by Peter David
I turned to face Reaver. The haze from Droogan’s blow was dissipating from my eyes, and I was able to see that several of his guardsmen were standing right behind him. As seemed to be the common practice in this house, they were aiming straight at me.
“That was very deftly done,” said Reaver. He actually seemed quite pleased about it. “I don’t imagine you’ll catch him that way a second time.”
“That’s all right,” I said, trying to keep the pain out of my voice. “If it happens again, I imagine I’ll come up with something else.”
“Yes, I imagine you will.” He scratched just under his chin with the jewel on the end of his walking stick. “You are an intriguing fellow, Mr. Finn.”
“Just ‘Finn’ will do. I was never much for formalities.”
“As you wish. You seem to have principles, Finn. In this day and age of sell swords and people who are just out to get whatever they can—”
“Like you, you mean?”
He let it pass; I doubted he had much interest in anything I had to say. “As I was saying: Here comes someone like you. Fighting to protect the people of Blackholm, who really don’t have much in the way of coins to rub together. So I assume that you didn’t do it for the money but simply because you were compelled to fight on behalf of the underdog. You’re a compassionate man, and you don’t see a lot of compassionate men as heavily armed as you.”
“Compassion only goes so far. Sometimes, you just have to say, ‘The hell with it,’ and shoot somebody.”
“Oh, I can certainly appreciate that point of view.” Reaver made it sound as if we were long-separated cousins catching up on recent activities. He tapped his desk with his finger, and continued, “There’s something you should know about me, Finn.”
“Other than that you love the sound of your own voice?”
“Who of us doesn’t? It’s how we know we’re still alive.” He cast a mildly curious glance at the fallen Droogan, who was just starting to get to his feet. Droogan reached up and placed his hand on the table, gripping it for stability. Then his legs began to quiver, still not responding properly to the commands his brain was sending, and he fell to the floor again. Reaver shook his head and shifted his attention back to me. “The thing you should know about me, Finn, is that I’m a student of humanity. I’m always intrigued to see how far people can be pushed . . . especially when it serves their self-interest. So here you came into my sphere, a very dedicated and principled and compassionate man, as I’ve said. But I had something you desperately wanted. And I wondered, how far would you go? Would you be willing to kill an innocent woman—a former ally, even—in order to free your brother of my influence? Frankly, I suspected the answer would be ‘no.’ Warlord Droogan, on the other hand, was reasonably sure the answer would be yes. That is because, I suspect, Droogan cannot see beyond the end of his own nose. He simply knows what he himself would do in a given situation, and I can assure you that Droogan would kill his own mother if it meant managing to conquer some town or village or outlying province.
“So we made a modest wager, Droogan and I. And, thanks to the fact that Page is still alive, I won it.”
“I was planning to kill her,” I said. “Your monstrosities interrupted me before I could—”
He waved a hand lazily, conveying the message that I should stop trying to convince him of that which we both knew to be patently untrue. “It’s a bit late for damage control at this point, Finn. We both know the truth. Page is alive; I have her, I won the bet with Droogan—who was quite irritated to pay me my due. Droogan . . .” And he raised his voice slightly to get Droogan’s attention. Most of the warlord’s ability to stand had seemingly returned to him, and he pulled himself upright—still leaning against the long table—and glared at me with a stare so angry that, as they say, if looks could kill, I would have been a dead man. “Droogan . . . would you be interested in another bet involving our friend Finn? Double or nothing?”
“He’s no friend of mine,” Droogan said with a growl. Then the rest of Reaver’s sentence seemed to register on him. “What sort of bet?”
“Why, a very entertaining one. You’ve seen my arena in the Pits. That’s where the charming Page is at this very moment, shackled to a rather firm stake. Her hands are free, and she still has her sword, so it’s not as if she’s without resources. But her maneuverability is somewhat hampered. What I propose, Finn, is to give you a second chance at winning your brother’s freedom. I will put you into the arena with the beauteous Page. My Half-breeds are under strict instructions: They are not to attack you in any way unless you attack them first. Then they have free rein to do as they wish to you. If you simply stand there and allow the Half-breeds to rip Page to tiny pieces, then I will free your brother of his obligation to me, and the two of you will walk out of here. If, on the other hand, you attempt to fight on Page’s behalf, well . . . the two of you will quite likely die, and your brother will remain in my ranks forever. What say you?”
There was really only one answer available to me. But before I spoke it, I decided to try to get some leverage of my own. “I want to add something to the stakes.”
“You,” snarled Droogan, “are in no position to—”
“Now, now,” Reaver interrupted him. He was smiling, as if he approved of my attempt to get some further concessions from him. “You’re quite the negotiator, aren’t you, Finn? The life of Page, the sanity of your brother, both on the line, and yet you want to try and make it truly interesting. All right. Name your term.”
“No matter what happens in the arena, Droogan and his forces never set foot in Blackholm. Ever. It’s off-limits.”
Droogan laughed at that, and it was not a sound I was particularly pleased to hear.
Reaver actually looked saddened. “A h, Finn. I like your style and, believe it or not, I was inclined to grant you your additional stakes no matter how absurd they were. Unfortunately, that one is not within my purview. Droogan’s forces have already taken Blackholm. Between the loss of some of their key protectors—including their being abandoned by you—and the damage inflicted by my Half-breeds, Droogan’s remaining men were able to come marching in through the large, broken front gate and take over Blackholm without a single shot’s being fired. They showed a great deal of initiative, actually. Which is a crying shame, because I was so looking forward to sending the Half-breeds back into Blackholm. It was practically all I could think about, so imagine my frustration and shed a tear for me. Or don’t. Anyway, the upshot is that the warlord has already added Blackholm to his list of acquisitions, and there isn’t much of anything to be done about it.”
My heart sank. All I could envision were those people whom I had abandoned in order to chase after my brother. I had not hesitated on that course of action when the opportunity presented itself, but now—
“You’re second-guessing yourself, aren’t you?” said Reaver. He actually sounded sympathetic. “You shouldn’t; it’s beneath you. You did what you felt you had to do, what was best for you. What served your needs the most prominently. That is exactly what I do, every single time a situation is presented me. I do what’s best for me. I’m hoping that this experience actually brings us closer, Finn. If you learn from it, it might actually enable you to make the right choice in the arena.”
“And what do you think the right choice is?” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
As always, sarcasm had no sway with Reaver. Instead, he said, “Actually, I’d rather do nothing to have an effect on the outcome. As I said, I’m a student of humanity, and I wouldn’t want to do anything to skew the results of the test. In fact, just to avoid doing so”—and he looked toward Droogan—“I’ll let you choose which side of the wager to take. Will he fight on behalf of Page? Or will he allow her to be killed so that his brother might go free?”
Droogan seemed intrigued by the choices before him. “Whatever else he is, he’s not a stupid man, I’ll grant him that much,” Droogan said begrudgingly. “This time it’s
his own neck on the line. And it’s not like it’s his wife or something like that. She’s not, is she?”
“No,” I said quietly.
“You ever have her?”
“No. Never.”
“Then he’s thinking with a clear head instead of letting his privates do the thinking for him. You’re on, Reaver. I say he lets the bitch die.”
“Very well, Droogan. And I shall take the opposite opinion. And then we shall see what we shall see. Gentlemen”—and he nodded toward his guardsmen—“kindly escort Finn to the arena. And Finn . . .” His eyes were half-lidded, making it hard for me to determine if he was being sarcastic or not. “Best of luck. I mean that sincerely.”
“Yeah, that means a lot to me,” I said, as the guardsmen came to escort me from the study and down to the arena, where I would have my last chance to save either Page or my brother.
This time I had already made up my mind well in advance. I was going to save them both. That was my plan.
I just hadn’t formulated precisely how yet.
I WAS LED DOWN THE SAME ENTRANCEWAY to the arena as I’d traveled before. The Half-breeds saw me coming and started howling and snarling. “Good to see you,” I said, nodding, as if I were greeting old friends. “Hi. You’re looking lovely today. Is that a new hairstyle? It suits you.” The casual tone I was taking with them seemed to bewilder them; some of them even looked at each other in confusion as if to demand, What’s he talking about?
“Benny . . .”
It was William. As was the case with the others, he was mostly in his animal phase now, barely holding on to his humanity. He was hanging against a door, his arms drooping through it, and I could see the inner turmoil in his eyes.
“William.” I started to take a step toward him. The guardsmen directly behind me began to prod me forward, telling me not to stop. I rounded on them, showing no fear, and snarled with as much ferocity as any of the Half-breeds might have displayed. “This is my brother, for gods’ sakes! What harm is giving me a minute to speak to him going to do anyone? It’s not like we’re trading secrets; you can hear every word! Do none of you have siblings you love? Well?”
I have to admit, I didn’t actually expect my little outburst to have any impact on them whatsoever. And then, to my surprise, one of the guardsmen whom I took to be senior of rank rumbled, “Let him have his minute. But no more. And don’t try anything funny.”
“Hilarity is the last thing on my mind. And . . . thank you.” He tipped his head slightly to me, and I turned back to William. I’d never seen anyone with such a look of utter hopelessness in his eyes. “Hang on, William. This is all going to work out.”
“Benny, listen to me: They haven’t given us our treatments in a while. I think they want us boosted to the highest level of . . . of animal fury. Talking to you now . . . it’s taking all I have left . . .”
“Then save it for the arena.”
“You don’t understand. I . . .” He trembled, put his hand to his forehead and visibly concentrated to pull himself back to rationality. “I’m not going to be able to go easy on you this time. If you challenge me . . . challenge any of us . . . I may not be able to hold back.”
“So you know that you’re not supposed to attack me unless I strike first?”
“Yes.”
“How? How in the world do you know this?”
“We . . . we just do,” he said in frustration. “The thoughts are right there in our minds. I don’t know how or why—”
“All right, that’s enough,” said the guardsman sharply as he came toward me. “We don’t need the two of you plotting strategy.”
That was when William reached between the bars, grabbed my forearm, and managed to whisper, “Do what you have to, Benny. Do what you need to do to survive. Promise me that. Promise me.”
“I promise,” I said. But I didn’t really mean it.
Because I’d had a life.
I’d had a life of adventuring and being my own master. Of embarking on great quests and fighting beside Heroes in the defense of Albion from forces so darksome that the average human mind could scarcely conceive of it. I’d had a good run.
William had been cheated of everything. He’d been a slave for years and was in the process of being robbed of even his most fundamental humanity. I couldn’t leave matters that way; I just couldn’t.
So what I had to do was find a way to protect Page from the onslaught of the Half-breeds without actually making offensive moves against them. Because whatever else Reaver might be, he was still—as crazy as it sounds—a man of his word. If I managed to adhere to the letter of the bet rather than the spirit of it, I might yet have a chance.
And that was when the answer occurred to me, an answer so simple that I was actually embarrassed that I hadn’t thought of it earlier.
Of course, the entire plan hinged on my being correct in my assessment of Reaver as a man of his word. If not, and if Reaver brushed aside my attempts to save both Page and my brother as breaking the rules rather than simply bending them a bit, I wasn’t going to have a chance. Neither would Page, and neither would William.
The guardsmen pushed me farther down the hall toward the door that I knew entered out onto the arena. I passed by the cage toward the end and saw the man in the hood and cloak from earlier, the alchemist who had brewed up the vile spells that had trapped my brother and countless others in this form. Even beneath his metal mask I could tell that he was sneering at me, obviously looking forward to the prospect of my being torn limb from limb by his pets. I tossed off a mocking salute to him, and added, “I’ll be coming back for you when this is over.”
“If you do, it’ll be as a bodiless ghost.” He chuckled.
“Or a hollow man,” I countered. “They’re animated by restless spirits, after all. And I assure you that I’m going to be the most restless spirit you’ve ever encountered. And when I’m a hollow man, trust me, mage: I will find you. There won’t be a point in Albion remote enough to hide you from my vengeance.”
The chuckling died in his throat. This provided me some small bit of solace; if I did indeed die, this bastard would be having plenty of sleepless nights and jumping at every noise. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he would dismiss my threats as the last-minute, empty words of a desperate man. I chose to embrace the former, though, because I wanted to hold on to whatever solace I could find.
A guardsman stood to one side and unbolted the door. I walked through, and the door slammed shut heavily behind me. The bolt on the outside slid shut; obviously, it could be controlled from the inside as well. When the time came, the guards inside would unbolt it, and there would be nothing to deter the Half-breeds from charging into the arena and trying to make short work of me.
Sure enough, there was Page, with one foot shackled to a very wide, very sturdy post. She had been yanking on it with all her might and turned around and looked quite surprised to see that it was I who had entered. She dropped the chain in frustration and, putting her hands on her hips, said, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“I have a nasty habit of turning up in the damnedest places.”
“That would certainly describe this particular location.”
There was no one in the viewing seats overhead yet, which told me we had a little time. Quickly, I explained the details of the situation, the circumstances of the bet, and what I was planning to do in order to counter it and maybe even win it. Page listened to it with an expressionless face and, when I’d finished talking, said, “That is quite possibly the most harebrained scheme I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, do you have anything better?” I said testily.
“No, not a thing. So I guess it’s your harebrained scheme or nothing. Although I’m not entirely sure that you didn’t come up with it so that you could spend your last moments rubbing up against me.”
“That wasn’t the thinking behind it. I think of that more as just one of the perks.”
A door that led into the viewing secti
on opened above us. Reaver entered first, which certainly didn’t surprise me all that much. Droogan came in right behind him, still wobbling a bit from the punch I’d hammered into his nerve cluster. What I did find surprising, though, was that a number of people I didn’t recognize filed in behind Droogan. They were elegantly dressed, clearly upperechelon nobility, and they were talking excitedly about how wonderful it was that “Reaver was having another of his games.”
“Apparently, Reaver likes a big audience for his pleasures,” I said, making no attempt to keep the disgust out of my voice.
“Yes, he does.”
She wasn’t looking at Reaver, though. Instead, she was looking at me, studying me as if I were some sort of specimen. She said nothing for a time; just stared. It seemed to me that she had something on her mind but wasn’t permitting herself to speak.
“What is it?” I finally said.
Her voice very low, so low that no one in the viewing stand could possibly hear it no matter how acute their hearing, Page said, “I was a monk.”
If she had suddenly produced a plank of wood and slapped me across the face with it, I could not have been more bewildered. Actually, the face slapping would have made more sense. “Excuse me?”
“A monk. But before I was a monk, I grew up dirt poor in Bowerstone Industrial. In those days”—and I could practically see her mind wandering away to times gone by—“the smoke of the factories was just starting to blacken the air, the detritus of trade ships just beginning to pollute the waters. I’d sit on the edges of the dock sometimes and watch what was just beginning to happen, and, of course, it never occurred to me that that was just the start of it. I couldn’t dream what it would turn into. A child dreams of things getting better, not worse.
“My father took off when I was eight, and my mother fell ill when I was barely eleven. I wound up working in the factories next to my older brother, Cedric. He watched out for me at first, but within a year, he died in a machinery accident.”
