Captive

by Cheryl Brooks

  “You mean some that will help you and your friends escape?”

  “Um, yeah.” She said nothing further, simply standing there waiting for his reply.

  “To be honest, there’s lots of us that don’t like him much. In a way, we sort of fought against him by letting you go so many times.”

  “Are you saying there was more to it than the honor of catching me?”

  He stole a furtive glance down the hall. “You better go. The birds are coming.” He took the last piece of roast chicken, swallowed it whole, and shoved Klara through the doorway, closing the door behind her. The lock engaged with a click.

  She started to call out to him again, hoping to arrange a meeting later on. Then she realized that once the “entertainment” was over, Moe and her gang might all be dead.

  If so, there would be nothing to discuss.

  “Well, I did opt to do both, didn’t I?”

  Fortunately for him, Moe wasn’t even out of breath, although according to Zract, his opponents had undoubtedly been given a more sustaining meal than what he’d eaten. Moe had choked down some pretty lousy food in the past—his thrifty mother had served up Suerlin marching rations for weeks on end after getting a shit-ton of them dirt cheap—but he’d never had to go hungry before. Relying on his speed would tap his reserves considerably. Unfortunately, his quickness was the most effective weapon he had left, and it might even turn out to be the only one.

  Shading his eyes with one hand, he scanned the stands for a glimpse of Klara.

  If he was about to die, he at least wanted to see her one more time. He would never see their babies—not being born, not growing up, not anything.

  The door slammed shut behind him. The best he could tell, he was alone in the arena. A scan of the perimeter revealed various archaic, but nonetheless lethal, weapons hanging on the wall, most of them bloodstained from previous battles. Clearly, the transmission of blood-borne diseases was not a concern, but at least Moe would have the opportunity to arm himself. Unless there was some nitpicky rule about having to earn the use of a weapon in some outrageous manner. Either that, or all of the combatants had to form a circle in the middle before being allowed to race to the wall to grab a weapon.

  He had time to assess the assortment, some of which he was proficient in the use of, others that he couldn’t identify. A sword and shield were his first choices, but there were also spears that would increase his reach.

  The crowd was still yelling, but not quite as loudly. No announcements were being made, possibly because Pelarus hadn’t had time to get out of the dungeons and up to his seat. Moe could make a pretty good guess as to which one it was. Painted gold, upholstered with purple velvet, and studded with gemstones, it sat on a dais like a freakin’ throne.

  Wonder why he doesn’t go ahead and call himself the king, instead of the Master?

  Perhaps there was some religious ritual for proclaiming someone to be a king. Moe had been to a coronation once—lots of jewels, fancy clothes, and one hell of a crown. There’d been all sorts of clergymen involved in the ceremony in addition to the political set.

  A further scan of the crowd revealed no one dressed particularly well. Certainly nothing to match the throne. Pelarus had been dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, along with a plain, floor-length cape when he’d visited the dungeons—not as ragged as the clothes of the spectators, but certainly not fancy enough to sit in that chair. Perhaps he had to change into his court clothes before he could officially open the contest.

  Moe tried to sort out what the yelling was all about. He couldn’t decide whether they were shouting encouragement, advice, or just screaming “Die, Moe, die!”

  “Fuck this shit,” he muttered. He was heading toward the best-looking sword and shield when the noise from the crowd fell to a murmur.

  A glance toward the throne revealed the reason. Richly dressed women filed into the box seats surrounding the throne from a hidden entrance. If any of the ruling class were female, Moe had never heard of it. Several appeared to be Terran or Davordian—at that distance, it was difficult to tell—with a few blue-skinned Edraitians scattered throughout the group. Wives or concubines, Moe decided.

  He’d been hoping to see her, but his heart nearly stopped when Klara entered a moment later, accompanied by three Zuteran women and four Nedwut guards. She looked positively regal in a flowing white gown that sparkled as though it had been coated with diamond dust. She didn’t seem the slightest bit frightened or apprehensive as she stepped onto the dais and took her seat beside the throne. She might’ve been a queen who put in ten public appearances a day.

  Had she been brainwashed already? If so, was she still carrying their babies? Moe would’ve given a lot for another of those prescient visions—hopefully, something more useful than the green fields and billowing curtains version he’d had a few days ago. That was the first vision he’d ever had. At least, that’s what he thought it had been. Might’ve simply been his mind playing tricks on him. A vision telling him a way out of this mess would have been his first choice. How was he supposed to kill every opponent Pelarus threw at him? Or worse, what if he had to kill their friends?

  Then again, Temfilk and Nexbit would know to play dead and let him win. He wasn’t so sure about the Racks.

  Or I could play dead and let someone else win. Hmm…

  Moe didn’t have time for further consideration, because Pelarus chose that moment to enter the royal box with as much pomp and glitter as any reigning monarch, his voluminous robes sparkling with more jewels than Klara’s dress. Moe had to smile when the crowd responded with more boos than cheers.

  Pelarus raised his hands for silence, which, unfortunately, he got. “Moriconthan Tshevnoe, you are hereby sentenced to trial by combat. You may choose any weapons you wish.” His lips twisted into a malevolent smirk. “However, your opponents will arrive fully armed.”

  The crowd let out a roar of protest, which Moe doubted would have any effect on the rules.

  Hearing the rattling of sabers, he glanced to his left where a throng of warriors were gathered behind an iron gate. A similar clamor to his right revealed yet another gate holding back even more potential adversaries, all bristling with weaponry.

  “I have to fight all of them at once?” Moe shouted.

  Pelarus’s expression grew more evil than before. “I never said earning your freedom would be easy. There can be only one winner of this battle.” With a nasty chuckle, he added, “May your gods have mercy on your soul.”

  Seemingly of their own accord, Moe’s eyes sought Klara’s. Her face was now nearly as white as her gown. Only her lips moved, but he understood her, nonetheless. “I love you.”

  “I will always love you, Klara,” he whispered. “Even death cannot destroy my love for you.”

  Pelarus raised his hands again, and as he lowered them to his sides, both gates rose simultaneously. With ear-splitting battle cries, the raging hordes stampeded toward him. Seconds later, Moe realized he wasn’t up against a ragtag bunch of criminals awaiting trial in the dungeons. This was a freakin’ army.

  The sword and shield he’d decided upon might as well have been on the other side of the galaxy for all the good they would do him. His speed and agility were all he had, plus his mother’s knack for taunting an opponent. “Come on, you scurvy bastards! Don’t keep me waiting. This is a good day to die.”

  The way they were spreading out, Moe doubted he would be the only one killed in the initial charge. At least half of them would fall in the first engagement.

  Klara screamed for him to run.

  He waited until the last possible moment before sprinting toward the end of the line. He’d never witnessed two opposing armies meeting in hand-to-hand combat, but he didn’t need experience to know what was happening behind him. The screams of the dying and the clash of metal on metal were proof enough. Turning, he saw that he’d been correct; the number of soldiers was already drastically reduced, although he was still overwhelmingly o
utnumbered. He kept running, snatching a sword and shield from the wall as he sped past the row of weapons.

  He couldn’t hope for their numbers to be reduced by half again, because most of them were now chasing him. “Why gang up on me? What’s wrong with killing each other?”

  “Shut up and die, Zetithian!” a big blond Terran shouted.

  Moe dodged a blow from a particularly lethal-looking blade wielded by a long-armed Herpatronian. “Clearly, you’ve never met my mother. She would disown me if I were to go quietly.”

  “I have met your mother,” the Herp growled. “Why else would I have to steal to survive?”

  “Then you really are a bunch of crooks.” Moe parried yet another blow before retreating fast enough that the Herp’s sword met nothing but air. Spinning like a top, the Herp crashed into two Haedusians. None of them got up again.

  “Three down, only about a dozen or so to go.”

  Darting toward an unoccupied section of the arena, Moe took stock of his opponents. Several were fighting among themselves while two others were hurtling toward him. “Ganging up on me again? Didn’t your mommas teach you to play fair?”

  “There are no rules here, Zetithian!”one of them shouted. “If we kill you, Pelarus might be pleased enough to release us all.”

  Moe skidded sideways, putting himself beyond their reach. “I wouldn’t count on it, big guy.” Which was a misnomer because the one who’d spoken was a short, hunchbacked Vetla whose armor wasn’t exactly a perfect fit. His long, bony fingers were pretty effective at holding a sword, however, and he was surprisingly quick on his feet.

  “You might be better off playing dead and letting me win.” Moe went on. “I’ve got friends. The revolution is about to begin.”

  “Not soon enough for you,” the blond Terran said with a sneer. “Besides how could we trust you not to kill us when we were down?”

  “My inherent sense of fair play?” Moe parried a blow from the Vetla with ease. “Unlike you, I really am an honest fellow. My only crime is loving the woman Pelarus wants.” Grinning, he added, “She likes me best.” He glanced at the crowd, which was undergoing a rather surprising transformation. “Oh, and by the way, the women are going to win. If I were you, I’d switch sides while I still had time.”

  A moment passed before Moe noticed his two opponents appeared to be losing steam. Then he realized why as the Vetla yanked off his helmet and stood up straight.

  “Temfilk!” Moe exclaimed. “I could’ve killed you, you stupid fool.”

  The Norludian snorted. “Aw, you wouldn’t hurt a dwithan,”

  “I wouldn’t have let that happen anyway,” the Terran said as he began to morph into Nexbit. “Now we just have to wait until the rest of these guys finish each other off. Although it might be best for us to keep fighting to allay suspicion.”

  “Gotcha,” Moe said. “We can have a little sword practice while we wait.” He glanced toward the battle raging nearby. “Where are the Racks?”

  Temfilk chuckled as he struck Moe’s shield with a half-hearted swing of his blade. “Didn’t come out when the gates were opened. Smart move, really. The damned Nedwuts didn’t even notice them.”

  Moe had his own theory about that, particularly given what was happening in the stands. He turned toward dais where Pelarus sat on his throne as though oblivious to the danger surrounding him, then began a steady drumbeat of sword on shield. Nexbit and Temfilk followed suit. Surprisingly, so did the remaining combatants.

  “Pelarus,” Moe yelled. “You have something of mine, and I want it back.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “My mate, you pompous prick.”

  “She is my bride-to-be,” Pelarus said with a haughty sneer. “I refuse to bandy words with a man who would cheat on his opponents.”

  “Cheat? Get down here, you ridge-faced bastard, and I’ll show you how much I’ve been cheating. I’ll beat the crap out of you with one hand tied behind my back. No weapons. Just you and me, bucko.” He caught himself grinning at his use of his mother’s favorite choice of name-calling.

  Further proof that this apple didn’t fall very far from the tree.

  “You stole Klara from me,” Moe went on. “I should have the opportunity to win her back.” Raising his sword, he addressed the spectators. “Citizens of Srekatoa, what say you? Should he fight or remain on his throne like the coward he is?”

  The crowd erupted in a cacophony of voices, most of them shouting “Fight, fight, fight!”

  Pelarus appeared to be unmoved, merely raising his hands for silence. “And if I refuse?”

  Yirland rose from her seat, standing alone and proud amid a cluster of her followers. “You no longer have a choice.”

  The echo of her voice hadn’t begun to fade before the Nedwut bodyguards turned their weapons on Pelarus, and a horde of Haedusian women surged toward the dais.

  Chapter 23

  Klara leaped to her feet as Harlex shouldered his way through the band of mutinous guards and tossed her a pulse rifle. Catching it easily, she swung the barrel around and aimed it at Pelarus’s heart. If indeed he had one.

  “Get going,” she snapped. “Unless you want to die right here.”

  The son of a bitch had the audacity to smile. “Oh, I don’t think that’s how this will play out, my dear. After all, I control this city and its resources.”

  “Kinda slow on the uptake, aren’t you?” Klara motioned with the business end of the rifle. “Your time is over.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Given his total lack of dismay, Klara half expected him to sprout wings and fly.

  Which is precisely what he did. He tossed off his richly embellished cloak, extended a pair of glistening wings, and took off.

  “How could he possibly…” Klara was more than stunned as Pelarus soared over the stands. She was too flabbergasted to even aim her weapon at him. “Is he a Sympaticon or what?”

  “The wings are a genetic modification,” Harlex said. “Keeps them hidden most of the time, though.”

  Now that Klara thought about it, she’d never seen him wearing anything that wouldn’t have covered a large pair of wings. “How did you know about this…modification?”

  The Nedwut shrugged. “Seen him in the swimming pool. Plus, he takes the occasional flight. If you’d ever had sex with him, you’d know about the wings.”

  Somehow, Klara doubted that was a valid reason for actually sleeping with that sleazy bastard. “Why the devil didn’t you tell me?”

  He shrugged again. “Figured you must have seen him flying around at some point. You should’ve shot him while you had the chance. I mean, I did give you a rifle.”

  “Yeah, well, if I’d known about the wings, I would have.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’ve lived here my entire life, and I’ve never seen anything in the sky that looked remotely like a man with wings.” She glared at Jaquet, whose smile was nearly as smug as Pelarus’s had been. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

  “His reaction was a distinct possibility.”

  Klara really wanted to slap the arrogant little bird-woman now, although jamming a rifle butt in her belly would’ve been far more satisfying. “You’d better get lost before I do something I might regret.”

  With a smirk and a twitter, Jaquet and her two sidekicks turned to go.

  Klara grabbed Jaquet by the arm. “But before you do, any thoughts as to where Pelarus might have gone?”

  Jaquet arched a brow. “Do you really think I would tell you?”

  Harlex gave Klara a nudge. “Shoot her now and you can interrogate her later. That rifle is set on stun.”

  Klara wanted to dial it up to Kill, but somehow managed to restrain herself. “That would take too long.” Besides, with Pelarus gone, her first priority was Moe.

  She needn’t have worried. One glance toward the arena proved he was not only unharmed, neither were any of the others. “They all played dead?”

  “Yeah,”
Harlex replied. “We put the word out that pretending to die was a surefire ticket to freedom.” He nodded toward the arena entrance. “Looks like it worked.”

  The prisoners were indeed taking the opportunity to escape, and the Nedwut guards standing by the outer gates weren’t lifting a finger to stop them. In fact, they were waving them on through.

  “I’m guessing Pelarus is headed to the spaceport,” Harlex said. “No doubt he has a ship standing by.” With a sniff and a sigh, he added, “Probably keeps a lot of money on it too. Looks like getting rid of him won’t make the rest of us any better off.”

  “He couldn’t have taken everything,” Klara insisted.

  “Maybe not,” another guard said. “But rumor has it he keeps the bulk of his wealth in offworld accounts. All he has to do is get to a ship, and he’ll be home free.”

  Klara stomped her foot. “That slimy bastard! We’ll have to catch him before he gets there.”

  “Good luck with that,” Harlex said. “In case you haven’t noticed, there isn’t a speeder in sight, and he’s got one hell of a head start.”

  Klara couldn’t argue with that, even if it did make her mad enough to rip someone’s head off. “We’ll just have to find one. Even if we don’t, Moe might be able to catch him.” If the cloud of dust in Moe’s wake was any indication, he might actually beat Pelarus to the spaceport.

  “He’s pretty quick on his feet, isn’t he?”

  She clapped a hand on the Nedwut’s shoulder. “Harlex, my friend, you have no idea.”

  Spotting Yirland making her way through the thinning crowd, Klara shouted, “Don’t suppose any of your bunch planned for this possibility?”

  Yirland seemed every bit as astounded by Pelarus’s ability to fly as Klara had been. “I never knew, never even suspected…”

  Figures. “Yeah, well, we’re just gonna have to deal with it.” She nodded toward Harlex. “What’s the quickest way out of here?”