San Vilgraek was a bit more than twice the size of Chaldea, which itself was the second-largest city of Moab. It sat on the Lake Vilgraek, and was made up of hundreds of islands. The city, which was separated from the Great Barren Sea in the north by two narrow identical peninsulas, was known in many places as the Scovian Lake City because of this. The Lake Vilgraek situated a cul-de-sac between the narrow Defense Peninsula and the city. "Scovian" referred to the ruling dynasty's origin, and everything related to them. They were once just a bunch of rustling nomads from the place called Skavos in the far south of the large continent, south of the Great Havela Desert.
San Vilgraek had two main gates in the north and the west. The west gate, called "Felicity Gate", was the one where K'rar and his fellow captives arrived at the end of their three-month great trek. The Felicity Gate was accessed by a half-mile causeway that connected it to the dry land. San Vilgraek's walls were unusual because of their beautiful hieroglyphic design in many sections of it. The military presence on the wall was high, especially those on the ramparts. The standard uniform was purple. They wore girdles, like K'rar's regiment, but they wore open boots unlike the closed Kaffrarian Knights boots. Their helmets, not required in K'rar's regiment, were pointed at the top, and were only covering the top of the head. Now the city actually had two walls, K'rar learned, because its population once became too large that people began to settle outside and around the original wall on the main and largest island called D'vattere. The original wall couldn't be demolished completely, and only part of it, the north side facing the closed lake, had been felled. But the new wall only has two sides to the south and east. The two walls had been named after two historical figures, brothers Trozzard and Trovizan, the former being the outer wall with Felicity Gate on it. Between the walls was what was known as the New District. The north entrance was the grandest thing K'rar would ever see. From the Great Barren Sea, to access the Oreole Bay in the cul-de-sac, one had to sail through the mile-long Banderak Canal. At the end of this canal was the North Gate. Here were two statues of the first royal couple of the empire, before it became one, which were taller than the wall. The husband was on the left dry land, and the wife on the right. Thus, North Gate was only accessible on the water. They faced each other, and the tips of the fingers of their right hands touched, as if they were about to take each other's hands. The husband's beard was very long, falling up to his lower chest. The ramparts of Wall Trozzard were as tall as the hands, and people, tourists, could sit in the hand of the queen, Tahpenes, whose palm looked skyward.
The interior of the city was nothing like K'rar had ever seen. The architecture was incredible. There was perhaps more water than dry land. People lived like amphibians. The boat was the main means of transport, because the land was riveted with more than a hundred rivulets, some wide and some narrow, cutting this way and that. There were humpback bridges in many places, flying over the streams to connect land to land. Under these was always a space for boats to pass. Many buildings opposite each other over a stream were constructed with concrete passes to connect them. Also, storied buildings—the minimum and commonest number of stories was three—all had protruding balconies, and from these, householders lowered baskets on ropes to receive things from the stream below. The geography of San Vilgraek made the boat also the main means of trade—there was a constant mobile market at all times. While some transacted from the ground, others stayed in their buildings and shouted instructions down at the hagglers and mongers in their boats. Many merchants owning businesses on dry land also made sure to have at least a branch on the streams. By night, lanterns, small and large, lit up the city hanging from buildings, planted on the walls, or carried physically or on a boat, anywhere. And these lanterns were made of glass. It was the first time K'rar was seeing glass, and it fascinated him. In some places over wider streams, were levitating steel cage cells, held up to the bridges by chains. In these, authorities stuffed petty criminals, who would endure projectiles of foodstuffs and rotten liquids being hurled at them to embarrass them. They would then be released after spending a night out in the cold with the mosquitoes and lake flies. Repeat offenders would be interred in real cells and charged. Also in some places, the only entrance to private homes and condominiums was a tunnel under the base of a building. This would have a gate, high enough just for a rowing boat. In still some places, streams and rivulets and canals were depopulated or empty by law, and not used for business.
On dry land, people used horses or donkeys if they didn't walk. Domestic farming was a large sector. The richer merchants owned large chunks of dry land on which they placed their animal pens and sties. People mostly dealt in smaller domestic animals, and relatively few of them owned cattle. Those who lived in these nuclei of islands were the richer bourgeoisie, merchants and feudal lords and other aristocrats, who loved a peace and quiet away from the buzz of the water. Notwithstanding, the city was not so quiet or peaceful even away from the waters. Government buildings and all other ventures that did not dwell so much on water were situated in these areas, especially on the main island, which was as large as at least twenty tiny ones.
The people of San Vilgraek were largely pagan or irreligious, although, paradoxically, this city was home to hundreds of small deities. It was not uncommon for a household to have its own unique god or gods. San Vilgraek accommodated people from all over the continent, a multiracial mix of different backgrounds. The city was very depraved. K'rar, who was himself now a follower of Ihanga, found it detestable in many ways. It even had large buildings dedicated to all sorts of immoral, lewd practices, some with religious backing. On many dark streets and corners, some women, most of them dark-skinned Shemian easterners looking for sustenance, sat in small groups dressed in skimpy clothing to attract buyers for prostitution. An outdoors brothel. Many of these had been thrown out of their masters' homes or had run away from brothels or had come to the city voluntarily to do this work. However, a relatively larger number of people knew or worshipped the god of "The Scriptures", including the imperial royal family. There were scattered worship houses and temples dedicated to Sangorak, the god in The Scriptures. This was obviously because the royal family professed this faith.
Arrondo Fierlen was careful to stop the wagon with K'rar in it very far from Felicity Gate, and retrieve him from it.
'Put this on,' he gave him a green hooded outer garment when he stepped out, 'and get on the horse. Before you think about causing any trouble, be reminded, you're the alien in this place.'
'My weapons,' said K'rar. He was referring to his two swords, especially his Nephilim royal sword. They were strapped to Fierlen's horse. Fierlen was just looking sternly at him, so K'rar added, 'I have no intention of causing trouble.'
He wasn't lying, and Fierlen was not so interested in his weapons anyway, so he returned them. K'rar knew he was better off in the raider's good books, at least for a start. Besides, he had been friendly with him. He had even let him keep his military boots, which would carry some good money if sold. Once, in a very mysterious place called Galico, which means "cannibal", the caravan had come under attack from the savage allegedly cannibalistic tribe living there, in a bamboo forest. K'rar had been released from the cage to help fight them off. But K'rar was never allowed to ride outside the cage for fear of unrest among the raiders.
At the gate K'rar understood why the Arrondo had removed him, because there, most, if not all, the goods, were taken from the raiders, who were themselves led away, flanked by purple soldiers, to a base close to Wall Trovizan in the New District. While the cargo was checked, there was no need to check the raiders, so K'rar slipped in easily. Fierlen stayed very close to him, and had to shove him many times because K'rar kept slowing down because he was sightseeing. Fierlen said to him,
'You shall have ample time to gaze. Just move.'
Now the raiders had to visit the base for roll call, and to give a report of their work. This was all important because their supervisor, a military officer, would then decide how well they had served their punishment, and sign them up to be reinstated as military officers or foot soldiers. When they arrived at the base and the gates were opened, Fierlen quickly frisked K'rar away under the guise of wanting to take a piss, while the other raiders went into the first building in the compound in a line. He pulled K'rar into a storeroom, where he sat him down on a sack of foodstuffs and asked him to wait there. When he returned many minutes later, Fierlen was wearing a padlocked silver ring around his neck. He quickly explained to K'rar before he asked,
'Don't ask. This ring marks me as a soldier under punishment. I cannot carry out any transactions, go to certain places, talk to some people, blah, blah, blah.'
'Sorry I asked,' K'rar said, 'there's no need to keep arresting my arm. If I wanted to escape, believe me, you couldn't stop me.'
Fierlen released his arm.
'Very well. But if you run, you can't go far in this city. You are not registered as a citizen. So you're a slave, and I will register you as such, and then you'll be marked.'
'Right. Now you listen to me, we need to make some things clear, Arrondo. I am not your slave, and you ain't drawing any marks on my body.'
'Listen, boy…'
'No, you listen,' K'rar was serious, 'I am not an idiot. I'm the guy who is going to illegally get you lots of money with which you can improve your station. So here's the deal. You will pay me a commission, under contract. I will not risk my bones free of charge. You don't have to worry about anything like me running away or something. You will not lock me up in some place, and you will not register me as a slave. Understand?' K'rar had learned everything about his pending employment on the way.
The "Tejeda" was a league of 32 teams, each with ten fighters with numbers from one to ten. It was both an elimination-style tourney as well as a cumulative points tourney. A team could win simply by having the most points, which was the same as having the largest number of fighters who started the season still eligible at the end of the season. Or, a team could win by having the best, undefeated fighter. The money that Fierlen was planning to make was not from the earnings of the team he would fix K'rar in, as this was illegal for him, but betting on him wasn't. Businesses flourished on such lots and bets, and Fierlen knew that for many months, people would continue to bet on the fighters that they already knew. That meant that few would bet on K'rar, whom they didn't know, to win. His odds would be very high, and the Arrondo only had to get K'rar in a team, and bet a fortune on him.
The Arrondo was pissed, but he was better off capitulating. He said,
'If I hadn't already confirmed your excellent fighting skills, I would have sold you off as a slave. But you're right. We can actually be good business partners. Though for a start I will be handling you from the shadows.'
K'rar curled his lips to the right.
'Then, shall we begin?'
The Arrondo, for the hours following, had to secure lodgings, a registration status for K'rar as a self-employed citizen, and the team he would fight for. These took all day long. The lodgings were the home of the Arrondo's former lover who had left him because he was always away on military duty—San Vilgraek and its neighbors were in a constant push-and-shove, waiting for a major armed conflict to ensue, hence the constant presence of Scovian armies in the city—she was the prodigal daughter of a merchant based in the Oreole Bay. Her name was Amren, and she was willing to allow K'rar lodging in her house, although she didn't see him when Fierlen came to ask her, because she and Fierlen considered themselves friends with benefits albeit not lovers. She lived only with her eight year-old son whose father was unknown. Fierlen was with K'rar at the registrar's office when the sun was sinking in the western sky. The registrar's office was situated on one of the small islands closer to the bay. It was always busy because it was led by corrupt bureaucrats, and because Fierlen was ringed, they made him wait nearly three hours. The whole time, K'rar stayed in his hood. It was about an hour after sundown that K'rar was taken to the team headquarters of the Karpen'Havela team, meaning "desert scorpion." It was a rented hall on the side of a state-owned warehouse, guarded by a squadron of soldiers in brown. The facility was enclosed behind a wall. There was only one entrance, but a thin wall separated the Desert Scorpion hall from the rest of the government owned building. When they went through a door on the midrib wall, they found themselves in a dust compound designed with training equipment and with the team's colors—a green glowing scorpion in a green hexagon, with a scarlet background. The team's name in Scovian language was embroidered under the logo. Two men were standing in the entrance of the hall when Fierlen and K'rar came to them. When the taller, bearded man saw him, he sent his companion away, and turned his attention to Fierlen.
'Fierlen?'
'Good evening brother.' The man was really his cousin, with whom he had served in the army. Fierlen was still a soldier, but his cousin was a retiree who was now in this line of business. K'rar stood off three meters from them, hearing only a few words between them, until the other man looked behind Fierlen at K'rar in the dim remaining light, and said,
'This guy?' he walked past Fierlen to take a look, and his first question was about K'rar's origin.
'You, where are you from? You look like a ghost.'
K'rar said nothing. Fierlen said,
'Found him in the far west. Tshekala. He defended them and killed a dozen of my men by himself.'
'I am the Commandant of an army,' said K'rar, 'they would already be on their way here from a far off island where we come from. We sailed to this large continent on ships, and when the raiders came, we were just learning about this strange land.'
'Why do you keep saying that?' Fierlen asked.
'You should believe me,' K'rar said, 'because when the time comes, I will have to return home with my men, and if by then I have been killed, they will sink this city. How do you think I traveled hundreds of miles to Tshekaland?'
'Ah, there is no killing in the Tejeda. You have nothing to worry about,' said the coach, Gulen.
But K'rar had something entirely different on his mind. He just chuckled and said,
'Where do I pledge?'
'Hold on. I have to see how good you are,' said the coach, 'I can't just trust my cousin's praises of you.'
K'rar's first fight was within just one week. He was eligible to fight because at this stage of the contest, teams were allowed to recruit new members and get them in the "klodiat", or ring. Teams could also buy and sell fighters between each other, but not in the later rounds. The Desert Scorpion was an average team, but with the acquisition of K'rar, coach Gulen, and his three assistants, as well as the whole team, were over the moon. K'rar had showcased his abilities to them. He was way better than their best fighter, who was a piece of cake. And when weapons were involved, there was no contest at all. Some Tejeda fights were "handicap" matches, where weapons were allowed, but were only to be used to subdue the enemy without harming them permanently. The last four rounds, though, were brutal, and in these this rule was not applicable, except fighters were not to kill their opponents in the klodiat. If they died afterward from injuries sustained, it was their problem.
K'rar was in the balcony of Amren's second-story home on the day of this fight, looking out at the harbor and the massive statues. The city was beautiful every day of the week. But K'rar was only thinking about its weak defensive north wall, and calculating many different ways in which the Kaffrarian Knights could smash it in just a few hours. The north wall was weakly defended. The numbers of soldiers on it were a stark contrast to those on the other three walls. Also, if his ships sailed into the lake, they could cause very heavy damage. Even the grand Imperial Palace was within firing distance. This delighted K'rar, because it proved to him he had the deadliest navy at his disposal. This great continent's warring kingdoms—and K'rar believed they were many—were obviously massively land-based armies, just like Xaxanika, which is why the landward walls were heavily fortified. Moabians did own large warships, and those were the ones that had inspired K'rar's revolutionary Kaffrarian Armada. K'rar knew his ships' technology had leapfrogged years, if not centuries, ahead of any fleet anywhere.
It was at that moment that the idea dropped in his head. He stood up straight, smiled to himself and straightened his garment. Behind him, Amren's son, Ollinz, walked into the balcony from inside. K'rar and Ollinz had gotten along very well that the little boy's mother even allowed K'rar to roam about with him. K'rar had liked the kid from the start because he reminded him of himself. The kid knew stories about K'rar's childhood that even Shaniz didn't. K'rar had also told the kid he had been a prince at his age, and that he was therefore a king. Whereas Amren thought these stories were just imaginative compositions, she sternly warned K'rar about speaking too much of it to the kid, and in public, because it sounded dangerously seditious.
'Hello, king Nine-Nine,' said Ollinz, or Olly, 'why are you always looking out at the harbor?'
K'rar looked down at the boy, who was carrying in his hands a rice dumpling. He patted the kid's shoulder,
'Because,' he said, 'King Nine-Nine's ships will enter those waters in four or five weeks' time. It will be a grander sight than those statues.'
'The ones that spit fire?'
'Yes, my friend. Those ones.'
K'rar left the kid there, and went to prepare himself for his fight. He had to go to the team's training facility first, twenty minutes away. Tonight's match was a three versus three "under" match, meaning no weapons. He found his ring mates at the quarters with two of the coaches. The other members would all have to be present while their teammates fought, but they had the option of heading directly for the klodiat to wait there. K'rar's ring mates included the team's captain, N'Golo, a Konkomba lad. He was the team's best fighter, before K'rar showed up, and he acknowledged this.
'There you are,' he said, 'today, we expect you to send out a message to the rest of the league. Even the top four.' The top four were the best teams in the Tejeda, the pacemakers.
'Right,' said K'rar. He then pulled N'Golo away from the coach, and added, 'I saw there's a regular who seems like a royal in the midweek fights.'
'Yeah, he's the son of Viceroy Sagakama of Arisque. He's one of the owners of the team we're up against tonight, an Ariscan team. Why?' Arisque was one of the kingdoms K'rar and his raiders crossed, he recalled. Sagakama was actually its king, not an appointed viceroy.
'I need to speak with him.'
'Speak with the prince?' the Konkomba boy grunted a laugh, 'even some nobles don't get an audience with guys like that, and you're in the fighting pits. It would be detestable for him to be seen in the company of low class citizens like us. You saw how many guys guard him, right?'
K'rar pondered, and said,
'He's an impulsive fellow. I will not approach him. He will come to me.'
'What?'
K'rar turned to the coach, who was packing a bag of medical supplies for his team if the members were injured.
'Coach Fer.'
'Yes?'
'Is a one versus three fight allowed?'
There was a long pause in the hall.
'Don't get cocky, King Nine-Nine,' this was K'rar's ring name. It had dawned on him only recently that he was the fulfilment of the King Nine-Nine fairy tale, when they had asked him under what name he would fight. The only missing piece was a "wretched love story" in Chio's words.
'Coach. If I win…'
'If you can beat three fighters by yourself, we would earn unimaginable points. Blow up the league. But it cannot be done. No one has ever done…'
'But I'm not your regular fighter. I'm doing it.' K'rar could say this with great confidence because he had studied the fighting pit. Only a few of the fighters would give him some hard time. None of them had undergone years of training, as K'rar had, since he was eight. K'rar had had more teachers than any of them, was a military man with an illustrious career.
'What are you trying to achieve?'
'An audience with the prince of Arisque,' said K'rar.
'Why?'
'Can't say, coach. Just say yes.'
The klodiat was a round hall, with stadium-standard stands, rows and columns through which people passed to find their seats. Fights could be played in the dark because the place was very well lit with an army of cylindrical glass lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Its capacity was many times smaller than a stadium, just over 2000 people. The front row seats would be occupied by the teams whether they had fixtures or not, their coaches, important spectators, the judges, and mostly bookies who made the odds and collected the monies. Security was provided by brown-shirted soldiers. They were the law enforcement officers. The ring was spacious, and sometimes, three pairs of fighters used it. To win, a fighter had to beat his opponent into submission, or simply throw him off the round, elevated ring onto the concrete below.
The team came in through an entrance reserved only for the fighters. They wore hoods of their team's colors, and one of the coaches held the team flag. The fights had begun already, and there was currently a fight in the ring. Still, the teams' supporters, however few, cheered them as they walked to their designated benches, where their teammates and the other coach were waiting for them. Arrondo Fierlen was present. K'rar saw him yelling to those near him about him. Most teams without fixtures for the day sometimes only sent one or two members to watch the other fights, so there were huge gaps in the teams' rows.
The fight in the ring ended soon after K'rar's team arrived. The winner was at least six feet five inches tall, and he dominated his opponent all through the match. As soon as he stepped off the ring, one fighter from the prince's Team Ariscan stood up from his bench and began to urge his crowd, including the Ariscan prince, who was sitting in the rows behind him. The seats behind the prince were empty. Only two were occupied by guards, who were sitting to avoid obscuring the view of those behind. To his sides were two other guards, and still two others were standing in the spaces between sections of rows. But the imperial consort was not alone tonight. He was sitting with another person, a woman. K'rar immediately appreciated her looks. She was a stunning beauty. She had her hair oiled and braided in cornrows, and pulled back into a giant afro behind her head. She was quite overdressed for a mere fighting pit visit. Her chest was riddled with nearly ten golden chain necklaces, and her arms with armlets. Her dress was white, designed with opulent embroidery around the breasts. K'rar could make out all of this even from a long distance.
'Who's that?' K'rar pointed at her, as the herald in the center of the ring prepared to announce that it was K'rar's team's turn.
'That's Imperial Princess Samolla, outlander. She's the one the arrogant punk will marry,' Emre, a member of the team who had no fixtures today, said. "Outlander" was a name his team gave him the first day of business with them, and K'rar thought it was better than "Exotic". The excited fighter from the other team had sat down to let the herald announce to the crowd, who had piped down the noise,
'And so, the highlight of tonight's fights,' the herald, a dwarfish individual in multicolored robes and a round hat, 'a three-versus-three no weapons clash!' meanwhile K'rar's coaches were asking him for the final time to confirm if he was to fight all three opponent by himself at once, and K'rar was saying yes. So coach Fer readied himself, climbed up the klodiat mobile iron staircase to speak to the herald. Everyone saw the grim, unsure face of the herald as Fer whispered the same thing a third time in the man's ear, stooping over him. He then stepped off the ring, and the herald, carrying a piece of paper with fixture information on it, cleared his throat and went on,
'This match will be between currently twenty-sixth placed, stuttering Karpen'Havela, and top four candidates, Ariscan, currently fifth placed!' he cleared his throat once more and said, 'But there is a wild, wild twist to this match, ladies and gentlemen. Bookies, draw your bets wisely, and judges, prepare to be stunned. Hear, hear,' he shushed the crowd, 'the Desert Scorpions trust their newly acquired fighter, they have asked for the unthinkable. They want to overhaul the logs, ladies and gentlemen, because they have just informed me, that this will be three Ariscan…versus one Desert Scorpion!'
The crowd suddenly went mum. A spirit could have flown by and been heard. A team placed so far down on the log had to be crazy to do something stupid as this. The shocking silence turned into sneers and laughs, and then the crowd buzzed into their noises once again. Betters were throwing their money at the collectors and discussing odds and stuff. The Arrondo Fierlen then did something unthinkable himself. Hundreds of betters were placing their bets with obvious win for the fifth-place team, and not a single person was giving their money to the guy collecting Desert Scorpion winning bets. Then Arrondo Fierlen did just so. Even the bookie was shocked, both by the fact that Fierlen had put his money on K'rar, and that he had wagered 930 Scovian culiers. That was worth four months wages of a soldier in the Scovian army.
'Are you mad?' the collector asked him when he took his gold and silver coins of about four varieties.
'I suppose,' Fierlen said, 'that is 930. Count well.' The chap did so with the help of another bookie, after which he gave Fierlen two pieces of paper with an official stamp on them. Meanwhile the herald was yelling the name of the third fighter on Team Ariscan,
'…the Wicked Disciple!' and the Disciple was already on the ring with his teammates. But K'rar was still sitting on his bench, intentionally. But he was also nervous, not because he was afraid, but because he would be ending a week of moving on the streets in hoods and long-sleeved clothing to conceal his exotic skin color. The herald said, 'and in this corner, the one to turn the tables, or to become a footstool and a condemned idiot…King Nine-Nine!'
K'rar's mates patted his shoulders and his back and gave him a push. K'rar stood up without urging the crowd or throwing punches in the air. Still under his hood, he cast a surreptitious glance at the princess Samolla, who, like all the eyes in the klodiat, were looking at him. When K'rar stepped onto the iron staircase, he threw off his hood and sent the place into a grave silence once more. A six foot three inch chap as white as a ghost, with unusually soft black hair that had grown down to his shoulders and a slowly growing stubble. He was bare-chested and fine muscled, which was a rule. He wore his manicas on his arms, and black trousers. Fighters were allowed to wear shoes of their choice, so K'rar's trousers were tucked into his military boots.
After that wave of silence, the crowd began to talk again, and K'rar was hoping that many of them were considering the possibility that his team coach had been stone cold sober when he had asked for this type of match. The three opponents across from him had ended their own round of awe, and were sinisterly looking at K'rar, two of them snickering.
At long last one of the five-man panel of judges yanked at the gong and rang the bell. The herald scuttled off the ring, and K'rar went into fighting mode. He walked down to the center of the ring and called on his opponents. One of them quickly heeded the call, and was stepping forward when his team leader, who called himself the Wayfarer, hampered him with an arm across him, and stepped forward himself to attack. This was a grave mistake. It would have been better for all three to attack simultaneously. The Wayfarer was the one who had stood up to urge the crowds. He was as impulsive as his owner, and used too much force to throw jabs with both his fists at K'rar. This made him make a half swirl when K'rar kept of out the way, allowed K'rar to stamp his right boot on his right foot and prevent the Wayfarer from turning around again with his arm, before tackling the brute with his other foot to land him on the canvas. He got up quickly, while K'rar stood off to allow the opponent get up. Many heads in the crowd stooped forward and there was a uniform gasp. K'rar once again stood in the center of the ring as the Wayfarer picked his nose in embarrassment, and urged his other teammates to join in a coordinated attack. All three lunged, and now K'rar could pick them off with just a few maneuvers, using most all parts of his body. He would parry the blow of the first chap and kick him a meter away, then jump and kick the other two squarely in their chests with his two feet. They reeled backward and fell on their butts. The first opponent was getting up, and this time K'rar disabled him by slapping in both of his ears and raining blows in his plexus while the lad clapped his hands to his ears, lost balance, and allowed K'rar to kick him in his anterior knee, and to smack him in the face and off the ring. Now, many from the crowd were standing up on their seats. Even his own teammates were shaken. One of the other two angrily lunged and raised a foot to kick K'rar. He simply slid underfoot and swept the standing foot from under the attacker's body, causing him to fall pretty badly on the deck, injuring his groin. For the third opponent, K'rar parried one or two blows, dodged others and stifled him for fun, before putting the chap on his knees and twisting his arm until he couldn't shout in pain anymore, so he stamped a foot twice on the floor to signal surrender.
Arrondo Fierlen had just picked the bookies clean of their fortunes, and Team Desert Scorpion had just smashed through the ranks twenty three places into fourth, because K'rar had secured a flawless victory, worth more than 500 points, an unprecedented haul. K'rar intentionally walked to the edge of the ring on the side of the klodiat where the imperial princess and her consort sat, and stared them down a couple of seconds before jumping down, and walking back toward his teammates, who were shouting their lungs out. The head coach, Fer, had run around the ring twice, yelling like a banshee.
'What happened? Did you win?' Amren asked him the second he walked into the apartment, but Fierlen, who was just behind him, answered the question,
'Win? Did he win?' he bungled into the apartment, waving the documents with his winnings on it, 'I'm about to empty the fucking bank. This young man is a sensation!' he was hysterical. K'rar had won him 25 times the money he had placed on him. K'rar would get a large chunk of this, enough even to rent out his own living quarters, which he had already picked out.
In three days he was already living there. The apartment was on one of the numerous tiny islands surrounding the Palace Island, the island on which the massive Grand Imperial Palace sat, alone. Just as San Vilgraek was twice the size of the Chaldea, so the Imperial Palace was much larger than his. This apartment was also facing the lake, and might have had a better view of it than Amren's home. The apartment was not in ideal condition, but for a young man who had lived in forests and frozen wastelands and islands, K'rar held no qualms. His three rooms were more than many people could afford.
On a Wednesday night, K'rar was busying himself studying many texts about the land he was stuck in, as he had done in Xaxanika. This was a developing custom he was adopting unconsciously. He liked to know his surroundings and its peoples. This Wednesday evening was his second in this land, and he had already made a catalogue of things he must go with. He was not worried about his Kaffrarian Knights not finding him. That was as certain as day and night. So he busied himself with this activity, with the penultimate goal of getting acquainted with the royal family, who were almost deities in this city. His efforts to get the Ariscan prince to come to him had borne no fruit, although two nights ago he had struck down another Team Ariscan member. But this evening, it did.
K'rar heard the heavy clunk of heavy footsteps coming up toward his door. They could only be coming here, as K'rar's apartment was on the top floor of the building, and K'rar lived in the summit by himself. The only thing outside was a single staircase leading to the roof. K'rar listened as the footsteps stopped outside his door and stayed there, silently. K'rar reached for his weapon. If they were here to see him they would have knocked. They were not knocking. K'rar lifted the glass off of his lantern and extinguished the wick. He then quietly unsheathed his weapon while tiptoeing to the door, where the chaps outside, he could hear, were whispering to each other. K'rar tried to peek through the crevice between the door and the wall, and he frowned twice to himself because he was certain he was looking at armored soldiers in green. They were men of the fierce "Hassendrale", Royal Court Guard. The ones charged with the security of royals. K'rar had seen them once, when the beauteous princess Samolla was at the klodiat. He learned they had actually been there for her, and only two guards in other colors had been the security detail for her consort. So K'rar tried, but didn't understand why the princess had sent soldiers to his house. Had they been sent by the Ariscan noble, they would have been here obviously on Tejeda-oriented business.
The men saved him the trouble when, before he opened the door himself, one of them knocked, at long last. K'rar opened the door after a short pause to pretend he had come to the door from the back, although he still had his unsheathed sword in his hand.
'You've been here for quite some time,' he said immediately, while both guards placed their hands on their weapons.
'We were not sure it was your house,' the one on the left said, 'but we are not here for trouble. Imperial Princess Samolla sent us.'
'I figured,' said K'rar. Now he sheathed his sword, 'what for?'
'To warn you to be careful. To watch your step.'
K'rar raised an eyebrow,
'Why?'
'That's all she said. You just be careful.' They walked away faster than they had come up. K'rar watched them descend into the stairs below, before he shut the door and then ran to the balcony on the other end to look down. He couldn't pinpoint what he was hoping to. The guards had come here by themselves. Before they exited the building, K'rar hatched a plan to follow them, and he quickly donned his boots, stacked on his belt, and the curved blade on it. He then threw on a hood, and proceeded outside the balcony, not the door. He was going to tail the guards from the rooftops, which was easy because buildings on one island were close to each other, and he was equipped—all the Kaffrarians were—to scale vertical walls like spiders. The Kaffrarian Knights were not common soldiers. Each one of them was basically an assassin, thanks to their unique training. That's how K'rar would follow these guards, which would be easy because he was scaling the roofs, so he did not need the Knights Regiment equipment for scaling vertically. Few people would see him, but he had a pretty good view of the ground, thanks to the brilliant glass lanterns all over the place.
He tailed the men a long distance on this island, but they did not make a detour anywhere where their master would be waiting. They were headed straight for the Imperial Palace. K'rar was on top of the building from which he could no longer jump to the next one, at the edge of this island. The two guards on horseback were trotting slowly through the narrow streets between the water and the buildings, and he watched them turn and head for the drawbridge between this island and the Palace Island. He had hoped to accost the princess if she was on this island. The drawbridge stayed down most of the day, guarded by the first line of Hassendrale guards. There were many other drawbridges like this, connecting the palace to the rest of the land. When the guards were allowed into the palace gate, the first of many, K'rar hatched a crazy idea.