Borrowed Levels

Chapter 25: The Boon

The final was a formality. Selka Dray, the last of Mael's champions, had lost her power with the rest. She fought bravely and well, but she was only a woman with a sword now, and Ren beat her in ninety seconds without drawing blood.

The crowd screamed his name.

He stood in the center of the arena, sweating and half deaf, while the herald unrolled a scroll and announced, in a voice that cracked with astonishment, that the champion of the three hundred and twelfth Grand Tournament was Ren Calder of Veyra.

A golden cup was placed in his hands. A laurel crown was set on his head. The Treasurer himself descended from the balcony, smiling like a man at a funeral.

"Champion," said Corvane Mael. His voice carried through the arena. "By ancient right, you may ask a boon. What do you wish?"

Ren looked at the pit, now empty. At Hesk in the stands, free. At the huge, gray-blue banner of the Treasury hanging above the north wall.

"I want the Weighing Floors closed," he said. "All of them. Today."

A ripple of shock went through the crowd.

Mael's smile did not change. "That is a very large request."

"It's a very large wrong."

"It is not within the power of any single man."

"You're the Treasurer."

"I am," said Mael pleasantly. "Which is why I know exactly what it would cost." He turned to the crowd, spreading his hands. "Citizens! The champion asks us to close the Weighing Floors. Shall we tell him what that means?"

A hum rose from the stands, unsure.

"It means no more medicine for the sick. No more bread for the hungry. No more coats for the cold." Mael's voice was warm and reasonable. "It means that every poor man in Calloway is told, tomorrow morning, that his children may starve. Is that what you want, young man?"

Ren felt the crowd shift against him, uncertain, afraid.

"That isn't what I'm asking," he said. "I'm asking you to stop taking their lives to give them bread."

"But the lives are theirs to sell."

"Not if there's no choice."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the cheap seats. Mael's smile thinned.

"The boon is denied," he said gently. "It violates the Honest Weights. A fair exchange cannot be abolished by a boon. I am sorry, Champion. You may ask something else."

Ren stared at him.

"Then free every Tribute in your pit," he said. "Every one of them. And Ilyra Vance, and every holder you've leashed."

"Ah." Mael lowered his voice, so that only the champion could hear. "That, I am afraid, is not a boon. That is a confession."

He lifted a hand.

From every entrance of the arena, gray-blue figures poured onto the sand. Auditors, hundreds of them, in bronze masks, with blades drawn. The crowd screamed and scattered. In the stands, Dara was on her feet. Hesk was pulling Pip behind her. Granna Oss stood on her bench, shaking her net-mending needle like a sword.

"By order of the Treasury," said Mael, "the holder known as Ren Calder is arrested for harboring an unregistered Ledger, tampering with tournament rites, and the theft of Treasury property."

"You can't," said Ren. "I'm the champion."

"You are a criminal, my boy." Mael sighed. "I did warn you that tradition has limits."

Bronze masks closed in from every side. Ren drew a sword, and a dozen blades touched his throat. In the stands, a clash of steel rang out as Dara and Hesk fought their way down the steps. A cry went up. A thin, silver-haired figure watched from the highest tier, hands folded, expression unreadable.

Voss.

He did not move. He did not blink. He only inclined his head, very slightly, as if acknowledging a debt that had come due.

The Ledger flickered in Ren's vision, and then, with a soundless snap, went dark.

[ LEDGER LOCKED. ] [ HOLDER IN CUSTODY. ]

A heavy hand came down on his shoulder. Cold iron closed around his wrists.

The last thing he heard, before the hood went over his head, was the roar of forty thousand voices, shouting not for the Treasurer, and not for the Auditors, but for him.