This time, Nico was close enough to see who was in it, and her heart clenched. There, lying beneath the surgeon’s hands, was Josef. His stern face was pale and calm, his eyes closed in sleep. His clothes had been cut away and his wounds rebound, with the exception of the center of his chest. That was where the Heart lay, and from the way Josef’s clothing had been cut, it was clear none of the surgeons had tried to move it, not even to get at his wounds. They probably couldn’t move it, Nico realized. The Heart never moved unless it wanted to. That thought, along with the steady rise and fall of Josef’s chest, made her feel better than she had since she’d first opened her mouth to tell Eli about the Dead Mountain.
After another minute of failed attempts to wake the swordsman, Izo sent the doctors away. They fled as Izo leaned over Josef’s sleeping form. He watched the swordsman for a moment and then reached out his hand and slapped Josef hard across the face. Nico lunged forward before she knew what she was doing, catching herself painfully on Tesset’s leash, but Izo didn’t seem to notice her at all. He lifted his hand and slapped Josef again, but as he pulled back for a third blow, there was a flash of movement from the bed. Whatever it was happened too fast for Nico to see, but one moment Izo was standing over Josef, his hand coming down on the swordsman’s cheek, and the next he was on the floor cursing, with Josef’s hand locked around the Bandit King’s newly broken wrist.
The swordsman opened his eyes and gave Izo a lazy, deadly glare. “Don’t ever do that again.”
Izo wrenched his hand free with a pained gasp and jumped to his feet—though, to his credit, he paid no attention to his injury. All of his rage was focused on the man lying in front of him.
“You’re Josef Liechten?”
“Powers,” Josef sighed, slumping back into bed. “If you wanted to know that, there was no reason to wake me up. You could have asked her.” His eyes flicked over to Nico. “Are you all right, Nico?” Nico started to answer, but Izo stepped between them.
“I’m asking the questions,” he snarled. “You’re the one Sted has this big grudge with, correct?”
“I beat him, if that’s what you mean,” Josef said. “He’s a bad loser.”
“That much is obvious,” Izo said. “Tell me then what you make of this.”
He produced a scrap of paper from his pocket and flung it at Josef. The swordsman caught the paper deftly and studied it with a scowl.
“It’s from Sted,” Izo said. “He left it on my doorstep sometime after midnight. He’s taken Monpress hostage and says he’ll bring him back unharmed only if you will answer his challenge. A one-on-one duel in three days’ time.”
“Well, I’m glad you told me,” Josef said, handing the letter back. “Because I could barely make anything out of his writing. I’ve seen better penmanship from five-year-olds.”
“Who cares about his writing?” Izo shouted. “Monpress is worth a kingdom to me! I want him back.”
“As he loves to remind people, Eli is worth several kingdoms,” Josef said flatly. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Izo said. “You’re going to give Sted the fight he wants or I’m going to kill you here and now. That clear enough for you?”
Josef looked the bandit up and down. “Ordinarily, I’d say you’re welcome to try, but if you just want me to fight Sted, then we have no quarrel. I was going to do that anyway.”
“Oh.” Izo deflated a bit; he’d obviously been pumping himself up for a fight. “Good then. Makes things easier.”
“However,” Josef continued, “if I’m going to get Sted to give up Eli, there are a few things you’ll need to provide me with.”
Izo crossed his arms. “Like what?”
“To start, a place to fight,” Josef said, pushing himself up into a semisitting position. “Preferably somewhere people can see him. This is a pride fight, so people need to be there to see him or his pride will not be avenged. Sted doesn’t care about Eli. He’ll give the thief up easily when he sees he’s getting what he wants.”
“You can use the arena,” Izo said. “That’s what I built it for, and Sted was an arena fighter.”
“That will work,” Josef said, nodding. “I’ll also need a few supplies. How many blacksmiths do you keep in your camp?”
Izo frowned. “What kind of a question is that?”
“How many?” Josef said again.
Izo ran a hand through his thinning hair. “ Twenty-two, not counting apprentices.”