Signalling with his hands for them to calm down, the master of ceremonies once again addressed the audience.
‘What a spectacle we have for you tonight. For your enjoyment, we have the champion of the Pit of Tarantum, Kurt Dorn, against one of the most promising new pit fighters in the Northern Realms. He is a fighter who has slain no less than fifty people in his short but devastatingly brutal career. But tonight, he’s not fighting for any pit. No, he’s here to fight for the prize money. But wait, there’s more. Tonight, for the first time ever, we have a fight between two combatants, neither of whom have shadows. A Battle of the Damned. So please give it up for both our shadowless fighters: Arpherius “The Hawk of Narquiss” against our very own Kurt “Back-Snapper” Dorn.’
Yana’s heart began to beat even faster.
‘Bring out the fighters.’
Two bells began to ring, one on each side of the eighty-foot-wide pit. They rang for a few seconds before stopping.
A slave crew wound the crank handle of a winch, and the iron door set into the wall of the pit slowly lifted, letting the crowd catch a glimpse of the challenger.
A tall, muscular man with tanned skin, dressed in black leather greaves and a black-and-white horsehair-plume helmet strode into the brightly lit arena. The breast-plate he was wearing was embossed with the motif of a silver hawk and it, like the rest of his armour, had a silver trim and an intricate, flax plait design. His highly polished shield sported the same hawk motif as the breastplate. A spiked mace hung on his belt.
The crowd became more vocal and a mixture of boos and cheers rang out. The challenger waved at the crowd.
With a clank, the second door opened. The winch crew worked frantically and the iron door began to ascend into the upper wall of the pit. Kurt walked onto the arena floor and stopped fifty feet from his opponent.
As one, the crowd rose and cheered, clapping and yelling support for their champion. Kurt stood motionless.
‘This is it,’ proclaimed the master of ceremonies. ‘The champion of the Pit of Tarantum will fight against a new, brave challenger in a battle to the death. The challenger hopes to slay the champion and claim the five-thousand-and-seven-hundred gold pieces.’
He shouted the amount on offer again. The crowd screamed wildly.
‘Both men will now stand in their starting positions. When our illustrious host gives the signal, battle will commence.’
Kurt readied himself. He planted his feet in the sand, raised his shield and swung his flail. Even though the fighters were some distance apart Yana could see that Kurt was much taller.
Arpherius strolled over to his marker and unhooked the mace from his belt.
He does not look like someone who is about to fight to the death, Yana thought.
Kurt and Arpherius stared at each other. Yana took deep breaths and closed her eyes. Manarat rose from his seat and took a white handkerchief from his pocket, holding it at arm’s length.
A hush spread through the crowd.
The seconds passed.
The handkerchief fell to the ground.
Arpherius took off across the pit, so fast that his body became a blur. His speed seemed to catch Kurt off guard and the bigger man backed off while still swinging his flail.
The crowd gasped as Arpherius closed the distance to Kurt almost instantly. When he was only a few yards away, he threw his shield at Kurt.
The shield flew forward like a discus, striking Kurt, who was not wearing a helmet, on the forehead. Kurt raised his own shield.
Arpherius ducked to the side of his opponent’s shield then sprang up, striking Kurt on the chest with his morning star.
The arena fell silent.
Kurt fell to his knees before collapsing onto his side.
‘No,’ Yana screamed, getting to her feet and then running for the door.
Tiann ran after her and Manarat shouted for his guards to follow.
Yana ran down the stairs and corridors to the floor level of the arena.
The door was winched open.
Yana ran into the pit followed by slaves and arena attendants. Bellintín and a group of the pit fighters were standing over the body. Yana gasped at the sight of Kurt, covered in blood.
Tiann covered her mouth with her hands and began crying. Yana pushed her way through and stood in shock, staring down at her brother. Bellintín knelt down and began talking to Kurt who seemed to be struggling to breath.
‘Lady Yana, your brother has some final words to convey to you,’ Bellintín said, looking sorrowfully at her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, tears rolling down her cheeks.
The crowd that had gathered around Kurt backed off a little.
Do not cry, she thought, Kurt would not want to see you crying.
Kurt lay on his side, trying to take in large lungfuls of air. He was holding the shaft of the morning star tightly in his hand. As she went to him, he rolled onto his back.
Kneeling, Yana saw fragments of glass near to him on the sand where he had fallen.
Kurt pulled her close and winked.
‘Get me Manarat,’ he said in his deep growling voice.
Yana got to her feet and looked at Arpherius with a bewildered look on her face. He was talking to the servant with the red eyes and the rasping voice who had visited her the previous night, and she watched as the impersonator took a short sword from under his cloak and passed it to Arpherius.
‘Get out of my way and let me through.’
The accented voice of Manarat came from behind her. Sweating profusely, Manarat stood over Kurt.
‘You have lost me everything, you idiot. Everything. And you…’ he said, turning to Yana.
Yana leaned down until her face was inches from his. ‘My brother would like to say something to you before he dies.’
They turned their attention to Kurt, who was mouthing something inaudible.
Manarat straightened his head wrap before bending down, putting his ear to Kurt’s mouth. As soon as Manarat was close enough Kurt’s hand shot up and grabbed his throat. His fingers tore through the slaver’s skin, as he tightened his grip, and Manarat’s gurgling scream sounded out around the arena.
Arpherius flashed into action. He leapt forward, swinging his short sword and using it to cut through Manarat’s bodyguards. The pit-fighting slaves joined the fight – on his side. The guards were soon outnumbered.
Kurt rose to his feet, pulling Manarat with him. The slaver’s face was contorted, his eyes bulging. Then, there was a sickening crunch and Manarat collapsed at Kurt’s feet.
Yana felt a tight pressure on her arm. It was the man with the red eyes. The man who had come to her chamber with the letter.
‘We need to be leaving now,’ the rasping voice said, as he pulled her away from the crowd towards the door.
A lone pair of hands clapped. Then another person did the same. Then a couple more. Within seconds, most of those in the spectator area were standing and applauding. The clapping gave way to cheering, and Kurt’s name resounded in the arena.
‘As beautiful and heart-warming as this is, we need to get out of here.’ Arpherius was cleaning the blood off his sword as he spoke.
‘There’s one thing I need to do first,’ Kurt said, before walking over to Bellintín. ‘My friend, release all the slaves. Anything of worth in here, take with you.’
‘Where will I go, Kurt?’ the old man asked, his leather-bound ledger tucked underneath his arm. ‘I am an old man; this pit is my home.’
Kurt put his hand on the old man’s shoulder.
‘The men from Manarat’s palace will be here soon, you old fool. They’ll tear this place apart and put every one of you back in a cage, or kill you where you stand. If you run, then you stand a chance.’
The pit fighters looked at each other.
‘We will be fi
ne, Kurt,’ Bellintín said. ‘You have earned your freedom.’
The old man walked past the pit fighters and into the holding area.
‘Some men forget what it is to be free, they lose any desire for it,’ Arpherius said. ‘Look, this place is going to be swarming with guards soon.’
Arpherius and Kurt followed Bellintín into the holding area and opened the doors that led to the training section of the pit.
‘Where’s Yana?’ Kurt barked.
‘She will be waiting for us at the entrance,’ Arpherius assured him, before handing him a battle-axe from a weapons rack. ‘Take this, you might need it. We need to get out of here before the crowds leave.’
The two men, and the rest of the slaves, made their way through the corridors of the subterranean fighting arena, out into the cold night. At the exit, the slaves disappeared into the Drops, each calling out his thanks to Kurt as they left.
‘I never thought I’d be glad to smell the air of his stinking shithole again,’ Kurt said.
‘Do not get too used to it, we are not staying.’
‘At last. Where were you?’ Yana shouted from the shadows.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Arpherius said in a hushed tone. ‘When we get to the surface I will explain everything.’
Rushing up the corkscrew-like ramp that ran along the inside of the Drops, the three spiralled their way up through the levels towards the surface.
‘Where is the man who led me out? Who was he?’ Yana asked, as they walked swiftly up the ramp.
‘Trisidulous Glarr. He is going to buy us some time,’ Arpherius declared. ‘Hopefully.’
‘Did you plan all of this on your own?’ Kurt asked.
‘I had some help.’
‘Well, either way, thank you for freeing us. And thank this Glarr when you see him.’
Arpherius looked at Kurt, holding his gaze. Kurt shook his head.
‘I should have known. You didn’t free me out of the kindness of your heart, did you, Arpherius?’
‘No I did not. I freed you because I need something from you: your help.’
‘Help to do what?’
‘Help to do something that could get you killed,’ Arpherius said.
‘So you broke me out of there just so I could risk my life doing something even more dangerous? If you think that I’m going to risk everything after spending two years in that hole, you’ve got another think coming.’
‘Shut up, both of you,’ Yana snapped, peering out across the chasm that was the fourth level of the Drops of Tarantum.
‘What is it?’ Kurt asked, trying to see what she was looking at.
‘That house on the corner, with the men standing outside it, it was in one of my visions.’
‘We do not have time to go sightseeing,’ Arpherius protested.
His words fell on deaf ears. Yana and Kurt began creeping around the edge of the Drops towards the house.
It was now late at night and around fifty men were standing outside the house at the end of the street. Half set into the bedrock beside a tunnel and half out, the lanterns on the street illuminated its crumbling yellow brickwork and cracked terracotta tiles.
‘They are waiting for someone to come out,’ Yana said, peeking out from behind some overturned crates.
‘But who?’ Kurt wondered.
They watched as a large man covered in tattoos and with a shaved head appeared to give an order and the men drew knives and pulled masks over their faces.
‘What are we doing here? This is trouble we do not need,’ Arpherius muttered, joining them.
‘Pipe down,’ Yana snapped. ‘This house was in my vision for a reason.’
The three crouched behind the crates and watched keenly, unsure of what to expect. The men were watching the door of the house. Just then, a light flared up the window of a downstairs room. It was extremely bright.
The door opened and a man dressed in tight-fitting black cloth emerged. A hooded mask covered his head and face save for his eyes. He wore arm bracers; one had a blade emerging from it. Standing in the doorway, flames could be seen spreading from inside the building.
‘There is an assassin, if ever I saw one,’ Arpherius admitted.
Some of the men drew swords and readied shields, while others pointed knives at him or made slit-throat gestures with their fingers.
The man who had come out of the house activated a wrist blade in his left bracer, to match the one in his right. He glared at his enemies menacingly, then attacked.
‘That is him,’ Yana shouted.
‘Who?’ Kurt yelled.
‘The man in my vision; the one without a shadow. He is one of us, help him,’ Yana shouted.
Kurt grabbed his battle-axe and charged into the fight.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Arpherius shouted.
‘Do not just stand there. Get over and help them,’ Yana screamed at him.
Arpherius thumped the crate he was standing behind, in frustration. Pushing past Yana, he drew his sword and ran towards the flank of the mob.
Kurt was powering through the crowd. He sliced flesh and smashed bone wherever his axe landed, lifting men off their feet and sending them sprawling.
The masked man spun and twisted around his enemies, ducking under their attacks and then springing up to slit their throats. He sprinted from one opponent to another, like a whirlwind of destruction, stabbing and slicing his foes with the accuracy of a surgeon.
Yana looked on in amazement, because the faster the masked man moved the more transparent he became.
Arpherius stabbed one man in the chest before pulling his sword free and then swinging it violently at another man’s throat. He smashed into a man who was about to strike him, with his shield and then counterattacked by slashing him across the face with his sword, all in a split second.
Upon witnessing the carnage gang members began dropping their weapons and fleeing, stumbling over the bodies of their comrades. Only the tattooed man remained.
‘I’ll handle this,’ the masked man said to Arpherius and Kurt.
The tattooed man picked up two short swords that had been dropped by the men who had run away. He spun them, twirling the blades before pointing them at the masked man.
The masked man, his arms and hands dripping with the blood of his foes, charged. He flickered in and out of sight, before disappearing from view. The tattooed man panicked and swung wildly into the air at where his enemy had been.
Kurt and Arpherius watched as the masked man reappeared behind his adversary and drove his blade into the man’s back. He fell to the ground.
The masked man cleaned his wrist blades before retracting them into his bracers. He walked over to Kurt and Arpherius, took off his mask and ruffled his flattened hair.
‘I didn’t need your help,’ he snapped.
‘How about that for ingratitude? I should have expected that from your type,’ Arpherius said.
‘And what type would that be?’ the man said, looking Arpherius straight in the eye.
‘Gangland scum.’
‘He is not a gang member,’ Yana said, picking her way through the bodies and holding up the bottom of her gown so as not to get blood on it. ‘I have lived here for two years and I know that all the gang members have tattoos. If he were in a gang then he would have one too.’
She bent down and pointed at a severed arm. It had blood on it but a tattoo could still be seen.
‘See? The gangs in the Drops make their recruits get tattoos to prove their loyalty,’ she explained. ‘It is a rite of passage. These men were members of the Scorpion Gang, hence the scorpion tattoo.’
‘I suppose. But it is entirely possible…’
She dropped the arm and turned to the man, pulling up his sleeve.
‘He has no such tattoos; therefore, he is n
ot in a gang.’
‘But, could he not—’
Yana put her hands on her hips.
‘And what is more, I think an apology is in order for the derogatory and disparaging remarks that you seem all too eager to make but exhibit a vast degree of reluctance to retract. Need I remind you that we are all shadowless?’
Arpherius looked at the lack of shadows cast on the ground. There was a moment of silence then he turned to the man and held out his hand.
‘Sorry for thinking that you were in the gang. My name is Arpherius.’
‘I can see why you may have thought that. I’m Valan.’
‘Why is this house on fire?’ Kurt asked.
The howling wind blew across the Drops of Tarantum as the party hurried up the ramps to the surface. Sand and grit swirled through the city’s streets, leaving small heaps of gravel piled up against every nook and cranny.
‘Where are we going?’ Yana asked, not directing her question at anyone in particular.
‘We are going to the safe-house beside the crater’s rim. We can stay there until the commotion dies down,’ Arpherius said.
‘Then what?’ Yana asked.
‘Then we will listen to what he has to say.’
‘Listen to what who has to say?’ she snapped.
‘Amrodan,’ Arpherius said.
The alleys and passageways of Tarantum were quiet as they crept through them, darting between buildings and doorways. The caution they employed was deliberate and prudent. The guards were not the city’s only danger; gangs, thieves and killers stalked its streets. Tarantum was the cesspool into which the cysts and abscesses of the realm of Pholôs drained. Assassins, bounty hunters and footpads operated with impunity looking for their prey or an easier target.
In the northern section of the city, near the inside of the crater wall, the group finally came to rest in front of a crumbling tavern. Much of the wattle and daub had fallen from the wooden frame and the slate roof had partially collapsed, leaving the upper floor exposed to the elements.
‘This is it? This is your safe-house?’ Yana said.
Shadowless Page 47
