by Jeff Gunzel
She managed to sit up, realizing for the first time that her physical condition wasn’t as bad as it should have been. Sure, she was in pain from head to toe. But after that beating, it was a miracle she was even conscious this soon. She licked her lips in thought, the lingering taste of blood growing faint, but still there.
So that must be it. Xavier’s blood had accelerated her healing, possibly the only laberath trademark she was actually glad for. A thought popped into her head. It was beyond preposterous, but she couldn’t help herself. In some warped way, she liked the idea of Xavier working from within her. It was as if he were still here, with her, aiding her on her journey from beyond. She knew it was crazy, but still embraced the warm thought as something special, a final memory of him she could hold close to her heart.
Only now realizing that the soldier had stopped browbeating her, she could see the open sand pit coming into view. Each time she saw it, it looked completely different for some reason. It always seemed as if she were seeing it for the first time. Vacant, empty, it gave the illusion of some harmless formation of nature, when the truth couldn’t be more different. A symbol of violence it was, representing everything that was wrong with humans who believed themselves to be superior to other races. In truth, they had proven that violence was the answer to every question—even if the question had never been asked.
Rolling along, the carts took a longer route than she had seen before, rounding their way to the back of the pit. There they stopped, waiting while one soldier inspected the cages, presumably doing a head count. There were only ten in total, and Viola had been given a cage all to herself. As far as she was concerned, the reason was obvious. No one felt safe alone in a cage with her, and her recent act had done nothing to alleviate that fear. Passing by, his glare lingered on her a long while before moving on to the last of three cages. A second soldier pulled a chain from a saddlebag, then laid it out across the sandy ground. It spidered out with smaller chains attached, each ending with a pair of metal cuffs.
Three additional soldiers worked their way from cage to cage, one unhinging the lock and chain while the other two escorted the prisoners one at a time to the chain on the ground. Once their wrists were secured in the metal cuffs, the armed men went back to fetch another. The process took some time, but it was clear they were trying to make sure no one made a break for. Not that they would have gotten far before being dropped by a crossbow bolt, but why go through the hassle if it could be avoided?
Watching the soldiers methodically empty the carts to her front and back, she knew she would be the last. This was really the first time she had gotten a look at the other prisoners—two other women, excluding herself, with seven men. They seemed mostly unassuming to her. She could easily picture any of them working a trade or keeping a home. All except one, anyway.
Second from the front stood an extremely tall man with long sandy-blond hair and shoulders like a blacksmith’s. She might have actually believed him to be one had his arms not been covered with numerous scars, the telltale sign of a swordsman for hire. Even his posture and bland expression proved he was no stranger to this sort of environment. Standing tall, the corner of his lip hinting at a discreet smile, the veteran warrior couldn’t hide his true profession even if his life depended on it.
“You there, c-come on now,” grunted the soldier standing near Viola’s cage. “And d-d-don’t even think about trying anything.” He stepped aside, allowing another to release the lock. After all his talking earlier, the man didn’t seem so confident anymore now that her cage door was open, and no barrier stood between them. The collar around her neck subdued most of her abilities, but that knowledge did little to ease his fear of her.
Allowing two others to go into the cage and lead her down, he jumped when she clicked her teeth at him when passing by. Seeing the fear in his eyes gave Viola a modest sense of satisfaction, but the feeling was short-lived. After having her wrists attached to the final cuffs at the back of the line, the man in front of her began to grow restless. Leaning forward as far as he could, he was practically riding the back of the woman in front of him.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Viola whispered, trying in vain to provide some sort of assurance for the scared man.
“Get off me!” the second woman cried out, annoyed with this man draped all over her. She turned to the guard on her right and held out her cuffed wrists. “Take these off and let me switch places with this coward. I’m not afraid of the girl, and I don’t need this guy riding up my back until we get to wherever we’re going.”
“She’s a witch!” the man groveled, face practically buried into the fabric of the woman’s clothing. Ignoring him, the woman shook her wrists a second time, a pleading look in her eyes.
“Move out!” called the soldier, ignoring their senseless dispute as he moved to join the others at the front. It took a bit of teamwork for the line to get moving. A step too slow and you got your ankles stepped on. A step too quick and you became the aggressor. Fumbling along awkwardly, the human chain inched their way around the wagons. Two soldiers moved up ahead, each ripping up a leather cord from beneath the sand. After a mighty tug, a hidden trapdoor slid back, sand funneling downward while exposing a set of steps. Flickering torches lit the way, hinting that someone was already down there.
Chain grinding along the stone, the line was herded down the flight of narrow, spiraling steps. When they reached the bottom crosswalk, there was a large stone room to the right, and a narrower hallway to the left. Exploring neither at this time, the line was led straight ahead through the remaining hall and out into the sandy pit.
Waiting at the center of the pit stood a bald, shirtless, barrel-chested figure. Although not quite as tall as the warrior in their group, his arms were even larger. With thick tree-trunk legs to match, this beast of a man had a sinister look about him. As he approached, they could see that his bald head was tattooed with two black stripes, each one starting just over an eyebrow before trailing straight back across his head. Thick black rings pierced both his nipples.
He stopped before them, his angry glare roaming up and down the chained line of prisoners. With one blind eye a cloudy white, the other a glistening black that was dark as night, the menacing figure’s presence seemed to take up the entire arena. When he turned to the side, they could see that most of his right ear was missing. This beast of a man was battle-tested, to be sure. Arms folded across his substantial belly, he had yet to say a word.
Nearly cracking under that scrutinizing gaze, the sound of a side gate opening offered a bit of relief. Heads turned as a squared formation of soldiers came marching out. Right and left boots came down in perfect unison as they marched, collectively making a significant thumping sound even in the soft sand.
The marching square stopped, then on cue pivoted one step to the left. Faceguards pulled down, the soldiers’ eyes scanned the upper rim of the pit, searching for any signs that something might be amiss. They seemed to be displaying a tremendous amount of caution for some reason.
Satisfied, the front line spread apart, and out from the square stepped King Milo. Looking nothing like a king, he was wearing a commoner’s dark clothing and a rather worn pair of shoes. His attire completely unassuming, he could have probably walked straight through Shadowfen’s market and no one would have recognized him. But there was nothing unassuming about his stance or the confidence he exuded. Even in street clothes used for disguise, his air of command and power was unmistakable.
Beside him stood a much shorter fellow, middle-aged with a frail-looking physique. With large hoop earrings and a bold nose that seemed to ride high on his thin face, the man couldn’t be any more different from the king, physically. But not unlike Milo, the little fellow held an unmistakable air of confidence as well. His light blue eyes scanned up and down the line, having no difficulty in holding their stray gazes for an uncomfortably long time.
A man at the end of the line cried out when one of the guards kicked his leg out
from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. “Bow before your king, worms!” came a call from behind. The butt of a sword handle caught another woman in the back of the neck, driving her down to her knees. The rest quickly followed suit, dropping one knee into the sand, heads bowed. Viola mimicked their movements, but was still unsure as to why this was necessary. She had begun to understand this peculiar act as a show of respect to exceptionally good people like Assirra. But here before them stood a man of suspect character, and still she had to do the same thing. Why was that? It seemed that the more she learned about the world, the more confusing it became.
A silent moment passed before Milo raised his hands, prompting them back to their feet. “Good day to you, loyal subjects of Shadowfen,” he said, hands clasped behind his back as he began to pace. “I imagine some of you are confused. But I also suspect a few of you know exactly why you are here. Allow me to do my best to explain your present situation. Although not customary by any means, I wanted to take the time to greet you all personally. Seeing as how I stand to make a fair amount of coin because of you, a personal appearance only seemed fair.” An uncomfortable stirring rattled down the line, hands fidgeting while toes tapped the sand. The man standing near Viola threw up, but no one seemed to notice.
“You’ve already met Ozryn.” He gestured towards the goon of a man who had yet to speak. “He is here to train you all in the art of combat. Let me be clear so that there is no confusion on the matter in the coming weeks. Ozryn is not your friend. His job is make you as battle-ready as possible, as soon as possible. If you do not obey his instructions, he will kill you, and you will be replaced. If he decides he simply doesn’t like you, he will kill you, and you will be replaced.”
The king stalked over to the grizzly man. Nowhere near as stout but nearly as tall, he looked Ozryn right in the eyes. “And if none of you perform up to the substantial standards I’ve set, I will kill him, and he will be replaced.” Chinks in the mask of that constant scowl formed as the beastly man swallowed. His crossed arms dropped to his sides as his face betrayed his nervousness for the first time.
“You see,” said the king, turning back towards the prisoners, “ultimately, I am running a business, no different than any other trade. If a blacksmith forges a subpar sword or an inferior set of armor, he forfeits the right to charge for his services. In essence, he has broken his promise to the buyer. Furthermore, his name is now tainted forever. I would not wish such a fate to befall me, seeing as how I plan to deliver the entertainment this fine city deserves. If something were to tarnish my good name, then those responsible shall be held accountable.” He flashed another glance towards Ozryn.
“Now that we’ve cleared up some of the smaller details, I would like you all to meet Kuuma.” The thin fellow nodded. “Kuuma runs the day-to-day operations here in the pit. He is my right hand, and will keep me informed as to your progress in the coming days.
“Now, as I stated earlier, a number of you are wondering what is really going on. Why are you here instead of rotting in your cells, yes? Well, that answer differs from person to person. For some of you, I determined that this fate served a higher purpose, rather than just having you executed for your crimes. Think of this as a slim chance of survival as opposed to none. I would consider that a mercy of sorts, agree?
“A few of you have actually volunteered for this.” Eyes shifted back and forth, wondering who could possibly be so mad as to subject themselves to such a fate. “To those I say this. All debts will be forgiven, and all crimes shall be pardoned as was the agreement. Should you fall, and it is more than likely you shall, your families will also be pardoned. Your death in the pit shall be weighted as if you had succeeded in this endeavor. I want you to perform with a clear conscience knowing you have made the right decision, no matter the outcome.
“As to why you’ve all been moved into the pit itself, well, that is a simple answer. We want you to get used to your surroundings. After all, this is where you will be performing. Consider this your new home. Now, have I made myself perfectly clear? I trust there are no other questions?” That last was more a statement than a question. “Good, then I want you all to get something to eat and rest up.” He turned his back to them for the second time. “Your training starts in the morning.”
Starting from opposite sides, guards worked their way down the line unlocking the metal snaps. Viola rubbed her wrists, grateful to have those things removed. She only wished they would take this collar off her neck as well. With the meeting over, they were led back through the gate. Milo grabbed one of the guards by the elbow before he could follow them. “Is there any new word of Bella’s remains?” asked the king, leaning into the man’s ear even though the others were no longer within earshot.
“Er...no, Your Highness,” he replied, his body stiffening. “We released the dogs to follow her trail just as you ordered. But at one point the scent just stopped. They could no longer pick up the trail.”
“So you’re telling me she just vanished into thin air,” he said with a disappointed sigh.
“No, no, of course not.” The soldier shook his head, wishing he had chosen his rushed words a little more carefully. “It’s most likely she was eaten by wolves or some other such creature. I wouldn’t concern myself with such trivial matters if I were you, My Lord.”
The king’s grip around his elbow tightened, those dark eyes boring into the man’s soul. “Had she been eaten by wolves...or some other such creature, as you say...there would have been obvious signs of struggle as well as at least some human remains, correct?” The soldier froze, not knowing exactly what to say. Of course the king was correct. Had his proposed theory been true, there would have been numerous clues to back it up. “Double the search and keep looking,” Milo growled, shoving the soldier away. “Report back to me the moment you find something.”
Originally, the game had been too much for the king to resist. He had dangled freedom in front of Bella’s nose, all with the intent of snatching it away at the last moment. It was to be his final revenge against an unfaithful wife. Not really all that sporting, but satisfying nonetheless. Sure, executing her on the spot would have been a more practical choice, but where was the fun in that? However, in this case it seemed that the resourceful rabbit had somehow managed to escape the hunt. There was no use lying to himself—he just might have underestimated his surprisingly capable wife.
That fact bothered him more than he was willing to admit.
*
With only a few guards escorting them, the group was led back down the same hall. To the left was a rather large chamber with a long wooden table at its center. Bowls of cold gruel were laid out with filled water glasses beside them. Black-cased oil lamps hung from iron pegs, their flickering angry light giving the stone room an empty, ominous look. Without hesitation, the warrior moved to the end of the table in three long strides, then sat down and began digging into the bowl he claimed for himself. Cautiously, the others followed his lead, taking their seats around the table.
Viola’s eyes wandered around the relatively empty room. Special care had been used during the assembly of this seldom-seen section. Dug deep into the sand was a network of tunnels, and at least one fairly large chamber she had seen so far. It was a far cry from the small, constrained tunnel on the other side where her brother had been kept. It was possible these chambers took even longer to amass than digging the pit itself.
The cold gruel was practically a feast compared to what Viola had been eating, so she dug in eagerly. She savored the precious water, and even saw there were two more full pitchers on the table as well. The room was silent, save for the sounds of spoons tinkling against the sides of bowls and the gulping of water. Viola took a deep breath. “I-It’s nice they at least gave us something to eat, right?” She cringed at the ensuing silence. No one even bothered to look at her. Even so, she felt compelled to keep going even though she could feel the heat building in her face. “M-My name is—”
“
Nobody cares, dead girl,” grunted the warrior, paying her no additional attention as he scraped the bottom of his bowl. Frowning into it, his eyes wandered to other bowls around the table, prompting some to scoot away while others covered their food protectively. Mortified, Viola drew in on herself, eyes lowering to her own half-full bowl.
“Go on then,” said the woman seated across from her. “What is your name?” It was the same woman who had voiced her objection to being leaned against by the man who was frightened of Viola. Well into her middle years, her wavy brown hair was streaked with gray. The corners of her dark eyes were webbed with wrinkles, but they held a sort of calm wisdom. Unshaken by Viola’s appearance, those unflinching eyes never once shied away. “My name is Salina. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re the talk of the city. I’m glad to finally meet you myself.”
Viola didn’t find that information to be all that flattering. She had longed to make friends for as long as she could remember, but this sort of attention had nothing to do with being liked. She was a freak, and so far had been treated as such. “My name is Viola,” she mumbled down at her bowl.
“Ha,” the warrior grunted, one elbow up on the table, chin rested in his palm. “You hear that? The dead girl has a name!” Disinterested chuckles resonated around the table, most just going along with the jest while engrossed in their own thoughts. They really didn’t care one way or the other.
“Ignore them,” Salina said loudly so all could hear. “Those who fear their own deaths will desperately seek distraction in any form.” After glaring down the table to see if any would respond, she returned her attention Viola.
“Why are you here?” Viola asked, confused by the assured confidence of this woman. Nothing about her seemed to indicate she was a criminal.
