"One cannot be insubordinate to a fake," Achan yelled, "or did Lord Nathak forget that little snag? I always thought people called you Puppet Prince because Lord Nathak pulled your strings. Now I see both father and son are playing a role. Guess what, Esek: the time is coming for the curtain to fall."
"You'd like to think that, stray, yet who's in the pit?" Esek's voice lowered. "Bring him up. Let's get this over with so I can get back to the land of the living."
A deep voice mumbled words Achan couldn't decipher.
"I do not care if it's not time. I want to see him die."
A rope flew down and whacked Achan in the head.
"Be taking the rope," Sir Nongo said.
"And be cut open before throngs of Barthians? Thank you, no." Achan sank into the corner of the pit.
There were a few more mumbles above, then silence. What might they devise to get him out? Voices rose again overhead. A ladder, black against the firelight, jutted over the edge and slowly descended.
Achan stayed put until the ladder pressed into the dirt. He crept toward it and crouched underneath the rungs. If he could get out on the other side of the pit, maybe he could run for it.
A shadow shifted above. The ladder trembled as someone climbed down. Achan waited until the man reached the bottom, then he slammed against the ladder, pushing until it tipped up and fell against the opposite wall.
A thud. A man grunted. Achan scaled the ladder as fast as he could with cuffed wrists, chains clanking against wooden rungs. A hand grabbed his ankle. Achan slipped down a rung but managed to hook his arms around the next rung with the insides of his elbows. He kicked his free foot, made contact a few times, and the man let go. Achan climbed a few more steps, but the ladder began to rise, being pulled from above.
Achan froze. Better to be caught out of the pit or to stay in the pit with an enemy? The pit had better odds. Plus, Sir Gavin was coming. He jumped off.
He landed on his right arm in the dirt. He scurried to his feet. Hands groped at his arm. Achan swatted like a girl, unable to see what he was fighting. His assailant managed to punch his chest. The force sent him stumbling into the wall. Dirt peppered his eyes. His assailant struck again, mostly missing, just grazing his ear. Achan dove to the right, blinking wildly to clear the dirt from his eyes.
"Sir Nongo! I need light!" Silvo's voice.
Firelight flamed above. The moment Silvo's lanky form came into view, Achan charged, bashing his shoulder against Silvo's waist. They fell to the ground. Achan straddled the bean sprout and beat his shackles down on his face.
A hand gripped Achan's braid from behind and struck his temple so hard, he went limp. His mind whirred. Voices murmured.
Get up, he told himself. But he had lost the ability to communicate with his body.
Sir Nongo's voice spoke over him. "He is being still now. Be lowering the rope."
*
Achan tasted dirt.
He shook himself awake and found himself still in the pit, but hanging from his wrists against the dirt wall. His feet dangled. Worse, he was slowly being hoisted upward. His face scraped against the soft soil. He twisted around and spat the dirt out. His body continued to rise until a hand seized his cuffs and dragged him over the side.
A bee buzzed in his ear. He blinked and shook his head, hoping to clear the sound. Then he realized it wasn't a bee. People were talking. A lot of people.
A male voice spoke in a foreign tongue from the platform directly above, silencing the crowd. Achan realized too late they'd freed his wrists when a thicker, cold metal cuff clamped around his left wrist. He sat up, wincing at his sore body, and pulled.
"Be watching him," Sir Nongo said.
It was dim under the platform, but Achan could see well enough from the firelight streaming from the temple trenches. Thick posts and diagonal support beams held up the platform. Beyond, the grandstands rose on all sides. He could see only the bottom few rows, but they were crammed full of the mud-covered Barthians, faces fixed on the speaker.
Sir Nongo stood four paces away, holding a black iron ring the size of his head. It was attached to a long chain that connected to the cuff on Achan's right wrist. The chain was stretched taut, pulling Achan's arm to the side like he was reaching. His left arm lifted away, connected to a chain and ring held by Silvo, whose cheek was puffy and smeared with blood.
Achan frowned, pulse thumping in his temples. What were they going to do? He twisted around. Khai Mageia stood behind him, looking down. Khai must have left his barge and tracked them inland. Had Esek followed on his own barge, or had Khai met him here?
A staircase on Khai's right rose to the platform. Some men were walking down it. But a squawk pulled Achan's gaze to the support beam in front of him. A gowzal stared at him with beady eyes. Its mouth hung open like a dog's, panting and revealing a row of fang-like teeth. Was Hadad here too, watching?
"Your back is a nightmare," Khai said. "You must have been a lousy stray."
"He was." Esek stepped before Achan, followed by Chora and Sir Kenton, the Shield, whose size, scowl, and pale skin reminded Achan of the Eben giant that had taken three knights to best.
Chora, Esek's valet, tittered, as if Esek's sarcasm were actually funny. Achan supposed a man who wore a wool cloak in this heat wasn't right in the head anyway.
Esek wore black trousers and a red silk shirt. The armpits were wet with sweat. A fancy gold crown pushed his black hair off his sweaty forehead. His short, thick beard coated his cheeks and chin.
Achan's stomach coiled. Owr gleamed at Esek's side. And with all the rings on the man's fingers, one of them had to be his father's. Achan glanced at his hand. A stab of panic shot through his chest. He no longer wore Prince Oren's signet ring.
"Give me back my ring!"
Esek raised a dark eyebrow. "You should have shaved his face, Sir Nongo, so we could see the marks on his cheeks. Further evidence of his failure in this world. He might as well meet Gazar hiding nothing."
Achan didn't want to meet the ruler of the Lowerworld. He didn't want to die at all. He forced valiant words out his mouth. "You should know, Esek. I don't intend to die today."
"Irreverence!" Chora barked.
Sir Kenton bent over Achan and cuffed his ear. "You will address His Majesty formally or not at all."
Achan steeled himself, gritting his teeth. It would do him no good to fight back from his position. Silence was his best move.
Esek leaned against one of the vertical support posts, looking down his nose at Achan. "Your death is not for you to decide, stray. No, you'll not claim my life, my sword, my ring, my bride, as you might wish to do. I am certain you'll fit in fine in the Lowerworld. Do tell Gazar hello for me."
Chora sniggered. "Well said, my king."
"You and Gazar are close, are you?" Achan forgot he had decided not to speak.
"Enough of his cheek." Esek waved at Khai. "Get on with it!"
Khai pushed Achan to his knees, then prostrate on the ground. Bony hands held him down while his arms were brought behind his back and hooked together. The long chains attached to his cuffs dragged over his legs, heavy and cold.
Achan reached out for Esek's mind, desperate to try something. As usual, he found himself inside the man's head. Fine, he could make do.
"Release him," Achan said through Esek's voice.
"No!" Esek said of his own volition. "Sir Kenton?"
The Shield swung his curtain of black hair around so that he faced Esek, his protruding brow sinking low over his dark eyes. He cupped Esek's cheek.
Achan suddenly spun in a circle, as if his eyes were caught in a whirlpool. He flew up out of Esek's mind and hovered above the man's greasy head.