by Rose Estes
“You said you were her friend. We are her friends, too. She risked a great deal by coming here and she trusted you to help her. If she is hurt or in danger, we must find out. We must help. That is what friends are for.”
Saviq tried to pull away, but Braldt would not release her wrist. Finally, she stammered out a reply which Braldt interpreted as saying that she would try to find out what had happened. He let her go, fixing her with a steely glare and hoping that she would do as she said. If she did not, there was really nothing he could do to convince her otherwise.
But Saviq had indeed given her word, even though Braldt had guessed more than understood her meaning. She fretted over the indignity of being seized by the young man, yet, still, it was very bold and daring of him and she could not help but admire him for his courage. None of the other prisoners would dared to have touched her for fear of reprisals. Little did they know that she hated and feared the guards as much as they did. She pushed her heavy cart back to her cubbyhole, ignoring the cries of thirsty inmates which she seldom allowed to penetrate her consciousness, far preferring to ruminate on her own dark thoughts.
She sighed deeply as she sank down next to the fire and felt the deep ache in her ancient bones. She was tired. She was old and alone and had no one to love her. Did it matter if she was killed? There were none who would mourn her, except perhaps the woman Lomi, she who should have been her enemy but was her only friend. She wrapped her scaly limbs in yet another blanket and shivered. She was cold all the time now and it was a cold that no amount of blankets or fire could warm.
The old gods spoke of a place where all those who died were reunited. In her youth, when old age and death were but a foreign concept, she had scoffed at such beliefs. It seemed so obvious—when one died, one died, there was nothing more. But now, after a lifetime of sorrow, with pain her constant companion and all she had loved gone, Saviq wanted nothing more than to believe that the old gods knew what they were talking about. Briefly, she wondered if she would still be old and ugly and her lover young and handsome as the day he died when they met again. She banished the thought from her mind.
She resolved that she would venture into the vast complex that housed the Scandis as soon as night fell and attempt to find the woman who had been her friend. That much she would do, and if she was killed, well, life had been anything but good; one could only pray that death would be more kind.
It was many hours before darkness fell and traffic lessened in the corridors. It was not an ordinary day. It seemed that things had been strange ever since the night that Lomi came. There had been no games since that day and it was obvious even to her that the Scandis were worried about something. Briefly, she wondered what it could be.
She tried to tell herself that the sight of one old water carrier would not alarm anyone and that she would be allowed to pass simply because she was no one of importance. But it did not work that way. She passed through the last of the prisoner and animal quarters and immediately found herself challenged by a pair of nervous young guards. They were not Scandis but aliens from another world, and although fearful of making a mistake, they were not as alert as a Scandi would have been.
Saviq knew they would not be able to understand her. It was a knack she had cultivated when she discovered how much it annoyed the Scandis. They were so superior, it was almost beyond their comprehension that one of their brilliant devices would fail to do as they wished. It pleased her immensely to foil them with even such a little matter, speaking so that nothing she said could be understood. Now, she looked the two guards in the eyes and babbled at them, saying nothing that made sense, but dropping an occasional word that could be understood— the name of the Lady Lomi, order, urgent, angry, council. The guards looked at each other in confusion. Saviq repeated her message a second time, in a slightly louder voice, and stepped toward the guards, bumping them slightly. She hid her amusement as the guards parted, allowing her to pass, asking each other what she had said.
This ploy worked well and allowed her to penetrate into the heart of the Scandi complex, passing two more sets of guards and leaving them in confusion. Authority worked the same everywhere, she mused, on all races no matter what their planet of origin. Everyone was afraid of making a mistake and equally afraid of making a decision. So long as one acted confident and slightly demanding, the odds were in your favor that you could force your will on others.
Now that she had succeeded in finding her way into the heart of enemy territory, there was another problem. She had no idea of how to go about finding the Lady Lomi. A figure scurried toward her, a shriveled-up, little, old woman, even tinier and older than she was, clinging to the wall and seemingly fearful of her own shadow. A thought took shape in Saviq’s mind, one that brought a sly grin to her misshapen muzzle. She hobbled over to the woman, smiling to herself as the woman cringed back in fear, her serving tray and the silver objects that it held rattling loudly.
“Where is the Lady Lomi?” Saviq demanded, taking care to speak clearly.
The woman began to speak, her words tumbling over themselves in a breathless rush, the fear apparent in her eyes. For the first time ever, Saviq was glad for her frightening appearance. At first she could make no sense of the woman’s words, for she seemed to be saying that Lomi’s rooms were in one direction, but Lomi herself in another. Saviq frowned with impatience, then reached out and grabbed the woman who dropped the tray and shrieked loudly.
“Stop that, old fool,” Saviq snarled. “Stop that or I will eat you,” she said, although she would never have done such a thing. The woman ceased her screeching instantly. “Better. Now take me to the Lady Lomi, and no tricks or I will nibble your fingers one by one. Understand?”
The woman nodded, her head bobbing up and down rapidly, her eyes as big as the saucers she had dropped. Together, the old serving woman and the ancient reptile made their way down the darkened hall.
21
“We must get rid of him; there is too much danger in allowing him to live.” There was a murmur of agreement.
“How would it be done?” asked one of the men gathered around the circular table, quirking one perfectly shaped blond eyebrow.
“I say make no fuss about it, quick and simple, do away with him. It does not matter how—poison, a knife in the back, or for that matter, transport him out to space,” said another, smoothing his already immaculately groomed pale, blond hair back from his high forehead.
“I don’t think you understand the delicacy of the problem,” said the first speaker, who appeared on the top step of the dais every game day, the man known as Kiefer.
“Why don’t you explain it to us, Kiefer,” said Jorund as he smiled at his superior, the man who was in charge of the entire installation on Rototara.
Kiefer frowned at Jorund, unable as always to decide whether his second-in-command was being purposely disrespectful. But Jorund met his gaze openly and smiled encouragingly, leaning forward as though anxious to hear what words of wisdom Kiefer might convey. Kiefer frowned again, wondering for perhaps the millionth time how he had been so unlucky as to be saddled with one whose loyalties he did not command.
In Jorund’s youth, there had been that business with the rebels. The association alone would have condemned a lesser man to dismal duty on some farflung outpost, but Jorund had been powerfully connected, his father being old Brandtson’s best friend and a highborn Thane himself. The two old men had protected Jorund from the reprisals that had shaken the Council following the uprisings and they had guided and safeguarded his career ever since.
Jorund had never given Kiefer any reason to distrust him, following his every order with alacrity, but still, there was no sense of camaraderie with the man, no real friendship, and always, there was the suspicion of mockery. It made a man uncomfortable. Now, here was a challenge of sorts, having to explain himself when just the order itself should have been sufficient. Still, the older men would probably need to have it spelled out for them.
“I do
not believe that it is wise to make a martyr out of this man, this Braldt,” Kiefer said smoothly. “If he were to die under suspicious circumstances, who knows what mischief might arise because of it.”
“What are you saying, Kiefer?” demanded one of the oldest members of their circle, his bushy eyebrows lowered in a dark scowl.
“I’m saying that even after all these years there are those who still remember and would rally around the cause if they were given the opportunity. I’m sure that I do not need to remind you that we are not without our enemies, those who would welcome the chance to bring us down.”
Another of the older members cleared his throat nervously and stroked his white beard. “You think they still live, those who believed in this business?’
“I am certain they still live,” replied Kiefer. “Many of them were highborn and protected by their birth. Their identities were unknown to us in most instances. Many years have passed since those days, but I do not doubt that they still harbor their beliefs. Many of them have doubtless inherited or attained positions of power in the intervening years. They will be more powerful and more difficult to vanquish this time. That is why I believe that we must arrange it so that this Braldt dies in the ring, having been given a fair chance to survive.”
“How will you arrange that?” asked Jorund. “After all, he and his team have been quite successful at staying alive, and far longer than the norm, I might add.”
“Thank you for that observation,” Kiefer said dryly. “Yes, it’s true that he and his team have defeated others whom we thought would put an end to them early on. It has surprised many of us who wagered against them. They’ve managed to develop an effective technique that has served them well against all manner of opponents. Furthermore, none of them are stupid and this has been an advantage over those who depend on sheer strength to win. But I have a plan that I do not think can fail. I think it’s rather clever, if I do say so myself, and if we are lucky, the problem will resolve itself.”
“What is this final solution?” asked Jorund, tenting his fingers and resting his chin upon them.
“The Madrelli,” Kiefer answered. “As you know, we brought the apeman through the transmitter shortly after Braldt arrived. A woman was with him, a woman whom we believe this Braldt cares about. Putting the two teams in the ring together should give us a fairly good chance of them killing each other off.”
“Am I missing something here?” rumbled the older man with the beard. “If they are friends and lovers, why would they fight, much less kill each other?”
“Forgive me,” said Kiefer. “I have been following this matter so closely, I forget that the details are not more widely known. But again, that is to our advantage.
“As you know, the pain center in the Madrelli is located in a narrow channel in their ears. Our ancestors designed them this way when they first manipulated their genetics to give them a way of controlling the beasts; pain is a most effective control. But the Madrelli was injured shortly before he left K7; one of his ears was torn off, making him impervious to pain.
“Also, he has gone without formicase, the additive which make the Madrelli sapient and tractable. He has been without it now for more than a month. Our doctors have been most interested at the speed with which he has regressed. He is now barely above his natural animalistic state, which as you know is very quick to anger and easily driven into manic rages.”
“Interesting,” murmured the older man. “But what does the woman have to do with this and why should young Braldt fight the Madrelli? There is nothing wrong with him and he has no reason to fight one who has been his friend.”
“Another interesting turn of events,” said Kiefer. “As the Madrelli lapsed into his primitive state, he seemed to forget who the woman is or what she had meant to him. He forgot that they were platonic friends.”
“Surely you don’t mean that—that!…” exclaimed the older man, half rising to his feet.
“No, no,” said Kiefer. “Not yet, at any rate, although I would not doubt that such a thing might eventually happen… but you see, that’s just the point. The Madrelli no longer recognizes the woman, so there is no reason to think that he will recognize young Braldt, he will merely see an enemy who must be killed if he himself is to live.”
“But the woman will recognize Braldt,” said Jorund.
“Precisely,” said Kiefer. “Now do you understand? The woman will see Braldt and attempt to go to him. The Madrelli will do everything to stop his woman from leaving him. And if she succeeds and makes her way to Braldt, well then, the Madrelli will be more determined than ever to kill Braldt and get her back.”
“But there are four on Braldt’s team and only two on the other.”
“It will not matter,” Kiefer said with a humorless smile. “The Madrelli is unbelievably strong, stronger than all four of his opponents added together.”
“But they are armed with blades and the Madrelli has never used more than a single club!” protested the older man.
“With the Madrelli’s longer reach,” Kiefer explained patiently, “he can keep the others at bay so that they cannot use their weapons, and bash their heads in before they can think of another plan.”
“If he succeeds in killing them, this Madrelli,” the older man said thoughtfully, “what will we do about him and the woman? Will we have to kill them, too?”
Kiefer shrugged. “We will not have to kill him. All we have to do is continue to withhold the formicase. Soon he will regress to a total animal state. He has already lost all but the most primitive bits of language; in a short time, he will have lost even that. How can he do us any damage if he cannot speak?”
“But the woman has not lost intelligence or the ability to speak,” Jorund pointed out helpfully. Kiefer shot him a black look.
“I think our young beauty will have her hands full,” said Kiefer. “Having won her away from Braldt, the Madrelli will surely claim her as his own. No, I do not think she will have time for talking.”
The news of their next bout was delivered to them by the captain of the guards, that same overly muscled hulk who had seldom missed the opportunity to make their lives miserable. It sometimes seemed that he resented their success and the fact that they were still alive. He stood in front of their cell smiling at them in a manner that boded no good.
“You fight in the morning,” he said in the odd, sibilant garble that was the language of his home world. The translating device issued the pronouncement inside their heads in clipped, accentless tones. “You will not be so lucky this time, I think. I think I will see none of your faces here tomorrow night. At least they will no longer look like the same faces!” He laughed uproariously at his own humor.
Randi blanched, but took care not to let her fear show. “What is so special about this fight?” she asked casually. “We have fought many opponents—most of whom you bet upon—and we defeated them. Why should tomorrow be any different? We will win again, as always.”
“Ho, ho, I think not,” laughed the guard. “This one is undefeated as well, and from what I hear, you don’t stand a chance. He’s fighting for his mate, too, so that should make him twice as mean. Good luck, or I think I will say, good-bye!” His laughter bounced off the walls and echoed back as he walked away.
“Do you think it’s true?” Septua asked anxiously, his face puckering up in a grimace of worry.
“He has no reason to lie,” Braldt said with a shrug. “He hates us because he has bet against us and we have always won. He would tell us the truth if it made us unhappy.”
“Well, who is it, do you suppose?” Septua persisted. “I thought we were the only ones undefeated. How come we have not met this one as yet? I thought we knew everyone there was. Why are they adding someone new to the games now?”
“I have heard that there was another,” Allo said thoughtfully. “I heard the healers speaking of him when they were working on me. They either did not know or did not care that I was listening.”
�
�What did they say?” Septua asked impatiently.
“I did not understand a lot of what they said,” Allo said slowly, casting his mind back to that time of pain. “They spoke about an injury to the creature’s ear. Some grievous accident had occurred to the ear and they seemed to regard it more seriously than I would have expected. After all, an ear is only an ear and not as important as an arm or a leg. They talked about it a good deal.”
Braldt began to smile. “If it is the creature I am thinking of, an injury to its ear would matter greatly and also explain why it is undefeated. The Madrelli’s ability to feel pain is governed by delicate crystals in their ears. If the ears are damaged, or in this case all but removed, the Madrelli are incapable of feeling pain. Their strength is legendary. I fear that our good friends the Masters are in for a surprise, and once again, the captain has bet on the wrong side, or the contestants will be the only winners in this bout.”
“What are you saying?” Randi asked.
“This one with the injured ear can be none other than my good friend, the Madrelli, Batta Flor. I myself would be willing to bet on it. Somehow, he came through the transmitter after me; perhaps it sucked him through. By the gods! That means… I wonder if Keri and Beast!… Allo, did the healers mention any others who might be with the injured one?”
Allo shook his head in the negative and Braldt looked downcast. “Still,” he said, “having Batta Flor on our side can only be a positive step. We must try to think how we can turn this to our advantage. With Batta Flor fighting alongside us, we cannot help but win. If Keri and my lupebeast are with him, we will be invincible!”
“Who is this Keri?” Randi asked, and Braldt realized that while he had told the others the story of how he had come to be on Rototara, for some reason he had made no specific mention of Keri, at least not by name. He could not explain the strange omission, not even to himself. With Randi’s large, green eyes studying him intently, he stammered through an awkward explanation, stressing the fact that Keri was his adopted sister. The more he tried to explain, the more awkward and uncomfortable he became. Randi said nothing, but her eyes seemed to spark with anger. Braldt’s voice trailed off and he wondered why he felt as though he had done something wrong.
