The Gates of Iron

by David Debord

  Hierm said nothing but his heart pounded in his chest. Three moons? What if, by the time they were released, Lerryn had moved on? Even worse, what if they weren’t released at all? Unwilling to consider the possibility, he kept his chin up and focused on the back of Tabars’ head as the deputies led them through the town and into the jail. It was not until the bars closed and locked behind him that he surrendered to the black thoughts.

  Chapter 22

  “I always knew you’d be the first of us raised to initiate.” Naseeb clapped Dacio on the shoulder. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Dacio, still looking as shocked as he had when he’d been called away from dinner to face the masters, shrugged. “It doesn’t mean much. I’ll still take the same courses, sleep in the same bed, put up with the same annoying friends.”

  “No, you thickwit. When a man is raised to initiate, he buys the drinks,” Naseeb said.

  It took Dacio a moment to understand his meaning. “But novits aren’t permitted to leave the Gates.”

  “We’re supposed to sneak out with you,” Whitt interjected. “It’s such a long-standing tradition that it’s practically expected.”

  Oskar shifted uncomfortably on the corner of his bed. Since the close call at the archives, he’d tried to stay out of trouble though he still met Lizzie a few nights a week. But, in that case, she was the one out of bounds, not him.

  “I was just raised,” Dacio said. “I don’t want to lose my status the same night.”

  “You won’t,” Whitt assured him. “If anyone sees us, we’ll tell them we went out on our own and that you tried to convince us to return. Besides, it’s high time Oskar experienced Vatania.” He turned a broad grin in Oskar’s direction.

  “What? You mean you have?” Oskar asked.

  “Of course. Every novit sneaks out sooner or later, and I think your time has come.”

  An hour later, Oskar slipped over the wall that separated the forested outskirts of the Gates from the city. Beyond this wall stood a row of brick buildings, and beyond them, the smoky glow of the lamps and torches that lit the city streets.

  He followed the others over the wall, along another alleyway, this one lined with broken cobblestones and smelling of sour wine and stale urine, and out onto the main street.

  “I expected it to be...” Oskar began.

  “Nicer? Cleaner? More majestic?” Naseeb asked.

  “I suppose.” After spending so much time at the Gates, Oskar had forgotten just how ragged and even dirty commoners looked. He immediately kicked himself for the thought. He was no noble; he was one of them. Was this how Larris and Allyn had thought of Oskar and his friends when they first met?

  “This is Southgate,” Whitt explained. “It’s not the worst part of town, but you won’t find a member of the Gates here.”

  “We’re here,” Oskar noted.

  “Yes, but we’re clever and devious.” Naseeb swung an arm around Oskar’s shoulders. “Now, let’s go spend up Dacio’s purse.”

  Oskar tried to maintain a stoic expression as they wandered the streets though he was eagerly taking it all in. This was, after all, only the second time in his life he’d been in a city. It wasn’t that he cared what strangers thought of him, but he figured a young man who looked fresh off the farm would make a ripe target for pickpockets or worse.

  The first tavern they visited stank of sweat and vomit. At the far end, a tired-looking man in a threadbare orange cloak plucked out a somber tune on his lute. Most of the patrons ignored him, conversing in loud, drunken voices. Oskar and his friends stayed long enough for Oskar to enjoy his first taste of vakka, a clear, white liquid that burned like the sun on its way down but left behind a pleasant, minty taste. Once he recovered from the first, scorching swallow, he was eager to try more.

  “Oh no, my friend,” Naseeb said. “The night is young and you have much yet to experience. Too many of these and you won’t see anything else the rest of the night.”

  “Hold on. This is supposed to be my celebration.” The expression of feigned offense on Dacio’s face cracked into a grin almost immediately.

  “And what better way to celebrate than to see our friend Oskar properly debauched?” Whitt pushed away from the table, tossed a copper at the foot of the lutenist, and headed for the door.

  They wandered the streets, fending off oily men selling all manner of amusements, most of them alleged mind-altering liquids that Oskar suspected were little more than cheap, strong liquor mixed with a few herbs. The working girls were out in full force as well, and though Oskar had previously been exposed to their sisters in commerce on his visit to Karkwall, he still found himself blushing at their propositions.

  As they rounded a corner, he noticed a couple, a young woman and a much older man, standing in the shadows. He knew he should look away from what was most likely an intimate business transaction, but his senses told him something wasn’t right. The young woman stood with her back against the wall, her posture rigid. The man had his hands pressed against the wall on either side of her, keeping her in place. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Oskar saw the man’s hungry look, and the expression of discomfort on the woman’s face. And then his heart lurched and he veered toward them, closing the distance in a few steps.

  “Lizzie!”

  Lizzie looked up and the man turned slowly toward the sound of Oskar’s voice.

  “Find yourself another whore. This one is...” Oskar’s fist stopped him in mid-sentence. His knees buckled and he hit the ground hard.

  Lizzie gaped, and her eyes moved from the man on the ground up to Oskar’s face.

  And she slapped him hard across the ear, making his head ring.

  “You stupid ox!” She emphasized each word with a punch to his chest. “I’m trying to work here.”

  “Work?” Had Oskar heard her correctly? His ears still rang from her slap. “I didn’t know you sold yourself,” he stammered.

  This time, Lizzie slapped him on the other ear.

  “You know better than that. He was my mark. I let him kiss me a little. Meanwhile, I make his purse a little lighter, and then make an excuse and slip away.”

  “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

  “No, Oskar, I had no idea.” Her tone was as flat as her stare. “I don’t need help from you or any other man. I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time.” She knelt and scooped some coins out of the man’s purse. The man began to stir, so she kicked him in the temple with the precision of a craftsman working at a delicate project. The man went limp again. “If I were you, I’d drag him into the alley and get out of here. I’m sure he didn’t get a good look at you, but who can say for certain?”

  Oskar looked down at the unconscious man and realized what he’d done. In his moment of anger and jealousy, he’d attacked someone. He could end up in jail for this, and then they’d turn him out of the Gates for certain.

  “I’ll do it. You should probably make yourself scarce. He knows exactly what you look like.” He looked up and was surprised to see that Lizzie was already gone.

  “We’ll help you,” Whitt said. Now that the fight, if that’s what it had been, with Lizzie was over, his friends had come to join him. “Someone get his legs.” Whitt grabbed the limp man under his arms while Naseeb held his ankles and they carried him away. When they returned a few moments later, they were laughing.

  “It isn’t funny,” Dacio said. “And Oskar’s girl was right. We should get away from here and fast.”

  “Not funny?” Whitt said as they started walking. “Oskar the book-loving farmer can’t spend one evening in the city without getting into a brawl and getting slapped by a beautiful woman. That’s funny.”

  “Also, I tied his ankles together,” Naseeb said. “He can untie it in a thrice, but he’ll fall on his face at least once before he knows it’s there.” He turned to Oskar. “Are you going to tell us who that girl was?”

  Oskar shook his head. “I guess she’s no one to
me anymore. Evidently she hates me.”

  “Hardly,” Dacio said. “If she didn’t care for you, she wouldn’t have gotten so angry with you.”

  Oskar frowned. “That makes no sense.”

  “Only because you know nothing about women,” Dacio said in a matter-of-fact tone. “But what do I know? I live in a castle filled with men, and my roommates are the ugliest bunch of blighters this side of the Ice Reaches.”

  They continued to tease Oskar as they wended their way through the dark streets. He didn’t mind. Being ribbed over problems with a girl was a new experience for him, even if he didn’t know what he was to Lizzie, if anything at all, now that he’d incurred her wrath.

  Up ahead, the sky glowed with the collected light of what must have been a hundred or more lamps. Drawing closer, he saw that the lamps ringed a pit around which a crowd had gathered in a roped-off area. Whatever was happening in the pit had their full interest, and they cheered, groaned, and roared as they watched.

  “They’re fighting tonight.” Whitt quickened his pace. “Excellent.”

  A dark man, as broad as he was tall, collected a coin from each of them and drew the rope aside so they might enter.

  “Any of you going to be fighting?” the man asked.

  “Perhaps,” Whitt said.

  “If you do, you get your copper back,” he said.

  Privately, Oskar thought he’d pay more than a copper to avoid a fight. He endured enough bruises in training. What was this all about, anyway?

  They worked their way into the crowd until they could see down into the pit. The sloped sides were roped off halfway down, allowing the onlookers to move in closer without blocking others’ views.

  Inside the pit, two men, sweaty and bleeding, circled one another. One man, a pale fellow with a scarred, shaved head, held his meaty fists low and gasped for breath. The second, a man with light brown skin and glossy black hair, was lean and frail-looking compared to his opponent, but clearly had more energy. He feinted with his left hand and when his opponent raised his own hands to block, lashed out with a vicious kick to the liver. The crowd “oohed” and, for a moment, shaved-head stood frozen. Then, agony spread across his face and he crumpled to the ground. The brown man moved in and landed a series of punches to his fallen opponent’s head before a man in a red tunic hauled him off and waved him away.

  The winner raised his hands in triumph as cheers and coins rained down on him. After enjoying the accolades for a few moments, he stooped and gathered up the coins. Nearby, the loser had regained his feet and Oskar was surprised to see a number of coins lying at his feet as well.

  “Why are they throwing money to him? He lost.”

  “The money isn’t necessarily given to the winner; it’s sort of a way of praising a man for fighting well,” Whitt explained. “It’s rare, but sometimes the loser gets more money than the winner if the crowd prefers his style of fighting or his effort.”

  “People think this is fun?” Oskar grimaced. He didn’t see the appeal.

  “Only the uncivilized among us.” Dacio frowned at Whitt. “This is supposed to be my celebration or have you forgotten?”

  “We won’t stay long. Only until I’ve had the chance to earn a few coins.” Whitt moved to the rope and waved his arm until he had the attention of the man in red, who nodded and beckoned for him to come on.

  “What is he doing? Is he bereft of his senses?” Oskar turned pleading eyes on his friends. “We’ve got to stop him.”

  “Go ahead. Go down there and drag him out.” Naseeb laughed. “Of course, the crowd will probably tear you apart for interfering with the fights, but it’s your choice.”

  Oskar hesitated. Really, there was nothing he could do. He was Whitt’s friend, not his father. The best he could offer was to cheer his friend on and hope for the best. He held his breath as the contest began.

  Whitt came in low, hands raised. The dark-skinned man circled, lashing out with quick punches that Whitt blocked with ease. Whitt threw a haymaker, and his opponent dodged it and stung Whitt with a sharp kick to the calf, grinning all the while.

  Oskar groaned. Whitt was obviously too slow and sloppy to win. This promised to be an ugly contest, and painful to watch.

  As the match continued, nothing changed his mind. The brown man circled while Whitt lumbered after him, occasionally swinging a meaty fist that never quite found its target. His opponent peppered him with jabs that Whitt managed to block with his thick arms, and kicks to the leg that didn’t appear to faze Whitt, but must have been painful.

  As the slow dance continued, the crowd grew impatient, and soon the onlookers began hurling insults down on the competitors.

  “Fight, you snow-blighted cowards!” one particularly drunk man bellowed. A few others took up the cry.

  The words had no visible effect on Whitt, who endured much worse abuse from Master Lang during combat training, but his opponent took notice.

  The man struck with blinding fury, his lightning fast strikes stinging Whitt like a swarm of hornets. A few found their marks, but most did no damage. In a matter of seconds, the man’s energy ebbed, and he circled away. His chest heaved and sweat poured off of him, the droplets forming tiny craters in the dust at his feet.

  Whitt struck. With a speed he had not previously displayed, he caught his tired opponent up by one leg and bore him to the ground. In a flash, Whitt straddled the man and pounded his elbow again and again into the man’s unprotected temple.

  It was over in a matter of seconds. The man lay unconscious in the dust and Whitt stood with his arms upraised, fists clenched, soaking in the adoration of the onlookers who had only moments before called him a coward or worse. Coins flew through the air and he scooped them up and filled his purse. He pushed his way through the crowd, most of whom were calling for him to fight again, and made his way back to his friends.

  “You look surprised,” he said to Oskar. “You didn’t think I could take him?”

  “Things appeared to be pretty grim there for a while.”

  Whitt threw back his head and laughed. “How many combat classes have we taken together? Surely you knew I wasn’t really that slow.”

  The truth was, between trying to catch up to the other students and watching over his shoulder for Agen and his cronies, Oskar had little attention to spare for others in class. He had no idea what Whitt was capable of in combat.

  “Never mind.” Whitt held up his purse, now heavy with coin. “Let’s spend some of these good people’s money.”

  Whitt chose a nearby alehouse where two young men, one tall with broad shoulders and red hair, the other dark-haired and wiry, performed. One juggled while the other played the flute. They weren’t bad, but Oskar had a feeling neither would ever make court bard.

  By his second tankard of ale, the world became an absolutely delightful place. His worries were soon forgotten as Oskar basked in the joys of music, conversation, and friendship. The yearning for adventure and knowledge that had ached within him all his life were gone. It was remarkable that he, a poor farm boy, would find himself here in the greatest city in Gameryah.

  “Excuse me, sir. Would you care to dance?”

  Though ale clouded his thoughts, he knew that voice immediately. He looked up to see Lizzie standing over him, but she looked very different. Gone was her tight, utilitarian clothing. She now wore a blood red dress that showed far too much of her breasts and calves. She’d scrubbed her face clean and applied some of the face paint that rich women and whores used to make their cheeks pink and their lips crimson. She wore her glossy black hair down over her shoulders. All around him, he saw men staring at her. He couldn’t blame them. She was beautiful.

  “Well? Are we going to dance, or should I find someone else?” Already, a few men had stood and were moving in her direction.

  Oskar stood, wobbled a bit from too much drink, and put a hand on the table to steady himself. He was surprised two tankards had done this to him, but then he remembered the vakka he�
�d drunk earlier. It was potent stuff. The drink dizzied but also emboldened him. “I would love to dance with you.” He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close so he could whisper in her ear. “But you will have to teach me how.”

  She laughed and led him to the front of the room where a handful of couples and a single, extremely drunk, old man, danced a jig. Lizzie guided him through the steps, and he found that, despite his condition, he wasn’t entirely hopeless on the dance floor. Combat training had improved his coordination and made him if not exactly nimble of foot, moderately coordinated.

  After a few dances, they retired to a table in the corner. Smiling inwardly at the envious glances cast in his direction by almost every man in the place, Oskar ordered wine, but barely sipped his. His head was clearing and he hated the befuddled feeling that came with too much drink.

  “Where did you get the dress?” he finally asked, mostly because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “I killed a woman and stripped it off her dead body. It took me a while to find someone wearing one just the color of blood. That way, the stains don’t show. Cutting someone’s throat is a messy business.” She took a small sip of wine and gazed at Oskar over her cup.

  His lips moved, but he couldn’t speak. How could such evil lurk behind those beautiful blue eyes?

  Lizzie broke into laughter. “You’re so gullible. It’s simply too easy with you.”

  “What? You mean you didn’t kill anyone?”

  “Of course not. I stole it a long time ago. I didn’t think I’d ever have a reason to wear it, but I took it anyway.” She paused. “Do you like me this way?”

  “No. I mean, yes, you’re beautiful, but...” He couldn’t find the words.

  “But what? Isn’t this the way you want me to be? A helpless little girl who needs a big, strong man to protect her so she doesn’t get her dress dirty?”

  Now it was Oskar’s turn to laugh. “You are more like my friend Shanis than I realized. I understand. I shouldn’t have tried to rescue you.”