It was a week before he finally let her hear him. He had tuned the instrument carefully and was lightly strumming it when Amarah arrived with his breakfast that day. Smiling at her, he motioned toward the bed beside him, indicating she should sit. She looked at him curiously, but her face changed within seconds as his hands began to pluck the strings.
She stood still, struck by a feeling she could not contain, unable to move for fear of losing it as he played a light, capricious tune that spoke of happy days and merry dances. Long minutes passed while she watched him, rapt by the sounds that emerged from beneath his hands. Amarah’s cheeks were marked by tracks that had formed in the dirt on her cheeks as she cried, unable to understand the beauty she was experiencing.
When Daniel finally stopped, she approached him cautiously, as though seeing him in a new light. The look of awe on her face was both humbling and disconcerting. “I have never heard such a thing before,” she said in a hushed tone.
“It’s just music, Amarah,” he said nonchalantly. “Where I come from we listen to it almost every day.”
“More,” she begged.
He obliged her, playing a softer melody to appeal to the gentler emotions, letting his attention become wholly absorbed by the music and the motions of his fingers on the strings. When he finally stopped, he found her close, leaning in to stare at him with wide eyes.
Pushing his cittern aside he felt his heart begin to race, and he leaned in to kiss her. She was clumsy and awkward, having probably never experienced such a delicate thing, but she met his lips eagerly. After several minutes he drew back, aware that his body was reacting too strongly again.
“We’ll have to stop,” he told her.
She glanced downward, noting his gallant reflex with hungry eyes. Reaching over she stroked him and then moved downward, to kiss him softly in a manner he had never expected.
“We’ll be punished,” he warned her.
Amarah shook her head, “Only if we come together as man and woman. Other things do not bring punishment. Let me show you.” Her eyes were gentle in a way that he had never seen before.
“I love you,” he confessed some time later, as he experienced something he had never dared to dream of with another person again.
Amarah gazed at him strangely, “What do you mean?” While the people of Ellentrea still used the word, it was only something one said regarding food or objects, not something one would say to another person.
“I’ll show you,” Daniel replied and then he returned her favor.
Chapter 28
For the first time since coming to Ellentrea, Daniel felt that his life seemed to be taking a turn for the better. The cittern allowed him to rediscover music, like an old friend returning from a long journey. He remembered the songs he had learned in the past, and with all the time he had on his hands, he created new ones to fill his waking hours.
He quickly realized, through his playing, that he had changed profoundly. The old melodies were familiar and strange at the same time, while the new ones he made for himself seemed to express one of two main themes, sorrow or anger. It was listening to his own music that showed him the bitterness that had settled within him.
Amarah also seemed to have been changed by the introduction of music. She lingered more often, staying to listen to at least one song whenever she brought him food. Occasionally she would stay longer, enjoying his company in a more direct manner. Daniel learned more about her in the span of the next week than he had in the entire year prior.
Her emotions seemed to have been released from whatever dark place they had been locked in, set free by the sound of music. She cried often, and sometimes rewarded Daniel with smiles when she visited. Amarah’s newfound feelings were much like her; rough and unsophisticated, reminding Daniel of a child in their honesty.
She never stayed very long, fifteen or twenty minutes at the most. Amarah was fearful of punishment if she was caught spending too much time with Daniel, but they made the most of their short time together each day.
“What was your mother like?” Daniel asked her one day when she seemed particularly open.
Amarah frowned, “I do not remember.”
“Who raised you then, your father?”
“Raised?” she asked. “No one lifted me.”
Daniel was used to their constant misunderstandings. “Who took care of you as a child?” he clarified. “I’m curious about your childhood.”
Her face took on a pained expression, “That was a bad time. The pens are a bad place. No one wishes to remember them.”
“The pens?”
She nodded, “The She’Har keep the children there, after they have been weaned, until they are old enough to be blooded.”
Daniel immediately remembered the girl he had been forced to kill when he was first brought to Ellentrea. “When you say ‘blooded’, do you mean forced to fight?”
“Yes, the fit are given the chance to earn a name. The rest remain nameless, like me. We are made to serve,” she explained.
Daniel had already had a year to get over his shock at the violence and cruelty inherent in what passed for human society in Ellentrea. “What are the pens like?”
“Bad,” she replied. “The larger rule the smaller. Food is brought twice a day, but many starve, unable to hold their share. Sometimes they kill one another, or worse.”
He was beginning to see the picture now. Human children were taken from their mothers once they were old enough to eat solid food and walk, forced to live in pens like animals. Fed and watered twice daily and otherwise left to fend for themselves.
No wonder the people here seem cruel and stupid. They are stunted, starved of love, and allowed to grow without teaching or guidance. Even after a year of murder and bloodshed, Daniel found himself somewhat shocked. What would I have been like without my mother and father’s love? What would life be like, locked in with cruel and ignorant children? The people he had met over the past year made Ronnie Banks seem kind.
Amarah left, having run out of time, and Daniel was again alone. He settled on the floor and closed his eyes. Today was an arena day, and he knew Garlin would be along soon to collect him. Meditating in silence, he listened to the strange voices of the world.
Over the past months his strength and magesight had both grown. The arena battles were no longer even a challenge for him. His opponents almost invariably had much less experience in the arena than he did, since few survived many battles before dying. They were also almost universally weak and unimaginative. The tricks they used were old and oft repeated.
The voices he heard with his mind, in a fashion that seemed related to the way he experienced vision with his magesight. Listening to them soothed him in a fashion similar to his music, which also seemed to have a voice of its own.
Daniel finished clearing his mind and decided to play for a while, taking up the cittern and running through a lively ditty to waken his mind and imagination before his upcoming battle. The door opened and Garlin looked in, a curious expression on his face.
“What is that?” he asked in a tone of grave solemnity.
Shit! Daniel normally stopped playing when any of the wardens were near enough to hear, but he had been so caught up in his playing that he had forgotten to keep watch.
“It’s just music,” he said defensively, praying inwardly that Garlin wouldn’t create some reason to confiscate his cittern. Briefly, he considered killing the other man. The thought of another session of punishment with Thillmarius was enough to make him break into a cold sweat and nearly lose control of his bowels, but losing his music again was too terrible to contemplate.
Garlin stepped inside and closed the door. He saw the desperate look on Daniel’s face and suddenly realized he might be flirting with death. “Now, Tyrion, I won’t tell anyone. I’ve just never heard anything like that before.”
“Isn’t it time to be going to the arena?” suggested Daniel, uncomfortable with the other man in his room.
“Yeah,” said the warden, “but we can spare a minute. Make it do that thing again, the sounds…”
“You really won’t tell?” asked Daniel.
Garlin nodded.
Taking up the cittern again, Daniel ran through a short playful melody. The original song had been something to do with a small boy and an old man hunting in the forest, but Daniel had forgotten the words.
He finished and looked at Garlin, “We should go.”
Garlin seemed lost in thought as they walked to the arena. “Will you let me hear it again afterward?”
“I’m worried that I’ll be punished if they discover me playing music,” said Daniel.
The warden struggled for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “Please?” he said at last.
Daniel wondered then if he had ever heard anyone use the word ‘please’ since he had come to Ellentrea. He was fairly certain that that was the first time. “Alright,” he answered, “but you have to keep it a secret.”
The battle that day proved to be different than those in the past.
Daniel found himself facing three opponents now, rather than two. How many people do I have to kill before this ends? He wondered. One, came the answer in his mind, kill yourself, and then it’s done.
“Like hell I will,” he muttered to himself as he strode out to take his place. A sudden thunderclap shook the arena, as if in response to his determination. Glancing up, Daniel saw that the sky was clear, except for a few clouds.
When the lights turned red, he started forward, drawing lines and shapes on the ground as he went, seemingly at random. It was something he had begun doing at the start of every fight. Frequently it confused his enemies, making them hesitate as they pondered, trying to anticipate his tactics. In reality, it was just as random as it appeared. Often he would dance with his opponents, creating shields and walls, to trap or defend as the occasion demanded. He tried to avoid having a discernable plan.
One of his opponents, a woman with short black hair, transformed; her flesh flowing and sprouting feathers as she became a giant hawk of some sort before launching herself into the air. She shielded herself even during the transformation, a notable feat.
A Gaelyn mage, and a strong one, noted Daniel mentally. Her mobility might complicate matters, depending upon the talents of the other two. Too distracted by thoughts of Garlin and his musical interest, Daniel had failed to take note of the names of his opponents.
The hawk sent several probing attacks downward at him while the two men remaining on the other side of the arena walked sideways, moving apart from one another. Daniel stepped into a large circle nearby and raised a dome shaped shield around himself. He immediately regretted the mistake.
Both of the men vanished, reappearing beside him inside the shield. They were both Mordan mages. They struck instantly, using brute force to try to shatter his weaker personal shield.
A year before it would have worked, but he was much stronger these days. Now, it was merely painful. Straining to hold his inner shield and maintain the outer one, Daniel swept his bladed arms outward, spinning in place to bisect his enemies. They teleported away before his weapons could strike.
Cursing his own stupidity, Daniel released the outer shield and began running. If he had paid attention when the announcer had been speaking, he would have been ready for the teleportation ambush. His delayed response had cost him a valuable opportunity to kill two of his three enemies. The fight might be a lot more protracted now.
The hawk was becoming annoying. It flew too well to be caught by the rocks he sent whistling toward it and moved too fast to be struck by any of his truly powerful attacks. Given a chance to concentrate on just that, he could have killed the Gaelyn mage rapidly, but Daniel had to keep moving to make it difficult for the Mordan mages to focus their attacks on him.
The space is too large, he realized. His opponents’ mobility in such an open area gave them a large advantage.
Dodging to one side to avoid another attack from the hawk, Daniel drew a new line as he ran, bisecting the arena. Once it was complete, he raised a gigantic, although relatively weak shield across the entire field, separating it into two parts. The hawk was forced to veer away to avoid striking the wall as it flew.
The Mordan laughed, ignoring the shield, as they teleported to join their ally inside the half that Daniel occupied. He continued running and drew a new line to further bisect the half they were in into quarters. Each time he made a new line, it reduced the area the hawk had to fly within. As the area grew smaller, he released the larger shields that he no longer needed; they didn’t affect the Mordan mages’ mobility anyway.
The two Mordan were forced to stay close, though. Their presence was necessary to prevent Daniel from killing their Gaelyn ally. If they retreated to the more open part of the arena they would lose the hawk, and the match would soon be over after that.
When the area the hawk was trapped within was no more than thirty yards across Daniel stopped, creating a small circular shield around himself. This shield was different than others he had used in the past, for he created it as a cylinder, open at the top and rising all the way to the top of the arena, where the She’Har shield prevented them from escaping. At the same time he sealed the rest of the area that the other mages were within.
Their assaults on his shield became more intense, and one attempted to remove the earth from beneath his feet, but Daniel had already created a solid platform beneath himself.
Before they could do more, Daniel ignited the air within the small area, turning it into an inferno. The temperature soared, though the flames failed to touch any of the shielded mages, but Daniel kept them going. After ten seconds the heat became so intense that the Mordan mages teleported out, unable to refresh the air within their shields.
The Gaelyn wizard was not so lucky.
Once the fight had been reduced to a mere two against one, things got much easier. No longer forced to defend against three strong attackers, Daniel moved to the center of the arena and shielded himself with a small dome, too small for the Mordan to teleport within. Then he raised the wind and used it to scour the earth, whipping up dirt and small stones. It was one of his favorite methods for disposing of Mordan and Prathion mages.
It took a minute to create enough velocity to begin causing them trouble, but he didn’t let up until the entire arena was filled with one enormous cyclone of howling air. A few minutes after that, he felt them die.
Daniel basked in the crowd’s cheering. This is my life now, he thought, no longer entirely dissatisfied. The blood of my enemies and my music, that is all I have—and the occasional moment with Amarah. It was not the life he would have chosen, that life still haunted him in his dreams, where he sometimes tended his father’s sheep and would often get a glimpse of green eyes and red hair.
Thillmarius congratulated him, and Garlin was soon taking him back to his room.
“How many did you kill before you became a warden?” asked Daniel.
The warden frowned, “Almost fifty, Tyrion.”
Daniel had slain more than a hundred and fifty. At some point in his first year he had begun marking his kills, scratching lines into one of the walls of his room, but he couldn’t be sure how many had died before he started keeping track. The full tally might be closer to two hundred now. Thillmarius really does plan to keep this up until I fail.
“Surely they will run out of people for me to kill someday.” How many humans could they have? Ellentrea was large, but Daniel had spent a considerable amount of time trying to estimate how many arena matches occurred every week. He already knew that they held matches on only one day, and that his matches had long ago been changed to be the last of the day. Always save the best till last.
By his very rough calculation, at least seventeen people died every week, eighteen now, if they planned to keep putting him against three every time. Seventeen or eighteen was the most conservative of his estimates, it might be higher. Since he wasn’t allowe
d to watch the other matches he couldn’t be sure. Even if it’s only seventeen a week, that’s almost a thousand people a year.
“How many people do you think they keep, Garlin?”
The other man looked at him oddly, “No one knows.”
“Guess for me,” said Daniel. “I know even less than you.”
Garlin had shown himself to be one of the more intelligent people whom Daniel had met since coming to Ellentrea, but he was still far from a deep thinker. His upbringing in the pens had guaranteed that. “You will still let me hear it when we get back to your room?”
By ‘it’ he meant the music. Garlin was the closest thing Daniel had to a friend, other than Amarah, and yet he still felt the need to ensure that Daniel would play for him. He didn’t know whether to feel sorry for the other man’s untrusting nature or himself for inspiring so little trust. Such was life in Ellentrea.
“I will play several songs for you Garlin, whether you give me good answers or not,” he told the other man.
The warden nodded. “Ellentrea has many thousands of people in it, many like the woman who brings your food.”
“How many thousands?”
Garlin frowned, “I do not know, but more than twenty. Thillmarius takes a count each year, and I overheard him discussing it with another of his people once. At that time it was close to twenty-three.”
Daniel thought about it for a while before replying, “That isn’t enough, Garlin. Even that many people can’t produce enough children to supply so many victims for the arena.” He also suspected that the death rate of children in the pens might be very high. Even if they bred their humans like rabbits the She’Har would not have enough.
“Ellentrea is not the only camp providing warriors for the arena,” said Garlin. “There are three others.”
“Three others?” Daniel was aghast. Even as large as the world Thillmarius had shown him was, he had never considered the possibility that they might be keeping more than one ‘city’ for their slaves.
The Mountains Rise Page 20
