The stadium’s roars have turned excited again. They’re getting the show they came to see. The prisoner stays crumpled in the dirt, covered in welts—but for the first time, his expression changes. Through the blood on his face, he looks at me with vague surprise. A ray of life.
“Talin.” The Firstblade approaches me. He draws his sword. Stillness ripples across the arena like a stone in water. “Step away.” In his voice churns an undercurrent of anger.
I turn to face him. My head lowers in respect, and I kneel—but I don’t sheathe my sword.
“That wasn’t a request, Striker.”
I tap my fist to my chest, then lay my weapon beside me. “Firstblade,” I sign. “Don’t do this.”
“Are you giving me an order?”
“Please,” I answer. “He isn’t fighting back.” I look over at the prisoner. “Even though he can.”
At that, Aramin raises an incredulous eyebrow. “It is only out of respect for your late Shield that I’m going to let you explain yourself.”
My fingers move rapidly.“The way he stands. The brand on his chest. The shift of his posture and the movement of his arms. They are not the movements of an ordinary soldier.”
The Firstblade’s eyes look up to search mine when I pause in my explanation.
“I don’t know what it is about him,”I continue.“All I can tell you is that killing him will be a mistake.”
Aramin’s gaze returns to the prisoner lying on the ground, covered in blood and grime. For a moment, I myself am not sure of what I saw in him. He certainly doesn’t look like much now.
Then, through his tangle of hair, I see his eyes locked steadily on me.
His glance sends a shiver rippling up my spine. I didn’t intervene expecting gratefulness from him—but I’m still surprised by the look of sheer rage that he directs at me. There is a glint about his eyes that seems inhuman, a powerful darkness in him that I can’t see. The Federation has done something to him, and even though I don’t know what it is, I feel as if I’d just witnessed a Ghost emerge from the shadows of the woods.
At least his eyes now have the glint of life in them.
“You’re telling me not to execute this soldier because of afeelingyou have,” Aramin signs to me.
His words are designed to make me feel like a fool. Maybe I amone. My resolve wavers under the prisoner’s furious stare. I can hear the laughter and unrest in the stands. The crowd shifts in their seats, mumbling.
I take a deep breath and lift my chin.“Didn’t he flee the Federation?”
“He’s still the enemy.”
“He’s not their loyal soldier. He left them willingly. His movements are far too precise to belong to a common soldier. If we kill him now, we could lose a well of information that he might be willing to give us.”
“We’ve already questioned him to exhaustion. It’s useless.”
“Give him more time. He may know something invaluable.”
“Step aside, Talin,” Aramin answers coldly.
“Corian wouldn’t.”
Aramin sighs at that. This is Corian’s spirit haunting me, giving me the stubbornness to take a stand here. I grit my teeth, not knowing how else to answer him. Not caring.“Haven’t you said before,” I sign, “we could use any help we can get? What if he can give us what we desperately need?”
He grunts in irritation as I use his words against him. “Help?” he says with disgust. “We need a miracle.”
“And yet things clearly aren’t desperate enough, are they?”I’m angry now, and my signs turn cutting.“After all, we still haven’t opened up Striker recruitment to the refugees in the Outer City.”
“I’m not having this argument with you today.”
“When, then? When the Federation’s banners fly over our nation?”
The tension between us grows thicker. I’ve challenged him, dared him to remove me. “What do you want to do, Striker?” he finally asks. “Or are you so noble as to take his place?”
