is?” Vomarian asked.
“We don’t allow them. Come with me.”
The two Lord Protectors followed Arenamaster Egan through the crowds to the arena. Moving through a small archway, they entered the sand’s ground floor. The oval-shaped arena and stands were white around the circumference, and the seats were to reflect heat. An awning that could shade the spectators on particularly hot or sunny days was retracted. Across the way, a larger archway, the main entrance, had three animal monuments above it.
“What do those represent?” My‑re asked.
Pointing, Arenamaster Egan said, “The two rearing horses facing each other are a tribute to our Rirorni neighbors to the south and some of our best customers. Once introduced to the gladiatorial games after the war, they can’t get enough. We see more and more visits every year. It helps keep the stadium filled.”
“And the coffers with gold too,” Vomarian commented. “Aren’t you concerned about the Rirorni Empire to the south?”
“Yes to both,” Egan nodded, then motioned. “Above the stallions is the flying eagle and a reminder that Shadowspire is always watching the Sons of the Horse.”
Traveling across the sands, a hooded figure in a red robe entered through the entrance. By the silhouette, the person appeared female. She carried a bucket of water with an oversized sponge floating on top.
“Who’s that?” My‑re asked. “Isn’t it a little hot to be wearing that? Can’t she take it off?”
“No,” Egan replied. “Don’t touch her and leave her alone. That’s Terina, the Arena Cleaner. Never remove her hood. No one knows for sure, but the rumor was she was once a very beautiful woman but struck down by the gods for her vanity and arrogance. Anyone seeing her face is cursed to scream for a day from the horror. To teach her humility, the gods tasked her to hide her face and clean the arena grounds after every gladiator cycle until there were no more games on the sands. And before you ask, she gets paid. Even those cursed by the gods need to eat and live.”
My‑re’s gait slowed, and they stared at Terina. She began to scrub the arena wall but stopped. She turned her hooded head toward My‑re, but the shadows within obscured her face.
“This way, My‑re,” Egan called.
They followed Egan to a door with a sign reading Arenamaster, and he motioned for them to enter. It was a little dark inside, but a large shelf along one wall held a wide variety of goblets and mugs that must have come from every corner of Alastari. Three strategically placed cases displayed faded ribbons and plaques so guests could easily see the owner's accomplishments. A large table and a cushioned chair with parchments scattered all over it, with some falling to the floor, occupied the center of the room.
Going behind his desk, Egan rummaged through it and pulled out an unconventional sheet of sky-blue paper with several names already scribbled on it. “Now, before we proceed any further. You need to sign a pledge that you will not partake in any tournaments, face-to-faces, pit fighting, underground fight clubs, etcetera.” He pulled out, opened an elaborate case, and retrieved a snow-white, feathered quill and ink container. “Sign the blue cover sheet with this.”
Taking the quill, Vomarian dipped it and began to sign his name, but the ink disappeared and absorbed into the blue paper. He tried again with the same result.
“That’s bizarre. Sheila Greywand personally provided this quill and ink. It’s worked for years without any issues.” Eyeing them, Egan said, “Well, no matter. There’s still the Trap of Truth,” Egan said.
“The what?” Vomarian asked.
Rummaging through his desk, Egan pulled out a hand-sized glass object. It was a convex quadrilateral with one pair of parallel sides.
My‑re said, “I get it, the Trap of Truth because it’s shaped like a trapezoid.”
“Ah, someone’s been rated very intelligent,” Arenamaster Egan said, nodding to her.
My‑re felt proud.
“Yes, it’s something else Sheila provided. It just ensures you aren’t a tournament-charged warrior,” Egan said. “Go on, pick it up. It won’t bite.”
Vomarian cautiously regarded Egan, then My‑re, and back to Egan, who motioned for him to continue. The Shagornan Elf picked up the object. It then began to radiate light from within. It suddenly went pure white and blazed, lighting the entire room.
Dropping it, Vomarian gasped, “The nine hells, that thing started to burn.”
“As I thought,” Egan commented. “That’s never happened to a new initiate.”
My‑re and Vomarian looked at each other.
“But I’ve seen it do that to a tournament-charged Lord Protector,” Arenamaster Egan said. “Now, enlighten me why Sheila Greywand sent two Lord Protectors to Shadowspire.”
“Lady Greywand didn’t send us to Shadowspire,” Vomarian said.
Egan briefly regarded the Shagornan Elf and said, “Yes, of course. I’ve had dealings with Sheila before, so I know confidentiality is paramount regarding her…errands. The last thing I wish to do is to get on that one’s sore side. So, what can I do to help?”
My‑re said, “We’re looking for a person. He goes by the name Westwind. We’re told he was here.”
“Westwind, the lamp merchant?” Pondering momentarily, Egan rapped his knuckles on his desk and continued, “Now, it makes sense why Greywand sent you here. One of the lamps he’s selling will grant three wishes. It wasn’t just a marketing ploy.”
My‑re and Vomarian looked at each other. Her expression likely mirrored Vomarian’s confusion. “Will you take us to him?”
“Yes, I suddenly have an urgent need to purchase myself a few lamps,” Egan said, pulling out his money pouch.