‘Come closer to me,’ he snarled.
Yana walked slowly forward. The early morning sunlight fell upon Kirakan yet no shadow was cast upon the floor.
‘You are…’ Yana gasped.
‘Running out of time. I can’t get access to your brother, but I’ve heard you get to see him after each fight. So I need you to get this letter to Kurt, unopened. Can you do it? Yes or no.’
‘I can try. What is it about?’ Yana stuttered.
‘Someone is going to mount a rescue attempt within the next day. Be ready.’
‘Who? How will I know?’ Yana said, her voice rising with excitement.
‘Shut the hell up,’ he hissed. ‘You’ll have the guards coming in.’
He leaned in closer to her. Yana retracted slightly.
‘Just get this letter to your brother, unopened, and get ready to make a break for it, when the time comes. With any luck, you’ll both survive.’
With that, Kirakan’s imposter handed over the letter then slipped out of the room. Yana heard him chatting to the guards in his usual smooth, serene voice.
Her mind racing she held the letter up to the light. The paper was yellowing and had a thin residue on it that gave it a slick feel. Inspecting the wax seal, she saw it had a bird of prey as its motif; its wings were spread and it looked ready to strike.
That looks like a hawk or an eagle, she thought. Is it a coat of arms?
She placed the letter inside her gown and opened the door.
‘When is my brother fighting again?’ she asked the guards.
Travelling through Tarantum late at night, either its streets or the Drops, was not advisable. The city was mean and unforgiving for anyone ill-prepared. Those who encountered trouble, during such nocturnal excursions seldom lived to tell the tale.
Under the protection of eight guards, Yana was shepherded through the city and down the Drops to the fighting pits. The guards escorted her through the corridors at the back of the arena to the entrance to the tunnel that led to the slave quarters.
The tunnel curved downwards into the dimly lit caverns that housed the men forced to fight in the pit. The air that came up the passageway was warm and stale, and had a faint aroma of food.
Emerging from the stairwell, Yana saw Bellintín sitting at his desk, writing in his leather-bound ledger. Behind him, a group of men, dressed in grey togas, sat at a roughhewn table, slurping from earthen clay bowls. There was training equipment and stone weights of increasing size on one side of the cavern, and bunk beds and rudimentary washing facilities on the other.
‘Ah, Mistress Yana, how good to see you,’ the old man said as he hugged his visitor.
‘Bellintín, it is good to see you. Tell me. How is Kurt?’
‘No doubt a visit from you is just what he needs to brighten his day,’ the old man said with a smile as he abandoned his ledger and got up. He walked Yana down the torch-lit corridor to where a slave who was sitting behind the wooden pulley-system. On seeing them approach, the slave stood to attention and grabbed a wooden crank with both hands, ready to lower Yana.
‘Just shout when you want to come back up now, Mistress Yana; do not stay too long or you will get us both in trouble,’ Bellintín requested.
Yana stepped carefully on to the metal platform and held on tightly to the ropes.
One day this bloody thing is going to collapse, with me on it, she thought.
The slave pulled the winch lever and released the brake. As he turned the crank a series of ropes and pulleys sprang into action. The platform jolted, lurching slightly to one side so that Yana had to shift her weight to counter the tilting movement. Slowly she was lowered into the cavern.
Kurt was lying on the slab that served as his bed with his hands behind his head. He sat up as the platform ground to a halt on the rocks. Yana stepped off the lift.
‘Here to tell me about another one of your visions?’ he grumbled, getting to his feet.
‘Shut up and listen, I do not have much time,’ Yana said in a low voice. ‘I have just been visited by a man who looked like one of Manarat’s servants. The strange thing is that Tiann told me he disappeared almost a week ago.’
‘That’s fascinating, Yana, but I really don’t care about Manarat’s missing servants.’
‘The person who visited me had red eyes and no shadow,’ she said.
‘Are you sure?’ Kurt suddenly gave her his full attention.
‘Of course I am sure. I do not know whether to trust this person or not, but they told me that someone was going to try and rescue us within the next day and that I was to give you this.’
Yana pulled out the letter, handing it to Kurt.
‘They said that I had to deliver it to you unopened and that I should be ready to make a break for it when the time comes.’
Kurt stared at the letter.
‘I am not sure about this,’ she said.
‘It’ll be fine,’ he said, kissing her on the forehead.
Four nights later, the light from the full moon streamed into Yana’s bedroom as she gazed into the mirror. The reflection of the gauze curtains swaying in the breeze drew her eye. She paused for a second, listening to their soft rustling, and then continued brushing her long brown hair.
This could be the last time I see this room. She thought. When the sun rises I will either be free, or dead.
For the last two years, Yana had been a prisoner. Her cell may have been a spacious chamber with velvet drapes and a wonderful view of the city, but to all intents and purposes she was a captive.
Yana rose from her vanity table and walked past the racks of shoes and chests full of clothes out on to the balcony. The stench rising up from the Drops of Tarantum filled her nose.
Ten thousand people, all living in a hole in the ground, she thought, no wonder the smell is so bad.
Yana turned to the plethora of flowering plants that wove around the trellis on the balcony, and inhaled. The smell of the flowers reminded her of being a child.
She remembered standing in the meadows around the village where she had grown up, the long, lush grass brushing against her legs and the dandelion seeds blowing on the breeze. She could almost feel the rustle of the beech leaves that she liked to collect and hear the buzzing of the bees as they settled on the buttercups.
A knock on her door brought her mind reluctantly back to the present. She sighed and opened the door. Her handmaiden, Tiann, stood in the doorway holding a green embroidered gown.
‘I know you don’t want it because it’s from him,’ Tiann said, as she entered the room. ‘But I’ve been told to bring it to you and to make sure you wear it.’
Tiann placed the gown on the four-poster bed before putting her hands on her hips.
‘What if I say I will not wear it?’ Yana said, with a wry smile.
Tiann sighed and folded her arms.
‘Then he’ll cut off my head and you’ll get another slave. One with even less of a sense of humour than me. Now, come on, we’re already late.’
‘You are not my slave,’ Yana said, putting an arm around her. ‘You are my lady-in-waiting.’
‘Then do your lady-in-waiting a favour and put on the dress before you get us both in trouble. Manarat is waiting in his study.’
Under armed escort, Yana and Tiann walked through the palace to Manarat’s study.
Tiann knocked on the door then held it open for Yana. The guards waited outside.
In the study, Manarat and two taller men, his accountants, were locked in a heated debate. They were waving sheets of parchment in each other’s faces. On seeing Yana, they stopped talking.
‘Yana, my love. Thank you for gracing us with your presence,’ Manarat said in his accented voice.
Yana glided across the floor, her eyes fixed on the parchment that Manarat was holding. It had rows of numbers on
it.
The men rolled up the other documents.
‘My darling,’ Manarat said, grinning. ‘You look ravishing, as always.’
He lifted Yana’s hand and brought it to his lips. She snatched it away, at the last second, as he was about to kiss it.
‘I have just washed,’ she snapped.
‘Ahem, of course,’ Manarat said, his face reddening. ‘Tell us, how is your brother keeping?’
‘He is as well as can be expected. Why?’
‘This fighter that he is going up against tonight; he has never been beaten. Looking at the list of the men he has defeated, I have to admit, it is very impressive. I do not suppose you have had a vision about what is going to happen?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes. I had a vision of Kurt standing in the arena with a man’s throat in his hand. The man lay at his feet, dying, his blood turning the sand red.’
Manarat gave a gummy smile.
‘I told you,’ he said, turning to the other two men. ‘Put all the money on Kurt beating this challenger.’
‘All of it? Everything?’ one of the men asked.
‘Everything,’ Manarat repeated.
‘But if Kurt loses…’
‘He will not lose,’ Manarat snapped. ‘Have you not been listening? She said she saw him standing over this clown after ripping his throat out. Now put everything on Kurt winning.’
‘As you wish,’ the other man said, hesitantly.
Manarat looked at Yana.
‘Everyone else get out. I want to speak to Yana, alone.’
The accountants and Tiann left the room swiftly.
Manarat walked around Yana in a circle, inspecting her gown from every angle. His gaze repulsed her.
‘That gown makes you look even more beautiful than usual,’ he said.
He continued to move around Yana. She glanced down to see rolls of bare midriff bursting over his trousers. The white stretch-marks indicated that he had been even bigger at one stage.
Yana had learned quickly that the one small element of power she had was her attractiveness to Manarat. It had soon become obvious that her visions, and Kurt’s ability in the fighting pits, were too valuable for the slaver to kill either of them, and gave her licence to spurn his advances.
‘I could have already forced you to marry me,’ he said, examining his fingernails.
There was a silence. Then Manarat laughed, his many chins wobbling.
‘But then my visions would mysteriously stop occurring, and I would tell Kurt not to fight,’ she stated in a soft voice, hoping it would come across as verbal jousting and not confrontation.
Manarat grinned, obviously roused by the sparring. Kurt was the champion fighter in the slave pits and had earned him most of his wealth in prize money, gate receipts and gambling. Kurt refused to fight unless he knew Yana was safe and well. Manarat longed for Yana, but knew that if he hurt or crossed her she would instruct her brother not to fight.
‘Kurt will not always be around, my dear Yana. Someday he is going to meet his match in the pit,’ he said.
‘Kurt only fights because I say so. You should think about that.’
Manarat grunted.
Yana breathed a sigh of relief as Manarat took the last of the parchments and left the room. Tiann came in and walked to Yana.
‘Manarat is used to getting what he wants. You might think you have him at stalemate, but sooner or later he’s going to stop taking no for an answer, Yana,’ she said.
‘I will die before I give myself to that fat slug,’ Yana stated.
‘That’s the problem; you may not be in a position to give. Manarat normally takes what he wants,’ Tiann replied forlornly.
Yana and Tiann were ready to leave the palace to begin their journey to the pits.
‘Are you all right? You seem skittish,’ Tiann said.
‘Yes, of course I’m all right,’ Yana replied, smiling.
Tiann narrowed her eyes.
Yana was far from fine. Her heart was pounding and her stomach churning. Last night’s events had unnerved her. She still did not know if she could trust the man who had visited her. He had told her to be ready for when the time was right, but had not said when that time would be. So much was at stake and so much could go wrong that it frightened her. What alarmed her most was that she had no control over what was about to happen. All she could do was try to keep calm.
As they set out, Yana and Tiann were flanked by eight guards, four in front and four behind them. Tarantum was a dangerous place at night and Yana could feel eyes watching them from the darkness of the side streets and alleyways. The guards adopted a no-nonsense approach to clearing their path of loiterers and bystanders, making sure no vagrants or paupers approached.
The moon was shining brightly and the wind howled through the dusty streets as the party made their way down the spiralling ramp that led through the Drops. The deeper underground they went, the more the living conditions and the smell worsened.
Homeless beggars and grubby orphans sat in the tunnels, shouting obscenities at Yana as she passed by. Tattooed members of the street gangs stood at the corners, heckling the guards and whistling at the women.
The closer they got to the pits the more audible the chatter of the crowd. They spotted people queuing from far above them; hundreds, all waiting to get in the gates.
The subterranean stadium was stiflingly hot. Tunnelled out of the Pholôs bedrock, it had no ventilation and little natural light. The dusty air caused the people who breathed it in to clear their throats constantly.
The guards guided Yana and Tiann to a stairwell that led to the raised area reserved for the dignitaries. They climbed the stone incline, stopping at a set of large wooden doors. One of the guards opened the doors and signalled for Yana to enter.
Yana had performed the routine many times, she knew the drill. Her chin up, she glided through the crowded antechamber behind the dignitaries’ seating area. Traders and merchants filled the room, discussing deals, conversing about the price of gold and the rise in silver, the benefits of exports and the detriments of imports, while sipping the finest wines that the Northern Realms had to offer.
Below them, the men in the cells got ready to die for their amusement.
As she walked through she heard a voice behind her. ‘This challenger is the fastest man I’ve ever seen.’
Yana turned to see who had spoken. Two dark-skinned merchants, dressed in red and yellow silks, were sitting drinking a strong-smelling concoction. She could not tell which of them had spoken. Noticing her staring at them, they stopped talking.
‘Where have you seen this man fighting?’ she asked abruptly.
‘We watched him fighting Krixtin Rhelf in the Deadly Wind fighting pit in Trazdonélle,’ one of them stated.
‘Why, do you know him?’ the other enquired.
‘How fast is he?’ Yana asked.
‘When he moves, sometimes there is only a blur,’ the first merchant explained.
‘He has no shadow,’ the second merchant whispered.
‘Neither do I,’ Yana stated bluntly.
The two merchants looked at each other, before muttering their excuses and moving away.
Yana stood in a daze, chewing her nails.
The man Kurt is fighting has no shadow either? she wondered. What if it is the man who came to my room?
Some of Yana’s more desultory visions came in the form of hazy premonitions; many were cryptic. They told her about the general direction her future path would take. She concentrated hard, thinking about what she had just been told, to see if something would come to her now to guide her. But nothing did.
Yana’s concentration was broken by Manarat making his way towards her, another wrap balanced precariously on his head. He had been carried in an enclosed litter to the stadium.
&
nbsp; ‘How wonderful to see you, my dear,’ he proclaimed. His breath smelled of wine and pipe-smoke.
‘Tell me this, Manarat,’ she began. ‘How much money have you wagered on my brother winning this fight?’
‘Why, I have wagered practically everything,’ he replied giddily. ‘Normally the other merchants refuse to even take my money; your brother is that much of a sure thing. But this time, given the record and reputation of the man he is fighting, I got quite good odds.’
Yana leaned down so that she was level with his ear.
‘What if he loses?’ she whispered.
As she walked off, Yana heard a sharp intake of breath from her captor.
‘And now for the first fight of the night,’ the master of ceremonies shouted from the safety of a platform overlooking the arena.
Yana walked through the crowd to the back of the room. Sitting on a bench that was set aside for servants and slaves, she watched as Tiann darted in and out trying to find her.
‘Where did you go? Manarat’s in an awfully bad mood. I just saw him scream at another merchant.’
‘Sit down and be quiet, I need to think.’
The two women sat in silence as everyone else took their seats. One by one the fights began, they listened to the clang of the metal weapons and the cheers of the crowd. They watched the dignitaries make wagers on each fight until someone was dead, before moving on to the next. From the arena, roars and screams echoed through the passageways and corridors as men lost their lives in the name of entertainment.
Then, it was time.
‘Now, people of Tarantum. It’s the fight you’ve all been waiting for,’ the master of ceremonies’ shrill voice echoed in the arena. ‘The contest that you’ve all come to see: a courageous challenger against our very own champion of the pit, Kurt Dorn.’
Curiosity got the better of her and Yana rushed from the bench and took her seat to the left of Manarat on a plush velvet chair. As she sat down by his side Manarat leered at Yana. She turned away in disgust, looking into the pit instead.
Yana’s legs began to shake as she sat forward on her seat, waiting for her brother. The smell of sweat emanated from the hot sand. The crowd’s cheering got louder.
Shadowless Page 46
