Chapter 162: Prince's Palace
The palace of the Prince of Pentos sat at the very heart of the city, a sprawling and opulent complex constructed from pure white marble.
Though the Prince of Pentos was but a nominal leader, a figurehead responsible for presiding over ceremonies, his lavish palace served as the face of the city. It was a monument of such grandeur that it could never bring the slightest shame upon Pentos.
The First Standard Guard, the personal retinue of the old governor Lotalus, was stationed outside the palace walls. Half the men carried spears, the other half shortswords, and all were equipped with large, round shields capable of covering a man's entire torso.
Their weaponry was impeccably uniform.
In stark contrast, their armor was a mismatched collection of various styles and qualities, obviously self-supplied, which gave them a decidedly shabby appearance.
If Butler Mills had not insisted that the First Standard Guard was the most elite unit of the Pentos City Guard, Ian would have dismissed them as a ragtag militia.
After passing through a golden archway that towered several meters high, Ian and a host of other Pentoshi nobles were ushered into the Prince's Palace by a retinue of eunuchs.
They followed a cobblestone avenue flanked by carved stone pillars, which led them first through the palace garden. They did not linger to admire the colorful scenery, instead proceeding directly to the Prince's Square.
A fighting platform had been erected in the square, where the day's competition would be held.
It was in this contest that Ian intended to collect the last bit of interest owed to him before his departure from Pentos: the heads of two players, Ander and Belz Poole.
The games had not yet begun, so Ian followed the throng of nobles as they continued toward the glittering edifice of the front hall.
The hall was immense, easily three times the size of the great hall in the Red Keep, its entire floor covered in a thick Myrish carpet. The three great symbols of Pentos were carved into the massive stone pillars that supported the ceiling: the golden scale of trade, the steel sword of war, and the silver whip of law.
Rows of long tables lined the perimeter of the hall, laden with a vast array of fine wines and exquisite foods, though it was still hours from lunchtime.
A giant statue of the Lord of Light dominated the center of the hall. For many of the Pentoshi nobles, the first thing they did upon entering was approach the stone sculpture and offer a prayer.
Celia was standing beneath the effigy. Her eyes met Ian's from across the great hall, and she gave him a subtle nod, a silent confirmation that his instructions had been carried out.
Ian knew she wasn't lying. Since they had parted ways the day before, Celia had remained constantly within Daju's field of vision. Her every move had been under his surveillance.
Truth be told, having only recently advanced his shapeshifting ability to the intermediate level, Ian was not yet fully proficient in controlling both his own body and his transformed familiar simultaneously. Fortunately, neither body was currently in combat, so the strain on his mental faculties was manageable.
The wait in the hall was not long. Soon, a eunuch posted at the gate announced the arrival of the day's first protagonist in a booming voice. "Suda Tetrus, son of Magister Guerrero Tetrus, has arrived!"
"Prince Hazan Mohalis, son of Prince Trigg Mohalis, and his fiancée, Deliv Hakot, daughter of Magister Godin Hauket, have arrived!" the eunuch proclaimed again, announcing the next party.
Prince Hazan entered almost the very moment after Suda Tetrus, a carefully timed arrival that both asserted his more noble status and avoided any appearance of impropriety.
Deliv wore a floor-length gown of purple velvet. A gorgeous, gem-encrusted belt was cinched around her waist, accentuating her exquisite figure as she followed beside Hazan, who was clad in a military uniform. She held his arm affectionately, leaning gently against his shoulder, the very picture of a delicate, bird-like maiden.
Her appearance instantly captured everyone's attention. After all, on the surface at least, she was the entire cause of today's martial contest.
There was one exception, of course. Ander Poole, standing beside Suda Tetrus, fixed his gaze not on Deliv but on Darren Grafson, who stood at Ian's side.
It was not difficult for Ian to recognize the look. He was declaring war on the other player.
This, Ian surmised, was likely why Celia had opted to throw out the name Gini Taime to divert Ander's attention, rather than simply eliminating him outright. Though the Ander brothers' alliance had climbed into the top thirty, it was clear that Celia did not consider them players on the same level as herself or Ian.
Had she, Ian wondered, intended to be rid of Ander Poole all along when she first conceived of this contest?
Ian's eyes moved past Ander Poole, settling on the young man standing on Suda's other side. It was the same youth he had seen at the White Sands Arena that night, the one discussing water dancers with Suda. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Suda, an unmistakable sign of equal status. Barring any surprises, this had to be the son of Magister Cecito Morn, the agent of Volantis.
The Morn family had financed Suda's contest this time, hiring his champions for him. Ian wondered what expression they would wear when they discovered that the leader of the Volantis Party, Magister Guerrero Tetrus himself, was the greatest mole of all.
As the groups converged, Ian and Darren naturally greeted Hazan and merged with his entourage. Together, they made their way to their designated places in the stands, temporary wooden structures that the palace slaves had erected in the square, complete with simple awnings to provide shade.
As soon as he was seated, Ian noticed three eunuchs positioned behind Hazan's chair, each bearing a long war hammer over his shoulder.
The sight of the hammers gave Ian a sudden, disquieting sense of déja vu. He was thrown back to the battle at the Stranger's Temple, to the spear-hammer that had been hurled at his head. A chill traced its way down his spine.
The head of this war hammer was not large, which would allow a man of Hazan's less-than-imposing build to wield it with ease. In truth, real war hammers were nothing like their counterparts in popular entertainment. They were not the size of watermelons—the massive hammers of the pumpkin-helmed honor guards were purely ceremonial. The head of a short-handled war hammer was rarely larger than a man's clenched fist and typically weighed just over a kilogram, its lethality derived from its shape and mass distribution. The head of a long-handled hammer might be slightly larger, but its mass would be three kilograms at most; any more and its value in actual combat would be severely diminished.
As for why it required three men to carry these relatively light weapons, Ian could only assume it was for the sake of presentation and pomp.
A few minutes later, the two magisters, Guerrero Tetrus and Godin Hauket, arrived in the Prince's Square themselves, taking their seats on opposite sides of the fighting platform.
Immediately, the proxy warriors for both sides made their way to the preparation area beneath the platform. There were more than ten champions on each side, half of whom were designated as substitutes.
Of course, "substitute" in this context did not mean a replacement for an injured fighter. Rather, they were there to provide greater tactical flexibility.
According to the rules of the contest, one side would send a fighter onto the field first. The opposing side could then select their champion in response, choosing from their entire pool of prepared warriors. Only when a man officially stepped onto the fighting platform did he occupy one of the official competition slots.
In other words, aside from the slots reserved for Prince Hazan and Suda themselves, each side could choose their remaining six champions from their pool of candidates based on the tactical needs of each bout.
Just as the two magisters were about to announce the start of the games, the unexpected happened.
The two water dancers who had been standing with Hazan's party suddenly walked directly over to the other side of the fighting stage. A ripple of noise washed over the stands, which quickly grew into a clamor.
The nobles of the Braavosi party, unaware of the inside story, erupted in panicked confusion. They shot to their feet, shouting curses across the square.
The nobles of the Volantis faction, though equally ignorant of the cause, rose in response, cheering wildly and hurling insults back at their Braavosi rivals.
If the stands had not been set so far apart, a brawl would have surely broken out.
And just as the scene reached a fever pitch, one of the mercenary warriors from Suda's retinue suddenly strode toward Hazan's side. He turned to the Volantis stands and shouted that he despised Suda's villainous behavior and had chosen to fight for a different, more enlightened master.
There was no doubt about it. The man was Bronn.
"I have never seen a mercenary with such a profound sense of justice," Hazan said, utterly shocked by Bronn's display. He turned to Ian, his eyes wide with admiration. "He is like the most exemplary of your Andal knights!"
"No," Ian said, shaking his head and pulling the prince back to reality. "He asked you for three times the price. I've already agreed on your behalf."
This was, after all, an expense that would have to be reported to Hazan.
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