“Your fight is next!” Griffin yelled in a rush.
“They won’t start without me, that’s for damn sure. Let me put pressure on the wound. Might give him a few more minutes!”
Shocked the old chieftain’s arrogant son would care whether a Bottom boy lived or died, Griffin nodded, grateful.
Silas stomped to get the damn lift moving.
“Hurry up!” Griffin yelled at the men on the pulley ropes.
“Put your backs into it!” Silas added. “The boy’s life depends on it!”
Silas ripped his shirt beneath his tunic, balling the fabric. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the wound, but pressed the fabric, then pushed the boy’s arm across his chest, holding it there. “Surprised his arm is still hanging on.”
His heart in his throat, Griffin couldn’t speak. He only wanted to get to Maggie. She would be there, waiting for him in the tunnel. Even if she hated him, she would help if she could.
When the lift jerked to a stop at the top, Maggie wasn’t in the tunnel. This could expose her gifts, something Griffin knew she was against. But he was only a tiny boy!
He moaned against Griffin’s chest, the vibrations stabbing his heart. He tried and failed to open his eyes.
“Fine.” If Maggie wasn’t coming to him, if she was too much of a coward, Griffin would take the boy to her. Once she saw him, how could she refuse him help?
A single guard blocked the door to the stairwell leading to the balcony. Griffin recognized him from the king’s chambers the other night. The rest of the guards had taken up positions on the bridge.
“Wait here,” Griffin said to Silas.
Griffin nodded to the guard, who didn’t hesitate. He pulled open the door to the stairwell. But Griffin only made it three steps when clanking and banging stopped him in his tracks.
Daylight burst in from the top.
“I don’t give a rat’s bottom about what the prince wants!” Maggie growled, racing down the steps.
“Maggie!” Griffin was overwhelmed with emotion.
“Made quite the mess of things, Griffin of the Bottom.” She yanked the boy from his arms. The little thing’s eyes parted; his mouth dropped. He gasped for breath.
“Get back here, lass, or I’ll lock you in irons!” Raleigh threatened. He barreled down the stairs.
“Don’t let him follow me!” Maggie kicked the door open and darted out.
Griffin rushed up the stairs, arms extended, leaving no room for Raleigh to get by. Raleigh shouldered him, knocking him into the wall so hard his breath caught. He snaked around Griffin, but Griffin pivoted, landing a stiff kick in Raleigh’s back, sending him careening down the stairs.
Griffin leaped over his disoriented mentor, making it into the tunnel before he could recover. Griffin slammed the door shut, put his back to it, and dug his heels in.
“Maggie left, with the boy?” Griffin asked the guard.
He nodded, pointing a finger toward the bridge. “Went that way.”
“Excellent.” Hope bloomed as the door jerked, smacking him in the back.
“Um, Sir Griffin, what’re you doing?” the guard asked.
“Giving her a head start, obviously.” Griffin winced as the door jolted again, harder this time. “She’s taking the boy to the physician. She is very gifted in the medicinal arts. Raleigh was put out. Didn’t want her to leave.”
Silas added his weight to the door. “Why?”
Griffin groaned at the burning in his thighs. “It’s a mystery to me. Perhaps he too thinks her a rare beauty and didn’t want her to get her hands dirty.”
“She is that.” Silas strained. “How much longer do we need to give her?”
Griffin ticked off a few more seconds in his head. “That should be good.” The two simultaneously stepped away from the door.
Raleigh and Moldark fell out.
“Ah, Moldark,” Griffin cried. “That’s why we were having trouble, Silas.”
“What’s that mean?” Moldark growled.
“Shut up, fool,” Raleigh griped at Moldark. “Where is she?” he barked at Griffin.
“That way.” The guard pointed again.
Raleigh went after Maggie, with a cursing Moldark drudging behind him.
The rain picked up.
The crowd grew restless, stamping their feet, calling for the marshal to do his job. Guards flooded the tunnel from the balcony. The largest settled beside Griffin, standing arms crossed, like an immovable mountain. “King demands the event to start back. Says you’re to have another go. That axe was tampered with.”
“It’s true!” Bradyn called, jogging into the tunnel. He was out of breath, his cloak sopping wet. He carried another axe with him. “This is your new one that Hugo brought you the other day, Sir Griffin! They brought you the wrong one!”
“Then it wasn’t tampered with,” Griffin said.
“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. All I know is that this is your axe.” Bradyn thrust the handle at Griffin.
He hesitated. His mind told him to do as he was told. No one in the Walled City, especially not the king, ever gave second chances. But he had thrown the broken axe. He could have yielded his turn, but he did not. It was his mistake. And as much as his head begged him to do it, swallow his pride and take this gift from the king, his heart refused. His hands red with the boy’s blood, he didn’t deserve another throw.
“I can’t.”
Bradyn nodded, but not with disappointment. Even at his age, he understood.
Griffin elbowed Silas. “Get down there.”
Silas patted Griffin on the shoulder. “Yes. Don’t want to leave Northmen waiting in the rain too much longer.” He winked and paced slowly to the lift at the end of the tunnel.
Maggie was taking too long. She’d healed his hand in seconds. What if Raleigh found her before she could help? What if the boy was lying in the streets, dying?
Griffin tried to walk past the guards, hoping to be of some use to her, but they refused to let him out. “Sorry, Sir Griffin. King’s orders. You’re to be taken up to the balcony as soon as this event is over.”
There was only one reason a knight was called to the balcony: praise or punishment. There was nothing to praise today. King Umbert preferred public punishment to demean those who let him down. A sign the king had lost faith in him and was perhaps seeking a new champion.
And here he thought if anyone would’ve caused him to be disgraced before the king, it would’ve been Maggie over their excursion last night. Instead, this mess was of Griffin’s own making. He didn’t check his weapon before the event. He lost focus, and it cost him. It cost that poor boy. If Maggie couldn’t save him, Griffin would never forgive himself.
He leaned on the wall, scraping the dirt with the heel of his boot, trying not to vomit as competition started. He padded to the end of the tunnel to watch. The rain was light but steady; all threw at a fast clip. Malcolm’s throw hit beside Silas’s.
Oak’s release was slow. The axe lumbered, barely making a complete rotation before it hit and stuck in the far outer ring.
Cornwall strutted to the line, taking his time, raising his arms to the crowd as if he had fans. As Griffin watched him, anger blossomed. The younger Northman waited to go last on purpose. It was probably he who damaged the other axe and paid the boy to bring it to Griffin. With Griffin humiliated, last was as coveted as first because it was infinitely more memorable than somewhere in the middle, so long as Cornwall bettered the others. A plan extremely well executed if he hit dead center.