The waves were choppy, and a constant wind buffeted the ship from the east. To the south, the coastline and the sprawling city of Hornhollow were visible. He had never seen anything quite like it before. Many lighthouses dotted the coast for miles, with one at the center of the city’s vast harbor. There had to be at least fifty ships, of all sizes, anchored or moored along the long wooden docks.
Even from this great distance, Talon could see the big circular building they called the Arena. Nestled among many smaller buildings, the monstrous structure loomed ominously. Its shadow left much of the city hidden from the light of the morning sun.
Talon stared in awe at the sights. How many people must live here, he wondered. Hundreds, thousands?
Behind them came the crack of a whip and Talon jumped. One of the other gladiators sneered at him, seeing his reaction to the sound.
The whip cracked again and again, and Talon turned around to see that a metal hatch had been opened. Crewmen were pulling Skomm slaves for the auction up from the hold. Those too slow were being whipped repeatedly.
Talon turned to find Grimald standing right in front of him, scowling from beneath his hood.
Behind him, McGillus came out of his quarters and climbed the stairs up to the quarter deck. He stared down at his fighters.
“Men, feast your eyes upon the Hornhollow Arena! Many of you have fought here before. As you know, House Varner resides in this city—one of the winningest houses of Eldalon. Many other houses will be represented here today as well. They have come to test themselves against House McGillus and its legendary barbarian gladiators. Shall we give them a show?”
The men cheered.
Behind them, the whip cracked again as more slaves were dragged up from the hold. Even from a hundred feet off, Talon could smell the stink wafting up from below. He turned and got another quick glimpse of the Skomm slaves. They looked tired, filthy and starving.
“You are the most feared gladiator house in all of Agora,” said the captain. “On Volnoss, the name Skomm means ‘shamed’. But in the arena, when you stand upon the sand, the name Skomm sends fear through the hearts of men. The name Draugr fills them with dread, and the women with lust. Come, my gladiators. Let’s show these miserable bikkjas what real warriors look like!”
The men clapped and cheered, but Talon heard only the cries of pain from the slaves being readied for auction.
Two rowboats brought the gladiators to the harbor, and another carried their weapons and armor. The Skomm to be sold were transported likewise. When they arrived, the gladiators followed the captain, Rekkr, and Grimald down the docks. McGillus and Grimald stopped when they reached the end, but Rekkr led the gladiators on toward the arena. As Talon passed, the captain stopped him with a raised hand. “You’re with me,” he said.
McGillus led Talon and the slaves through Hornhollow, and took note of his newest gladiator’s awe. “Have you never seen a city so grand?”
“No, Captain.”
McGillus nodded. “It is beautiful, is it not? And wealthy. This peninsula boasts more trade than Volnoss thrice over. The gulf to the southeast runs all the way to the Ky’Dren mountain harbors. This is the first stop for ships heading west around Eldalon. Dwarven gold, jewels, weapons and armor are sold here. It’s also one of the biggest ports for trade between Eldalon and Shierdon, being that the horn extends nearly two-hundred miles north of western Shierdon” He grinned. “Not to mention, it’s a thriving slave market.”
They approached a tall building with a long platform at the front. All around were hundreds of seats for bidders or anyone who wanted to watch the spectacle. The slaves were led around back as the captain stopped to greet a man he recognized.
“McGillus, my friend. I trust your journey to Hornhollow was a pleasant one.”
“Lord Barren, well met. The journey was pleasant—the lady of the ocean has become calm once again,” said McGillus. He was alluding to the Eye of Thodin.
Lord Barren made an exasperated gesture and shook his head. “We barely got the arse end of it here, but still enough to make for a few days’ work repairing the damage. I hear tell Volnoss was hit head on. Gave them barbarians a smart what-for, I bet.” He eyed Talon with a grin. “Who’s this here, Captain, have you taken on a page?”
McGillus laughed. “No, this is one of my gladiators.”
Lord Barren was dumbfounded. He glanced from Talon to McGillus as if waiting for the punchline. Finally he laughed. “If this Skomm here’s a gladiator…then I’m a dwarf’s uncle!”
“Given what I know of your love of the ladies, I’d say that is entirely possible,” said McGillus.
Lord Barren made a slight scowl before bursting into laughter once more “You’re serious about this one, eh?”
The captain nodded with all sincerity. “If you’re smart, you’ll put your money on him against Vlarr.”
“Vlarr!” Lord Barren choked. “This is some joke!”
“No joke, friend. This one here will be a legend.”
Lord Barren was beside himself. He eyed the Skomm runt up and down, as if he must have missed something before.
Talon shifted nervously. All around the platform, men and women began to take their seats.
“I’m…interested to see how your newest fighter fares, Captain,” said Barren. Just then someone called out to him from across the crowd. “You must excuse me, Captain McGillus. There are many here I must speak with. Until next time, my good sir.”
McGillus turned to Talon. “Come, let’s see if the slaves are ready.”
Talon followed the captain to the back of the building with Grimald taking up the rear.
The slaves—men and women alike—were lined up against a wall, naked and screaming. Crewmen were dousing them with buckets of steaming water from a large cauldron and scrubbing them clean with stiff-bristled brushes.
“These here were filthy, Cap’n,” said the crewmen in charge. He snorted and spit in the general direction of the slaves. “The hold is gettin’ pretty bad. Should probably clean it out good before we set sail. We got too many down there, I’m thinkin’.”
“I expect it done by the time we leave tomorrow,” said McGillus.
“Yes, Cap’n,” he said, and began screaming at the Skomm slaves.
McGillus turned to Talon. “Let’s take our seats. This stench is abhorrent.”
Talon’s gaze lingered on a Skomm women being held upright by her hair to be scrubbed. Her eyes met his, pleading.
Grimald pushed him from behind. “Move, boy.”
Anger rose in Talon and he glared at Grimald.
The man was unwavering. A sneer spread across his face as he rested a hand on his sword hilt.
Not here, not now, Talon told himself, and followed McGillus to the seating area. A number of chairs had been reserved for the captain and his party. McGillus nodded to those around him. They all wore expensive looking suits and puffy, flower-like dresses. Talon had seen enough of Shierdonian villagers to know these people were likely nobles. Their fine clothes, shiny leather boots, and jewelry set them apart from regular folk.
A crier stood atop the podium and greeted the crowd, his jowls shaking with every word. He commented on the weather, the lovely assortment of ladies in the crowd, and made a bad joke before commencing the auction.
The first slave was brought out; a six and a half foot Skomm woman in a brown burlap dress. She stared out over the crowd with fear in her eyes as her future was decided. After a few bids, she was sold and led off the platform.
McGillus leaned in toward Talon. “Five is a good price for the first purchase. It should be a profitable day.”
Talon only nodded, knowing the captain was gauging his reaction. He hid his true feelings at the spectacle and took on a demeanor of cold indifference.
McGillus continued with a sly grin. “I pay the Chiefs of Volnoss one, maybe two gold per slave. The fools think they’re making a killing off these animals.”
A stocky Skomm was sold for sev
en gold and replaced by a giant of a man—Firefang. He found Talon in the crowd and glared at him with blackened eyes.
Talon was relieved when he was finally sold for fifteen gold and taken off stage. McGillus slapped his knee and nodded to the man who made the final bid.
“That was Firefang…the man I beat the other night,” said Talon.
“Aye,” said McGillus, nodding with a money hungry grin.
Talon took on a curious tone. “How will his new master keep him in line? I mean, what’s to stop the slaves from attacking their masters?”
Grimald regarded him with suspicion, but the captain only smiled.
“Why don’t the Skomm turn on their Vald masters? Your people are weak,” said McGillus, “pitiful really. They know nothing but slavery. A long-lived Skomm knows his place and minds his master.”
Talon didn’t miss the insinuation.
The captain went on. “Firefang will likely become a house Vaka. He will wear fine clothes, eat fine foods, and rule over the others with an iron fist. Yes, he will be quite comfortable…if he obeys.”
By the end of the auction Talon felt as though he might be sick. How could people treat each other so? He had always known that many of the Skomm were sold to slavery, but seeing it firsthand—and how easily it was for the Shierdonians to bear witness to such cruelty made it seem that much worse. Animals were treated better than the Skomm—even here on Agora, where he’d hoped to find a better life.
“Do all Agorans keep slaves?” Talon asked.
Captain McGillus scoffed as the crier rattled on. “Eldalon, Shierdon, and Uthen-Arden do, but Isladon outlawed slavery decades ago. The dwarves have no interest in slaves, neither do the elves. But I’ve helped many Isladonian parliament members to their seats. If I have my way, the king will soon overturn the ridiculous law. Isladon’s economy has already suffered greatly from it—it’s only a matter of time.”
Chapter 15
Talon the Righteous
I spent two years in my cave of dreams, watching the life of a boy I had never met. When I saw him upon the sands that day, speaking such words to the people of Hornhollow, my heart smiled. –Azzeal of Elladrindellia, Keeper of the Windwalker Archive, 4997
Captain McGillus led Talon into the fighter’s area below the coliseum. Down in the depths, by the flickering glow of torch light, the House McGillus gladiators were strapping on armor and weapons. Argath nodded at Talon as he passed.
“Your armor is here,” said Grimald. He gestured to a bundle of leather and metal sitting on a bench.
As McGillus left to speak to Rekkr, Talon began examining the various parts, not sure how to proceed. When he attempted to strap on the chest plate, Grimald simply stared, offering no guidance.
“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” said Argath, who couldn’t help but laugh. He came over to help Talon out of the armor, and then started sorting through the rest of the gear. “Given your size and speed, you’ve got light armor and a pair of daggers. First things first. Strip out of them clothes, and put on that loincloth.”
Talon felt like a child, having the giant of a man help him into his armor, but he was thankful for the assistance. He snuck Chief’s trinket out of his pocket and stuffed it down the front of his loincloth. When he was done dressing, Argath helped him into the mail shirt and breastplate, which was chiseled with muscles he clearly didn’t have. There were also forearm and shin guards, pointed at the elbow and knee, and a pair of leather boots with armored toes. His gloves were the only thing that remained.
As Argath showed him how to strap the daggers to his belt, a loud, muffled voice echoed above. Talon thought a storm must be trapped within the coliseum as thunderous applause and pounding feet shook the subterranean chamber, causing dust to rain down on them.
Soon after, Rekkr led the gladiators through a wide door and up a long ramp. Bright light shone through an iron gate at the end of the tunnel, and the crowd’s cheers became deafening.
The booming voice silenced them, and names and titles were called out loudly. Rekkr slapped one of the gladiator’s hard across the face. The warrior growled like a beast, and butted heads with his trainer before rushing through the gates to another thunderous applause. Talon made his way through the others and peered through the gate at the spectacle.
The arena was nothing like the pits. It was enormous, with at least twenty rows of benches surrounding the floor and ascending alongside stairs reaching nearly a hundred feet. And above that was yet another whole level of similar seating, rising inconceivably high and topped with many long banners flowing in the wind. Talon couldn’t guess how many people had come to watch the gladiators battle, but it was more than he had ever seen gathered.
The fight began at the sound of many deep horns, and the Skomm gladiator engaged his opponent. Talon watched on as the men attacked each other viciously. Swords clanged and shields bashed, and all the while the crowd cheered noisily. When their comrade ran the Agoran through and raised him high into the air, impaled on his sword, the crowd went wild.
Talon’s stomach turned.
They’re all crazy.
When the Skomm gladiator returned, he was met by the cheers and congratulations from his brothers, and Talon fought to not get crushed in the celebration.
Argath was called forth next, and the big man seemed eager for blood. He ran out onto the sand to the steady chant of his name. His opponent turned out to be not one, but two Agoran fighters.
“House Varner’s men,” said a gladiator watching through the gates beside Talon. “Them little Agoran bastards ain’t got a chance against Argath.”
One of Argath’s opponents circled him, holding a net and a long trident. The other held a sword and a large shield and faced him head on.
Argath charged.
The swordsman retreated, deflecting blows with his shield. His partner moved in from behind with the net, but Argath rolled away just as it descended. He was back on his feet in an instant. A solid blow sent the swordsman tumbling back again, and Argath turned just in time to block a thrust from the trident.
The crowd cheered as it took in the spectacle, but Talon was beside himself. He watched in awe at the brutal nature of both the fight and its fanatic onlookers. He wasn’t sure which was worse. When Argath ran through and chopped the head off one of his opponents, the crowd erupted in a blood thirsty frenzy.
I’ve got to get out of here, thought Talon. But what about Akkeri, he wondered. McGillus was the only link he had—he needed to continue on.
His indecision was brought to an abrupt halt as a blood-covered Argath returned to the cheers of his brothers and the crier began calling names again. The argument in his head mixed with the roar of the Skomm gladiators filling the narrow tunnel. He almost didn’t hear his name being called.
He turned around and began moving through the gladiators, making for the tunnel, but a strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder. Rekkr scowled down and Talon’s heart raced. The other gladiators had taken notice of his attempt to leave and glared at him as well. Shamed, he allowed himself to be led through the gate.
When the crowd saw him they began laughing hysterically. The sight of his opponent, a burly Agoran with wild, animalistic hair and eyes to match, made things worse. The crier announced him as “Vlarr,” and he was armed with a sword and whip.
Talon wanted to be anywhere else but this arena.
The horn blew and Vlarr charged immediately.
Talon dove to the right as the first strike rained down. He scrambled to his feet frantically as the whip cracked him in the back.
He fell to the ground and the crowd cheered.
The whip struck again, tearing flesh, as he got to his feet. He began to run, but Vlarr skillfully wrapped the whip around his ankle and brought him back down.
Talon landed on his stomach and turned in time to see the sword coming at him. He rolled away twice as the curved blade chopped through the sand.
Vlarr was fast; but Talon was faster. He s
prang to his feet and faced his enemy.
They circled each other and the crowd’s cheers intensified.
The wild man’s eyes widened, and beady black irises regarded Talon like food. ”I’m going to skin you alive, Skomm!”
The cry of the spectators became deep and muffled as Talon fell into a trance like state. He rolled away as another lash came and sprang to his feet. When Vlarr struck again, Talon caught the end of the whip in midair.
The crowd went silent and Vlarr stared at him, mystified. Talon wrapped the whip around his arm and yanked with all his might, pulling the large Agoran to the ground.
Vlarr was infuriated. He worked himself into a frenzy and charged across the sand.
Talon stood his ground and unsheathed his daggers. His senses took in everything—the smell of unwashed bodies, the shifting sand beneath his feet, the burning lashes on his skin, the wind on his face. The roar of the crowd became clear, down to the last curse word. He heard every voice, every inflection.
Vlarr covered the distance quickly, but to Talon he looked like a man running through mud. The sword came straight at his gut, but Talon spun away as it sailed by. He brought his lead dagger around, stabbing Vlarr beneath the armpit, and dropped to one knee to sever his calf muscle.
The big Agoran went down hard.
The crowd was on their feet but completely silent. The moment permitted no words. Talon stood and circled his opponent as he flailed and tried to get up. Finally he seemed to give up, and caught Talon in a murderous glare. “Finish what you started, boy!”
Talon shook his head and sheathed his bloody blades. “I didn’t start this.”
“Do it!” Vlarr screamed.
Talon turned from him as the crowd chanted, “kill, kill, kill.”
McGillus and Grimald stood, watching closely, at the rail of a private booth above the tunnel to the fighters’ area. The captain glared at him and ran a finger across his throat.
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