by Aaron Bunce
“Shit!” Wraithman swore, crawling forward, half-hanging over the edge.
“Ah, ha-ha-ha! Big rabbit jumps, but Goliath has it now. It’s got it…gonna smash that beast of yers proper!” Benik laughed.
Wraithman tried to ignore him, but somewhere deep inside, he knew Benik was right. The drakin writhed, its shiny, scale-covered body flexing and sliding between the ogre’s strong arms.
Wraithman’s guts squirmed as Goliath thrashed from side to side, whipping his beast around like a rag doll. The drakin coiled and slipped, its teeth and claws sinking into gray flesh, but the ogre wouldn’t release its grip.
Wraithman reached for his dagger, but punched the bench next to him instead, over and over, until his hand throbbed. The crowd grew even more frantic, until their voices blended together in one loud plea for death.
Wraithman covered his face. He’d watched the ogre finish so many fights, watched it revel in its kill, but never fathomed that it would be his champion the creature would brutalize and tear apart. That was, after all, the pit’s tradition. From his experiences, this is what the end always looked like.
He peeled his fingers away just as Goliath swung about, the drakin’s tail lashing against the ogre’s face, before winding around its neck.
“Kill it! Kill it now, you stupid brute!” Benik yelled, leaving his seat for the first time.
Goliath looked back, locking eyes with Benik, but then its gaze slid to Wraithman. He didn’t see the eyes of a ruthless killer, but a scared, confused, and damaged creature.
He shook his head, casting away a confusing mixture of emotions. He felt sorry for the creature, but hated himself for it.
“Ahh!” Wraithman growled, banging his fists against his knees in frustration. He wished for some way to turn the tides, to spare the beast he had invested so much time and effort in acquiring. And then his hand brushed against a lump under his furs.
Goliath growled, spinning and falling to the ground, its massive weight pinning the lithe predator beneath it. Wraithman reached into his furs, his fingers wrapping around the strange animal call. He stumbled off the bench, almost bowling Benik over in the process.
“Heh? Running off to hide? You ought’a stick around to watch Goliath win,” the big man said, reaching for Wraithman, but he slapped the hand aside.
Wraithman pushed through the crowd, elbowing and pushing aside anyone who didn’t move out of the way fast enough. He ran into a woman, her ale splashing into his face and covering his furs. His foot smacked hard into the bench, sending waves of red-hot pain shooting up his leg.
Damn! He cursed silently, almost falling into a crowd of people.
“Hey, get off of me, you fool,” a spectator said, pushing Wraithman clear. He stumbled out into the walkway and limped out through the entrance, where a group of old men sat in the snow smoking pipes.
They yelled something at him, but he wasn’t listening. His foot throbbed as he skipped down the stone stairs and by the time he made it to the southern tunnel, he foot was bleeding inside his boot. He could feel the hot, sticky blood covering his skin.
“It ain’t looking good, Wraith,” Sigmere said, appearing out of the darkness before him.
“Get out of my way. Move! Go up top and man the cage door,” he growled as he pushed his ragged looking friend against the opposite wall.
Dark shapes moved in the tunnel ahead of him as the two creatures struggled. Wraithman limped up to cage at the end, his breathing raspy and his chest tight. He fumbled the animal call out of his furs and lifted it to his lips, but pulled it back down and gulped a large mouthful of air, trying to reclaim his wind.
Goliath’s massive hand was locked around the drakin’s throat as he pinned it against the ground. His foot stomped down, narrowly missing his beast’s head, instead smashing the straw and dirt.
“No!” he growled, squeezing his body through the bars of the cage and smashing the call to his lips.
Wraithman blew, the animal call chirping and squealing like a desperate animal. His lungs burned and he gasped in a breath, before blowing again.
The crowd chanted and roared, their noise filling the air and reverberating loudly in the tunnel around him. He lifted it and blew one last time, forcing every ounce of air through the call, pushing until he was sure that he would throw up all over himself.
Goliath lifted his leg to deal another blow, but the drakin’s appearance had changed. Its spiky ears fluttered in the air and its large, dark eyes went wide, flashing around as if searching for something.
With a massive snort and a feral growl the drakin twisted about, its claws rending the dirt. Goliath growled and drove a massive fist into the drakin’s head, trying to stun it, but it twisted about, turning until it lay on its back and its legs were up in the air.
Wraithman blew the call again, and watched as the drakin sank its hooked claws into the ogre’s forearm. Goliath growled and tried to batter the lithe creature, but it was moving, seething, and flexing too much.
Goliath’s grasp on the drakin’s neck broke and the creature slithered around until it was draped over the ogre’s back. Goliath stammered upright, its arms flailing as it tried to dislodge the creature, but the drakin held on too tight.
The two stumbled out of sight. Wraithman wriggled and tried to force his body through the cage bars to keep them in sight, but a heartbeat later Goliath tumbled back into the middle of the pit.
The ogre fell on its hands and knees, the drakin’s powerful jaws clamped around the back of its neck. The crowd surged, screaming a strange mixture of pain and joy.
Goliath grunted loudly, one arm slapping ineffectually, and then the drakin twisted violently, and the air was filled with a loud crack.
Wraithman dropped the animal call as he started to holler. The crowd’s energy rolled over his body, sending a tingle up his spine. He had time to consider the pile of dead ogre laying in a heap in the middle of the pit, the scaly, black beast standing triumphantly atop it.
It hissed, and then looked directly at him. Wraithman was falling back in the next moment, the creature darting towards him, moving like an impossibly fast shadow.
He landed on his rear end, and rolled backwards, ungainly in a heap. He snapped his head up just as the drakin raked the ground before him. It hissed menacingly and sank back into the cage. The scaly creature nuzzled the call with its nose, just as the cage door crashed closed behind it.
* * * *
A loud noise erupted from the village far below. Julian pulled back and cursed, a stick snapping back and jarring his throbbing leg.
It sounded strangely like people yelling, or cheering, but with the wind swirling all around him he couldn’t be completely sure. Ghadarzehi tugged on the rope, signaling him that he needed to move. The warrior’s mannerisms had softened somewhat. At least he wasn’t trying to yank him off his feet with the rope just for fun anymore.
Julian planted the thick stick into the ground and hopped forward, careful to swing his injured leg free of the bramble weeds and jutting rocks.
The trail leading down the valley was surprisingly well formed. It cut north before turning back south again, forming a switchback circuit that cut through the steep valley’s vegetation and unforgiving terrain.
Block out the pain, Pera said, his small voice drifting in with the fog of pain polluting Julian’s mind.
Julian hobbled another awkward step forward. He bent over and spit. The pain made his stomach churn and his mouth water. Not a good combination when perched on a precarious ledge overlooking a steep drop off, with only one good leg.
“That sounds wonderful…” Julian grumbled, focusing on his next step, “and so helpful.”
I will block it for you, Pera cut in, either oblivious to Julian’s pessimism, or unaffected by it.
Couldn’t you have just…never mind, Julian cast back, instead focusing his attention on navigating the narrow trail.
I need you to be alert when we reach the village below. If you are too
focused on the pain, we may miss our opportunity, Pera reasoned.
To escape, or…Julian finished. Pera didn’t respond, but he could feel the strange creature moving and shifting in his mind, calculating and planning. It was a wretched feeling, but he found that he was thankful for the company.
I’d hate to be left to my own thoughts right now, he thought.
Pera reacted to the notion, but didn’t respond verbally. Instead, the dark presence filled his head with a peculiar sensation. Julian struggled to interpret what it was. It felt like a strange mixture of joy and anger. Perhaps the truth of it lay somewhere between the two.
It took a great while, but they managed to crisscross their way down the valley. Julian collapsed into the snow once they were clear of the rocks.
Hopping down the valley trail on one leg, teetering on just a stick, while tethered between two warriors with rope would have been exhausting if he was well rested and fed. Now he was ready to curl up in the snow and fall asleep.
“Move, soft skin,” Ghadarzehi grumbled, tugging him forward when Julian paused.
His first step forward was hard, but as his foot came down on the second, the pain from his mangled ankle flooded back in. It was sharp, disorienting, and unsettling. Julian bent over and retched into the snow, completely unprepared.
“Masa izta bella skinsa,” Ghadarzehi said, picking Julian up by the rope and pushing him forward.
Drool and sick running down his chin, Julian hopped, staggered, and almost splayed face-first in the snow. He gasped in a deep breath, and then another, trying painfully to keep up.
What happened…to…blocking the pain? Julian pressed, desperately.
Pera moved, the pressure ebbing and flowing. But his voice didn’t ring out in his mind right away, and when it did, it was weak.
You’re trip down the valley was longer than I anticipated. It took a great deal…of…strength to block out that much pain.
He resented Pera. The dark creature left an unclean stain upon his soul. And beyond that, he could no longer simply withdraw to the security and privacy of his own thoughts anymore. Yet, Julian never considered the cost to his dark companion, and admittedly felt guilty.
It took his pain upon itself for a time, allowing him to make the treacherous hike down the steep valley trail unhindered. It was sacrificing, just as he was.
Ghadarzehi and Histarian allowed Julian to rest for a short time. He settled on a log, spending most of his time trying to get comfortable. No matter how he sat, his leg throbbed. After endlessly shifting, turning, and leaning, Julian stood.
“Enough resting?” Julian asked Ghadarzehi, the large warrior pausing, only half-risen from his perch on the fallen log.
Julian knew he was planning on jerking the rope, to violently signal that his brief rest was over, as he usually did, so Julian stood, wedging the stick under his arm and hopped forward, showing them that he was ready to go.
Ghadarzehi recovered, and did something Julian wasn’t expecting, he smiled. Taking up the slack in the rope, he moved forward, leading Julian out of their resting spot and towards the village.
Making friends? Pera asked.
Wouldn’t you rather have them as an ally? They appear more than capable, Julian thought back as he hobbled past the first row of stout, mountain buildings.
Allies…yes, but we still don’t know their true intentions, Pera rationalized.
Funny…I don’t know what your intentions are, so what sets you apart from them? You know what I want, what I need. Tanea needs me, and I mean to get back to her, no matter the cost, Julian thought angrily.
He felt Pera considering him, the dark presence circling his mind cautiously.
Julian and his escorts continued through the outskirts of the village, passing shacks and shanties, some so small he wondered if a single person could live comfortably inside. Fishing nets hung from large racks, positioned behind barrels of ice covered fish carcasses.
My intentions are simple. To survive, no matter the cost, Pera finally answered back.
Fair, Julian answered. There was nothing he need say beyond that. Pera needed Julian to survive, and he needed Pera to get back to Tanea.
They didn’t encounter anyone in the village until they passed a gentle bend in the river. Then the road became more congested, the buildings larger and more elaborate.
A group passed them. They wore fashionable garments of heavy furs, detailed with rich red or green velvet. These were the mountain people his Yu captors had mentioned. They weren’t what he expected.
As soon as the villagers spotted them, their demeanor changed. They stopped talking and moved further away, affording Julian and the towering Yu warriors a wider berth.
A lone figure appeared before them, not skirting the lane between buildings, but heading straight for them. Julian hobbled forward another painful step, but stopped thankfully when Histarian paused.
“State your business in Spear Point, strangers,” the man said, sidling up to then, his hand resting on the shiny hilt of a sword.
Julian eyed the sword hungrily. It was the first recognizable weapon he had seen since leaving the mountain tunnels, aside from those of his two traveling companions. It was a hand-and-a-half steel blade, with a flat cross guard and a five-point pummel. It looked very much like his own blade, if not older and more heavily worn.
“We seek a healer to mend this one’s injured limb,” Histarian said in common tongue, with just a hint of his foreign inflection.
“A healer, you say?” the man asked, shifting his left foot, and his weight, back.
Julian recognized the move. The man was putting himself into a more defensible posture, perhaps anticipating a sudden attack. With his weight, and his pivot foot back, he could quickstep back, and gain distance to draw his own blade.
Histarian nodded. Julian caught the man’s gaze and searched his eyes. If he thought it was strange that Julian was bound with rope and strung between two massive warriors, he didn’t show it.
He is not alarmed by the Yu. The people of this village must have had encounters with them before. Perhaps in trade, Pera reasoned, echoing Julian’s own suspicions.
“I don’t recognize you. Is this your first time in Spear Point?” the man asked.
Histarian nodded.
“We don’t turn folk away. But there are some rules you ought’ know now. Spear Point thrives on trade, so we welcome anyone looking to barter, especially with fine goods from the southern cities. Travelers are welcomed to visit The Pit, especially if they’re looking to wager and spend coin on ale or mead. People travel from near and far to watch a good fight. You missed a good one early today. It’s got the town in a bit of an uproar, so be mindful what you say to who. Also, keep your weapons stowed! I’m not for meddling in anyone else’s affairs,” he said, tilting his head Julian’s way. “But if your business causes a row, then be mindful of where you are. This ain’t the provinces up here, an’ there ain’t no Silver to keep the peace. I’m not saying a man oughtn’t to defend hisself, but if you harm anyone in town, without good reason, well, then I’ll throw you in the pit myself.”
“We understand,” Histarian said simply.
Julian’s eye caught the glimmer of metal, hanging just beneath the bottom of the large warrior’s furs. A blade, perhaps some sort of short polearm was strapped to his back. Ghadarzehi eyed him sideways, his hand draped over the hilt of his sword.
He worries that I will say something, to raise an alarm, Julian thought.
Put them at ease, Pera offered. We want them off their guard.
“Definitely a little trade, some good ale and hot food sound good. My traveling companions were right to recommend stopping here. They lent me aid, even secured me with rope to help me down that treacherous trail leading from above,” Julian offered, lifting one of the lengths of rope. “When I fell and hurt my leg, I feared there wouldn’t be any civilized places to stop for help. Spear Point looks to be a haven, truly!”
Histarian
cast Julian a sidelong glance, giving him a subtle nod of approval.
“Ha, truly!” the man said, smiling. The tension drawing at his face loosened, and his posture relaxed ever so slightly. “My name is Artemis. I’m one of the village guards. One of us is always about if you need us. We haven’t clerics or priests for mending ailments, but we do have a healer. He’s handier at mending animals than people, but he has a gentle enough hand and is usually sober. Just head straight through town. Tis the large building next to the common house, you can’t miss it. Welcome to Spear Point.”
Artemis opened his arms in a welcoming fashion and stepped aside, allowing them to enter. Histarian nodded his thanks and started forward. Julian flashed the guard what he hoped was a disarming smile, and hobbled forward to keep pace.
Part Three
Mysterious figures
Chapter 22
Strength in numbers
El’bryliz led Tanea out of the tunnels, taking her through a door frozen by time. The young man inhaled and slid through, but when Tanea moved to follow, she very nearly became stuck.
“Blow out all of your breath, and push!” he said, grasping her by the arm.
Tanea exhaled and sucked in her stomach as she squeezed herself through the narrow opening. She felt the rough fibers of the door dig into her chest and shoulders, but with one mighty tug, she was free.
“How did you fit through there so easily?” she asked.
El’bryliz laughed, “I am quite small!”
He led her through another passage before coming to a much newer looking door.
“This will take us to a passage leading to the sanctuary. Wait here!” he said, before easing the door open.
“W-w-wait. Where are you going?” Tanea asked, grasping at his heavy robe.
“You need to blend in. I know just the thing. I’ll only be a moment,” he said with a reassuring smile, and disappeared through the door.
