Brothers of Blood (Fall of a King Book 2)

by James Fuller

Lance laughed. “Do not tell the others that or they will eat you alive and by the end of the night, you will likely not have two coppers to rub together.”

  Zehava could hear the sound of steel cut through the air a mere finger’s width away, even over the deafening sound of the crowd above. As his opponent’s blade bit into the earth, Zehava’s fist snapped up under the heavyset man’s jaw. The sound of teeth shattering ignited the crowd further as the man staggered back, spitting blood.

  Zehava’s blade lunged for the man’s midsection, but his opponent had enough sense about him still to parry the attack wide. Zehava used that extra momentum and spun fully around, crouching down, his sword cut clean through the man legs. The crowd went hysterical with excitement.

  Zehava watched the wailing man try to crawl away, leaving his legs in the mud behind him. With a quick thrust, Zehava’s sword tip slipped between ribs and into the heart, ending his opponent’s torment.

  “Once again, my man has beaten yours,” Lance commented snidely to the slaver beside him as he held out his hand to collect the coin owed.

  “It would appear your luck has finally changed, Lance,” the slaver replied begrudgingly. “You ever consider selling such a fighter?”

  Lance could hardly contain his grin. “Everything is for sale, if the price is right.”

  “We shall talk later of such things then.” The slaver nodded and stalked away, yelling profanities at his remaining fighters.

  “I see it is wise you bet on your man,” Barnaby said as he was handed a small stack of coins from a collector.

  “It was not always this way for me, but as I said, my luck has changed,” Lance beamed.

  “I am told this one is not even your prized fighter,” Barnaby added, “that you have one that trumps even this man.”

  “I am not normally one to give such information away, but I like you, Gallimere” Lance clasped him on the back. “If you want to double what coin is in your purse, bet it all on my next man and you will not be disappointed.”

  Barnaby laughed. “You only tell me this because you know I plan on purchasing slaves from you, so the coin will be yours in the end.”

  “Wise man, but the truth still stands, my man will not lose. It would be foolish to bet against him.”

  “May I look upon this warrior of yours?”

  “Of course, he is over there in that separate cage. But do not get too close, as he is just as likely to kill you as his opponents in the pit.” Lance pointed to a slump-shouldered man and Barnaby strolled away.

  “Are you Dahak?” Barnaby whispered to the lone figure.

  Dahak’s eyes were cold as his gaze fell upon the loosely dressed man in front of him. But he said nothing.

  “My name is Barnaby... I am a friend of Shania’s. I am here to try and help.”

  Dahak’s eyes widened at the familiarity of the name but still he did not speak.

  “I need to know that you believe you can win your next fight,” Barnaby whispered as he looked around nervously. When content no one was within earshot, he continued. “I will bet all my coin on you hoping I will have enough to buy my sister and Princess Nicolette so I can get them to safety. Then I will send for...”

  Dahak lurched to his feet and grabbed the thick bamboo bars. “No! You get Shania out of here with that coin!” He growled and Barnaby instinctively took a step back.

  “It was Shania who told me to get Nicolette out of here,” Barnaby countered. “Once we are safe, help will come back for the rest of you, I swear it.”

  Dahak’s eyes raged with violence. “You get Shania out of here!” He hissed. “Do not consider leaving without her!”

  “A plan is in place my friend; I just need you to win.”

  Dahak leaned closer, his icy blue eyes colder than death. “I am not your friend. If you leave without her, I will kill you myself!”

  As Barnaby walked back to the pits, he could suppress the shiver down his spine no longer. The beast behind those bars held very little of the man that likely had once been and he had to wonder what horrible thing had happened to do that to a man.

  “Well your man back there sure does not look like much,” Barnaby told Lance as he came to stop beside him once more. “But the intensity behind those eyes tells a whole different story.”

  “And what have you decided?”

  “I would be a fool to bet on anyone else.”

  “Wise choice.” Lance chuckled, taking his eyes off the bloody fight brewing below. “Now, since you have already seen my wares and surely have one in mind, let us talk of that. I will give you first pick if the price is high enough.”

  “That is so very kind of you; I am honored by your hospitality,” Barnaby replied.

  “Bleh, enough of this polite, political nonsense,” Lance cursed. “I am a slaver and a cutthroat - you do not need to butter me up with sweet words to stroke my ego. Talk plainly man, coin is the true language of my kind.”

  Barnaby nodded. “Again, I apologize. I am use to dealings with men who I have to pamper with words. I have my eyes on two of your beauties. That young, scrappy looking redhead would suit a certain craving I have been having lately.”

  Lance rubbed his chin in thought. “I am feeling generous; the redhead is yours for three gold. Which is the other that has caught your eye?”

  Barnaby had to fight the nausea that flooded through him at the thought of someone else buying his sister. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and continued. “Well, in truth, all your girls have their appeal but the petite brunette housed with that half-breed has caught my fancy in a way I cannot resist.”

  Lance frowned and turned his eyes away, his face stern.

  “Have I offended?” Barnaby asked, his heart racing with worry. What if Lance knew Nicolette’s true identity? No, of course not, he chided himself, if the man knew who she was, he would have exploited it by now.

  “What is it about that girl that everyone seems to find interest in?” Lance muttered. “No, you have not offended, Gallimere. I do not wish to part with her as of yet. I have cause to keep that one around.”

  “You have taken a fancy toward your own wares?” Barnaby asked, with a raised brow.

  “No, no not that,” Lance quickly put in waving his hand towards the notion. “One of my fighters seems to have eyes for her and so I have kept her around to help — inspire him to stay alive. It has proven its worth so far.”

  Barnaby cursed to himself. “That is an interesting arrangement. I must tell you I would be most disappointed to leave here without both of them. Everything has a price… name hers?”

  “Tell me, Gallimere - what is it about her that has so intrigued you and so many others?” Lance questioned pouring two mugs of dark ale and handing one to Barnaby.

  Barnaby took a deep drink of the thick liquor and leaned in closer. “I shall tell you a secret.” Lance’s eyes tingled with anticipation. “I believe her to be the lost Princess,” Barnaby whispered.

  Lance’s face was a tangle of confusion and wonder for several long moments, until Barnaby broke the silence with a burst of laughter.

  “I kid you, I kid you. Would not that be something?” They both shared a deep laugh.

  “For a moment there, Gallimere, I thought you thought you were serious!”

  “Truth be told, the girl has a strange aura about her. I think before long she would be completely submissive and tend to a man’s every need without thought of displeasure. Her skin is soft and not riddled with scars, neither is it pocked by hard days under the sun. Her voice is soft yet holds a tone for melody and with proper instruction she could sing at court or banquets. All around, a very useful slave - something one does not run across very often.”

  “You seem to know a great deal about slaves and their worth. Might it be you are in the wrong profession, Gallimere?”

  “A slaver? Me? Ah, Lance you do have a sense of humor in there. Look at me... I am too soft for the likes of this enterprise. It takes a hard man like yourself to be su
ccessful in this business. I would be eaten alive.” He held up his hands in dismay. “I merely have an eye for quality, something every great glass merchant must have, if he is to succeed in his trade.”

  “An eye for quality you have and so I must believe you also would be able to pin a price on such a rare girl, taking into account her extra use to me as motivation for my fighter.” Lance grinned.

  Barnaby laughed. “You put me in my awkward position. For if I price to low I risk insult in the hopes of saving a few coins from my purse. Yet if I price higher I might overpay from what you believe the girls worth to be.”

  “You truly are a careful man.”

  “It is how a man makes money and stays alive.”

  “Twelve gold and the girl is yours,” Lance finally said.

  Barnaby gasped out loud. “That is a steep price for a single slave. Even for one as rare as she.”

  “It is,” Lance admitted, “I have turned down such an offer for her once before, but…I like you, Gallimere and so that is the price. I will not lie; I would be more than fine if you refused.”

  “Well, your man had better win, if I am to pay that price.” Barnaby laughed faintly, his mind a whirl of thoughts and plans.

  “He will win, of that I have no doubt.”

  “I am curious of something. If I do purchase this girl, what will your fighter do when he realizes she is gone?”

  Lance stared down at his half empty mug. “I too am a man who must weigh chance with coin. If you do make purchase, I will tell the fighter the girl is gone and then sell him to Phinius.”

  “Why would you tell the fighter the girl was gone?” As the words left his mouth Barnaby knew the answer and his eyes lit up and Lance smiled. “You would tell him hoping that it ruins him as a fighter so he is no threat to you and yours.”

  “You miss nothing, Gallimere.” Lance grinned and turned his attention back to the fights.

  Barnaby walked the slaver camp, the night was well upon them now, yet two score of torches burned around the pit so the fights could continue well into the night. By now nearly the whole camp had had its share of ale. The bets had grown larger and more desperate, fuelled by ale. With such bets and false courage flowing through veins, many small fights broke out but were halted before any real damage could be inflicted.

  Barnaby fingered his coin purse at his belt. It had swelled far beyond what it had started at, yet he still needed more if he were to be able to afford his sister and the Queen. There would be many more fights this night but he refused to risk losing what he had already won on chance. He had left the roars and curses of the pit side hoping for the silence he needed to think and plan and pray. A sudden commotion behind him averted his attention.

  “You are nothing but a whoreson, Sanders!” A drunken man spat to the man who neared him.

  “And you are a drunk who runs his mouth and does not have the coin to back his words!” Sanders spat back, his voice and stance showing signs of overindulgence as well. “I want the coin you owe me!”

  “I owe you nothing, ya bastard!” The drunk hissed. “You cheated me and you know it!”

  Barnaby watched the two men curse each other until finally, Sanders pulled his dagger threateningly.

  “I swear to you here and now if you do not have my money by morning I will cut my payment from your flesh!” Sanders growled.

  “Okay okay, you win; I will have your coin by morning,” the other man mumbled in defeat, his shoulders slumping lower.

  Sanders turned and stumbled towards his tents. Barnaby caught the slight flash of steel reflecting off the torchlight as Sander’s dagger missed its sheath and fell to the earth. The man did not seem to notice and continued his way to his tent. Barnaby turned his eyes toward the other man, who was staggering his way to the jungle’s edge to relieve himself.

  Barnaby smiled softly as a plan formulated within his mind. He looked back at the slave barn and his mood darkened; tomorrow he would leave this place, with his sister and the Queen in tow.

  Barnaby awoke to the sound of yelling and cursing outside and knew last night’s preparation was in action. He quickly dressed and went out to witness his work.

  “I did no such thing!” Sanders barked out as two of Lance’s men dragged him from his tent. “Let go of me at once!”

  The two brutish men dragged the kicking man to the center of the camp and threw him to the ground near the pits edge. The growling and barking of two vicious dogs escaped the depths of the pit.

  Sanders pulled himself to his feet; his face was red with rage. “Lance, what is the meaning of this horseshit?”

  “You tell me,” Lance said coldly.

  “I killed no one, you fool.” Sanders spat, his eyes avoiding gazing directly at the pit.

  “The evidence proves otherwise.” Lance bent down and pulled the blanket off the body and a low murmur rippled through the gathering crowd. “Is that not your dagger, embedded in Philmore’s back?”

  Sanders’ hand reach down to his belt and his face paled when his hand found nothing but an empty sheath. “I... I...”

  “Is that not your dagger?” Lance asked again.

  Sanders took a step back to gather himself. “I have no idea how it... I swear I did not do this, Lance!” Sanders’ voice quickly lost its edge and was replaced by one of fear. “You must believe me!”

  “We all heard you and Philmore arguing last night,” someone from the crowd called out and several others muttered their agreement.

  Lance hushed the crowd with raised hands and walked up to Sander. “You know my rules.”

  Sanders’ eyes bugled with fear. “I swear to you, Lance I...” his words were cut short by his screams as Lance shoved him into the pit. The dogs below were quick to silence their new victim.

  “Let this be a reminder to all of you,” Lance called out, so everyone could hear him. “What you do to each other outside my camp is none of my business, but within my camp...” He let the statement stand on its own.

  Barnaby felt no joy in what he had done but he could not deny it had worked. He now had enough coin to buy both women and a few coins to spare.

  “Lance,” Barnaby stepped out from the doorway and met the slaver as he walked away from the pits.

  “Gallimere, so how did you make out last night?”

  Barnaby smiled jiggling his coin purse. “Well enough to meet your price, if you still insist upon it.”

  “The price has not changed,” Lance replied, lined with slight irritation.

  “Then I guess I am forced to pay,” Barnaby forced a smile.

  Lance nodded. “When do you plan on leaving?”

  “I am afraid I must depart your fine establishment today. My men and my merchandise are waiting for me a handful of miles away. As much as I wish to linger, I have an eager buyer awaiting the large shipment of glass wares I carry.”

  “That is a pity, but understandable. I will have the girls readied for you then and I will have two of my men escort you to your camp,” Lance said.

  “You are most gracious but I am sure I can handle two slave girls on my own.”

  “I insist upon it,” Lance countered. “These two are a dangerous pair, not to mention the barbarian tribe sightings are far more frequent of late. You can never be too careful these days.”

  “You make a good point,” Barnaby bowed his head. “An escort may be best.”

  “Give me until noon and I will have everything readied,” Lance told him and walked away.

  Barnaby swayed rhythmically on his horse, his mind was a welter of plotting as he watched both of Lance’s men leading the way to a camp that did not exist. It would not be long until they figured it out. Both men wore thick leather armor and carried both spear and sword and wore grim expressions, clearly displeased about being an escort. They would not be easily taken or deceived. He would need to a flawless plan before he could act. He cursed under his breath - nothing was ever easy.

  Barnaby rode up between Nicolette and Keisha, mak
ing sure the escort in front did not notice. He could see the fear and confusion in their eyes and tried to give them a reassuring smile, yet it was he who needed one. He quickly severed the bindings holding their hands to the saddle but motioned for them to keep them in place. He handed Nicolette the short length of leather cord and let his horse fall back once more.

  “How much further is this blasted camp of yours, merchant?” One of the men growled back.

  “It should not be much further,” Barnaby replied.

  “You said that a mile ago,” the man retorted bitterly.

  “I am a merchant, not a bloody scout!” Barnaby snapped back. “We will be there when we are there.”

  “Well, I am not going to hold it any longer. I need to take a piss,” one of Lance’s men grumbled and the group halted.

  “That is a good idea,” Barnaby said dismounting and working his way into the brush.

  “Where are you going, merchant?” the mounted man called out.

  “To piss,” he replied.

  “Probably a damn eunuch.” Both men laughed.

  “I need some assistance,” Barnaby called out from the growth.

  Both men exchanged awkward glances. “You do not have enough money for that merchant.” They shared a laugh again.

  “No, you fools… my foot is stuck!” Barnaby called out from the darkness.

  “Damnable merchant, I will go,” the man disappeared into the jungle.

  Several long moments passed. The other man frowned as he edged closer to the growth. “Hurry up in there!” No reply came. “Are you two all right?” he called out, his tone growing nervous.

  Finally the brush started to move and Barnaby stepped out calmly.

  “Where is Harold?”

  Barnaby straightened out his clothing. “I am afraid he will not be joining us.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Nicolette lunged from her horse, the leather cord snapping taunt around the man’s neck as the weight of her body crashed down upon him, dropping him to his knees. Nicolette pulled back on the leather cord with every ounce of strength she had. Her eyes were shut tight and her teeth were barred together. The cord cut into her palms as she pulled back violently against the desperate struggles of her victim.