Raegith had the fighter on his knees, stunned. Gripping the big henchman’s shoulder, Raegith finished him off by bringing his elbow down on the back of his skull while dropping the man’s face into his knee, creating a traumatic press on both sides of his cranium. The Rathgar was done and Raegith unceremoniously rolled him off of his knee and down the mound.
Torga had just finished off the last of his opponents and the two of them turned to find each other. They were both wild with bloodlust and adrenaline and both were unsure of what to do next. Staring ahead at the indomitable behemoth in front of him, Raegith simply nodded his head. Torga smiled and then they both collided.
The Rathgar easily plowed Raegith down, but the boy grabbed his leg at the knee and rolled with his momentum, bringing the champion down with him. Raegith climbed Torga’s chest and threw punches at his face, but the warrior covered up with one hand and countered with the other, knocking Raegith off. Torga rolled to his feet in time to catch a kick to the face, but he was barely fazed. He grabbed Raegith’s leg and swung it over his shoulder, slamming the boy into the dirt. Raegith hit hard and coughed up blood onto the mound, his arms dropping outstretched to his sides.
Torga got up and raised his hands to the roaring crowd. Several of them started pointing and screaming. Torga heard the Captain groan and he turned around. Raegith had rolled over and was pushing himself up to his feet. Torga just looked at him for a moment, then grinned and walked up, lifting Raegith to his feet. He slammed two punches into the boy’s midsection and then leveled him with an uppercut that brought the boy off the ground and onto his back.
Torga turned and lifted one arm to the sky, though he did not look up. He walked to the chest and started to grab it when Captain Gomar stepped on the top of it. Torga looked up and growled.
“You’re still not the last one standing, Torga,” the Captain said, pointing toward the mound with his quarterstaff.
Torga turned around to see Raegith braced on his hands and knees, puking up blood and bile. Torga sighed hard and turned back to the Captain.
“Torga won.” The champion waved his outstretched arm around to the spectators. “Everyone sees that.”
“You haven’t won until that green-haired puke is in a deep sleep! Do you understand? There is a lot of money on this fight and I will not leave any doubt. Now go do the only thing you’re useful at and put him down!”
Torga’s chest rumbled, but he said nothing. He turned from the Captain and approached Raegith. Dropping behind the boy, he put one arm around his neck and clamped his hand with the other arm, squeezing the boy’s throat shut.
“No!” the Captain screamed, sending armed guards out to surround the two. “No, you will not end this in such a fashion, Torga! You beat him until he lays down for good!”
Suddenly Raegith flung his head back and bashed Torga in the face. Torga was stunned just long enough for Raegith to spin on him and throw everything he had left in him into one last punch. The blow hit just right. As Raegith crawled away, Torga could only sit there on his knees, blood flowing freely down his face, and stare as the boy got to his feet. Raegith had done something with that last punch that left Torga helpless. Raegith just stood there for a moment, waiting for the champion to get up and come at him, but he did not. He just knelt there, leaning against his hand and watched the blood flow from his face, unable to do anything else.
“This is ridiculous!” the Captain yelled, coming down off the platform and approaching the two. “Can’t you do anything the way you’re supposed to?”
He looked at Torga and then at Raegith and scowled.
“I don’t know how you did it, but you managed to get the upper hand on Torga here. It won’t last long and he’ll be up and on you like flies on shit. Finish him now and the trophy is yours. I’ll even throw in a few of Torga’s women, since he failed me so miserably.”
Raegith looked back at Torga, who was starting to get back on his feet and then he looked around at all of the people watching. Citizens and spectators all had grown silent, awaiting what would happen. Everything around him was still. He looked up and saw Noriko on the third story, leaning over the rail. She looked scared. Raegith had been the most hated person in the Pit up until that fight and now everyone was waiting for him to claim the championship from Torga.
Raegith spit out the blood in his mouth onto the mound and locked eyes with Torga. The Rathgar did not look angry or vengeful. In fact, he looked relieved. Raegith remembered how hesitant the Rathgar warrior was to finish him off at the Captain’s command. He remembered how the Captain had bragged about every inmate, even Torga being afraid of him.
Raegith turned back to the Captain and then waved him off dismissively, just as he had done to the crowd at the last Gulag.
The stands overhead exploded and the other inmates went ballistic. Raegith turned and ran to the platform, grabbing the chest of dresses and hauling it off onto the mound. Grabbing the contents, he started flinging them off the mound, right at a cluster of women still wearing the ragged clothes of new arrivals. In seconds he had emptied the chest and colorful dresses were being passed among the horde of females present.
An instant later he was hit in the back and brought down by armored bodies. He felt at least half a dozen blows from wooden staffs before he blacked out, but the roar of the crowd stayed with him even as he fell into darkness.
Chapter 20
Raegith woke up in the dungeon. He was not surprised by that. What he was surprised by was the form of Torga slumped in the corner. As Raegith stirred, Torga awoke and looked at him. They were both shackled to the wall, but Torga was low enough to sit down. He was caked with blood and his face was swollen. Raegith considered that he probably looked in similar shape as the Rathgar.
“You’re awake Grass-hair?” Torga asked. “You got on Gomar’s bad side. Torga did, too.”
“Yeah, sorry about that, big guy,” Raegith laughed. It felt like he was being stabbed in the side with a dull knife. “I’ve decided recently that I don’t like doing what anyone tells me to. I hear you’re kind of like that, too.”
Torga laughed. “Torga fucking hates following orders. Torga was not a good soldier.”
“Do you always refer to yourself in the third-person, Torga?” Raegith asked, reminded of the odd way that Fibbitch spoke.
“Huh?” Torga grunted, looking around. “There only two of us here. Does Grass-hair see someone Torga doesn’t?”
“Never mind that. What happened after the guards knocked me out?”
“Ha! Captain Gomar got real upset. Bookies were screaming at him. All bets were lost, women were leaving their men for dresses… women were fighting the men when the dresses were taken away. Your woman was hurting everyone. It was chaos.”
“Glorious chaos,” Raegith whispered, smiling. “So the Captain brought you down here, too?”
“Guards beat me for a long time. Torga not faint as easily as Grass-hair does.”
“Fuck you.”
“Ha! Grass-hair is the craziest, funniest person Torga has seen here in a long time,” Torga laughed. “Grass-hair is smart, defiant… has no fear. Torga… Torga feels pretty bad about beating Grass-hair until he pissed himself a few Gulags ago.”
“I… I don’t remember pissing myself,” Raegith said.
“Grass-hair did. Everyone pisses after Torga hits them enough times. Torga doesn’t stop until they piss themselves. That’s kind of Torga’s thing.”
“You must have had a very strange childhood,” Raegith replied. “So what do you think will happen to us now?”
“Torga not sure. Torga will probably lose a lot of stuff; most shiny things and several girls. Captain Gomar cannot kill Torga or hurt too badly. War will be coming soon, Torga thinks. Then all of us will leave the Pit and women will all be hopeless.”
“The Empress frees all of you to go to war?” Raegith asked.
“Grass-hair is pretty dumb for such a smart-ass. Of course criminals will go free during war. Does
Grass-hair think there are so many men here that the Empress can waste us in the Pit? When war comes, all men who can walk will march on the north. Maybe this time, we will finally beat the pink shits that play in the sun… no offense.”
“None taken. And no, this time you won’t beat my people,” Raegith said. He had spent so long guarding his mission that it was not until now that he realized there was no reason to anymore. Raegith had the unique fortune of having very little to lose from any action he took. He decided the consequences of actually talking to someone about the Declaration and the treaty deal were no worse than what was already happening to him. “The pink shits will beat you all back across the Hell Cliffs, just like they always have.”
“Grass-hair probably right…” Torga began.
“No, not probably. Grass-hair is definitely right, Torga. It’s the reason why I’m here, in this place among all of you. I was sent down here by my people to tell your Empress to send you all to war against us. My people have been doing this for centuries.”
“You come and ask us for war? You are that brave?” Torga asked, fascinated. “No wonder Grass-hair is so fearless in front of the Captain. All pink shits who play in the sun must be this way. No wonder we always lose.”
“You always lose because you’re supposed to lose, Torga!” Raegith exclaimed. “Ah, never mind. You won’t understand.”
“No, Torga isn’t very smart. Torga only knows to aim for the soft spots just inside the jaw… to push until the enemy is off balance and then hit hard up top. Torga knows where to stand when throwing a punch and to pick men off the ground and let their weight hit them against the dirt. Torga only knows fighting, not thinking or even following. Torga only sees his enemy and attacks until the fight is over and never runs. That is why Torga will not return from the war.”
Raegith did not reply. There was nothing he could say to the fighter. Before him was the dreadful consequence of his people’s continued prosperity. Here was the cost of the unrelenting rule of the Caelum bloodline. His people knew only victory. In Rellizbix, losing a hundred men was a national tragedy worthy of its own entry in the histories. In the Greimere, losing a hundred men would be considered a miracle. Beside him in that cell was a proud warrior whose best moments in life would be inside a prison; a man who was everything inside the Pit and dreaded the day he was freed more than any other day in his life. Raegith felt pity for the man. By his own strength he had built an empire within the prison walls. Inside he was a celebrity: a godlike warlord. As a free man, he was nothing more than another body to be sacrificed to the Treaty.
Raegith shook his head in silence. Does my father even know what strife this Treaty causes these people? Does anyone? Would they even give a shit if they found out? It sickened him. When the Rathgar and the armies of the dreaded Greimere Empire were just a fairy tale, he rejoiced in their death. When his mother read him stories and even when he read the histories as a young man, he delighted in the victories over the Greimere. He wished he were there, leading the massacre of the dreaded beasts from beyond the Hell Cliffs. They were not even people to him then. Now that he was among them, he realized they were not the horrific monsters he had read about; they were just men and women. They were scared and hungry and all of the things that the people of Rellizbix suffered, only worse. It was always worse.
A handful of guards came in and released the two of them. The Captain did not make an appearance and there were no additional beatings. They were simply released and led outside into the night, to climb the stairs and make their way to their cells. Raegith looked out to see several inmates lying unconscious in the yard. The entire yard was littered with debris and a few women were busy picking things up. As Raegith walked to his cell, he looked out at them and one of the Urufen females looked up at him and stopped what she was doing. She was petite and had blaze-red hair, cut short just like Zakk’s. As Raegith looked on, the female stood rigid and lifted her hand up. Then she mimicked his gesture from earlier that day and waved him off, beaming him a smile as she did.
A guard yelled at her and came out, threatening to beat her and she quickly got back to work. Raegith spent a few moments watching her and then hobbled into his cell and fell against the bed, stripping off his soiled shirt and crumpling it up into a pillow.
Raegith was awoken by armed guards the next morning. As they yanked him from his bed and took him down through the tunnels, he expected to see the familiar sight of the dungeon. Maybe Captain Gomar had put up with enough of his antics and would just leave him chained to a wall until he died, or just outright execute him. Raegith wondered why this had not happened already.
As it turned out, Gomar did not have a choice in the matter.
Raegith was not taken to the dungeon, but led upwards and out of the Pit. He was taken by carriage through the Citadel. The vehicle was large and vicious, with skeletal ribs for support beams and metal spikes protruding from the sides. It was carried by two, large, armored beasts that looked like black armadillos. Inside were lavish seats made from soft, velvety material and it smelled of spices. Luminous crystals provided light after the back port was closed. For nearly an hour he rode back there and despite not being told anything by his escorts, he had a fair idea of where he was going, though it did not ease his concern.
Raegith was taken away by another pair of guards once inside the Palatial Keep. It had since been cleaned up inside, but Raegith could still see the deep gash along the wall where his friend, Ebriz, was pinned by an axe. The image of Greela, the Rathgar who killed both of his companions filled his mind. Would he be seeing the monster of a warrior again, for his own turn on the axe?
“Beretta!” one of the guards barked as they stopped halfway through the hallway. After a few minutes, the female walked out into the hallway and turned in their direction. Raegith remembered the Empress’s retainer, but he was awestruck by her exotic and elemental appearance as she approached. She seemed a bit more curious and gentle than he had last remembered, but there was nothing resembling a smile on her lips.
“Empress wants this thing in presentable condition. Clean it, feed it and dress it in something suitable to her. Also, send your girls up to her if you haven’t already. She’s back early from the markets.”
“I am always aware of when Mistress is away and when she has returned, Qufang,” the female flame said in a velvety voice seemed to slide through the air and melt into Raegith’s ears. “Leave this boy with me and I will make sure the Mistress’s will be done.”
The guards left them alone in the hallway and the female looked Raegith over, bending down to sniff at his clothes. When her nostrils flared, he felt heat on his chest where her face hovered. She paced around him, taking in the full view of him and stopped in front of him when she was finished.
“You’re not in as bad of condition as I would have thought,” she said. “Do you still speak?”
“I still speak,” Raegith replied. “I don’t know if I have anything an Elemental would like to hear. Is that what I’m here for… a chat?”
“A what?” she laughed. “An elemental? Some sort of deity, you think me? I am born of fire, but a manifestation of it I am not. I am Infernal and it pleases me to see such fascination upon your face, although you are not the normal specimen I am used to seeing from your land. What, exactly, are you?”
“I am a mistake,” he replied. “I am Twileen and Saban… born of a drunken one-night stand. I’m also the bastard son of the King of Rellizbix, if you would believe me.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe you?” She said. “Lying to me will get you nothing the truth would not. I would care little if you told me you were the Empress of Greimere, though I would not advise telling others that. Follow me, please.”
She led him through the hall to a large room with a central stone bath full of water. A female Rathgar in robes placed fresh towels, soaps and robes next to the tub and retreated a few steps to wait. Beretta led him over to the prepped tub and dismissed the girl attending to it
. Raegith reached into the tub and tested the water.
“Ah, even in the royal bath, the water is still cold,” he smirked, shaking the water off his hand.
“Of course, I haven’t heated it, yet,” she said. She pulled a string on the back of her short, strapless dress and it fell to the floor, revealing a slender and splendid body that reminded him of Onyx, only more compact and with raised markings on her skin. “Give me a moment.”
The Infernal stepped into the bath and sat down inside it. Immediately the markings on her body glowed green and her hair flared and began to flicker like actual flames. The water around her boiled and steamed for a few seconds and then settled as her markings dimmed. Raegith tested it again and found it to be comfortably hot.
“Toss your clothing over there,” she said, pointing to the floor behind him. “Then get in.”
Raegith didn’t hesitate, stripping off his clothes in a flurry of movement and jumping into the hot water. It burned him at first, but he quickly grew accustomed to it. Beretta took a ladle and poured water over his head, soaking his hair as he seated himself on the built-in ledge before her. He remembered his mother bathing him like this when he was a toddler, but the memories felt very distant and blurry. The water was amazing and the scrub that she lathered in his hair tingled on his scalp. Beretta scrubbed him down with a gentle, but prickly brush and strong smelling soap. Her small breasts pressed against his back as she reached around him to scrub his chest. She scrubbed further down to his stomach, then his hips. The weariness in his body mixed with the comfort of the water and her attentive touch and he began to feel lightheaded. When her hand knocked into his shaft, she paused and then curiously gripped it, eliciting a groan from Raegith.
“This… is this normal?” She asked, still holding onto him.
Beyond the Hell Cliffs Page 23
