131 Days [Book 3]_Spikes and Edges

by Keith C. Blackmore

  Goll straightened. “Stop. Playing. Show us everything. If you’re the swordsmaster we suspect you are, show us. Impress us. Hypnotize us. Make it known that you represent this house. Make others fear you, remember you. What you do in the arena reflects upon every one of us. Do you understand?”

  A relaxed Junger stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked into each face before returning to Goll’s. “I do.”

  “Do you understand what you must do tomorrow?”

  A pause. “Avenge Tumber’s death.”

  “And?”

  Junger offered nothing more.

  “You kill that man tomorrow,” Goll said with an edge to his voice. “Kill him and put fear inside the rest. To take one of ours invites bloody consequences. Let the Pit know we’ll put the offender in the ground. Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  “Will you do it?”

  “I will not.”

  Goll’s eyes narrowed, and the room suddenly became much cooler. “What… did you say?”

  “You want me to kill the man, but I won’t do it.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “Let’s hear them.”

  “No.”

  Anger rippled through Goll’s expression, and Junger could see he was but a word away from exploding. Clavellus leaned forward, not as offended as Goll but clearly exasperated with the answer. Machlann’s back stiffened, and Koba’s folded arms slowly dropped to his sides, as if he were suddenly very interested in the discussion.

  “My reasons are my own,” Junger said. “As are the reasons I fight within the House of Ten. I’ll be clear. Despite what you might think, you do not own me. If you press me, I’ll leave through that door and not look back. Not once. If you do not… I’ll fight for you. And I’ll win for you—for the house. If victory within the Pit is what you seek, I’ll give it to you. If vengeance is required, I’ll exact it. To a point.”

  The Perician locked gazes with Goll. “You want this man dead. I’ll ensure that he doesn’t fight again this season.”

  “That isn’t good enough.” Goll rose, baring teeth.

  “That’s all I’m willing to offer.”

  The ensuing silence swelled to a bursting point. Clavellus cleared his throat and regarded Junger.

  “Never have I encountered a pit fighter dictating terms to his housemaster. That alone is enough to drive you from these walls.”

  “Then I’ll leave,” Junger said simply, causing Muluk to suppress a chuckle with a hand.

  “I’ll have you thrown from this house,” Goll promised in a lethal tone.

  Junger didn’t flinch. “Master Goll, I wish to fight for this house. If you seek my promise for anything, I’ll promise you that. Allow me to fight, and I’ll impress you. Hypnotize you. And I’ll make it known that I represent the House of Ten. Allow me to fight, and the others will fear me. And this house.”

  The setting of Goll’s jaw betrayed his outrage. To his credit, he held it in.

  “That will be all, Junger,” Clavellus said. “We’ll discuss this among ourselves and let you know in a short time. Let Torello know we’ll summon him when we’re ready.”

  Junger met the gaze of each man and gave a short bow. He turned and walked out the open door, leaving them staring at his back.

  “Koba.” Clavellus nodded at the door. The big trainer moved to close it.

  “Brazen insolence,” Goll seethed. “I’ll drive him from these walls myself.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Clavellus said firmly.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Goll’s eyes flashed fire. “Who are you to command me?”

  “I’m the owner of this property, the taskmaster of these trainers. This house is as much mine as it is yours. Unless you wish to continue with the rest of your training somewhere between here and Sunja’s gates? Gather up your two remaining pit fighters and carry on?”

  Goll’s face flushed red, threatening to ignite.

  “Listen to me,” Clavellus pushed on. “You have so much right now, Master Goll. You’ve achieved so very much in a short time. And whether you admit it or not, that man might very well be the prize in this entire venture. We cannot allow him to simply walk away.”

  His chest heaving, Goll didn’t reply. His face remained set and stern. To his credit, he kept his composure and kept listening. Muluk thought he might see his fellow countryman fly into an unfit rage, but he did nothing of the kind. That display of willpower, of control, struck Muluk as commendable.

  “If we allow him to leave,” Clavellus continued, “then we have only two remaining gladiators. Two. The other houses have any number between thirty and forty-five. Most are experienced hellpups, who have devoted their very lives to the sport, carrying at least a year’s training and having survived a previous tournament. I guarantee half of those are seasoned veterans, every bit as skilled and lethal as the Cavaliers, Lancers, and Sujins who guard our borders. And each one is starving for victory, conditioned for pain, prepared to kill, and possessing the mindset that he is the chosen one. That he cannot be defeated, that this season is theirs and theirs alone. That is our opposition, Master Goll. That is who we face upon the sands. All the while, the House of Ten readies its pair of hopefuls.”

  Clavellus took a breath and looked at his trainer. “Machlann, what are our chances to make it through a complete season, against such determined adversaries?”

  “With two lads? I’ve a better chance of scratching gold out of my hole.”

  Clavellus’s expression of you see? centered on Goll, and the taskmaster willed that last sentiment to sink into the Kree’s skull. The argument reached the Kree master, however, as his head drooped between his shoulders.

  The silence remained unbroken for a long time, until Muluk attempted to break it by clearing his throat. “Perhaps we should keep the lad,” the burly man said, treading softly.

  No one spoke, allowing Goll a reflective moment to decide.

  Moments later, he did.

  22

  Heavy clouds gathered during the evening, and it rained overnight, showering a parched land. Dawn drove the storm away, and rays of sun split the ominous clouds, shattering them and leaving the air smelling clean. Under clearing skies and splashing through puddles, the House of Ten appeared in grim spirits as they climbed aboard their covered wagons.

  Junger remained among them.

  The fighters had eaten and rested well. The steady hiss of rain during the night had guaranteed a deep and uninterrupted sleep. Muluk had crowded into the lead wagon with Clavellus, replacing Koba, who’d decided to remain behind. The shaggy Kree looked forward to seeing the day’s matches, and it showed on his eager face. For protection, Clades, Pratos, and Valka, the three former Sujins, would come along, outfitted for troublemaking or maintaining the peace. Clavellus tied back the canvas sheet separating wagon’s interior and the driver. One could see the road ahead if one peered around the driver’s torso. Machlann secured the flap in the rear, allowing a refreshing breeze to pass over everyone. The morning blazed with a glorious gold around the edges of the world, as if the very horizon was a gift to open.

  After short time on the road east, Clavellus looked at the hairy housemaster.

  “Not too bumpy for you?” he asked as the wagon bounced and splashed over the wet road.

  “Not at all,” Muluk replied. “Good thing I slept well last night, however. No sleep to be had on this trip.”

  The taskmaster exchanged looks with his trainer. Machlann regarded Muluk with something resembling wry amusement.

  “The roads are rough this morning,” Goll said. “Best tell the driver to make best speed.”

  “He knows, Master Goll,” Clavellus said. “He knows we’re not riding for pleasure—or our health.”

  “We should have traveled last night.”

  “It was raining last night.”

  “Master Goll appears nervou
s this morning,” Machlann observed.

  “He does,” Clavellus said.

  Goll drew a hand over his pensive features and fumed. “I am nervous. I know our men have a good chance for victory.”

  “I believe Junger has a better chance,” Clavellus said.

  “Aye, that,” Muluk remarked.

  “Nothing’s done until it’s done,” Goll said, unmoved by their confidence. “But I worry for Brozz. His fight with the house gladiator.”

  “Tilo is a known house,” Clavellus explained quietly while examining his trembling hand, “a hard competitor with a long history at the games. His house hasn’t done well recently, but he knows how to train gladiators. You should feel some unease with that match. Anyone would. But Brozz has displayed a skillset not usually seen in a Free Trained pit fighter. Don’t forget that.”

  “But will it be enough?” Goll asked.

  “Machlann?” Clavellus asked.

  “It’ll be enough,” the dour trainer grumped.

  Puddles marred the road to the capital city, and the wheels rattled through the deeper ones with splashes. The overnight rain had left the plains glistening and the air cooler than usual. In time, the crown that was Sunja rose up over the land and gleamed through the morning haze with formidable majesty.

  Clavellus peeked around the driver.

  “Bagrun, move yourself just a pinch so that I can see.”

  Bagrun complied.

  “Wagon approaching,” Clavellus observed.

  Goll lifted himself to take a look. A solid bump forced him to check his balance and grab a support rib.

  “Ah…” A smile spread across Clavellus’s face. “I see it carries some very important supplies.”

  The wagon rattled closer, traveling west to east. A small hill of kegs trembled in the back. The driver, aware of the treacherous nature of the road and the approaching wagon, slowed his team of six horses.

  Bagrun directed his own team to the road’s edge as far as he could. The wheels left the dirt and rolled over tall grass, the ride suddenly violent. The wagons shivered past each other, minding the spacing as their sides were a mere half an arm apart.

  They carefully slipped by each other, and Clavellus craned his neck to see out the rear. “The road widens––”

  A great crash threw the men into one another as the front wheels dropped. The wagon stopped on an angle, and the passengers lurched to the front. Horses cried out. Bagrun yelled for calm. Machlann fell into Clavellus as if feeding on the taskmaster’s shoulder. Goll stumbled, his hands going up and banging into the edge of the driver’s seat.

  “Ruts in the road!” Bagrun shouted.

  The wagon rocked. Heartbeats later, the horses pulled the wagon free, and they rolled back onto solid dirt.

  “That was a surprise,” Clavellus said.

  A cry went up behind them, drawing their attention to the following wagon. It had lumbered over the difficult section and came to a jarring halt.

  “Stop, Bagrun, stop,” Clavellus yelled, casting a look at the team of horses and the distressed driver. The man cracked the reins, but the horses couldn’t pull the transport’s weight free.

  In the other wagon, the sudden stop squeezed the passengers together into the front.

  “Seddon” was all Shan got out when he was thrown against Brozz. The wagon angled downward, and the sensation of sinking overcame them. As the situation settled in, the driver twisted and snapped the reins, coaxing the horse team to pull the wagon free of the miserable mire.

  Brozz met Torello’s irritated expression. Junger leaned out the back, attempting to spy the problem.

  “Deep mud here,” he reported. “I can’t see what’s ahead, but we’re stuck.”

  “Out the back, will you?” the driver, called Almas, asked his passengers. “Lighten her a bit so the beasts can pull her free.”

  Clades smiled grimly. “This road always was a sore one after a good rain.”

  “More so this day.” Torello made a face and rose. “As long as we don’t miss our matches…”

  “No fear of that.” Clades gestured for Pratos and Valka to lead the way. “But your sandals will need a scrubbing.”

  Torello placed his hands on the wagon’s rear gate and vaulted over it with both feet in the air. He landed with a jerk and a squawk, staggering against the wood. Torello hooked his arm over the gate as his lower half tugged on his upper. Hands grabbed for him, but Torello was already off-balance and sloughing into the mud. Junger and Clades climbed out and discovered unsure footing in an earthy stew of rocks and mud. With Brozz helping from above, they got their hands under Torello’s arms and helped him hobble onto firmer ground.

  “Broken,” the Sunjan grunted. “It’s broken.”

  They sat him down on damp grass and waited for Shan. Mud stained Torello’s lower legs.

  “I felt it break,” he whispered in agony, lifting himself on elbows and gazing down at himself. “Felt it snap.”

  Shan appeared and dropped to his knees, hands out as if about to touch a hot pot. “Well, now, this doesn’t look good at all.”

  “I felt it break,” Torello said, taking in the pain.

  “What happened?”

  “He jumped from the back of the wagon,” Brozz said. “Slipped in the mud.”

  The healer frowned and carefully prodded the ankle, already swelling around the joint with a rosy discoloration rising through the skin. While he tended to the joint, Almas the driver persuaded the horses to pull the wagon free of the mud.

  “Foul luck,” Shan whispered as he inspected the injury. “Foul, foul.”

  “Is it broken?” Muluk asked.

  Shan shook his head. “Not broken… but might as well be. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything to help him right now, not until we get to Sunja and my house.”

  He met Torello’s watering eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “What? Will I be able to fight?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “Fight? Blessed Seddon, no,” the healer replied with a frown. “Can you lift him?”

  Junger and Brozz hauled the stricken man to his feet. Torello held on their shoulders.

  “Help him back to the wagon, please,” Shan said as Goll and Clavellus walked toward them with fearful faces.

  “What’s happened?” Goll demanded.

  “The lad jumped from the wagon and sprained his ankle.”

  That hurried both men along in time to see Torello being helped along. His foot had swollen to near twice its size.

  “Well.” A frustrated Goll spat. “Wonderful. That’s his season. Lords above, what were you thinking?” he asked at the pit fighter struggling into the wagon.

  “Not the time,” Junger answered for the man. “Don’t worry about the blood match.”

  “Don’t worry?” Goll demanded. “Who’re you to tell me not to worry?”

  Clades lent a hand at the rear of the wagon, relieving Junger. The Perician turned upon Goll and quietly studied him.

  “Well?” the housemaster asked in a heated tone.

  “I’ll fight instead,” Junger said.

  “You’ll fight it? Feeling confident, are you?”

  Junger didn’t reply, but the others stopped and watched the exchange, even Torello.

  “You can’t fight it.” Goll waved a hand.

  “I’ll fight,” Junger said calmly. “You wish to have people remember? I’ll fight Torello’s match. I’ll avenge Tumber and Kolo both.”

  Goll searched the man’s expression for insolence.

  An impassive Junger stared back.

  “It’s been done before.” Clavellus eyed Torello’s misshapen foot. “Years ago. It’s not unheard of.”

  “Fight it then,” Goll said, not happy in the least. “Fight it. Fight and win.”

  Junger’s blank expression suggested he’d do nothing less.

  With a slap to the wagon’s side, Goll stormed off. Clavellus spared the man a parting look. He moved closer to where Torello rested in the w
agon, getting an eyeful of the pit fighter’s ankle. Clavellus’s bearded, weathered face puckered up with solemn distaste.

  “Two months,” he said sadly. “At least. But don’t worry about it, lad. I’m sure Machlann will make time to pester you if you truly miss him.”

  The joke failed to produce a smile on the Sunjan’s face. “I wanted to avenge Kolo.”

  Clavellus nodded. The taskmaster squinted at the sun and patted the wagon’s gate as if it were a fat cheek. He faced Shan. “Take care of the lad. Slap on some of that saywort of yours.”

  “Different injury,” the healer said. “He’ll have to wait until we arrive at my house, though I’ll do what I can along the way. I’m afraid this journey’s just become exceptionally painful for our man Torello.”

  A disappointed Torello plunked his head on the wagon floor. Clades and Brozz stood over him.

  “Do what you can,” Clavellus said, gripping the lowered wagon gate. He peered in at the fallen gladiator. “I know something about what you are feeling, Torello. You might even believe we’re disappointed. And we are, but not in you. You would’ve certainly killed that topper, right and proper. I know you would’ve. Your trainers know, and even Master Goll knows. We knew you wouldn’t disappoint. Seddon above has plans for us all, and in time, we’ll learn what his plans are for you. So don’t worry. You’re among companions. And friends. I’m sure Kolo understands.”

  Red-faced and in obvious discomfort, Torello hissed but didn’t reply.

  Up ahead, an angry Goll berated Almas for not paying attention to the road.

  The angry words spiked the air, and the taskmaster shook his head. Clavellus stepped back and slapped wood again.

  “We go.”

  *

  His balls and buttocks grazing wood and grit, Pig Knot shuffled out of the living quarters in that pelvic-thrusting movement he’d mastered. Daylight turned upon him, and he snarled at its heat. He positioned himself over his mat and settled in, bare back against the wall. His hands stung, so he paused to inspect the calloused palms, slapping them clean. Above the walls, thin clouds stretched out and snaked across blue sky. It was about mid-morning, so Pig Knot knew Goll and Clavellus and the others would reach the city soon. He didn’t rise when the others did and clambered to their morning meal. He didn’t bother with seeing them off, nor did anyone bid him goodbye. That drew a deep contemplative sigh from his wretched person.