by Alec Hutson
“They’re talking about us,” I say to Poz and Bell, an uneasiness spreading through me.
“Perhaps they’ve been dispatched by the Contessa to meet us,” Poz says, though he doesn’t sound very certain of this.
A gasp suddenly goes up from the crowd as the man in the ring lunges towards the kvah and catches him flush in the face with his fist. The kvah stumbles backwards, hunched over with blood drooling from his mouth, and the man drives his knee into the creature’s temple. The kvah sprawls in the trampled grass and the man quickly gets on top of him, punching him again and again.
The alethian steps forward to the very edge of the ring, and it appears that he’s about to put a stop to this, when the kvah – who had looked on the verge of losing consciousness – suddenly twists violently and dumps the man beside him. With a bestial roar the kvah finds some reserve of strength and then suddenly he’s the one straddling his stunned opponent, his hands around the man’s throat. I can see the man’s face is rapidly darkening, and after a few weak slaps at the kvah on top of him the man raises a trembling hand.
“Finished!” screeches the alethian in a harsh voice that reminds me of a raptor’s cry, but the kvah doesn’t hear him or understand because he continues choking the life out of his opponent. A snarl twists the lizard man’s mouth and with frightening speed he enters the ring and tosses the kvah away. Below him the man takes in a gasping breath, rolling onto his side, and the alethian spares him a disgusted glance. The kvah finds his feet, swaying, and he raises his clawed hands as if he expects the massive lizard man to rush at him. Instead the alethian crosses his hands over his chest and bows slightly in the direction of the victor.
“Kansala, kvah,” the alethian proclaims loudly, and the crowd instantly quiets to listen. “Your strength pleases the spirits. Kansala. Your desire is deemed righteous. You have won your freedom.”
The kvah blinks at him stupidly, still dazed. The creature looks like it’s about to collapse.
“Wait!” interrupts a quavering voice. All eyes turn to a man in rich red robes trimmed with gold who has shouldered his way to the front of the crowd. Jewels flash about his fingers and neck, and his face is twisted into a look of absolute incredulity. Some kind of town leader or elder. “You can’t let him go! He’s a kvah!”
Muttered agreement ripples through the crowd. The alethian stalks closer to the man who has spoken, and the townspeople shrink back in fear at the lizard man’s towering bulk. The man swallows hard as the alethian’s shadow envelops him, but he doesn’t retreat.
“He fought for his freedom. He won the fight. To deny him angers the spirits.” The alethian turns back to the kvah and gestures with a clawed hand for him to leave. “Go, kvah. Back to your mountains and your tribe.”
“You can’t –” the richly-dressed man begins again, but the alethian snarls, baring row upon row of pointed teeth. The town leader blanches, blood draining from his face.
The kvah turns slowly, taking in the silent, waiting crowd and the looming alethian, and then he reaches some decision and starts hobbling towards the main avenue that leads back to the city gates. The crowd draws back as he approaches the edge of the ring. Our wagon is in his path, and Bell takes up the switch to encourage the horses out of the way of the desperate creature. The kvah is close enough now that I can hear his labored, panicked breathing.
As the creature is stepping over the rocks marking the edge of the ring he suddenly stiffens and topples forward. He twitches and then lies still, his body only a few dozen paces from us. Glinting metal is embedded in the base of his skull.
Gasps of surprise go up through the crowd, and the enraged alethian throws his head back and roars. When the reverberations of his anger finally fade, it’s so quiet you can hear the panicked bleating of terrified sheep in the distance. The small, pale woman is striding across the ring, and the alethian whirls to face her.
“You dare!” the lizard man screeches, and his talons scrabble for the massive hilt of the broad-bladed scimitar at his waist. Then he seems to thinks better of it and lets his hand fall. “You risk the wrath of the spirits!”
The woman sneers. “Fuck your spirits. We’re not mucking around in whatever malarial shitswamp you slithered out of. This town is under the guardianship of Ysala, and if word got around that the Red Trillium Trust let a captured kvah wander off back into the woods the Marquis would have me fucking flayed. I’ve indulged your primitive antics for too long.”
The alethian is breathing heavily, his clawed hands clenching and unclenching, but he says nothing in reply to this. Absolute silence has descended upon the crowd as they watch this drama playing out.
The woman crouches beside the dead kvah and casually rips from its head the metal object, which resembles three short blades radiating from a central point. She wipes it on the grass and then slides it through a loop on the bracer covering her left forearm. I glimpse three more of the strange weapons studding her arm.
Then she stands and looks straight at us. Her eyes are a pale green, chips of jade set in her alabaster face.
“Professor Poziminius del Alate,” she says, staring at the old man without emotion. “You and your cargo are coming with me.”
“Are you from the Contessa? If you are not, I’m afraid –”
A thunk and suddenly one of the three-bladed throwing knives is quivering in the wood of the wagon a hand-span from Bell’s head. She gasps, much too late. A tingling sense of the danger we’re in starts to spread through me – the woman threw with blinding speed. I’d barely seen her move.
“This is not a discussion. Your contract with the Contessa is now void. The Marquis desires what you carry.”
“My daughter –”
“Is not my concern. I am instructed only to return with you and the glitter. She and your other companion will be given over to my associate R’znek as payment for services rendered.” She gestures in the direction of the alethian, who cocks his head to one side, as if confused.
“Why would I want them?” the lizard man asks, the seething anger in his voice now diminished and replaced with curiosity. “A chest of electrum was my fee.”
While I’ve been intent on this woman and the alethian, a dozen of the dark-armored warriors have crept closer holding crossbows like the one Bell had threatened me with yesterday. My hand twitches, wanting to go to the hilt of my green glass sword, but I suspect if I make any threatening moves we’ll be feathered with quarrels. I might be able to dodge being hit, but Poz and Bell certainly can’t.
“Do whatever the fuck you want with them,” the woman replies. “Sell them as slaves. Eat them. Dress them in motley and make them caper. I don’t fucking care. And you’ll get your money as well, because the Red Trillium Trust pays its debts. I just don’t want them following us to Ysala and complaining to the Contessa about what happened here.”
The pale young woman turns slowly, her gaze sweeping the crowd. “And that goes for the rest of you lot. You better fucking forget about what you saw today.”
“And so what do I do?” the lizard man growls. “I won’t be going back with you to the city?”
“You’ll wait here with a few of my men. I’m returning to Ysala with the rest of them to ensure this old geezer and the stuff gets where it’s supposed to go. Then I’ll send reinforcements to relieve you, and you can bugger off and head wherever you want. However, if my men arrive and you’re not here, or any fucking thing is different than how I’m leaving it now, I will personally hunt you down and turn you into a pair of fucking boots. Understand?”
Despite my animosity towards this woman for threatening us, I can’t help but feel a pang of admiration that she dares to talk to the alethian in this manner. She barely comes up to his waist and he could easily crush her skull with his hand.
In fact, not only is he accepting her abuse, his saurian face looks as chastised as I imagine such a face can look. Who is she?
Poz finally finds his voice. “We can’t –”
“Shut up,” the woman says, turning back to us. “If you say another word I’ll bury a spike in your daughter’s forehead. I’ve been waiting for too long in this backwater shithole for you to finally show up.”
Poz’s face is slack with shock. Bell grips his arm, her face ashen.
“I’ll take care of her,” I whisper to Poz as the dark-armored warriors clamber up onto the wagon and begin binding our wrists. “And we’ll come find you, I promise.”
9
“What did you two do?”
My gaze drifts from the square of striped daylight set high up in the gaol’s wall to the other prisoner in here with us. He’s leaning against the bars of his cell, his prodigious gut hanging out into the small prison’s common space.
“Thieving? Fighting?”
I shake my head.
“Get on the wrong side of the lizard or the corpse-girl?”
When I don’t do anything, he clears his throat noisily and spits. “Yeah, me too. Wankers.”
I glance over to where Bell is hunched against the far wall of her cell, her knees drawn up and her head lowered. I can’t tell if she’s asleep or grieving – she hasn’t responded to me for a while now, and I’m letting her be. Like me, her ankles are bound together with short chains – even if we escaped this prison we wouldn’t be able to hobble too far without being recaptured.
I grip the black iron bars of my cell and strain with all my strength, but they’re just as immovable as they’ve always been.
“Don’t bother, friend. I’m the blacksmith who forged those bars, and you’re not bending them unless you’ve got the strength of a saint.”
I turn back to the prisoner. “Why is the town blacksmith in the gaol?”
He sighs heavily. “Bunch o’ nonsense, and it all comes back to the Red Trillium Trust. Look, I’ve been a proud Sorillian since I was born here. And as long as I can remember, our guardian contract was with the Swollen Moon Trust.”
I hold up my hand. “Wait. What’s a guardian contract?”
The blacksmith looks at me oddly. “You’re from far away. A guardian contract is what all the towns around Ysala sign with the Trusts – we pay a bit of money, and in return we get a garrison o’ their soldiers. The Swollen Moon Trust had kept Soril safe for decades, and there hadn’t been a kvah sighting in years. Then, about two months ago, that pale little girl and her pet lizard appear just as our guardian contract is up for renewal. She offers to take over protection of the town for a fraction o’ what we were paying the Swollen Moon. ‘Course, lots of townsfolk wanted to stay with what we knew, but the town elders were greedy and went with the Red Trillium.”
“And they didn’t do the job?”
The blacksmith spits again. “Hells no. Maybe they sent out a few patrols, but the soldiers weren’t trained woodsmen. They couldn’t keep the forests clear of kvah or other beasties. And the lizard took over the market square and began holding fights there. Bloody outrageous. So I started complaining – and mind you, I wasn’t the only one. Maybe I had a few too many drinks at the Canted Cow, and maybe I smashed one o’ the Trillium Trust’s soldiers in the face with my flagon. Bit blurry, honestly. Anyway, here I am, at least for another little while. The magistrate said four days, and I’ve been stewing in here for three.”
His face crinkles, as if he’s trying to figure something out. “What I can’t understand, though, is why the Red Trillium Trust is in Soril. The contract is for an absolutely paltry amount, and they clearly don’t want to be here.”
“They were waiting for us.”
We both turn to Bell, who has raised her head from her knees.
“They knew about the glitter, and they obviously decided that simply taking it would be a simpler solution than trying to convince Papa to sell it or give it over.”
“But they can’t just take it,” I say. “That’s stealing – surely there are laws that forbid such things.”
Bell shakes her head slowly. “The Trusts are the laws in Ysala. Maybe if enough of the others exerted pressure on the Red Trillium they could get the Marquis to give up Papa and the glitter. But there’s no guarantee. It’s like there are thirteen monarchs in the city, with thirteen little kingdoms.”
“Then we rescue your father, steal back the glitter, and claim protection with another of the Trusts. The Contessa will surely be willing to provide us some help.”
Bell looks at me bleakly. “Easy as that, huh? When I said the Trusts are like kingdoms, I meant it. They have armies and fortresses, not to mention we’d need to find a way out of here first.”
The blacksmith has been listening to our conversation with some interest. “So it was you the Trillium wanted. Likely they’ll go away now that you’ve arrived, eh?”
I nod. “The woman said when she arrived in Ysala she’d send back reinforcements. But you’re right – I don’t think they want to be here. I imagine they’ll try to get out of any contract they’ve signed now that they have the glitter.”
The blacksmith strokes his chin and studies me with narrowed eyes. “You know, friend, I can think of one way you could get out of that cell.”
“And what’s that?”
“Fight in the ring.”
That doesn’t sound so bad. I know how to fight.
“Against the lizard.”
“What?”
The blacksmith raises his hands. “Yeah, he’s a big fellow. But he’s never actually participated in one of these bouts, far as I know. ‘Course, that’s because no one has been stupid or desperate enough to try him. Could be he’s as slow as a snake in the sun.”
I think back to that wall of muscles and green scales and how quickly he had crossed the ring to confront the townsfolk who had challenged him.
“And you think I’m stupid or desperate enough?”
The blacksmith shrugs, grinning sheepishly. “Look, friend, I was just offering a way for you to get out of the cell. Wasn’t really concerned with how long you might survive afterwards.”
I drum my fingers against the bars, considering. “You think he would accept such a challenge?”
“Most certainly. The lizard is absolutely mad for these fights. Always going on about the spirits and how the ring bestows righteousness.”
“Guard!” I yell before my better judgement more carefully considers what I’m about to do. “Guard!”
The blacksmith whistles. “You’re going for it. I sure hope I get out o’ here in time to watch.”
A key clanks in a lock and a door swings open. A portly, rather befuddled-looking fellow wearing a helm that is far too small pokes his head into the gaol.
“What’s this?” he says, scowling. “Woke me up.”
“I must speak with the alethian,” I say quickly. “There’s something important he should know.”
The guard gives me a look like he thinks I’m addled. “Oy, I’m not bothering that one.” He begins to swing the door shut.
“Wait! We . . . uh, we were ambushed by a tribe of kvah less than a day’s ride outside the city. He’s in charge of the defense of Soril, yes? Shouldn’t he know where they have set up their camp?”
The guard hesitates. He blinks his bovine eyes slowly, as if he’s internally examining what I’ve said for flaws.
“So tell me. I’ll bring it to him.”
“Reports must be made directly to the town’s seneschal. That’s proper protocol.” I’m hoping he knows as little about the proper protocol as I do.
The guard’s eyes narrow and his jaw works like he’s chewing on something, which only reinforces my sense that there are significant similarities between him and the cattle I saw in the fields outside the town.
“And if there’s any delay I’m afraid you might be blamed if the kvah slip away.”
The guard removes his helmet – which takes a moment, as it was wedged on tightly – and scratches his bald pate. “I’ll let the seneschal know you have something to tell him,” he says, and the door clangs shut.
“The man w
ishes to speak?”
The alethian stands outside my cell, his arms crossed. To my surprise, he sounds more curious than angry.
“I do.”
This close to the lizard man the sheer power of his presence is almost overwhelming. I’m tall, but I barely come up to his chest. And while his height is intimidating, it’s the muscles cording his arms and neck that make me want to pretend I do in fact just want to tell him about the kvah ambush. I try to ignore the pangs of nervousness as I take in his rows of gleaming fangs, the spiky crest that nearly brushes the ceiling, and the curving talons that make it look like he could gut a deer with a swipe of his hand. There’s some primitive part of my brain that is telling me emphatically that this is a dangerous predator, and that I’m a fool for even considering what I’m about to do.
“I challenge you to a fight in the ring.”
The lizard man’s slanted yellow eyes narrow even more, boring into me. He says nothing.
The face of the guard standing by the door goes deathly white. “What? That’s not –” He quiets as the alethian leans in closer to examine me, his face nearly brushing the bars of my cell. I’m fairly sure my head would fit inside his jaws.
“Why,” rasps the lizard man, “would you challenge me? Why would I accept?” The smell of rancid meat washes over me as he opens his mouth.
