Ginn Hale - Lord of the White Hell Book One

Nestor nodded happily. "You won't care because by then you will have had your fill of women from the Goldenrod and half of them will be writing you love letters the way they write to Atreau."

"Yes," Javier said tiredly. "It will be a glorious future for all. But for now I think we ought to go down for dinner."

"The bell hasn't-" Nestor began but then the seventh bell sounded from the chapel.

The three of them joined the flood of other students filing down to the dining room and Kiram's brief, troubled thoughts of his future were forgotten as the smell of beef and fresh bread beckoned him.

When the day of the tournament finally arrived, the students at the academy rose early and ate quickly before mounting up and riding in a tight procession into the town of Zancoda. Nervous excitement pervaded the air, and neither Kiram nor Nestor was immune. As Kiram reined Firaj alongside Nestor's mount he noted the pink flush of Nestor's cheeks and felt certain that anyone close at hand could hear the pounding of his own heart.

Students from the Yillar Academy would be approaching from the opposite direction. Once the two great schools of Cadeleon had converged in Zancoda's center, the race to the gold pavilion would begin.

Kiram hadn't known what to expect beyond that, but he certainly hadn't imagined anything like the spectacle surrounding him. Crowds of people lined the road even far outside of town. As they entered the city gates the display amazed him. When he had last passed through Zancoda on his way to the Sagrada Academy the town had struck him as dull and colorless. The buildings were old and the stonework had been weathered to a lifeless gray. The few inhabitants he had seen from his carriage had looked as pallid and plain as their surroundings.

But now brilliant blue banners and vibrant green flags hung from the balconies. Flags emblazoned with colorful crests of noble families were waved from poles and chapel bells rang out wildly over the shouts and cheers of the gathered crowds.

Men and boys thronged the streets, cheering as the academy students rode past. Every so often Kiram spotted an older matronly woman amidst the crowd holding a young child on her hip and helping the child wave. Kiram often waved back. Younger women, with their dark hair still braided and held up in combs, threw flowers and perfumed kerchiefs from overhanging balconies. Groups of onlookers stared out from open windows. Everyone, regardless of age or sex, wore bright paper flowers pinned to their clothes or waved shimmering ribbons.

Kiram could not believe the sheer number of people who had come out just to watch the students of the Sagrada Academy ride two abreast through the streets. The inns appeared to be bursting with visitors, all waving from windows or leaning out on the steps. Some onlookers had even positioned themselves up on the roofs.

From time to time, especially where the streets were narrow and the crowds were close, Kiram would feel a small hand reach out and touch him or Firaj. He realized that parents were holding out their children as if the passing riders were lucky stones to rub. At first he feared that an excited grasping child would spook Firaj or cause him to strike out with one of his hooves, but Firaj remained calm. At times he seemed to enjoy the attention. Even when a youth stumbled out and collided with his hindquarters, Firaj only released a hard snort and stamped once in warning. The youth scurried back into the crowd.

"There are even more people here this year than last year!" Nestor shouted over the noise of the crowd. "The stands around the tournament arena are going to be packed!"

"They can't all be from around here," Kiram yelled, surprised at how little impact his voice made upon the turbulent roar of so many other voices.

"No." Nestor shook his head. "Merchants and nobles from all over the country come to see the autumn tournament. Even the princes come. This year the heir himself is supposed to attend."

Kiram couldn't help but feel a slight dread at the mention of a royal Sagrada. Though Nazario Sagrada's atrocities were long past, it was still Kiram's first association with the name "Sagrada". If he won the Crown Challenge he would have to attempt to change that. He would be expected to demonstrate his mechanism to the king and entertain the royal family with its many uses. He couldn't be brooding over the infamous impaler while cheerfully serving the man's descendants.

Then a downpour of pink rose petals from the balcony above distracted him. A white kerchief, embroidered with yellow butterflies, fluttered down and landed across Nestor's arm. Nestor flushed bright red and clutched the token. Kiram joined him in gawking up at the shy Cadeleonian girls on the balcony.

"Might be the one with the butterfly combs in her hair," Kiram shouted to Nestor.

"Do you think?" Nestor peered at the girl and she ducked quickly back into the shadows of a bright blue banner. "She was pretty, wasn't she?"

"I think so," Kiram replied, though he hadn't really seen much of her, but she had certainly possessed the deep curves and lustrous dark hair that Cadeleonian men seemed to desire.

"It smells like jasmine." Nestor carefully tucked the kerchief into his riding glove. "Not too much further to the town center. You ready?"

"Not at all. I'm terrified."

"Me too."

Under other circumstances Kiram thought he would have found it funny that both he and Nestor were screaming out their fears. But now the irony of the situation didn't amuse him. He was too nervous about the race that was to come, once they met the Yillar students at the town center.

The students of both schools would circle the city fountain once and then race madly down six narrow avenues out of the town and to the tournament grounds. The first student to reach the gold pavilion would receive a favor directly from the Sagrada prince.

Countless bets had been placed within the academy and in the town as well, Kiram imagined. Both the Helio twins were thought to be contenders, as was Javier.

Apparently Javier had finished second last year, only a neck behind Hierro Fueres of the Yllar Academy. Elezar had placed a huge wager on Javier and made it clear that he would personally take it badly if any other rider from the Sagrada Academy cost him his money.

Kiram had no illusions about his own chances of winning. He hoped only to survive. He clenched his fists around Firaj's reins. Last night Elezar had recounted stories of students who had taken terrible falls in the race from the fountain. He'd described young men being trampled by their own horses, or becoming tangled in their stirrups and being dragged against the hard cobblestones of the street.

Kiram's thoughts were so focused on his possible impending death that for an instant he failed to register the familiar voice calling his name from the surrounding crowd.

"Hey! Kiri! Kiram Kir-Zaki!"

Kiram turned slightly in his saddle and was shocked to recognize his uncle Rafie waving from the midst of dozens of pale Cadeleonians. The sight sent a thrill of joy through him.

Despite Rafie's elegant Cadeleonian clothes he stood out starkly from the rest of the crowd. His slim Haldiim build and smooth skin lent him the appearance of a tall youth but his close-cropped hair was nearly white and deep smile lines etched the corners of his mouth. Days of summer travel had deepened the natural cinnamon tone of his skin to a rich walnut color, making his pale blue eyes seem to blaze in contrast.

Rafie ducked between two big Cadeleonian men, slipped through the crowd with fast graceful twists, and was soon jogging alongside Firaj.

"We're staying at the Laughing Dog!" Rafie called to him in Haldiim. "We'll see you this evening. Take care!" Rafie tossed a small bundle into Kiram's lap, then ducked back into the relative shelter of the crowd.