Sif, The White Wolf.'s Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Sif stood inside the hall, still wet with the sea beast's ink. The knights watched him from the shadows. The empty chair sat beneath the white wolf banner, close enough to touch. He took one step toward it. A shield slammed against the stone floor. The sound cut through the hall. A lion in black metal armor stepped forward. His mane was ashy and wild. A red scar split the fur above his eye. In one hand he held a broadsword of dark iron. In the other, a shield marked with gold. The knights parted for him without a word. "That seat is not yours, wolf," the lion said. His voice was low and sure. "My brother should sit there. He died earning that right. You walked in covered in blood and think the chair is yours." Sif met his cold stare. "I earned my way through your gate." "Then earn the seat." The lion raised his blade. "I am Black-Iron Tarkas. I challenge you to a trial by combat. Refuse, and every knight here names you coward." Sif saw the trap. He could not walk away. The knights waited to see if the wolf would run. He unslung the jagged slab of steel from his back. "Name the ground." They walked to the arena behind the hall. Stone lions guarded its gate. Tiered seats rose on every side. In the center stood a sword lodged in rough rock, its blade gleaming and still. Tarkas pointed at it. "First to touch the stone sword wins the right to the throne," he said. "The loser leaves." The knights filled the seats above them. Sif set his boots in the sand. Tarkas charged first. His broadsword rang against Sif's slab of steel. The shield drove into Sif's chest and knocked him back three steps. Sif swung wide. Tarkas caught it on his shield and the gold embellishments cracked. They circled. Tarkas was fast for his size. He struck low, then high. Sif blocked both. The lion fought to protect kin and pride, and each blow carried that weight. Tarkas lunged for the stone sword. Sif saw the opening too late. The lion's paw reached toward the hilt. Sif threw his full weight into one swing. The slab of steel caught Tarkas across the shield and spun him away from the rock. Tarkas stumbled. Sif stepped past him, planted his hand on the cold blade in the stone, and held it there. The arena went silent. Then the knights stood and struck their shields in a steady beat. Tarkas rose, breathing hard. He looked at Sif's hand on the stone sword. "You won the ground," he said. "But the throne is not yours yet. The order will not seat a wolf on my brother's word alone." He turned and walked out through the lion gate. Sif had won the trial. But Tarkas had named the true wall. The knights would demand more than one victory.