***
Ferret was roused from her restful state by the clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen, a short way down the hall from Creel’s room. As she’d suspected, he must’ve spent the night with Rada, leaving her alone in his room.
She made her way to the common room, where a bleary-eyed Brom and a pretty dwarf maid were sweeping the floor and wiping down the tables.
“Anything I can do to help?” she asked.
The dwarf maid looked startled at her appearance, for she’d left her cloak in the room and her face was exposed.
Brom didn’t seem unnerved but simply gave her a tired smile. “If ye like, ye could start a fire in the hearth, mayhap. Ferret, this is me daughter, Tilda.”
Ferret shook hands with Tilda politely, noting she was perhaps about her own age. She had a round, pleasant face with freckled cheeks and large brown eyes. Her curly brown hair was bound in a wrist-thick braid down to her waist.
“Nice to meet ye. Ye’re Creel’s friend?”
“Aye, I’d like to think so.”
Tilda smiled. “Course ye are if he brought ye along with him. No safer place in the realms than by that one’s side. So me da tells me.”
Ferret bobbed her head. “He’s a good one to have with in a tight spot.” She set about stacking firewood in the hearth.
Creel appeared a few minutes later, looking surprisingly well rested despite the heavy drinking of the past night. She’d heard his and Brom’s voices talking until the wee hours of the morning. She chalked his fresh-faced condition up to his rejuvenative ability.
“Creel! Welcome home!” Tilda embraced the monster hunter, who in turn gave her a kiss on the cheek. The dwarf maid blushed as Ferret felt a brief stab of jealously.
“Morning, lass,” he greeted Ferret.
She waved brusquely in response, pretending that lighting the kindling in the hearth took all her attention. The taper she’d lit from one of the lamps ignited the tinder, and a moment later, the kindling took. Soon, the common room would be nice and warm, the fire blazing cheerily.
Brom unbolted the front door, and a handful of people entered who’d been waiting outside, dressed warmly against the morning chill. The old dwarf and his daughter tended to the patrons while Selda worked the kitchen along with a human girl Ferret caught a glimpse of on occasion.
The others trickled down to the common room one by one, gathering at their same table from the night before. Conversation turned to a Mayor Calcote, who apparently had brought order to Llantry following the attack on the castle. The news meant little to Ferret, but Sianna was clearly heartened to hear it. A long discussion ensued, in which the plan eventually changed to include a visit to the mayor at the castle to receive aid before Sianna, Creel, and the others set out for Carran, a venture that would take them a week of travel on horse. Ferret didn’t pay much attention since she would still be going to Nexus with Taren and Mira. She spent a good portion of the time envying the others, who devoured, in addition to ham, eggs, and hash browns, a couple loaves of freshly baked bread drizzled in honey, a particular favorite of Ferret’s.
Brom abruptly peeked his head through the curtains. “Creel.” He nodded his head to one side, although the others couldn’t see past the curtain. “She’s up.”
Creel slid through the curtains. A moment later, he returned with his arm around the waist of a frail-looking woman who looked to be in her sixth decade. She had reddish hair and fair skin although both seemed faded by her obvious illness. Ferret barely recognized her from the sketch on the wall. Her bright green eyes would be difficult to forget, however. They burned with a fierce spirit.
“I’d like to introduce Rada,” Creel said quietly. “Friend and companion and fellow giantslayer and adventurer.” He introduced the rest of them.
“Well met,” Rada said, eyeing each of them in turn. “I had to see with my own eyes those of whom Dak told me such a rousing tale the past night. And it’s an honor to see you again, Lana.” A smile touched her lips, and Ferret glimpsed her once-great beauty.
“Have we met before?” Sianna asked. “I’m ashamed to not recall, Rada.”
“Not your fault, I’m sure. You were but a lass of seven or eight, I reckon. I was in the castle garden when you bumped into me. Later, a horse spooked, and you were nearly run down in the bailey.”
Sianna’s eyes widened. “Ah, you were with Master Creel that day! I remember his visit to the castle to take a job for my father.”
“Aye, just so. Doubtless, I look a bit worse for wear since that day.” Rada waved away any protest. “And you must be the lass that roused his sorry arse from the battlefield.” She was regarding Ferret with interest. “I must thank you for that. Who knows how long till this old warhorse would’ve returned back to the stable were that not the case.” She cast a warm smile at Creel, who looked somewhat ashamed.
“I’m glad I did so as well, for I discovered a good friend in the bargain.” Ferret couldn’t smile, but she nodded to Rada, liking the woman’s cool confidence and pleased that she wasn’t judging her by her looks.
Creel reached out and patted Ferret on the shoulder.
“Well, I won’t take any more of your time since the fate of Ketania lies in your hands. A pity I can’t join the rest of you. I just wished to say hello and perhaps see if old Stormy will be kind enough to ask his lovely wife to fix me up with some breakfast. If I’m lucky, I’ll keep it down for more than an hour.” She sighed then looked at the group again. “May Sabyl grant you her good fortune.” After one last smile, Rada turned and departed with Creel at her side like a worried nursemaid.
The others resumed their planning, but Ferret ignored them. She felt vaguely disheartened for some reason, sensing Creel’s deep sadness at Rada’s wasting illness. She was but a faded remnant of the vibrant woman in the sketch.
Too bad I didn’t meet her sooner—I think I would’ve liked her quite a bit.
Creel returned a few minutes later, and final plans were made. His concern for Rada remained, and she wished she were able to comfort him somehow—a reassuring smile or a hand on the shoulder, perhaps. But even were she still human, she doubted she could pull off such a gesture. As a living suit of armor, there was no chance.
Instead, she fidgeted, wishing to be on their way to Nexus and hoping more than anything that they would find a remedy.
Chapter 29
The gladiators were all lined up in the training yard back at the Pasikos villa, their eager faces illuminated by flickering torchlight. Elyas immediately noted Dirich and Shoat were in good spirits, the latter carrying a ceramic jug but with no sign of his whip for once.
“Tonight was a great night for House Pasikos,” Dirich announced. “Victories in nine of the twelve bouts, and only one man lost in the arena. Our brother Rihat, may the gods favor him in the afterlife, died a gladiator in glorious combat. Yet we do not mourn a gladiator’s loss. We celebrate a contest well fought and a notable death upon the sands.” He paused a moment to let that sink in, and a few men muttered words for their lost brother. “On to less sober matters. Having seized great acclaim and honor with blood and steel, we celebrate the victory of Caul the Crusher over Steelcut in a decisive submission contest! Glory to House Pasikos!” He threw his fist into the air, and the men cheered.
“I say bring on the Sledge next!” Caul shouted. “I’ll cut that giant bastard down to size!” His cronies hollered boasts in support of their leader.
Once they quieted, Dirich looked at Elyas and Harlan and beckoned them to step forward. “Not only do we laud victories and glorious deaths, but we celebrate a couple of other losses. Our nameless worms have been crushed underfoot, their carcasses left behind in the arena. Instead, we have two new brothers risen from their remains this night. Let us welcome Ironshanks and Adder to the brotherhood.”
The men cheered, nearly as boisterously as before, most of them seeming genuinely happy for them, but Caul and his cronies’ enthusiasm was half-hearted at best.
> Dirich had asked the two on the ride back if they favored any names. Elyas mentioned his old nickname Ironshanks, and Dirich immediately seized upon it. Harlan said he didn’t have a preference, so Dirich had thought up Adder due to his deadly striking speed.
Shoat poured a generous splash of brown liquid from his jug into a pair of cups and handed them to Elyas and Harlan. After a cautious sniff, Elyas wrinkled his nose as the powerful fumes just about singed his nostril hairs. Shoat laughed at his reaction.
“Tonight, you are freed of the worms’ weakness and become true brothers,” Dirich went on. “Drink of the nectar of the gods, the legendary Leciran rum!”
Elyas and Harlan exchanged dubious glances then knocked back their drinks. The liquor hit Elyas’s gullet like magma. Even though it was only about three of Shoat’s thick fingers’ worth of alcohol, he struggled to get it all down, his throat and sinuses burning and eyes watering. He needed a few moments to catch his breath, heart pounding. Harlan was gagging and coughing beside him, but his friend managed to keep it down as well. The gladiators hooted with laughter and shouted in support. On Elyas’s empty stomach, the Leciran rum burned like a hot coal, and within moments, his vision began softening, a slight gauzy haze crowding in, and peripheral motions seemed curiously slowed.
He blinked a couple times, then the other gladiators were surrounding him, pounding his back and welcoming him and Harlan both to the brotherhood.
“What about the wine and wenches?” someone called out.
“And food—this victory calls for a damned feast!” another man shouted.
Dirich grinned at them. “And a celebration it shall be. Lord Pasikos is feeling generous after your fine display this night. But first, go wash your smelly arses.”
The men streamed off toward the bath. Elyas and Harlan went to follow, but Dirich bade them wait.
“Come, for brothers do not sleep like animals in cages.”
He led them into the barracks and down a corridor containing a row of tiny rooms not much larger than cells, but the stone walls and wooden doors provided some privacy. Elyas could extend his arms and touch both walls of his room. Its sole piece of furniture was a narrow pallet of rushes to sleep on with a wool blanket. Above it, a shelf in the wall covered with melted wax contained a few candles. The room lacked a hearth, but he doubted it ever got cold enough to need the warmth. Harlan’s identical room was the next door down.
“Go get cleaned up, and then fill your bellies with food and wine and sate your cocks with women. You’ve earned it.” Dirich nodded at them and walked away, Shoat following faithfully although he paused to take an unflinching drink from his jug of rum.
Elyas stood in the doorway of his room, smiling as new possibilities opened up before him.
***
Other than eating a couple platefuls of the tasty food, Elyas couldn’t bring himself to join in the festivities with the others. The effects of the Leciran rum had worn off after he got some food in his stomach to sop up the alcohol. As he sat across the table from Harlan, he couldn’t help noticing how the festive atmosphere had spread to the guard force as well.
This is the opportunity we need. Wait till the early hours of morning, when everyone is hung over or passed out from drink, and then make our escape.
“I think it’s too soon,” Harlan responded when he told him his plan. “They’ll still be wary of us. We need time to gain their trust.”
“But the next games might not be for months yet. This is our best chance! Do you relish long weeks or months of this, waiting for another opportunity? There’s no guarantee we even survive the next games.”
Harlan grimaced but reluctantly agreed. “You are right, my friend. I had hoped to be able to come up with a better plan, but here we are. The Mistress of Luck oft favors those who take the greatest gambles.”
Elyas set aside the cup of wine he’d been sipping at, but Harlan pushed it back toward him. “Keep it. Sip at it, pour it out when no one is looking and get a refill. Fit in, lest we draw suspicion.”
“Aye, that’s good sense.”
Their hushed discussion was interrupted by wild, raucous cheers as a handful of female slaves were escorted into the mess hall. Caul immediately seized a nubile young girl by the arm, who squealed when he pulled her onto his lap. The other gladiators began bickering over claims to the women.
“The gods smile on those who share,” one gladiator said with a big grin. He took a girl by the hand, carrying a jug of wine in the other. His companion took the girl’s other hand, and they led her away into the barracks.
One of the women, a dark-eyed beauty with dusky skin slipped around a knot of arguing men to put a hand on Elyas’s arm. “Care for any company?”
Although tempted, Elyas was more interested in escape this night. “Perhaps another time,” he said with a smile.
The woman looked disappointed. She glanced at Harlan next, but he shook his head. A moment later, hands were groping her full breasts from behind, and Udarr was dragging her away, his mouth on her neck.
In a short time, the women were all claimed, and most of the gladiators departed to indulge in their delights. A few remained behind, content with drinking and dicing. One of Caul’s cronies, Lorn, dragged a terrified serving boy to the barracks, garnering looks of both disgust and amusement.
A few guards remained in the area, munching on food and drinking heavily. Apparently, the lord’s generous mood was a special occasion for his guards also. Elyas took the opportunity when no one was looking to pour out his cup, then he made a show of refilling it from an urn.
“What say you, Elyas?” Harlan held up a set of dice left unattended. “We can wager… hmm… how about grapes?” He held up a bunch of red grapes.
Elyas laughed. “Aye, that’ll kill some time, I reckon.”
They diced for a while although Elyas wasn’t really that interested. They merely needed a pretense for whiling away the night. Harlan seemed to have much better luck than he, collecting a nice stockpile of grapes on his side of the table.
“Too bad these aren’t crowns, that I could purchase us passage on a ship back to Llantry,” Harlan said wistfully.
Elyas chuckled. He noticed one of the drunken gladiators from earlier staggering back from the barracks. He held up a wine urn and drank deeply, splashing some down his chest in the process.
“Yer turn.” The gladiator slapped one of his companions on the back. “She’s all warmed up for ya.” He took the other man’s turn at dicing while his friend hurried off to the barracks.
“About earlier.” Elyas cleared his throat awkwardly. “I don’t want any bad blood between us. Of course I want that bitch Nesnys to die, and I’d love to strike the blow myself. It’s just… well, she’s a damned fiend. I fear she’s magicking me somehow, you know, distorting my thoughts. Like a mind-bender or something.”
“Or using charm magic.” Harlan looked thoughtful. “I believe you. I was just sickened by what you told me. The thought that she takes pleasure in trying to corrupt good men…” He turned and spat on the floor, face darkening. “Once we make it back to Ketania, she is just one of many things I must try to rectify.”
Elyas nodded agreement. He thought it strange his friend was so concerned with Nesnys, but he had plenty on his mind already and didn’t spare it too much additional thought. Instead, his thoughts were focused on how they might escape.
***
Elyas raised his head a couple inches off the table, peering around furtively. A couple other gladiators were snoring where they’d passed out in drunken slumber at another table, as was a single guard over what remained of his dice game. A trio of guards manned the main gates, down from the normal contingent of four, warming their hands over a brazier near a warning bell they could sound and bring many more reinforcements running. One man looked asleep on his feet, eyes drooping, while the other two talked quietly, sipping from cups occasionally. Elyas couldn’t see the manor end of the training yard without turning to look ove
r his shoulder, which might have appeared suspicious. The sounds of merrymaking in the barracks had mostly died off.
He nudged Harlan with the toe of his boot. “I’ve got three at the gate, one nearly asleep. Can you see the manor side?”
Harlan stirred where he’d lain down on the bench opposite Elyas. “A pair in the guard shack. Can’t tell if they’re awake or not.”
“If we’re quick enough, those two shouldn’t see us so long as this lot doesn’t sound the bell. Just past midnight, by my reckoning. We should go now or never. With any luck, we’ll have a few hours before they discover us missing.”
A grunt of agreement came from his friend. “Try not to kill them if you can help it.”
Elyas’s earlier naive determination to carve his way through anyone in his way had softened upon coming to the realization that many of the guards were decent sorts, family men simply doing their duties. “Aye. Let me take the lead and distract them. You watch my back. Here.” He sat up straight and pushed the sack across the table. Earlier, they had covertly stuffed some food into one of the empty bread sacks the servants had left behind.
Harlan sat up, looking as nervous as he had in the arena hours earlier. “May Sol watch over us.”
Elyas nodded. “We’ll do this. Trust me.” He took a deep breath and got to his feet with a faked yawn.
Feigning a drunken stagger, he left the mess hall and turned toward the gate, twenty paces away across the training yard. The two alert guards eyed him for a moment until Elyas went around the corner of the building to relieve himself, then they lost interest. When he was finished, he turned as though heading toward the barracks then angled toward the trio of guards at the gate.
“Need to sleep this shite off… just need to find my bed.” He blinked blearily at the guards, now just a few paces away.
The Way of Pain Page 28
