When Cole and the others had reached the arena, officials had taken down their names and the father’s occupation, then quizzed them about where they lived. Sultan had given all the right answers, and they were admitted to the event without trouble.

Cole wore his Jumping Sword. Jace had Mira’s. Dalton brought a knife. Sultan and Skye were armed as well. The illusionists had hidden the weapons with seemings.

The early morning was cold enough that Cole could see his breath. He held his blanket close around him and kept watch for Mira.

Because time had been short, they hadn’t attempted to rendezvous with Joe and Twitch. Skye had guessed that Joe would show up at the fight. So far Cole hadn’t noticed them in the crowd.

Color slowly bled into the sky. The walls of Blackmont Castle loomed high above the arena, with sharp, angular towers soaring even higher. Harsh and jagged, the entire castle appeared to be composed of dark iron, though Cole assumed at least some of that had to be an illusion.

As dawn approached, spectators crammed into the arena. Cole became pressed shoulder to shoulder with Dalton and Jace as people sandwiched themselves onto their bench. Latecomers stood on the stairs and wherever they could find a spot.

With the sun about to rise, the Rogue Knight strode out onto the arena floor, his bright armor impeccable. He drew Verity and saluted the audience. Most cheered him, though some booed loudly. Eight knights came after him, and lastly the little Halfknight, who received some jeers.

The knights formed up at one side of the arena. Directly above them, in the first row of the stands, Cole saw Mira. She wore a scarlet cloak and looked unharmed.

“Do you see her?” Cole asked Jace.

“Where?”

“Just above the knights,” Cole said.

“You’re right!” Jace exclaimed. “She looks . . . well.”

Cole thought Jace had stopped himself from saying “pretty” or “beautiful.” She did look very nice. Cole was too relieved by her presence to tease him.

Jace spread the word to Skye, who nodded as he pointed toward Mira. Cole explained to Dalton where she was. The scarlet cloak helped him find her.

“She doesn’t look like a prisoner,” Cole observed.

“No,” Skye agreed. “But looks can be deceiving.”

A hush fell over the arena as the Dreadknight emerged from the far side. His dark armor matched the jagged appearance of Blackmont Castle. Spikes bristled on his helmet and his broad shoulders. Cruel edges protruded from his vambraces and greaves. The Rogue Knight was an imposing figure, but the Dreadknight stood at least a full head taller. He carried a broadsword nearly the height of a man. The blade looked thick enough to chop down a tree.

The Dreadknight’s twelve other knights came out and lined up behind their master. None looked nearly as fearsome.

Sheathing his blade, the Rogue Knight went to the center of the battleground to await his opponent. The Dreadknight held his oversize weapon in one hand. Cole suspected most men using two hands would have to drag the broadsword along behind them.

Flames spewed out from within the Dreadknight’s helm, causing many in the audience to flinch and gasp. Inky smoke unfurled into the air above him.

“Is this for real?” Dalton asked, shaking his head.

Cole looked at him, relieved to finally have someone else with him who understood just how crazy all these experiences were. “It’s like the jousters at the Renaissance festival,” Cole said. “Except this might be a little more intense.”

The Rogue Knight drew his sword again. “No need to wallow in theatricality,” he cried, swishing Verity through the air. The flames and smoke disappeared, some of the spikes vanished from the armor, and the Dreadknight shrank a little, though he was still half a head taller than the Rogue Knight. His sword remained enormous.

The Dreadknight halted about ten paces from the Rogue Knight. “You dare to challenge me for control of Edgemont?” the Dreadknight asked, his voice a roaring bass.

“I would prefer if you stepped down voluntarily,” the Rogue Knight replied. “I respect your many years of service as champion here. I admire your prowess in combat. You are past your prime. There is no need for you to perish today. Why not retire and enjoy the fruit of your labors?”

“For that insult I will end you slowly,” the Dreadknight thundered.

“Forgive me if I end slower than you expect,” the Rogue Knight replied. “Shall we?”

The Dreadknight lumbered forward, sword raised in two hands, and brought it down as if swinging a sledgehammer. The Rogue Knight sidestepped the swipe and sprang forward to counterattack, but the Dreadknight’s blade had not gone into the ground as had seemed inevitable from the force of the swing. The Dreadknight halted the fall of his broadsword and whipped it sideways, bashing the Rogue Knight in the side and flinging him to the dirt.

Cole bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. If they wanted access to Blackmont Castle, they needed the Rogue Knight to win! Otherwise, they would be forced to take Mira and run.

The blow had crumpled the side of the Rogue Knight’s armor. Blood wasn’t apparent, but the brutal impact could have broken his spine.

The Dreadknight advanced on his fallen opponent. From his back, the Rogue Knight deflected a brutal downswing. Still supine, the Rogue Knight kicked at the Dreadknight with both legs. The larger knight spun away from the kick, reversed his grip on the broadsword, and stabbed the point at the Rogue Knight’s head.

Cole almost looked away as the tip of the giant blade scraped against the helmet and plunged into the dirt. The Rogue Knight had jerked sideways just enough for the sword to strike a glancing blow. Rolling away, the Rogue Knight scrambled to his hands and knees. The Dreadknight savagely kicked him in the side. Verity flew free as the Rogue Knight went sprawling.

Weaponless and wobbly, the Rogue Knight rose to a kneeling position while the Dreadknight readied his broadsword for a home run swing to the back of his opponent’s neck. Unsure whether the Rogue Knight would even see the blow coming, Cole winced as the huge blade hissed toward the fatal strike, but the Rogue Knight ducked it, losing one of his antlers rather than his head. He then lunged at the Dreadknight’s legs, wrapping them with both arms like a veteran linebacker. The Dreadknight went down hard, landing flat on his back.

Armor scored and deformed, helmet asymmetrical with the single antler, the Rogue Knight staggered to his feet and retrieved Verity. Sword in hand, he turned to face the Dreadknight as the larger combatant used his broadsword like a crutch to stand up.