Sovereign's Gladiator

by Jez Morrow

  “Our uniforms wore out,” Kani said. “We make do. We don’t like to go begging back to the capital if we can fend for ourselves.”

  “You should look like Raenthe.”

  Devon was aware of eyes rolling around him, as if the Sovereign had been so petty as to travel all the way from Calista City just to take issue with the color of the provincial dress.

  Some of the green-clad men bore red tattoos on their left hands, all the same design, a serpent within a circle. Devon did not know what that signified.

  “Uniforms should be uniform,” Devon said with finality. He assumed Kani and his men would fall in line.

  There was a lot of Raenthe technology on display inside the immense walls—a water wheel, plumbing, metalwork.

  Raenthe civilization existed behind the fortress walls, but nowhere else in the wild lands under Devon’s rule. Kani’s civilizing hadn’t got anywhere. Devon had expected more from his deputy.

  “Men get cut down outside these walls,” Kani told Devon. “A lot of good people never came back.”

  Kani took Devon around the fortress. When they passed a dust pit that was ringed by high walls and tiered banks of seats, Devon stopped dead. Devon spoke in hollow surprise, “You have an arena.”

  “That?” Kani said. “That is an exercise area.”

  It was a pit with high walls and an iron-reinforced door, overlooked by stadium benches.

  “You are not permitted an arena,” said Devon, stern.

  The arena was serious business, a terrible place where were held games that were not really games at all. Gladiatorial matches must have a profound purpose or they were nothing but barbarous bloodshed. Arenas belonged to state rulers only—Princes and Sovereigns. Outpost governors had not the right.

  The only lawful arena in Shiliya Province was Devon’s arena in Calista City.

  “Oh, the walls?” said Kani. “Animal trainers also use that space. There are vicious creatures in the hills.”

  “No games?” Devon asked in dread concern.

  Gladiatorial combat was a rite of redemption and honor. Not a sport.

  Kani smiled, hand over his heart again with a slight bow that asked how could Devon even ask him that? “It is not permitted, ma dahn.”

  Kani joined Devon on the ramparts as the sun was going down. The two rested their forearms on the carved stone balustrade and watched the western horizon turn bloody. Kani passed Devon a heavy electrum goblet filled with wine. “Here. You don’t have this in Calista City.”

  Devon sipped the offered wine. He lifted his brows appreciatively. “We should have this in Calista City.” Why weren’t the locals trading this stuff? There was no trade at all of goods between the capital and the wild lands. There should be trade by now.

  Kani chuckled and drank from his goblet.

  As the sun tucked under the western hills Devon saw fires on the black heights. The blazes were too big to be nomad campfires. “What is that?” Devon asked, poised to dispatch soldiers at once to help the locals fight the blaze.

  “Retaliation,” said Kani.

  “You mean we did that?” Devon said, staring at the blaze.

  “We cannot let the savages get away with the attack on your person. Burning a settlement or two will let them know they will always pay for what they do. More gladiators for your arena, eh?”

  “I really don’t need more gladiators,” said Devon.

  “It needs to be done. You saw what these people do.”

  “But why do they do it? My rule is not harsh.”

  “There you have it. They are animals.”

  Devon nodded out at the flames on the hillside. “Are those the homes of the men who attacked me?”

  Devon had come from the southeast. The burning settlement lay to the west.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kani said. “They need to know that too—that it doesn’t matter which of them commits the crime. Sooner or later they will learn that what one of them does falls on them all. That’ll teach them a lesson.”

  It would. But Devon was not sure what lesson this was teaching.

  The sun was completely gone. Torch fires lit the vast citadel. In the sumptuous chamber provided to him, Devon dressed for dinner.

  The room led off from a half bridge, which overlooked a wide, high great room below. Stairs at either end of the half bridge led down. A guard station stood at the base of each stairway. It was like being in an eagle’s nest.

  The chamber for the Sovereign’s first guardsman was next to his.

  Devon found his first guardsman in his doorway.

  Devon had not admitted the gladiator into his chamber. Yet here he was. “Xan?”

  “What is appropriate to wear to a governor’s dinner?” Xan asked.

  Devon shook his head, assured him, “You don’t have to be there.”

  “I should not leave your side.”

  “This fortress is even stronger than mine. Nothing can happen at dinner. You will secure this chamber while I dine.”

  “If the fortress is secure, what am I looking for?” Xan asked.

  “Spies.”

  “You think someone will spy?”

  “I know they will if they can.” Devon turned and presented himself. “How do I look?”

  Xan wore a remote expression between softness and pain. “You take my breath away.”

  He made Devon blush.

  The dining hall was set in a coarse sort of opulence.

  Crossed spears with ermine tails were arranged heraldically over the high entry arch. Devon pointed up, “I have a spear just like those. It’s stuck in my litter.”

  “I have a whole collection of savage weapons,” Kani said. “They’re quite beautiful in a brute sort of way. The wild men make an art of their barbarity. I’ll have to show my collection to you.”

  Dinner was a sumptuous, vulgar affair. The diners reclined on couches, as civilized folk did. But here a buxom nymph sat at the foot of each couch. Devon, trying to converse with his governor, kept getting distracted. Three of the other diners were reclining on their backs, their couchmates sitting astride them, their hips rocking forward and back. Devon glanced, glanced again. What he was looking at was not frottage. The women were taking penetration. This had been going on for some moments now.

  Sly looks passed among the three mounted men, challenging. Apparently it was a contest to see who could last the longest.

  It was a very Raenthe sort of entertainment, but definitely not high class. You found this kind of dare at dockside taverns, yes. State dinners, no.

  Devon had been critical of Kani from the moment of his arrival, so the Sovereign refrained from commenting now on what was not important.

  Devon tried to get back to business, but he kept catching humping glimpses out of the corner of his eye. He heard now and then a heavy escaping gasp of slipping control.

  Devon looked again. The hand clutching one woman’s hip bore a red tattoo. A lot of Kani’s men had them. Devon made out the pattern. It was not a Raenthe mark. The red serpent in the circle might be a native symbol. Was Devon’s provincial garrison going native? Devon didn’t like it.

  The blonde woman on the nearest couch crouched forward like a leopardess over her man, her hips high so her man was nearly out of her except for his tip. His gleaming hard shaft was on display. The woman’s hair was glittering wet. She lowered herself down to consume him. She shot a side glance at another woman on another couch. The women were exchanging glances as well. There was another wager going on here.

  The men were vying to see who could last the longest. The women were seeing who could make her man come first.

  The blonde threw her head back so that her long hair brushed the tops of her man’s thighs. The posture thrust her breasts out. The man’s hands squeezed and re-gripped her breasts. His face screwed up. He sweated, fighting for control.

  Kani caught Devon watching them. “Who do you like?”

  The question startled Devon. Then he caught on. It was a si
de wager. Devon dodged the question. He nodded toward the man under the blonde and said laconically, “I hope you don’t have money on that one, Kani. I think he’s done for.”

  The man yelped, “I think so too!” He dragged his woman down hard on him, and abandoned himself to the last throes of passion, pumping hard and fast, making her buck. She laughed, triumphant.

  All pretense of conversation was interrupted by the man’s exultant wailing.

  As he came down from climax, the man realized his defeat and told the woman astride him, “I won’t pay you.”

  One of the two men still in contention said brightly, “I will!”

  The other two women were riding their racehorses, fast. One woman reached back and squeezed the balls of her mount.

  Devon had a hard-on, despite his mild disgust. Erect cocks, wet balls and male thighs couldn’t help but arouse him.

  Devon’s own dinner companion, seated at the foot of his couch, was trying to get him interested. Her hand stole up his thigh. He gently brushed her off.

  Kani noticed his gesture. “You don’t like desert women, ma dahn?”

  “They’re extraordinary,” Devon said. “But unless the food or the company is bad, they’re too distracting at dinner.”

  “I can send two or three to your chamber for later. Take your pick before they’re used.”

  “No, Kani,” Devon said, forced to be blunt. “I was trying to be gracious, but truth is, I did not come here for pleasure. You can’t do better than the capital for that.” Devon produced a gold coin. He flipped it at one of the two remaining contenders and commanded him, “Finish.”

  The humping sped up and spent quickly.

  Kani got a mean look in his eyes. He said, “You’re very young for a hard-ass.”

  “I was not chosen Sovereign for the softness of my ass,” said Devon.

  At that, Kani seemed to remember his station. He became contrite. “I’m afraid we must strike you as crude and primitive out here in the wilds.”

  Yes, you do, Devon thought. He said instead, “Don’t worry. I did not come here to be entertained. If I wanted delights, I’d have stayed in Calista City or Laklare.”

  Kani settled back, mollified. “I have heard of your spectacles in the capital. I would love to see a gladiatorial contest.”

  “I can arrange that,” said Devon. “Soon.”

  Kani’s bushy dark brows lifted, wary.

  “It is a hard duty here. I see that. Kani, I am sending you home to a well-deserved rest.”

  The governor erupted with a roar and a sloshing of wine as his heavy goblet slammed down onto his table. “No!”

  Devon was ready for this reaction. He had seen this before. Men in dire circumstance grew to love their hardship. It warped the soul and made the soul cling to what was destroying it.

  “Go home,” Devon said evenly. “Things will look different in time.”

  Kani great paws gestured as if grasping for hope out of the air. “I know I’ve disappointed you, ma dahn. You don’t understand the needs of this place. I do.”

  “I know I don’t know this land,” Devon said. “But it needs fresh eyes. You know this place too well. You will feel better back in civilization. You have provided a great service in a brutal land. I left you out here too long. You’ve become too accustomed to brutality. Let go the burden. It is not yours anymore. Don’t fight me on this, Kani.”

  “You can’t do this to me!”

  “You are not happy now. You will be. You must trust me.”

  Kani took a huge breath, exhaled with lowered eyes. “Yes. I’m holding on too tight.”

  “Don’t dwell on it,” Devon said. “Know that I am not angry. This winter of your soul will pass. Now forgive me if I pass on the dessert course. We’ll talk again in the daylight.”

  Devon rose.

  His couchmate looked up hopefully for an invitation to follow him.

  She didn’t get it.

  Devon passed the guard station at the base of one of the flights of stairs that led to his chamber. He nodded to the guard and ascended. His chamber door stood open. Fire shadows moved within.

  As Devon neared, he heard a husky female voice inside the chamber sing out, “I found the whore door!”

  “I won’t be needing that,” Devon said, appearing in the entranceway.

  Xan and the first triad of guardsmen looked up, stopped what they were doing.

  The first triad comprised the bald twins, Milus and Silas, and the broad young woman, Rodriga. They all snapped to attention before their Sovereign.

  Devon waved them down. “Carry on.”

  Rodriga was standing beside a secret entrance. It had been well camouflaged, blending in perfectly with the rest of the wall.

  The secret door could be barred from the inside. Its heavy crosspiece looked like part of the room’s decorative molding.

  The other side of the secret door had no crossbar. Devon could lock people out. He could not be locked in. No harm in that.

  The secret door led out to a narrow rock stair that spiraled down in perfect darkness to a secret exit on the rear side of the citadel.

  Such a passage was good for smuggling in illicit lovers. It was no use to Devon.

  Though he supposed a second exit was a good thing to have. “Just make sure this is barred fast from the inside tonight.”

  “Ma dahn,” Rodriga acknowledged with a brisk nod.

  Devon’s guards had also found the spyholes. Milus and Silas had patched them. There were a lot of them.

  “Kani’s men told us the peepholes are for the slaves. So they can look in on you and see if you need anything without disturbing you by asking.”

  Devon had noticed that Kani regarded his slaves as animals and didn’t concern himself with privacy from their eyes.

  Devon wanted the spyholes masked off.

  “We got all of ‘em, ma dahn,” Rodriga said.

  Devon lifted a ringed forefinger toward the ceiling. “Did you look up?”

  Rodriga swore and hastily left the chamber.

  There was no lock at all on the entrance door from the landing.

  “I can install a bar, ma dahn,” Xan offered.

  “Not necessary,” said Devon.

  There were guard stations at the base of both sets of stairs. An intruder would need to use a grappling hook to climb up here from the big hall below without passing the guard stations. And they would be noticed if they tried.

  Rodriga’s thumping footsteps sounded on the ceiling, and, in a moment, her voice sounded from above, a little too clearly, “Silas, you sunburned the top of your head.”

  Devon nodded up to the hole above Silas’ head. “Cover that.”

  Silas looked up to the fingers—Rodriga’s—wiggling through the spyhole. Silas dragged a heavy chest across the floor to stand on while he nailed a metal plate over the hole.

  Rodriga came back down, and the triad finished securing the room.

  Xan had a fire going in the hearth.

  “Thank you,” Devon said and dismissed them.

  He was alone in the chamber.

  His door opened again.

  Xan had returned. Devon regarded him for a fearful moment that extended as if time itself had stopped.

  Xan’s overwhelming masculinity filled the chamber.

  “I will call you if I need you,” Devon said and turned his back.

  His fear was realized.

  Xan’s hand closed on the back of his neck, as one might collar a child, but not like a child at all. Devon felt the intent in Xan’s hand. Desire flowed through his palm in a strong current, powerful sexuality in it. Devon smelled male passion.

  And Devon’s pulse leapt. A tingle prickled under his jaw. A singing filled his head. He tasted the sourness of fear. Elation burned in his blood. Expectation fluttered in his middle. His balls clenched like fists with his cock’s rising.

  This could not be happening. This was an assault on the Sovereign. Xan wouldn’t dare.

&nbs
p; He dared.

  Chapter Five

  Oh gods.

  Does the racehorse tremble so when he submits control of his power to another? Does he trust his rider to drive him where he wants to go—because go he must.

  Devon did not command Xan to stop. He feared Xan would not obey. Then Devon, the Sovereign, would need to kill him.

  And right at this moment, Devon would rather die than tell Xan to stop. It was only what Devon wanted.

  Xan’s palm glided slowly down Devon’s arm, warm. Xan’s touch made Devon shudder in fear and need. Xan traced Devon’s hard muscles and elegant bones. It was the lightest of gestures, yet so personal, so powerful.

  Xan’s fingertips caressed the backs of Devon’s fingers and glided back up his arm and across his shoulder.

  Xan’s hand slid up Devon’s neck under his jaw to hold his head as he might hold a goblet. Devon murmured, “How dare you!”

  Xan spoke, so close behind him Devon felt his breath move his hair, “You radiate desire.”

  Do I?

  Xan’s hand moved down again, smoothing soft fire across Devon’s shoulder, down the length of his arm, raising all the short hairs on his body. Devon was afraid of him. Afraid of himself.

  Xan stepped in closer. Their clothes brushed. Devon felt Xan’s body heat the full length of his back.

  Xan moved Devon’s hair off the back of his neck with a light brush of his hand that left Devon breathless.

  The first soft press of lips on his nape was electric. Xan’s lips grazed across the back of Devon’s neck, sending him flying into soaring wonder.

  Then Xan’s hard, scar-flecked arms encircled Devon’s waist from behind and drew him flush against his hard body. The gladiator’s sex pressed against Devon’s ass.

  Xan loosed the cross pin that clasped Devon’s belt. The belt ends fell free. The belt stayed up now only by the pressure between their bodies.

  “You could die for this,” Devon whispered.