AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Lies! The ladies say I’m the best kisser on Braxia,” Ganek replied smugly.
I rolled my eyes, while Dawn chuckled some more. Irreverent as always, Ganek slipped his left arm around my shoulders and his right around Dawn’s, then led us out of the antechamber onto the large balcony that served as the royal box.
As soon as we stepped out, the loud voices of the crowd of more than one hundred thousand people erupted into raucous cheers that took me aback. Ganek discreetly released us, taking a step back as Dawn and I advanced. I waved at the crowd, their voices going up another notch. Under different circumstances, such a warm greeting would have been confirmation of their approval of me as their future leader.
We took our seats on the right side of my father’s and Mercy’s thrones in the center of the box, Ganek sitting on their left. Tagar and Nowik sat a little further ahead on the far sides of the box. Our guest seats remained empty. Younglings weren’t allowed in these events as some of them occasionally ended in rather gruesome deaths. While I didn’t mind the absence of the Council, I would have welcomed Krygor’s presence.
For Marghor, every clan sat together in their respective section of the arena, right in front of their assigned private antechamber. Many last-minute deals or temporary alliances were formed in those backrooms. I didn’t doubt they’d been used extensively today, not only to plan who would challenge me, but also for those who sought a peaceful resolution to a conflict with another clan.
In a moment, my father would officially open Marghor for the last time of his reign. He would then invite those wishing to issue a challenge to step forward. In front of each clan’s section, a small half-circle-shaped overhang allowed the Clan Leader to speak in a microphone to issue a challenge or make a statement. The emblem of each clan prominently featured on a banner attached to the railing of that overhang.
As status and power was everything on Braxia, clans constantly jockeyed for position so that they would move to a more enviable section, with seats closer to the lower levels of the arena for a better view of the action, and nearest to the Magnar’s box. Clan Aldriss held such an honor, their box located directly to our right. On top of their entire clan, Anton and Grace—Gavin’s parents—were also in attendance.
I nodded at them in greeting. Grace waved enthusiastically, her gorgeous face lighting up with a glowing smile as she peered at me with those unusual amber eyes she’d passed on to her son. She looked so delicate surrounded by their massive clansmen. Anton also smiled, but it was Gavin who retained my attention. If not for his youthful features, you’d thinkhewas Anton’s father, instead of the other way around so impressive was his size.
The boy locked eyes with me. His mouth stretched into a mysterious smile, then he winked at me.
What the fuck was that?
My father standing up to approach the microphone at the front of our box forced me to cast aside Gavin’s odd behavior. And yet, seeing him had erased the last sliver of worry that still knotted my back muscles. The sense of peace I’d felt after talking with Dawn once again washed over me.
“People of Braxia, welcome to my arena and to this annual celebration of Marghor,” my father said in a powerful voice.
The sound system amplified it throughout the arena, and the giant screens—strategically placed so that every seat could get a good view of anyone speaking on their overhangs—magnified his fearsome face.
The crowd saluted his words with more excited shouts. He allowed them to carry on for a few seconds before raising his palm. They immediately quieted.
“It has been my great honor to serve as your Magnar for the past thirty-five years,” my father continued. “Things were not always easy, sometimes even dire. But we persevered. Together, as one nation, we prevailed. Off-worlders tried to ruin us, they failed. They tried to bend us to their will, they failed. Whatever our issues—and they are many—together, we will continue to prevail, and our enemies will continue to fail.”
Victorious roars and war cries resonated throughout the arena in response. I smiled, my heart filling with pride for what he had indeed accomplished and the impossible odds he had overcome during his reign.
“Tonight, I am hosting this event for the last time, as I will soon pass on my role to the next poor sucker who will have the pleasure of dealing with your collective nonsense, countless demands, and endless grievances,” my father added with an exaggerated relieved expression.
Dawn gasped, pressing her palm to her chest as she stared at my father in disbelief. Mercy snorted, while the rest of the crowd and I burst out laughing. A few people even had the decency to look a little sheepish as they’d been among those to lay those never-ending complaints at his feet.
He smiled as the crowd once more quieted down. “Your Magnar is but one man with an impossible mission to accomplish for the greater good of Braxia. There is no ‘I’ in Magnar. It is a harsh and thankless job. But one that I would do all over again, if only to see us standing here proud, the way we are today. I cannot wait to see how much greater we will be under the rule of our new leader.”
The attendees cheered, many shouting his name almost like a war cry.
“And now, as I know you’ve all come here mostly to see your neighboring clans bash each other’s heads in, I’ll cut this short before you all start throwing stones at me,” father continued, provoking more laughter. “Today is Marghor, the Day of Reconciliation, which—as we all know on Braxia—actually means settling scores, resolving long-standing conflicts, and chasing after the ultimate prize. So if one of you wishes to issue a challenge, speak now.”
He no sooner spoke those words than sixteen Clan Leaders jumped to their feet and approached their respective microphones. A third of them stirred chuckles or amused reactions from the crowd. The lifelong feud between Clan Colpen and Clan Hurwas had become a thing of legend. Clan Leader Lomar Colpen was in fact the first to all but race to the microphone—not that it would have allowed him to speak sooner. Once again, status dictated the order in which each clan could lay their challenge. Colpen would be fourth.
The giant screen displaying a close-up image of Clan Leader Tonor Korlan indicated he would get to speak first.
“Clan Korlan challenges Clan Sodagh for restitution for the loss of nearly one hundred reavers, poisoned by the careless dumping of toxic waste in the waters we share, despite strict environmental decrees. As Clan Leader Orgin Sodagh has refused any reasonable settlement, once we crush their champion, we demand the original value of the lost herd, and a second time that amount as punitive damages.”
Ganek whistled through his teeth, while members of the crowd oohed and aahed, others hurling taunts at Clan Sodagh. They should have settled as they didn’t possess a warrior strong and skilled enough to defeat Clan Leader Tonor in a fair duel. As the bank would automatically transfer the funds to the winner, Orgin Sodagh couldn’t even try to avoid payment. That Tonor had requested the maximum compensation permitted for his specific injury spoke volumes about his exasperation with the matter.
“A challenge has been issued,” my father said. “Clan Sodagh will you answer it, or do you forfeit?”
“We will answer the challenge,” Orgin Sodagh replied, to the greater delight of the crowd.
Even with such highly improbable odds, it was better to take a chance than just hand over such large sums of credits.
One by one, seven other clans issued similar personal grievance challenges to other clans, a single one forfeiting as the requested settlement was laughable at best. Why had they not settled prior to Marghor? Out of pure pettiness to force Clan Leader Garmon Popok to publicly whine about having been bested when bidding over a lucrative off-worlder trade agreement.
When the screen finally displayed Jorak, the heir to Clan Arthol, I braced for what I already knew would follow. My father had executed his sire, Yorbek, for being one of the fifteen who had raped his first love. Ever since, Jorak had sought an opportunity for revenge without breaking any laws. His clan had opposed any beneficial changes my father attempted to make for Braxia, fueled discontent, and generally been a thorn in our sides. Remembering how Gavin had humiliated his clan during that match of Breikor brought me endless pleasure.
