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swallowed another gulp of mead, and nodded, unable to break away from the sight of Mara’s earnest eyes. He would do anything to help her, and besides, winning against arrogant Rikar would be more of a prize than the Dagger itself.
    If he survived.

5. THE BLOOD DAGGER
     

    As Talis stared up past the stone arena, stars twinkling through the black velvet sky, he could sense Mara stalking up to him. The familiar scent of roses wafted over him, the scent of Mara and the scent of House Lei’s gardens.
    “I prayed to Zagros, Nyx, Nacrea, and to Nestria….” He turned and smiled at Mara as she approached.
    “What say the heavens?” She stared up at the four moon sisters, her hands reaching out like she could caress the stars.  
    The moons were splayed across the sky, speaking of a secret. The Diviners of the Celestials would call the moons’ alignment “Three Sisters Conspiring Against the Brilliant One.” The cruel plot against the one of light. Fate was strong today, for or against you. Talis frowned.  
    He and Mara had been a sparring team for seven years, ever since he’d survived the initiation allowing him to wield the blade at six years old. This was a contest for reputation and favor, and the right to compete in the Arena of the Sej Elders. As Mara hoped for, it would mean she could get her wish and ask her parents to call off the marriage between her and Baron Delar’s son. For Talis, he hoped winning would mean praise and recognition from his father, praise he’d craved all his life.
    Mara twirled her twin nine-inch blades, and paused, staring at them with satisfaction. She handled them like pets. “Be careful of Rikar’s twirling strike. Go for a foot sweep if you see him start to spin.”
    Talis thought of Rikar’s deadly dances at previous matches, severing heads and breaking bones. In one case the healer couldn’t do a thing to save a boy, even with magic. Talis wanted to be brave, but bloody images of contestants at previous matches flashed in his mind.
    “Ready?” Talis aimed his short sword at the arena, and Mara brandished her daggers as well, a look of intense determination flashing in her eyes. They strode into the arena, the House of the Warrior, and smelled air thick with cedar and sweet incense. Hairs stood up along Talis’s arms and he clenched his mouth to keep his teeth from chattering. The dark, silver and grey stones shimmered, catching the torchlight along the tunnel leading into the circular arena.  
    Inside, a round opening above allowed moonlight to shine onto the sandy floor. Great two-handed swords and halberds and spiked shields were mounted on the stone wall. Torches flickered in between, whipped by the wind. His cheeks stung from the cold. A red circle had been drawn in the center, marking the boundaries of the contest. The arena was quiet and empty, except for Nikulo and Master Jarvis Numerian, a giant of a man, muscles rippling underneath his banded leather armor, a twisted scar marring his otherwise noble face. Talis felt relieved that Jarvis, who was friendly to House Storm, judged today’s match.  
    “We challenge the undefeated for the right to hold the Blood Dagger,” Talis shouted, and glanced around, wondering where Rikar was.
    Nikulo strode forward, his protruding belly waddling from side-to-side, and clapped his leather-studded jerkin. He pointed the bladed tip of his metal staff at Talis and Mara. Somehow Talis didn’t feel so intimidated at Nikulo’s scowling face. Although Nikulo was a fierce competitor, Rikar was the malicious one.
    “Do we have a complete team to battle the challengers?” Jarvis spread his arms wide.
    Footsteps pounded down the tunnel, and Rikar came charging into the arena, face shiny and proud, hair slick and wet as if he’d just taken a bath. His eyes mocked Talis.
    “Do I have to fight these two buffoons?” Rikar snorted.
    Talis gripped his sword so hard his fingers burned. We used to be friends, Talis thought. But after