grinned. “My reputation precedes me. I’m here to see to it that you’re prepared for our commencement ceremony on this fine Presentation Day.”
Presentation Day. Tobias was beginning to hate holidays. Every last one of them.
“I imagine you’ve never witnessed a Sovereign’s Tournament before. The last one wasn’t in your lifetime, certainly.” Wembleton rested his hands on his belly. “Well, I can assure you it was glorious. A true spectacle. But each one is different, and this one has the promise to be quite memorable.”
He paused, waiting for Tobias to be enthralled by his words, but Tobias merely stared at him, too dejected to pretend.
“Are you familiar with how the Sovereign’s Tournament works?”
“Just that there are challenges,” Tobias said. “Some are dangerous.”
“Dangerous, yes. Very. Allow me to shed some light on the matter—give you a taste of what’s in store, yes?” Wembleton waited for Tobias to speak and cleared his throat when he said nothing. “The tournament begins underground. We call this phase the labyrinth, though I would argue such a title is a bit misleading.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s so much a labyrinth as it is a tunnel—one equipped with plenty of exciting features.” He chuckled. “I imagine years ago, it was a maze with various passages, but times change. It’s fascinating how the theatrics have evolved, and for the better, really. People grow bored with simple combat. Suspense, indulgence, dramatics—that’s what captivates the masses.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Never mind the details.” Wembleton waved his wrist dismissively. “You’ll spend the first half of the tournament in the labyrinth. Or the tunnel. Whatever you’d like to call it. There will be challenges along the way. Some will be observed by the Proctor—”
“The Proctor?”
“You’ll meet him inside,” Wembleton said. “Others will be observed by The Savior Herself. And a select few will be open to spectators in this very arena. Those are the most exciting, if I do say so myself.”
A bilious pang shot through Tobias’s gut. “These challenges, are they all…?”
“Deadly? They’re certainly precarious. Some are far more lethal than others. You’ll encounter challenges that shower their winners with rewards and others that punish their losers with solitude. Dismissal. And death, naturally. But I couldn’t give you specifics. In fact, I’m not quite sure what’s waiting for you beyond this arena.”
“Wait, you don’t know?”
“No one does. The tournament is designed by the Sovereign. Only he can tell you what to expect. But I will say, it’s remarkable. All those years spent planning, building, just for this moment—these next thirty days.” Wembleton leaned in closer. “There’s magic in that labyrinth, young man. It’s a beautiful thing.”
Tobias gripped the edge of the bench, fighting to stifle his nerves, while Wembleton continued with unmitigated spunk.
“Now, for the best part. At the halfway point of the tournament, the remaining men will be released from the labyrinth and resume the competition on the palace grounds. It’s quite a treat—if you last that long, of course.”
“Of course,” Tobias grumbled.
“Challenges will resume. But between them, there will be feasts, there will be parties—oh, and the dancing. It’s truly a wonderful time.”
The door flung open, and a stream of servant girls flooded the cell, surrounding Tobias. They went to work fastening leather straps around his chest, his arms, and he anxiously glanced back and forth between them. “What are—?”
“Don’t mind them, they’re simply fitting you with your armor.” Wembleton stepped back, allowing the girls to fill the room. “The crowd certainly loves their men all done up just like real warriors. You’ll be looking like a contender in no time.” He watched the girls work. “Let’s address this ceremony, shall we? You’re familiar with our categorical system, yes?”
Tobias squirmed, his limbs yanked in different directions. “Vaguely.”
“We have twenty men competing in this tournament. All have been divided into one of four categories: the Savants, the Stalwarts, the Lords, and the Beasts.” Wembleton’s eyes narrowed with intention. “With the Savants, we have the thinkers. Men of mind, of heart and craft. The Stalwarts are the disciplined, diligent men who work hard and true. The Lords are of noble blood. They have coin. They have charisma. They have beauty.” He sighed adoringly. “And then there are the Beasts—men of strength, size, and power. They’re quite impressive, a crowd favorite, naturally.”
“What am I?”
“You’re a Savant.” His voice cracked. “A fine group. Really nice young boys.”
Boys. Tobias resisted the urge to groan, as he had a feeling his situation had become significantly worse.
“The Savants will be announced first into the arena. You’ll be called