“Today’s the day.” Flynn sauntered to Tobias’s side and planted his hands on his hips. “Exciting, isn’t it?”
Light reflected off the Lord’s armored shoulders, his gleaming gold plates catching the rays of the sun. The servant girls had claimed they looked like warriors, but Tobias could’ve sworn the gold cuffs on his wrists resembled shackles.
Heavy footsteps joined the cheering. Two lines of guards in crested helmets marched their way, some with spears in hand and others with trumpets. Wembleton led the charge, stopping ahead of the competitors while the guards circled toward the gates.
“Gentlemen! The time has come. The Reverence is moments away.” Wembleton turned to the noise, basking in it. “Do you hear them? They cheer for you. Feel their voices quake within you, and use it to fuel your performance. You are the fierce final men of the Sovereign’s Tournament. You are their entertainment.”
“Sir,” a guard shouted from the gates. “We’re ready.”
“Splendid.” Wembleton beckoned a pair of guards toward him. “The spears.”
The guards wove through the competitors, handing off a spear to each man—solid gold, just like their armor, from the handle all the way to the sharp tip.
“All right then,” Wembleton said. “Into your groups.”
The men shuffled into position with Tobias and his group waiting in the back.
“Assume your stances.”
A growl bubbled in Tobias’s throat, but he obeyed, flexing.
Wembleton paced down the line, eyeing the men with a foul, lingering gaze. “Is our first group prepared for entry?” He stared at Tobias. “Will we be on our best behavior?”
Vulgarities flooded Tobias’s mouth, but he kept his jaw locked.
“Excellent. Open the gates!”
A clank echoed through the fortress, and the guards tugged two massive wheels, cranking the gates apart. Sunlight poured through the opening, blinding Tobias, but soon he could make out patches of cloudless sky, the yellow sand, and the bronze glimmer of the Ceres fountain. The gates locked into place, revealing endless waves of bodies and unleashing their deafening roar.
Filing from the fortress, the guards parted the masses, clearing a path toward the fountain. They anchored themselves in place, creating a fence out of their bodies and spears, and the next group of guards lined up alongside the gates, playing their trumpets and adding music to the overpowering noise.
“Wait for my word,” Wembleton barked.
He flitted out of the fortress. “Citizens of Thessen, only eight men remain in the fight for The Savior’s hand. Today, they present themselves to you in honor of our one true Savior. Today, you will feast your eyes on their strength and glory!” He threw his arms overhead. “Let the Reverence begin!”
The cheering reached new levels of ungodliness, and Wembleton came waltzing back to the fortress, first with finesse, then with urgency. “First group. Go.”
Drake and Kaleo led their group through the gates, pounding their chests in unison and letting out one of those mighty roars Wembleton had droned on about. Soon the entrances were underway, and Kaleo artfully flipped his spear between his hands, hypnotizing the crowd. Drake tossed him his spear, and Kaleo sent both of them whirling in circles, fueling the people to cheer louder, to fawn over his display. He tossed both spears to Drake, who thrust the weapons forward, murdering countless invisible people for the crowd’s pleasure, while Tobias imagined himself and the other men skewered at the ends of his spears.
Wembleton joined the remaining men. “Second group, take your places.”
The men situated themselves into proper order, with Flynn, Orion, and Raphael standing in a line and Tobias lingering a ways behind them. Orion looked over his shoulder at him. “Ready, brother?”
“Stances, gentlemen,” Wembleton said.
Orion took his stance, and Tobias followed suit. As the first group split down the center, a lump formed in his throat.
“Second group.” Wembleton looked right at Tobias, his gaze searing. “Go.”
Flynn, Orion, and Raphael marched out of the fortress, and Tobias reluctantly followed. He passed the opened gates, the blaring trumpets, his vision consumed with flailing limbs and rabid excitement.
The noise hit him with force, a punch to the lungs. Together, his group raised their golden spears high, then spun them between their hands, moving in perfect synchronicity. The crowd cheered louder, but the men didn’t react, the only sign of life coming from their marching feet, their hands flipping one over the next. Each move was masterful. Meaningless.
Tobias’s chest tightened; his entrance was approaching. The three men in front of him tossed their spears from hand to hand, and he mirrored their actions, counting down the seconds until his unwanted moment