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Farther along, the hunter’s guild shows off a rack of skins from various slain animals. Illusionary images of deer and hare romp in the air above their stall, periodically crumpling with the strike of a conjured spear.
They’ve set up a compact archery range for revelers to try their luck at shooting one of the very real pigeons whose wings they’ve clipped. A little girl squeals in victory when her arrow hits its mark with a thud of the feathered body.
This is a celebration dedicated to the godlen who presides over sports and hunting as well as warfare. But taking it all in, my stomach sinks.
Are the scourge sorcerers totally wrong? The ones who’ve spoken to me have claimed that the gods want us animalistic and wild, not bound by strict standards of behavior.
It certainly appears that at least one of the godlen would rather see us bloody and squabbling than maintaining lawful peace.
Why would the All-Giver have created a godlen like Sabrelle at all if he didn’t approve?
Why haven’t the lesser gods intervened more forcefully if they’re unhappy about what the scourge sorcerers are doing? If Kosmel knows, surely others have noticed the conspiracy too.
The trickster godlen seems to want me to interfere, but I don’t really know why. Or what ultimate outcome he’s looking for.
I’m drawn out of those uneasy thoughts at the sight of the bug club’s demonstration up ahead. Alek lets out a disgusted sound, but we all go over together.
The scholar hasn’t forgotten our purpose, no matter what snarky remarks Julita makes.
Several bug club members stand around a semi-circle of small terrariums, with a large glass tank in the middle of their assigned area. As we approach, two of the students are just dropping a couple of beetles nearly as large as their palms into the central tank.
The hulking insects lumber toward each other, and Julita’s presence cringes in my head. Then I’m suppressing a cringe of my own as one of the beetles hurls itself at the other and wrenches off a jointed leg.
Ah. So this is how the entomology club celebrates Sabrelle—by staging bug fighting matches. Lovely.
It does fit the general theme of the celebration.
I jerk my gaze away from the battle of bugs and scan the figures staging the fight.
One of them grins, and I identify him as Olari from the gleam of steel teeth between his lips. His decorative helm has a little red tassel, and he’s wearing a dark gray belt with red stitching over his tunic. That should help me recognize him if he roams into the crowd later.
With a couple of the others, I catch enough of a glimpse of their features to connect them to students I’ve observed on campus. The rest I’m not sure of—they could be from the second group that Alek suspects isn’t involved in the illicit magic part of the club’s practices.
I commit the most distinctive details of their clothing to memory and then turn away. “I think I’ve had enough of that.”
Casimir tucks his arm around my waist. “Let’s find those horses. It’s amazing what the top trainers can coax them to do.”
It’s obvious that he and Alek are committed to making the event as enjoyable as possible for me, no matter what else I have on my mind. We watch a parade of horses prance by and perform several feats of agility and strength with their riders. Then Alek pulls me over to a stall serving freshly steamed dumplings that I happily devour a handful of.
The scholar points out the scrolls unfurled by a bookshop’s storefront, missives from old historical battles that I can tell he’s itching to carry back to the library.
I give him a teasing nudge with my elbow. “I could probably arrange for a few of those to end up in your possession.”
Alek looks vaguely horrified, but on my behalf rather than at the suggestion. “I wouldn’t ask you to take that risk—”
“Oh, it’d barely be any.” I pause. “But I suppose I should stay on my best behavior in all things not strictly necessary, given everything else I’ve been getting up to.”
Before my uneasy melancholy can settle over me again, Casimir waves us on toward a dog breeder’s tent. “It looks like the royal houndsman has a new litter on offer. Who doesn’t like puppies?”
I have to admit that the sight of the furballs tussling and tumbling does lift my spirits a little.
I want to sink into the strange sense of normalcy I’m tasting traces of, wandering around the festivities with two men who somehow want to be here with me. But every time I glance up, I need to be watching for the bug club members on the move. I’m always at least a little aware of the cluster of guards around the royal procession.
Finally, the peal of the bell tells me it’s time to help out with the college’s military performance. I hustle over to the space set aside for Stavros and the three other professors who organized the display and hand out the assigned weaponry to the participating students like a good little assistant.
As the professors and students launch into a re-enactment of one of the most famous historical battles, I take a step back from the ring.
A jaunty voice speaks softly by my shoulder. “You should be over there putting them all to shame with your skills, Knives.”
