Chapter 177: Breath-Stopping Eyes

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POV: Brynden

Arena of Contenders.

Year 290, the ninth day of the first moon.

On the second day of the competition. Eighth finals, sixth and final round of the third round. The morning after a drunken Knight, Four-Eyes prevailed in the second round...

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It was the last race to reach the semi-finals. The tension built up on Brynden's shoulders was sky-high. The throat was dry and irritated by the 14-year-old's constant nervous swallowing.

The first day of the competition ended in the third round. Therefore, the final could occur by the second day's end.

The first two races were spring walks in the middle of the countryside, but from the third, the path became steeper and narrower. Shivers of anxiety racked his arms, fingers and legs...

The boy even felt like a fool for having publicly mocked Henry Bracken at the banquet the other night. Unfortunately, the heir to Stone Hedge failed by a hair's breadth in the second heat, thus having no chance to compete against his arch-rival.

The Bracken was knocked out of the competition by Ser Andar Royce, the eldest son of Lord Yohn Royce, an excellent archer who gave Brynden a hard time in the third round (he won by only one point).

Because of his stupid provocative actions, Brynden, much to his father's chagrin, had been forced to publicly accept Bracken's proposed challenge, forcing him to take part in the grand melee and joust...

Brynden in the melee could have come out on top, but what about the joust? Despite constant practice, lance and the horse needed to be in harmony with the young rider. It would have been lucky if the 14-year-old had prevailed against any country Hedge Knights...

Brynden even felt like a fool in asking his uncle Haymitch if, 'by chance', there was also some magic lance in weirdwood that could help him in the upcoming competition.

His uncle's reply was just fat, wine-choked laughter...

But there was a better time to think about the problems of tomorrow. Those of the here and now were pressing enough. His opponent was the Prince of the Red Flower Vale, Jalabhar Xho.

A summer islander in his thirties with dark skin and an extravagant cloak of green and scarlet feathers adorned with jewels and delicate gold chain mail. A fierce archer who had scored three headshots in a row in the fourth round. But the catch on his crown that instilled reverence and awe in his opponents was his fine goldenheart longbow.

Brynden sought reassurance in the feel of the smooth, prodigious weirdwood tree. It was a few seconds before the start of the sixth round.

'Inhale, Brynden... Phew... Focus on the prey...' Blackwood's concentration refocused on the enchanted arch. A strange and intimate connection was binding itself more and more between possessor and weapon. The bow was an almost sentient entity.

Whispers of answers came not from the instrument but from the churning of the Wind...

Brynden closed his eyes and inwardly begged: 'Please. Help me again to guide my arrow...' The thought was accompanied by a strong desire to shoot down the next pigeon, hitting it in the back.

*Fiuu...!* a slight warm breeze caressed the nape of his neck, and he answered the call, whispering in a crackle of dry leaves:

[... Why do you wish to kill Hunter?] Brynden knew the answer. The bow always asked for a reason for the death of a living being...

'To hunt Beauty.' A warm pulse of confidence and relaxation pervaded the archer's body. The stiffness in his fingers melted away, and the trembling in his legs ceased. Brynden was ready.

"Archers into position!" Thundered the judge.

"May Goddess of Hunt guide your arrow, Noble Ravenous Hunter." Wished the Prince in his characteristic ebony pronunciation as he positioned himself with his left foot forward, wielding his faithful golden bow.

"And may the Old Gods watch over your hand, Noble Prince Jalabhar." Rebutted the heir of Raventree Hall in the same polite tone.

"Knock!" Brynden slid the ash arrow to the string, which received and embedded the slender nock like a maiden's kiss.

A hundred feet away, four colour-marked pigeons released from each end of the tower in two opposite directions. And only one of those eight birds was marked with a red dot. An ordeal that Brynden could hardly have passed without good help...

The signal was late in coming. Only at the stroke of the fourteenth second, a *Dong!* was heard.

Brynden inhaled deeply, and time slowed down... His heartbeat roared loudly, accelerating. An electrifying itch suggested [Left!] The target was in the middle of the quartet. The accelerated beat synchronised with the beating of the prey's wings.

Brynden stretched the rope for just over a second. Blackwood had a clear view of the target and wanted to let go of the string, but his fingers resisted, whispering [Not yet... Still waiting].

In the meantime, Jalabhar Xho's rope was thrown... [Wait... NOW!]

Brynden relaxed his fingers, caressing his right cheek, and the thin ash wood shaft shot out.

Jalabhar's arrow struck the back of a bird... but the wrong one. The orange-marked pigeon had placed itself in the middle of the first arrow's trajectory, providing three-quarters cover for the real target.

On the other hand, Brynden's arrow slipped through the downed obstacle and lodged itself in the top of the target's neck. Hitting the red dot on the back was almost impossible.

The linesmen delayed for a few seconds to pronounce the verdict... Then, an attendant carefully lifted the body of a pigeon and sought advice from his superior, who, after analysing the bird's body, called back the first judge, Ser Wyatt.

'What have they got to argue about? I practically took his head off. You just have to attribute a headshot to me...!' Brynden thought with annoyed alarm.

***

About three minutes later...

'Prince Jalabhar misses the target. Brynden Blackwood's headshot is valid. However... the jury cannot award him a headshot. Young Lord Brynden moves ahead by a single point!"

The Trident stands -except for the Brackens- launched indignant shouts and whistles.

"What?! But this is an outrage, Ser! The hole is less than a fingernail away from the skull!" Thundered Brynden, pointing his finger at the little body of the dead bird with a large hole in the high back of its neck.

"Right!", "It's a disgrace!", "That was blatantly a headshot!", "No! It wasn't!", "And yet it was!"...Shouts and arguments of all kinds came from all sides. Many archers approached the group concerned to witness and mutter their point of view.

Only two scraps of flesh and feathers still held the head attached to the neck. A very peculiar shot. Usually, the wave and vibration of the shaft directly blew off the bird's lead, smaller than a walnut. Brynden's arrow must have been shot with such skill that all the shot's energy was concentrated on the long thin square tip, preferring penetration to concussion.

"Neck not be head." The rogue, lowly, profiteering Prince of Jhala sustained the judge's motion, shaking his head in turn.

"I have seen dozens of targets get hit in places further away from the skull and be rated Headshot!" Rebutted Brynden with indignation. Several witnessing archers supported the motion.

"Aye, milord, what you assert is valid. And that was precisely the reason for the delay in our assessment... Unfortunately, those shots also severed the head cleanly and marked it with branding paint.

We would have attributed the blow to you if even one feather of the scalp had been stained with green paint. But as you can well testify, the skull of this pigeon is still attached to the shoulders-"

"Barely attached," Brynden interjected.

"Nonetheless, 'still' attached and visibly devoid of green... The jury's decision is made contestant. Now, get back in position."

The boy fumed with rage. In such a situation, perfection had turned against him!

Such anger disturbed the harmonious connection between him and the bow, affecting the performance of the second shot...

****

"Shoulder! A point for Brynden Blackwood! Red Centre! Five points for Prince Jalabhar Xho! Jalabhar takes a 5-2 lead!" With an incredible performance, seasoned with a pinch of dumb luck, Jalabhar's arrow grazed the red dot by a millimetre, marking the dot with a small splash of blue dye.

'Tsz...! Damn me and my lack of self-control! Now, not even a Headshot can make up for it. Prince Xho would only need one point to win... If I don't score a Red Centre, at least a second ahead of the Summer Islander, I'm out!' Brynden inwardly scolded himself for his immaturity.

One should not have used that bow out of resentment. On the contrary, that object demanded a deep respect for life. And he, like a fool, indulged in immature thoughts, thus polluting the tuning with his remarkable advantage...

"Courage, Brother! You can still do it!" His younger brother, Lucas, almost climbed onto the parapet to cheer him on. His father, Tytos, also approached the edge of the stands to cheer: "Come on, my lords, my son needs all the support of the Trident!"

The members of House Piper, Mallister, Darry, Smallwood, Wayn, Mooton and Butterwell answered the call by rising, in turn, to cheer more vigorously. Many archers and spectators, clustered in small groups less than fifty feet from the circle, approached to encourage him.

"Courage, boy! You can still win!", "You are one step away from the semi-final, young lord!", "Bring honour to the Riverlands!"

Even the heir of Riverrun, Edmure Tully, joined in the cheering.

Brynden appreciated the gesture in his heart, but that expectation only increased the pressure.

However, the boy was unaware that such a commotion was the ideal diversion to allow a 12-year-old to get close to the edge without arousing suspicion...

****

End POV.

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POV: The Guardian of Love

Confederation stands.

As an ovation of encouragement grew...

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{"Tsz! Your pupil is blatantly rigging the race... One of those infamous 'Blessed One Spells'?} Asked the Archwizard in a low voice to his guarantor guardian.

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{"Mmm, yes, it is. How did you notice that? I was pretty sure the confederation couldn't intercept that magic."} Asked the Watcher in turn in their confidential language.

{"No somatic gestures or arcane traces, but lips and the concentration of your gaze betrayed his true intentions. You're not the only one with a good eye, Zick… Perhaps, even the Hightower might have noticed."} The Guardian of Love kept his usual relaxed face, not worrying about the possibility.

{"Lord Leyton has already been informed of possible 'paranormal attractions'... Everyone here hides their tricks and secrets."} Zick cast an inquiring glance at his counterpart. Chai's face stiffened instinctively, coughing innocently: {It's just a small precaution... Nothing more}.

{"And that is why I turn a blind eye, my Friend. Lord Leyton also enjoys the same privilege."} The Sorcerer's curiosity skyrocketed. {"Which is? What is he hiding?"}

{"No. This will remain private. Unless you want me to reveal to Lord Hightower what you're hiding up your sleeve..."} The Archwizard clicked his tongue, renouncing his intentions.

{"Everyone is entitled to keep a few little secrets... In any case, I have obtained the approval of my two fellow Guardians. As long as such parlour tricks don't create too much havoc among the masses, my heir is free to act as he pleases."} Zick concluded.

The last part of the contest had almost dried up the interest of the two spectators. By now, the game had been decided... The Blackwood boy had been pumped up to the max. Not even Josua, with her faithful golden bow, would be able to defeat the young archer.

{"So what? Who will win the tournament? The drunken knight, by any chance?"} Zick saw no reason to deny this information.

{"No... Barring unforeseen circumstances, that Nightwatchman named Ulmer will be awarded the first position. He will be followed by the Blackwood boy and Ser Haymitch."}

{"Ah... I see. Bloody Snow wants to both finance and revitalise the dying prestige of the Night's Watch order. And I imagine the commercial monopoly on that portentous new arc will be granted by the Exiled House of Crow. The Stark plans to welcome the Blackwoods into his pack, am I right?"} Chai's keen eye deduced.

{"Correct deduction."} Zick confirmed.

{"Mmm, an interesting plan... The magic of the Crow descendants' dynasty is still alive, though definitely watered down... Mha! What bizarre customs in the North…If it were up to me, I would have exterminated the Raven Kings back then rather than forcing them into exile."} Then Chai changed the subject.

{"In any case, how did you manage to convince the Green King to let you borrow 'Whisper of Zephyr'? I've been trying to throw futile offers at the greedy Druid for ages just to give him a peek... But more importantly, why waste it on that acerbic crow-boy? And for a mere contest, to boot."}

{"I offered nothing. It was not I who asked for anything. In truth, I was not even aware of the existence of that bow... It was Duncan.

The bow belongs to the Beauty Keeper's granddaughter, Druantia. Somehow, my protégé has come to terms with the Green King's heir. I don't know the specifics. As to why he needs her for this tournament, I leave that to you, 'Genius of the East'... I wouldn't want to steal all the fun from you."} The Sorcerer greeted the challenge with an amused grin.

{"So your protégé has already bought the Green King's favour... Pff, the encounter in Isle of a Thousand Faces smells more and more like a 'petty trap'.

First, Bloody Snow sets up the whole shebang, dodges me by any means possible, holds my most trusted assistant in his grasp, snatches gold and provisions from me, and then sets the stage to corner me in the safe and 'impartial' lands of the Archdruid... Remarkable."} Zick greeted the praise with a faint friendly smile, showing no dismay at the subject 'Quaithe'. The Watcher strongly suspected that The King in The Yellow had already guessed something. Chai had suspiciously accepted Zick's strange and unexpected request without question...

"Wooooaaaa!!!!", "Yessss!!!" a roar erupted in the stands, especially on the Trident side.

{"… So, you knew about Quaithe."} Zick added.

"Red Centre and null shot! Competitor Brynden Blackwood wins the heat by 7 to 5! Big applause for our third semi-finalist, my lords and ladies!!!" Thundered the competition judge, raising the boy's right arm in disbelief.

{"Pff, and you ask? You stalked that poor girl the whole way. Whatever you think, Zick, the mind of a descendant of the Great Phoenix never fully rusts. I am no common sorcerer who gives up his soul and sanity to cling to a mere phylactery. So why do you think The God-On-Earth has become the most powerful enchanter in history? Phoenixes always rise from their ashes, firmer and brighter than before}.

*Clap! Clap! Clap!*

Both Zick and Chai reverently joined in the applause. Then Chai blurted out:

{Tsz...! Blackmailing my assistant and forcing her to vow silence... Quaithe is still beating herself up with guilt. And I'm the evil one here? You and that brat are two devious bandit-huggers of the highest order!"} The applause of the Lord of Carcosa became more aggressive.

{"Is the Guardian of Magic aware of that sea route, Chai...? You know very well that we are not allowed to explore the Unknown Continents."} Asked the Guardian while maintaining an unchanged tone and manner.

{"Who cares about the Dark Continents! I have not violated any Taboo! Temporarily transiting those waters is still permitted. I only wanted to guard a course to attack those scoundrels in Oldtown from behind for situations of 'extreme necessity'. But now, that crazy disciple of yours is going to screw it up!"} Chai Duq retorted, using another ovation to mask his angry tone.

Then the Sorcerer cast a mischievous glance at the Guardian of Love, asking:

{"What did Quaithe find out that was so "Scorching" to force your hand to put on all that theatrics? Who or What are you hiding, Zick?"}

The Watcher hesitated for a moment.

{"...As I said, everyone is entitled to keep a few little secrets}. After that, the Sorcerer and the Watcher indulged in a fair exchange of laughter.

The duo accentuated their applause when Competitor Blackwood bowed politely to their side to thank them for the praise and applause they had received.

{"Mh, mh, mh... I warn you. I demand to be compensated appropriately for such an affront.

I will not go easy on that boy, my Friend... Bloody Snow is teasing, without regard, beings more ancient and powerful than he can imagine... Yes. You know, and he knows what stories and tales can tell. But I have lived those stories in part, Zick.

All the pain and suffering I have experienced first-hand, over nearly a millennium, have taught me a precious truth..."} The confusion of the ovations covered Chai's only sentence expressed in common language.

"Power and Antiquity demand respect." The illusory cloak in the Sorcerer's face withered for a moment, showing The Watcher his true, ancient, dark face. The black shark-like bulbs adorned with two amber-yellow irises made contact with the Guardian of Love's rapt eyes.

{"Your pupil needs a hard but necessary lesson."} Whispered the Chief Sorcerer while maintaining the slight ceremonial smile for the masses, as the illusion reshaped his skin smooth as jade, free of impurities, and harder than leather

Ordinary sorcerers, unwilling to indulge in the ephemeral mortality of life, dosed themselves with the precious Essence of Night to cheat death. Most of Zick's former companions, the Nine Demons, also used it, remaining younger and longer-lived than usual.

But sorcerers who truly wished to achieve 'immortality' bound their souls to rare artefacts. Glass or Valyrian steel candles, Leviathan hearts, necklaces of the Red God sect and many other minor contrivances... However, although bound to this world, as long as the intact object held the phylactery, no one could completely counter the passage of time. The soul could endure, but not the body.

Except for a peculiar and ancient dynasty of wizards...

Those who share the legacy of the Phoenix and who, with great difficulty, manage to awaken some of its dormant ancestral power by binding their phylactery to an almost unobtainable Phoenix Egg, the last gifts of the God-On-Earth, before ascending to the divine realms...

Chai Duq and Lo Tho were the only magicians still alive with such a privilege.

Whenever the body of the Guardian of Magic, or the Lord of Carcosa, withered from the passage of time, it rose again amidst flames of light and shadow, stronger and shinier than before.

According to Chai, his master's skin, nowadays, must have been harder than stone. Hard to the point that ordinary bronze and iron were no longer able to wound the Guardian of Magic...

{"You, the Confederation and your disciple will be 'properly' compensated for the inconvenience, Chai. You have my word on that. And it is your right to represent the power and influence of the Noble Confederation of Mages as you see fit..."} The Watcher had only given part of his answer, and the Sorcerer guessed as much, waiting patiently for the remainder.

{"However, it is I who dare to warn you, my dear Millennial-Friend-Wizard...

I have yet to explore much of the world, and I lack the experience and knowledge you possess; that is true... 'But', in the course of my short-lived existence, I have nevertheless had the opportunity to experience danger several times and to meet, in person, many frightening beings.

Death-worshipping assassins...

Warlords dedicated only to the pleasure of blood and conquest...

Ancient descendants of forgotten dynasties who sold their souls in the name of revenge...

Slavers addicted to feelings of the purest cruelty and accustomed to the basest depravity...

Several disciples, consumed by power and lost in their path...

Bankers who would sell out their dearest friends and loves in the name of greed...

Lords of ancient cities, guardians of the darkest secrets...

And Sorcerers who have sacrificed their existence to peer into and study the deepest and darkest corners of the abyss..."}

The eyes of the Guardian of Love sharpened and tinged a deep, dark crimson, drawing the full attention of the powerful individual at his side.

The Watcher's confidential whisper expressed pure seriousness and awe.

{"Yet... without a doubt, the day I experienced the true meaning of fear, or to be precise, the 'Fear of the Unknown', was seven years ago...

The moment when I was half a step away from losing control. The moment when I heard in my head thousands of voices begging me to bring down, on the spot and by any means possible, the 'Abomination- Contronature' that stood in front of me...

I had to draw on every ounce of self-control and willpower not to go along with those voices..."} Zick channelled that feeling of pure fear and transmitted it into the Sorcerer's mental passage.

The Occlumancer, after a moment's hesitation, opened the doors of the Mental Fortress, guarding Carcosa's deepest secrets and knowledge, welcoming the very dangerous 'guest'.

Zick showed a single huge painting from his infinite collection. After that, the artist illustrated the gigantic work:

The image captured the gaze of a lived individual, brimming with wisdom, knowledge, immense confidence, immovable steadfastness and a potential deeper than the abyss itself...

{"I refer to the moment, in which, for the first time, my gaze met the small, silvery-green eyes of a young, defenceless, helpless child from Torrhen's Square..."}

The pearly skin armour of the inscrutable Ex-Emperor of Yi Ti was scratched, leaving an imperceptible mark on his face, to the common eye. But to The Watcher, that tiny glimmer of feeling, mixed in awe, curiosity and fascination, was as dazzling as the sun.

Zick released the tension in his gaze, concluding the sermon in the common tongue in his usual relaxed and friendly tone.

"I remember every moment as if it were yesterday. That was when I felt millions of icy, invisible needles digging into my skin until they reached the roots of my fragile bones... The beating of my heart accelerated until it reached the frequency of a mongoose from the Shrykes... The seconds that lasted for minutes... The blood spurts energy in every muscle of my body.

The most disturbing and, simultaneously 'exhilarating' encounter of my life. Ha ha!"

***

End Chapter.

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