131 Days [Book 2]_House of Pain

by Keith C. Blackmore

  Six giant columns of white marble rose up from street level to the huge overhang of the Chamber, and the evening sun, not yet departed from the sky, blazed between them. Goll squinted against its light. The rays grazed the slanted gray slate tiles of nearby houses and made their dreary shells shine like gold.

  “I’m off then,” Halm announced from one side and handed the considerably lighter cloth sack to the man called Sapo. Having done that, the bulbous Zhiberian, shirtless and sweating from his breeches up, started marching back to the Pit. The man’s constant oozing from the pores sogged the bandages wrapped about his gut, reminding Goll of a black-haired babe constantly pissing itself.

  “Where are you going?” Goll stopped and asked.

  “Where?” Halm sneered puzzlement. “Guess.”

  “You can’t go back there yet.”

  “Why not?”

  Goll didn’t like the aggressive heat coming off the burly Zhiberian. The realization of what the Kree had done, gambling with Pig Knot’s life to birth the House of Ten, had finally sunk into Halm’s head. Perhaps it happened while they were all in the presence of the Chamber members. Goll had already mentally prepared for this eventuality, knowing he’d have to defuse it.

  “I need you to come with me back to the healer’s house,” he stated simply. “Just in case someone attempts to rob us.”

  “What? What gurry is that? You have that pair of bears behind you, weapon master,” Halm snarled, flashing black-and-yellow teeth while waving an open palm. His other hand gripped the hilt of the Mademian sword scabbarded at his waist, the belt it hung from obscured by his great, hairy gut and the stained bandages partially covering it. He took a moment to quickly scratch his belly fat.

  “Come with me back to the healer’s house, Halm,” Goll persisted. “We have things to discuss.”

  “Let’s discuss them here,” Halm snapped and spread his arms wide, indicating the open space before the magnificence of the Gladiatorial Chamber and giving the three men an even better look at the Zhiberian’s collection of wounds.

  “No, it’s…” Goll bit back his pleading, controlling his own anger. “Look. Walk with me. We’ll talk, and I’ll release you once we check on Muluk. You do remember him, don’t you?”

  “Oh, I remember him. I’m surprised you do, actually. Or maybe you have plans for him, too, hm? As you did Pig Knot?”

  “Nothing of the sort.”

  “Be wary, lads,” Halm remarked, waving a finger at the silent Tumber and Sapo. “Be very wary around this one. I’ll warn you once for nothing.”

  Both warriors exchanged suspicious looks before centering on Goll. The Kree dismissed their glares with a roll of his eyes and focused on Halm.

  “Halm. Please. Walk with me.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I don’t believe I did.”

  “You heard what I said.”

  “I did not.”

  “Halm!”

  The Zhiberian crossed his arms defiantly, bracing for a storm.

  Goll scowled hot enough to shatter rock. The master of the newly formed house took a moment to compose himself. He bit his lips before finally shaping his mouth into a contrary line.

  Halm waited, enjoying seeing the other man squirm.

  “I said it once, and if that’s not enough, then damn you to Saimon’s hell,” the Kree said at last and spat.

  Halm shrugged and got three strides away before hearing, “Halm!” But he kept walking.

  “All right, please!” Goll grated, that last word laced with poison.

  The Zhiberian turned about and pointed toward the arena’s infirmary.

  “I don’t understand you, Kree. Pig Knot is only over there, the other side of the great Chamber. What time would it take?”

  “You’ll understand soon enough,” Goll said, his eyes betraying fear. Then, apparently having had enough of the exchange, he turned away at his best speed and limped away. Tumber and Sapo followed.

  Shaking his head, Halm shadowed the three men. After a few paces, he drew alongside Sapo and patted the man’s arm, getting his attention. The brute screwed up his face at the Zhiberian, who returned the disdainful expression before taking back the sack containing their remaining gold pieces. Throwing the cloth over his shoulder, he stepped up to Goll.

  “Entrusting these with whatever coin we have left,” he muttered. “Where’s your mind at? Tell me that much.”

  “Where’s your mind, since they’re only just behind us?”

  “So?”

  “So you’re calling them thieves, practically.”

  Halm regarded the pair behind him with an apologetic grimace and a shake of his head. Having done that, his features hardened once more upon speaking to Goll.

  “This had best be good,” Halm warned.

  “Are you not one of the founders of the House of Ten?” Goll asked him. “Do you not wish to be a part of the decision process?”

  Halm mulled that over. “Suppose so.”

  “What do you mean you ‘suppose so’? We’ve listed ten names this day, and it was your blood that made it happen, along with Muluk’s and Pig Knot’s. There’s a lot of work ahead of us, and we must further establish and focus upon our goals. Pig Knot can wait. Muluk can wait. As harsh as that sounds, fretting over them like some sobbing mother isn’t going to help them.”

  Halm’s face reddened at the lecture, and he refused to meet the Kree’s eyes. Nor did either man say another word all the way back to Shan’s house of healing. The wooden shutters hung open while a thin mesh of cotton draped the openings, reducing airflow inside but also restricting unwanted mosquitos and other pests from entering. Upon reaching the front door, Goll stopped and regarded Tumber and Sapo with an approving eye. He measured them up for what seemed to be the first time.

  “My thanks,” he finally said. “You’ve barely made a sound during all of this, and for that you’re to be commended.”

  The huge muscular mass that was Sapo didn’t reply or show any indication that he’d heard. Black-bearded Tumber stood in the Sunjan’s shadow and shrugged indifferently, though the corners of his dark eyes crinkled as if smiling at the scant praise.

  “You’ll address me as Master Goll while training and living under the roof of the House of Ten. Understood?”

  Both men nodded. Goll caught the stiffening of Halm’s neck.

  “You’ll address Halm, Pig Knot, and Muluk as master as well. Without them, there wouldn’t be a house training, feeding, or sheltering you. Understood?”

  “Aye that,” Sapo muttered softly. “Muluk’s the one inside?”

  “He is.”

  Tumber peered through a window. “Seems to be a few lads in there.”

  Goll peeked and frowned. “Stand guard out here. Unless they’re bleeding or near death, keep all others away. Understood?”

  Both men muttered, “Aye that.”

  “Shall we, then?” Goll asked his Zhiberian companion and didn’t wait for an answer. He threw open the door and swung his way inside.

  Halm paused before entering and sheepishly regarded the two men. “No need to call me master,” he said, studying them both under the barest self-conscious dip of his brow. “Just my name. That is enough.”

  Tumber’s dark eyes softened with surprise just as Halm entered the building.

  Inside, Goll frowned as he’d just caught his companion’s words, not liking them in the least. In his mind, there had to be a division between the masters and the recruits.

  Halm saw his disapproval and stared back without blinking, letting his own feelings on the matter be known. Goll shrugged, partly in frustration and partly to relieve physical strain. Their attention then focused on the men quietly gathered in the cramped area of the healer’s house. Four of them sat at a table, including the healer, Shan. When Goll directed his gaze upon them, they struggled to their feet.

  “This place smells like a dog’s sleeping mat.” Halm grimaced, pullin
g an expression of surprise from the healer, who sniffed and frowned in disagreement.

  “Are you at odds again, fat man?” Borchus asked from a corner.

  Halm lifted his chin in reproach. “You,” he breathed, features pinching as if suckling a raw lemon. “Where’d you run off to back in the infirmary? You’re like hot piss in a river.”

  “I had coin to collect,” Borchus explained, unconcerned by the jab. “And I dislike doing business in infirmaries.”

  “Where do you think you are now, then?” Halm countered. “Or are your wits as short as your legs?”

  “Perhaps your master and I should do business alone, then?” Borchus smiled diplomatically, turning his attention to Goll.

  “Master?” Halm asked with an evil chuckle. “This is worth it. I’m a master in this house.”

  Borchus met the eyes of the Kree. “Really?” he inquired skeptically.

  “I’m the head, however,” Goll stated, setting his jaw as he regarded Halm. “You’ve already allowed me that. Back at Clavellus’s villa.”

  For a moment, the two men stared at each other, daring a retort. The silence swelled uncomfortably as Halm took a moment to remember. Then his breath loosed in a low, conceding hiss. “So we did. You’re the head of the house. Apologies.”

  “None needed. Think of yourself as a captain, Halm.”

  “Captain. Hm.”

  But Goll wasn’t sure if the big man was being moody or not. “Are you fine with this? I ask this one final time before these men as our witnesses. I don’t want any arguments on this matter in the future, especially if we’re before noble company. Clearly, you hold rank over our fighters as a founder, but I wield the power of last word and which direction the house takes. Present your arguments or concerns now or in the future if you must, and I’ll listen, but command is mine.”

  “What direction?” Halm’s voice grated. “We’re still talking about fighting, are we not?”

  “We are. But my word in any matter pertaining to the house is final. Agreed?”

  Storm clouds brewed on the unattractive features of the heavyset Zhiberian. His jaw rolled this way and that, chewing on thoughts and weighing the choice of whether to voice them. In the end, he sighed, and his great hairy shoulders slumped.

  “Do what you like.” He surrendered with a dismissive wave. “You’ve done it your way thus far. Seddon help you if Pig Knot dies, however.”

  The warning tone riled Goll, but he decided to hold his silence… that time. He faced Borchus, who watched the exchange with mild amusement.

  “All done?” The agent smirked slyly.

  “What’s he for anyway?” Halm asked of Goll.

  “Wheels within wheels,” Borchus answered cryptically, his deep voice as hard as cooling iron. “Fighting is only half the battle in the Pit.”

  “I didn’t ask you,” Halm warned.

  “What he says is true,” Goll stated. “We have need of… an agent.”

  “A what?”

  “An agent, you punce. An agent.” Borchus growled, not impressed in the least with Halm’s limited knowledge of his profession. He squared his shoulders and locked gazes. “Me.”

  “What in Saimon’s hell does an agent do?”

  The question drew an indignant look from the smaller man. “I’ll simplify the answer so you might better understand it. An agent does that which you cannot. You’re all grown up now. You’re a house. Now the lions will take notice of you, and like it or not, you’ll need an able man out there, in the streets, to ferret out information you and your fighters must have—information that could mean victory upon the sands of the arena.”

  “You’re right about one thing.”

  Borchus scowled. “No doubt you’ll clarify what.”

  “I’m all grown up.” Halm continued on, cautioning, “And I’ve a man-sized boot I’ll smash your fruits with if you push me far enough.”

  “All right,” Goll nearly barked. “That’s enough from both of you. As it is, Borchus is correct. If we are to stand a chance in the arena, we’ll need eyes and ears beyond the Pit’s walls—someone to glean information from the other houses and their fighters, their strengths and weaknesses. As a house, we cannot afford to be without an agent and a network of spies as our adversaries employ their own. Halm, you can be certain that there are people this very moment reporting upon the newly formed house and who is fighting under its banners. I expect word to have spread throughout most if not all of the existing houses by morning, and from there on, whatever is to be known about our lads will be eventually discovered. They’ll find it. And if they can, they’ll exploit it.”

  “You’re serious about this?” Halm demanded.

  “Of course I’m serious.”

  The Zhiberian became pensive for a span of heartbeats before jabbing a thumb at the agent. “Surely we can do better than him.”

  “I could ask the same of you, good Goll,” Borchus said through a tight line of a mouth, “with regards to who fights in the arena from this day forward.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Halm wanted to know.

  “Don’t you have something to… eat somewhere?”

  “Enough!” Goll snapped and glared, silencing the bickering. “Halm, we need Borchus’s services. I’ve already talked with Clavellus, and he’s vouched for the man’s competence. We cannot go forward without a tried and reliable agent working for us. We don’t have the time to find another of his mettle.”

  “His mettle?” Halm snorted with doubt.

  “My work is every bit as hazardous as yours, large one,” Borchus stated.

  “Forgive me, I thought you said something about wheels before? I don’t remember seeing any wheels while I was out there smashing in skulls.”

  “That was figuratively.”

  “Figure what?”

  Borchus rolled his eyes.

  Goll leaned in. “He’s with us. Or I hope he still is, though I don’t blame him if he chooses otherwise and does not work on our behalf.”

  Halm scowled. “I don’t see where his work is. It’s not on the sands.”

  At this, Borchus shook his head, even more exasperated with the Zhiberian.

  “What exactly is he going to do for us?” Halm asked Goll.

  “I can answer that,” Borchus replied. “Think, if you can, about a match you might have. And knowing beforehand if, say, the man has the tendency to feint once before striking? Or perhaps the lad injured himself a day or two before your match and guards that secret for fear of his opponent learning of it, thus lessening his chances for victory. And it isn’t always about finding such secrets. Even letting slip false information amongst the right ears can benefit us, so that a future foe might later attempt to capitalize upon it, and woe if he does.”

  “You mean lying.”

  “I mean lying.”

  Halm didn’t appear impressed. “Dishonest.”

  “Yes, well, I’d allow you to go on thinking that, but unfortunately, since I’m in the House of Ten’s employ, I won’t. Your days of being an ignorant, bare-assed whelp with his paunch hanging out are over, oh pear-shaped one, and to be successful amongst the houses, you’ll need me. And others. Which brings me to my next question: how many spies may I have?”

  “Spies?” Halm asked.

  “Not many. Our coin is limited, I’ll have you know,” Goll answered.

  “Fair enough,” Borchus conceded. “I’ll try to make do. But the more men I have… the better.”

  “Whores say the same thing, I believe,” Halm pointed out with a smirk.

  “Oh, you are a sharp one.” Borchus smiled with feigned endearment, regarding the half-naked man. “Oh, so very, very sharp. It’s been a while since I’ve had to be on guard, but I will from now while in your company. Now, if play is done with––what are the names of your new lads?”

  Goll told him, drawing the agent’s attention away from Halm. Borchus recited each name until he remembered them, taking only two tries, and nodded with
satisfaction. “Excellent. Well, then, my business is done. I’ll be on my way.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He blinked at Goll. “To get word back to Clavellus. He’ll appreciate being kept abreast of matters. And I have to deliver the coin he won. After that, I’m all yours. Have no fear. I’ll be in touch, Master Goll.”

  With that, the stocky man dipped his head in salute and turned his attention upon Halm. He kept his tongue, however, and departed the healer’s house with an all-too-comfortable smile.

  Halm didn’t wait for the swinging door to be closed. “I don’t like him at all.”

  “I doubt he cares much for you either,” Goll muttered and then faced the other men present, nodding at Shan when the healer gestured toward a trio of faces he didn’t know. They were older, perhaps in their late thirties or early forties, in shape, wearing cheap leather vests and bearing scabbarded shortswords at their waists. Gray flecked their heavy beards and gave the Kree a moment’s pause.

  The third man was a hard-looking individual who appeared to have just come out of a small war. He was barely average height, built solidly and wearing a plain white shirt and black trousers that seemed very well tailored despite shoddy fabric. The face under a mop of dark hair told another story, a recent, more violent one. A light beard was kept neat, but his cheeks were battered and hued a sickly yellow from fading bruises. His left cheek had at least ten stitches in it, while a large scab covered his right. Fresh ointment had been smeared over the wounds, making them gleam wetly. The smell of ripe onions hung around him.

  “Who are these, then?” Goll asked, feeling pressed for time.

  “These are the guards you asked about,” Shan replied, pursing his lips. “The best I could do on short notice, but you were in luck.”

  “More than luck,” the battered man said eagerly and smiled, baring healthy teeth.

  Goll’s expression made it clear he wouldn’t be so quick to agree.

  “This is Clades,” Shan said, filling the awkward silence. “While this is Pratos, and Valka.”

  “Bit old, aren’t you?” Goll asked, screwing up his mouth.

  “I can vouch for them both, Master Goll,” Clades spoke up. “Shan contacted me first, and I contacted both Pratos and Valka. They’re Sujin, Lord.”