by James Fuller
“That is not what I meant. How did I get to my room?”
“Not in a particularly dignified way, but I got you there,” she teased.
“Did anything—” Meath paused, almost afraid of what the answer might be, yet he could not understand why. “Nothing happened— between us last night, did it?”
Tabitha’s face flushed with nervousness. “I did not think you would have remembered.”
Meath’s face flushed with dread. “What happened?”
Tabitha looked around awkwardly before her eyes met his again. “You kissed me, Meath, and when I returned the kiss you called me— her name.” Tabitha’s expression was one of hurt. “But I understand and do not think ill of you for it. I know you loved her…a girl could only be so lucky, to have such love given.”
Meath felt relief flood through him, but he did his best not to let it show. He did not want to hurt her any more than he likely had already. “Thank you for being honest with me and I am sorry if I hurt you.”
Tabitha was already shaking her head. “It is all right, Meath - I will always be here for you if you need me.”
“You are too kind.”
“I care a lot for you, Meath, more than you may know—” she caught herself before she finished that train of thought, quickly changing the subject. “Since you are up, I guess we should get to your training.”
Meath grimaced as he rubbed at his temples. “I was afraid you would say that.”
*****
Nicolette sat on her hard bamboo cot, staring over at her friend’s sleeping form. She had no idea now how much time had passed; the days seemed to blend together in a nightmarish haze. She guessed it had been weeks but could not say for certain. Shania’s attitude and self had almost returned to as it once had been, yet an unspoken umbrage remained, barely hidden behind her eyes, ever since she had returned from the tents of Jeriki. Shania never spoke of what happened and Nicolette knew it was not her place to ask, but she would be there to listen if she ever needed it, no matter how hard it would be.
Nicolette flinched as the sound of a whip cracked outside and whispered a silent prayer to the Creator that it had not landed upon one of her friend’s backs. She knew Zehava and Dahak were still alive - they seemed to be on the lips of all of Lance’s men and had won them all much coin in the pits. The camp had been bereft of fights now for quite some time and each day, Nicolette feared another group of slavers would arrive and her friends’ lives would be endangered once more. The ever constant threat of death, and worse, loomed over them all constantly and oppressively.
“Rise and shine ladies!” A guard called from the doorway, “time for you to get some fresh air. You know the drill.”
Nicolette gripped the wooden bars of the Hen House and looked out into the camp. Things were quiet and she was thankful for that, yet she knew better than to believe that they were safe. Any day could be their last. Today could just be the calm before the storm, for any of them, but she had begun to accept that and appreciate the false sense of security in these times…she had to.
Her eyes stopped wandering the vileness of the slaver camp and focused on her friends as they trained with the other enslaved fighters. She watched Zehava’s smooth, controlled movements as he put his training partner down time and again. Even here, he retained his sense of empathy and offered his hand, helping the man return to his feet before offering him instruction on how to improve. She did not know why, but this gave her hope that not all was lost.
Her eyes drifted to where Dahak stood. Two men circled around him, wooden training swords in their hands. Dahak was impassive as he waited for them to attack. He held no weapon. Both men finally came at him and Dahak exploded into action. Within a handful of heartbeats - one man was on the ground, disarmed, holding a broken arm and bleeding from his nose and mouth while the other was pressed up against a building as Dahak rained heavy fists down onto him. Quickly, Lance’s men pulled him off and restrained him before he could further injure his opponents.
“What has happened to you, Dahak?” Nicolette whispered, fear and concern tingeing her words.
“The Dahak we knew is gone,” Shania whispered beside her, yet her eyes did not leave the ground.
“What do you mean?”
Tears escaped Shania’s almond eyes. “He has been slighted by what happened to me and no longer cares if he lives or dies. I have seen it once before from a warrior in my tribe. It is a path of death and self-destruction, with only one outcome...”
Shania did not have to finish for Nicolette to know what she meant. “Is there no way to bring him back?”
“I do not know,” Shania admitted, “but the longer we live like this, the further he will fall into the beast that is emerging.”
Nicolette’s attention was pulled away as she heard Lance’s angry voice, screaming at Dahak for breaking the man’s arm. She could tell Dahak was not even listening; his cold blue eyes were fixed on Shania.
Lance barked out orders to the men holding Dahak and they led him away. Lance kicked at the injured fighter and stalked over to the Hen House. He eyed them all menacingly and stopped in front of Nicolette and Shania. “Your friend causes me much grief.”
“Good,” Shania muttered, still not lifting her eyes.
Lance sneered but was quick to compose himself. “You would do well to watch your tongue, girl, lest I grow tired of your usefulness and give you over to the next group that comes in.”
Nicolette gripped the bars tighter, her knuckles flushed white and her eyes seething with hatred.
Lance grinned and stepped closer. “Or maybe it will be your turn.” The sound of a wagon turned Lance’s attention for a moment. “Ah, my new stock has arrived. We have two new girls this morning, so let us be sure to give them a good, friendly welcoming.”
Two girls were pulled from a wagon, their heads covered with a sack and their hands bound tightly behind them. They were pushed into the cell and collapsed into the dirt.
Nina went to one and lifted her upright, removed her hood, and began untying her hands, while Shania did the same with the other.
“Keisha?” Shania gasped trying to keep voice down.
“Who are you?” Keisha hissed back, her eyes closed as she tried to adjust to the sudden brightness.
“It is me, Shania,.” She quickly untied the girl’s hands and helped her to her feet.
“Shania! What are you doing here?” Keisha’s eyes slowly came into focus as she took in her new surroundings with dread.
“The same thing you are,” Nina replied, giving up on the whimpering girl at her feet.
Keisha scanned her surroundings her manner souring the more she looked. “What is this place?”
“A slaver camp,” Shania told her mournfully.
“How did you come to get here?” Nicolette asked.
“Well, with your help, Barnaby escaped the dungeons in Dragon’s Cove; shortly after, the thieves’ guild got word that a barbarian army was massing and on the move towards Dragon’s Cove. So we - like the rest of the guild - fled the city,” Keisha sighed. “A good thing too - it was not more than half a fortnight later and the castle was under siege.”
“What?” Nicolette stammered out. “Dragon’s Cove is under siege?”
“Ya, I thought you would have known given the fact that you are the pri—” Shania quickly put her hand over Keisha’s mouth, stopping her before she could give away Nicolette’s true identity. Keisha soon realized why she had been stopped and nodded. “Wait, why are you two here?”
“A long story,” Nicolette replied, “one better left for another time.”
“So you fled the city, then what?” Shania pressed.
“Well, we tried to find somewhere we could find refuge in for a while, until we could figure out our next move. But most the towns and cities were either destroyed or full and would not let anyone else in,” Keisha shrugged. “Finally, we found a town that was far enough away from the war that let us in. Barnaby cheated some men o
ut of some coin at a bar and before we knew it, we were locked up and being sold to some travelers.”
“Where is Barnaby?” Nicolette asked.
Keisha spat. “Bleh, he was able to escape a few days ago, before we were sold again…to these guys.”
“He just left without you?” Shania was surprised.
“He had no choice - there was no time to get me out safely.” Keisha sighed again. “He will find me, he always does.”
“We got trouble,” Nina called over to them.
Nicolette, Shania and Keisha stood up and moved to the bars and watched the arrival of a small group of slavers.
“Who are they?” Shania asked.
Nina cupped her eyes to try to get a better look. “Not sure - I do not recognize them. But by the look of their wares, they are here for one thing.”
A lump formed in Nicolette’s throat as the line of chained men made their way into the camp. “Fighters,” she whispered fearfully. The men were savage looking, some near twice the size of Zehava. Their bodies were riddled with battle wounds, indicating they had survived their fair share of fights already.
“Ah, Darren…it is good to see you again.” Lance called out to the advancing group.
A large, brutish man with a coal-black eye patch dismounted a white mare and stepped forward. “I hope you have plenty of coin to lose this time, Lance,” he replied with a grin and the two men clasped hands.
“If I recall, you took a fair bit from me last time you were here,” Lance said with only a hint of bitterness.
“Ay and I plan on taking the rest of it, this time,” Darren remarked. “I have heard rumors that you have some new fighters that are worthy of the pits.”
Lance fought to hold back his grin. “I have acquired a few choice men, yes.”
“I heard one even beat Jeriki’s prized man. No easy feat. I myself have lost several to that brute.”
“Well, worry not…that brute is no more.”
“Good - it is about time Jeriki was knocked from his throne.” Darren laughed. “Let me get settled and rested and we will see who the Fates favor tonight.”
Dahak sat with his naked back to the hard wood of his large cell. He was alone, in his own building now, so silence and his thoughts were all he had to preoccupy himself with. The cell with its cot had been his reward for all the coin he had won Lance lately. The title of top fighter had been given by Lance’s own lips. And with such a title came certain rewards, none of which Dahak cared for. He still slept upon the floorboards like the animal he was now.
He had survived many fights, more than he even remembered. His enemies’ dying faces were all just a blur in his darkened memory. Life beyond a cage and the cruel, dirty grit of the pit had ceased to be - he had accepted his fate, embracing and succumbing to it. It was all he could do not to break down into the blubbering coward he had once been.
That Dahak was forever dead. There was no room for weakness in the pit, only instinct and the desire to live or to die. He stared blankly at the filthy floor - he truly had no idea which one he desired any more.
The loud, grating creak of the building’s door sounded as it opened. The sun’s warm, bright rays stung at his unaccustomed eyes, but he did not flinch away from it – instead, he embraced the biting pain it caused.
“How is my prize fighter today?” Lance asked as he neared the bars. But Dahak said nothing. “I shall take your silence as a sign you are doing well as strong, able men need no words. You crippled Hector today in practice. Even with the help of Elsrath he will not fight for a fortnight. That means you will be taking on all his fights until then.” There was a hint of irritation in Lance’s voice. “You will fight again this evening, against an opponent who will likely be the hardest you have ever faced. There is a very good chance he will kill you,” Lance paused to see if he would get a reaction - when none was forthcoming, he continued. “I would hate to see that, so I have come to add some — incentive. If you win I will let you have the night with that half-breed whore you seem to fancy so much.” Dahak’s eyes snapped up and locked on Lance’s, animosity burning from him. “I knew that might get your attention. If you lose though, I will let every one of Darren’s men have their way with her until she is nothing more than ragged, abused, bloody flesh!”
Dahak had not even realized he had gotten to his feet and now gripped the cage bars tightly in his dirt-stained hands, glaring at Lance. “If you touch her, I will tear your cursed heart out!” He spat.
Lance grinned. “That is what I wanted to see.” He went to the door and turned back. “Use that hate when you enter the pits tonight.”
Dahak was escorted towards the pit - four armed men flanked him, his arms and legs were shackled together to prevent him from doing anything foolish. The crowd was small but eager to see blood and wagered coin as they overindulged on cheap wine and ale.
Men from Lance’s horde cheered as Dahak was led to the edge of the pit, while Darren’s men cursed and uttered threats. Dahak heard none of it; his eyes were focused intently upon the monster of a man waiting for him in the dirt compound. His arms and legs were unshackled.
“You are going to want something more than a dagger for this bastard,” one of his escorts told him, offering his own sword.
“My knife,” Dahak replied coldly.
The man handed him the rusty blade in dismay. “Have it your way.”
The familiar feel of the dagger’s worn handle comforted him as he jumped down into the pit. He rose up and faced his massive opponent. The old Dahak would have shrunk away in fear at the sheer size of the foe. The giant of a man was a desert half-breed - half savage and half eastern nomad, with skin darker than ash. His arms and chest bulged with corded muscle as he gripped the dual swords tightly.
Dahak spat and charged. The crowd went wild. His opponent had not expected such an audacious move and slashed one of his swords, to keep him at a distance. Dahak dropped into a front roll and came up within his enemy’s reach. He stabbed his knife deep into the man’s abdomen, before ramming it home with a twist.
The sound of iron on bone grated loudly in Dahak’s ears as the brute brought the hilt of his sword down on top of his head. Dahak’s vision blurred and he staggered back from the vicious blow. A sting of pain rushed down the side of his face as the tip of a sword sliced through flesh, opening a long gash through his cheek. Dahak could taste the bitter flavor of blood and knew the wound went all the way through. Dahak barely had time to react as a second sword thrust for his chest. He threw himself back, but the blade still found the meat of his shoulder.
The giant came at him, both swords hacking and slashing wildly, looking to taste flesh once more. But Dahak was in the moment now, his senses dangerously precise as he easily maneuvered himself around each deadly attack. His own blade finding opportunity, time and again, until his enemy was riddled with a score of deep, bleeding wounds.
“Come on, Nok, finish the tiny bastard!” Someone from the crowd bellowed out.
The desert half-breed caught his second wind and bellowed in fury as he sprang forward. Dahak met that charge and as they neared, Dahak dropped to his knees and skidded forward under the mighty swings of Nok. His own blade ripped across his enemy’s midsection as the man passed by him.
Dahak was quick to his feet prepared to meet another attack. Nok turned around, his face wide with disbelief. As he looked down at the wound, his entrails began to free themselves from his body. He slumped to his knees, his weapons forgotten. Dahak rounded his opponent and ran his blade across his throat with no hint of remorse
The crowd roared in heightened exhilaration.
“You fought well today,” Lance exclaimed proudly, holding up a large, bulging purse, “and won me a lot of coin.”
Dahak said nothing, staring at the floor as Elsrath healed his wounds.
“I am a man of my word, you know.” Lance waved his hand and Shania was escorted into the building. Lance’s eyes beamed with prospect. “You know this life does
not have to be all bad,” Lance said as he and Elsrath left.
“Oh, Dahak!” Shania ran to his side, her hand softly caressing his bloodstained face. “I did not think I would ever touch your face again.” She cried but Dahak did not move. “What is it? Talk to me?”
His eyes slipped and met hers - it was his undoing and tears began to flow freely.
Chapter 14
The night was cold and the biting rain did not help matters as the band of soldiers huddled close to their campfires. Under normal circumstances, campfires would not have been allowed, but for this mission, it was essential that the enemy knew exactly where they were.
They had been certain to travel within sight of several enemy scouts, making sure the enemy knew exactly what cargo they carried. They had not made it entirely easy on them - several scouts had been hunted down so it did not look like a trap.
A long, blond-haired soldier held his hands closer to the flames. “My hands are so numb; I fear I will not be able to hold my sword when the time comes.”
“I was just thinking the same bloody thing,” another soldier replied from across the fire, holding his hands under his armpits.
“This is one of those assignments I could have easily done without, you know,” the first muttered. “I did not think I could miss the meager warmth of my tent as I do now. To think just the other night, I was complaining about it… I will remember this night and be grateful for meager next time.”
“I will just be happy when all this dang war business is over,” a third solider commented. “I miss my family. There are only so many times a man can charge into battle and test fate before a stray arrow or well-placed blade finds him. I do not want to die out here.” Everyone muttered their agreement.
A long silence followed, the sound of a lone wolf calling in the distance echoing over the camp.
“It is a pity all the food in those wagons is poisoned,” the second solider said. “I am so damn hungry, I am considering eating my damn horse.”
