Karin Ayshasdaughter
I am going to be killed.
Those words niggled at the back of Karin’s mind as she put her head through the hole in her tabard and tied the straps round her waist. The garment swamped her. She took the straps twice round, but had to hitch it up. The front bulged out. It makes me look as though I have a figure.
She had chosen blue. It was her favourite colour. She might as well look as good as possible on her last day.
I know I will have to fight each of the other contenders in turn. Early tomorrow those who survive must leave the Village for a year. I must presume that those who “don’t come back” were actually killed in the fighting.
Like me.
She ticked off her potential opponents on her fingers, wondering which of them would make an end of her. Mallick Mothersson? Shades, he was big! She scarcely came up to his shoulder, and his arm was nearly as thick as her leg. She had heard the stories, of course. Found on the Temple step when he was a day or two old. Some people said he must have been pupped by a renegade serf. Krystall, one of the Temple Initiates, had given birth to a child less than a light before, and had been persuaded to adopt the foundling. Karin was surprised that Mallick was allowed to contend, but the Elders must have been satisfied that he was free born.
No, Mallick would not kill her. That staff he carried, taller than him and thicker than his wrist, would hurt when he hit her, but she did not think it would kill.
Sandy Jayesson, Krystall’s own child? He was tall, too, but not as tall as Mallick and much slighter. His armour, and his sword, looked like some of the relics her father displayed in the Great Hall. Karin doubted that sword would be good enough to cut through the hardened leather of her tunic.
It would not be Aspen Flikkasdaughter, either. She had a staff, as well, although shorter and thinner than Mallick’s. She looked as though she hardly knew how to hold it. She probably would not survive the day, either. Flikka was in charge of the kitchens at the White Tower, Karin’s home. Rumour was that Aspen had, in fact, been doing the work since her woman-making, while her mother caroused and rutted with the men. Karin gave a wry smile. At least if Aspen survived she would have skills to see her through her Venture.
How would I support myself, if I were to go on a Venture? My sisters all managed, but Sybille is an excellent seamstress, and supported herself that way. Dany says she joined a troop of entertainers and spent her Venture dancing, in little or no clothing. Truly will not admit it, but most people believe she spent her time entertaining, too. Only she entertained rich men in her bed.
Karin gave a sad smile. I cannot sew, or make things to sell. I am not athletic, like Dany, and would not lower myself to Truly’s level. Even if I had Dany’s skill, or Truly’s morals, men do not find me attractive. Well, one or two of father’s guests said they did, but I believe they saw my father’s daughter, not me as a person.
Would it be Marvin Martinsson? Voxhull forfend! His father was her father’s master-at-arms, and the boy strutted round the Tower as though he were Lord himself. She would sooner die by her own hand than let him strike her down. Karin’s lips creased into a sarcastic line. Strut he might, dress as a warrior he could, but she had seen him fight. To beat him would be no problem.
Roget Thundersson or Liane Lianesdaughter, the two smiths? Yes, it would be one of them, for sure. She’d seen their swords when she was at the Temple. Fine, heavy blades, made from the best bronze. They would go through her as if she were butter.
Roget had made those swords himself. He was a fine armourer. His father had been the Village smith for many years. Liane’s father had been the farrier, until a warhorse kicked him in the head. Liane’s mother had died in childbirth. Thunder and Treshur had brought her up with Roget. He was older than Liane. Karin had heard how, shortly after Liane’s woman-making, they had been caught in one of the barns, lying together, unclothed. Thunder had rolled on about it being wrong, but why? They weren’t blood relatives. They had been openly holding hands today. She wished them luck. They would no doubt Venture together, and successfully.
I have nothing to offer the world. She reviewed her boyish hips, the two small bumps on her chest. A year and a half ago, at her woman-making, Barbryn had told her she was still developing. With her eighteenth anniversary past, she would develop no more. She looked at Aspen’s rounded figure, and Liane’s curves. They are women, I am nothing. Perhaps I should leave.
Blinking back a tear, she saw the trumpet and leaf symbol which the priests wore. Her eyes rested on the flower. It was beautiful outside, with much hidden potential.
Karin turned. No-one was near her. Who spoke?
Lutha Rikkelsdaughter called for their attention.
“Right. Enough talk,” she announced, “time for some action. I’ve put seven stones in this pot, each one the colour of one of your tabards. I’ll pull two out, and the people wearing those tabards will fight. Remember, you’ll fight each of the others once, and once only. Leave it to me to make sure that the same pair doesn’t come out twice. But be sure that you will fight every one of the other contenders.”
Karin felt her throat go dry, her knees tremble. Lutha took a stone out of the pot.
It was blue.
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