Interlude: The Center of Death Tournament

Xela watched the last of the sunlight fade and shadows take over the battlefield below him. His thoughts were of his opponents tomorrow, his enemies. He wondered aloud as Ceylina sat polishing her armor and sharpening her swords. “What is an Ithilian cipher doing with a child and a dolt? I thought Balto was a dense Kirzan, but this anvil fellow, he might as well be a griglin bear with as much intelligence as he has displayed.” Ceylina shrugged in response.

Xela started to pace and pontificate, “And the boy, a little too old and too big to be part of the Fairewood Urchyn’s Clan, don’t you think? Perhaps he is looking to start a new life as a warrior. A shame his life will end just as it begins.”

Ceylina looked a little appalled at this last statement. “You’re boasting about giving a boy a beat down? Is that your strategy, beat up the child and we’ll be sure to win?”

Xela ignored his sister’s outburst and continued his monologue. “The cipher is obviously the leader of the team and the mastermind behind their winning strategy. He is smart enough to use the trickery and speed of the urchyn in concert with the strength and force of the anvil to keep opponents off balance while waiting for the right moment to use his powerful keys.”

“We already beat a cipher in our last round, Xe, can’t we apply the same strategy tomorrow?” Ceylina asked.

“Yes, but we were fortunate. Outthinking a Siryl is a difficult task, especially a cipher trained in the Sequence of Seven. Siryl may be of slighter build than us Sarajans, but the keys they use are powerful and deliver serious damage. We will need Balto to absorb much of the damage the cipher will deal, but still ensure he has enough strength to take out the anvyl,” Xela said as his pacing became so vigorous that the loose ends of his robes whistled through the air.

“We can do it,” Ceylina said as she stood up and clenched her fists. “I know we can. We will win and your wish will be granted.”

“It’s not a wish, Lina, it’s a request. A request the benefactors of this tournament have the resources to make happen,” Xela said.

“And who are they?” asked Ceylina.

“It’s not entirely certain who supports it or why this tournament exists,” Xela explained. “Some say it’s run by the Whitefire Syndicate as an elaborate scheme to give prisoners from Ice Gate a chance to win their freedom. Others say it is simply entertainment for wealthy Dragathan socialites. Another theory claims it is part of an old family tradition funded by perpetual death agreements maintained by the founding families over the years. Few question the origins of the tournament or the source of its funding. The competitors only dream of the gain and the better future that winning promises.”

“I never questioned,” Ceylina whispered to herself. “Are all the wishes…I mean, requests…are they always made with good intentions,” she asked her brother.

“With the seemingly limitless power behind this tournament, one can only hope that is the case,” Xela sighed.

“Well, I know yours is a good cause, studying the Sanctum Spire and figuring out what it is and how it can be used for benefit of all Sarajans,” Ceylina said, intending to lift Xela’s spirits. A far off yes was his only answer as he parted the flaps of the tent again and watched the full Phaeton moon rise over the horizon signaling mid-Selwyn.  Tonight would be the height of the Center of Death celebrations across the continent of Veratar. “If I could win this tournament and my request be fulfilled, everyone celebrating tonight will teach my name with respect and admiration to their children,” Balto began to snore on his cot at that moment, deflating Xela smoewhat. “I should get some sleep, too,” he thought, a futile endeavor considering the anticipation that kept his mind racing.