“Halm of Zhiberia!” The Madea’s voice cut through the good spirits of the companions and caused them all to turn about.
“Tomorrow, Halm of Zhiberia,” the Madea shouted. “Your blood match will be tomorrow. Are you able to fight?”
Halm sighed. “I am. Tomorrow, then.”
“First match, Halm of Zhiberia.”
The Zhiberian scowled. “No drinking or wenching this night, lads. Not for me, anyway.”
“Harsh words,” Pig Knot clapped him on the shoulder. “You almost sound responsible, now.”
On the way out, they visited the Pay Master, who handed Halm his prize. The Zhiberian’s purse jingled from the weight of twenty gold coins, and he kept a firm grip on it.
Just outside of the Entryway of the Sun, the four companions visited the Domis who handled the wagers. They lined up for one of four enclosed booths surrounded by menacing Skarrs. Others who had also won their wagers waited to collect their winnings while, one line over, people made their wagers for the next fight. Goll, Muluk and Halm identified themselves with their scrawl and were given their coin. At four to one odds, each man had won enough to be laughing.
“Well, then, lads,” Halm said. “I’m off to the baths. And then an early supper, but no drinking.”
“Then neither will I,” Goll said.
“Nor I,” Muluk threw in.
“I can’t, anyway,” Pig Knot said. “As I’m living off you until my first match.”
“When is that?” Halm asked.
“The day after yours, it seems. I fight some topper called Darcevo.”
“Dar––” Halm began, and stopped in his tracks.
Just ahead, standing in the middle of the grounds surrounding Sunja’s Pit, stood Vadrian the Fire. He wore armor and carried a scabbard on his hip, but his spiked gauntlet was nowhere to be seen.
“Heathen maggots all,” the tall, blond man declared. “Prospering over the deaths. Have you no shame? You’re as bad as the Zhiberian shite with you.”
Pig Knot spoke first. “Aren’t you a part of these games, you brazen kog?”
“I do not partake in the greedy practices of wagering.”
“Ah, this one is just like the clergy in my homeland,” a smiling Halm said. “One corner of his mouth lies, while the other gives the truth. You’re in Sunja’s Pit, you pig-bastard. With two victories. You’ve already collected twice.”
“I collect no such coin, hellborn.” Vadrian’s head arched backward as if he had gotten a whiff of something unpleasant. “I fight for Seddon alone. To collect gold at the death of another, even those as lowly as you, is against his divine word.”
“But killing them straight away is fine with Seddon?” Pig Knot asked.
“The faster the better, so that the divine may reclaim those lost souls. But you…” Vadrian pointed at Halm. “You’ll be a special case. I’ll dispatch you to Saimon’s hell. Where you belong. Burning for eternity for mocking the Church of Seddon.”
“I only mock ass-lickers,” Halm retorted. “Not proper churches.”
“The Church of Seddon is a proper church. It is the Church to which all will soon be tethered to better embrace the light of Seddon.”
“Under your command, I suppose.”
“Of course.”
Halm had nothing more to say, recognizing Vadrian as one fish hooked through the brainpan. He started walking toward the man calling himself the Fire. The self-proclaimed Son of Seddon tensed and gripped his sword’s pommel.
Halm stopped in his tracks. “You’re damn quick to go for your blade. Get out of my way, and we won’t have a problem.”
“You have a problem, spawn of Zhiberia,” Vadrian hissed.
Standing so close, Halm could see the warrior’s eyes were even crazier looking than Pig Knot’s.
“I know about Zhiberia,” Vadrian continued. “The people there are nothing more than ignorant wastes of flesh. Heathens all. I look forward to traveling there one day, to purify the land in Seddon’s name. Only then, with you unfit savages scoured from the face of Seddon’s earth, will the smell cease plaguing Sunja by way of the spring winds.”
“You’re unfit,” Halm told him, studying his face.
“I’ve been touched by the hand of Seddon, dog. Blessed with gifts physical and spiritual, to go forth and do Seddon’s bidding. Where better to start a crusade but in the darkest pit? It begins here, maggot, with the souls of all disbelievers sent to Seddon by the strength of my fist and the cut of my steel. When I have purged the arena, I’ll scour this entire city. All of this place. I tell you this, Zhiberian, because tomorrow I send you to Seddon or Saimon, whoever will take you.”
A seething, clearly unstable Vadrian waited for a retort.
Halm gave him one.
The Zhiberian looked at his companions and indicated for them to walk around the man in their way. Goll hopped along on crutches while Pig Knot stood eye-to-eye with Vadrian and scowled.
Vadrian kept on speaking, however. “You walk away from me now, Zhiberian pisspot, but there will be no walking away from me tomorrow. You go and enjoy whatever pleasures you have waiting. Enjoy the gluttony and the drink that saps your soul. Tomorrow, it all ends. Tomorrow, I send you.”
Still glaring, Pig Knot backed off and circled Vadrian after the others had gone. He eyed the Fire, and retreated a respectable distance before turning his back.
Behind him, Vadrian spoke on, faster, and with greater passion. “Tomorrow, Zhiberian. You shall feel the might of Seddon on your heathen neck! Seddon has empowered me, me, to vanquish all that displeases him! I send you to him tomorrow, Halm, savage from savage Zhiberia! I shall send you!”
A pensive Halm shook his head at the outburst.
“I shall send you!” came the parting shout.
Then nothing, the crowds filled in the space between Vadrian and the departing four.
They walked on for a bit before Muluk leaned into Halm’s side. “Are you worried about tomorrow?”
“About him?” Halm frowned and rattled his head again. “But if I wasn’t in the games, I’d have chopped him right there. That one is right and proper unfit in the head.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Pig Knot exclaimed.
“Enough of him,” the Zhiberian declared. “Seddon will damn me if I don’t get to a bathhouse soon. I stink!”
*
Long after the four men had gone, Vadrian the Fire stood in the throngs of milling Sunjans and berated the lot. He preached long and loud enough that Skarrs gathered at a distance. They kept their backs to buildings, waving the masses by at times, and simply watched the angry man shouting at people until no one walked within ten paces of him. He chastised the passing people, warning them of gluttony and wanton pleasures of the flesh. He ranted about the sins of the Sunja and he swore to deliver them all into salvation.
After a while, Vadrian grew tired of speaking. The people remained well out of reach. They were wise to do so. Seddon, however, would bring them to him. He’d gather a flock with each victory in the Pit. The arena was key. If he showed strength of arms, power of will, and might of soul, then the masses would cling to his very person.
Tossing his head back and inhaling deeply, Vadrian decided to make his way back to his church and seek an early night. Tomorrow, he intended to make an example of the fat man. Seddon would enjoy the sacrifice.
With that final thought, Vadrian started walking.
*
After spending the remainder of the afternoon in a public bathhouse, the four friends decided it was time to eat and do a little celebrating. The slaying of Samarhead was an occasion that merited something better than the usual fare, and since they had coin to spend, they meandered through Sunja’s streets until locating an alehouse of good reputation. They found a table and ordered roasts of beef with vegetables and covered in rich sauce. Muluk paid for the food, and Goll paid for the drink. When the meal arrived, the serving girl left the victuals on a great platter in the middle of the table, and
they tore into it.
“This could be the start of something good,” Pig Knot said, as he chewed. “I owe you all for this. And I don’t forget my debts.”
Muluk shifted a mouthful of food into his right cheek so he could speak. “I’ll see that you remember.”
“I’ll sleep in a real room tonight,” Halm said. “Spend a few coins on something good.”
“They have rooms here,” Goll said. “I already paid for one.”
“I’ll get one as well.” Halm replied.
Muluk grunted. “Might as well, then.”
Pig Knot lowered his head and ate.
“Fear not,” Halm said and shoved the man’s shoulder. “I’ll get you a room. You should have at least one night out of general quarters.”
“No, that would be unwise,” Pig knot said. “As I said, I remember my debts. A night in the general quarters will push me harder to win. Stop me from suckling.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Goll said between bites. “About us. Free Trained fighters. And the games.”
“What about it?” Pig Knot asked, chewing loudly and wiping his face with a hand.
“We don’t have to merely be Free Trained.”
“We don’t?” Pig Knot smirked, muscular forearms flexing as he reached for more of the roast.
“Not in the least,” Goll said. “Think of it. The four of us can fight. Fight well, in fact, but we aren’t respected in the least. The established houses and schools in Sunja despise us because we pose a risk to their investments. We have no backing. Our weapons and armor are either our own or taken from the piles left behind by dead gladiators. It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“What are you saying?” Pig Knot asked. “That we start our own school? Our own house?”
Goll leaned over the table. “Why not?”
“Coin is why not,” Muluk said.
The two Krees regarded each other for a moment. Goll then reached under the table and plopped his leather purse onto the surface. That silenced the others and, for a moment, the only sounds heard were those of the alehouse’s regular customers eating and socializing.
“Foolishness,” Pig Knot muttered. “We can’t just announce ourselves as a house of gladiators.”
“Why not?” Goll pressed.
“The other houses won’t have it, for one.”
“And it takes more money than one purse of gold,” Muluk added.
“Let the man talk,” Halm said with a glimmer of interest. “There’s no harm in talk, is there? Unless it’s about Pig Knot, that is.”
The Sunjan winked at the Zhiberian.
Goll nodded his thanks and went on. “I killed a champion and almost died for it. But that champion did not represent any house when he fought me.” He pointed at Halm. “This man here just killed off a gladiator from the House of Curge. Do you think there won’t be a challenge there? Another blood fight? They might not even wait to get even. They might gut you outside of the arena. I’ve heard of such attacks on Free Trained warriors.”
Halm nodded. “I have, too.”
“As have I,” Pig Knot added with a frown.
“I only just got here.” Muluk smiled, but became serious when the others didn’t share his humor.
“I’ve heard stories about fighters disappearing in the night,” Pig Knot went on. “Fighters that had killed or wounded a man badly enough that he couldn’t continue. Free Trained fighters, who would defeat their foe and walk away, never to be seen again. I figure they were either driven out, or there are more than a few corpses in Sunja’s sewers.”
“Or bones, after the rats are done with them,” Halm added.
Muluk paused in chewing, had an image, dismissed it, and kept on eating.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Goll started again. “As we are now, we’re nothing. We’re the dogs, and we’re seen as that. We’re set against each other as well as the established schools and, if we win, we’re still dismissed. No Free Trained fighter has ever been champion of the games. Never. Think on that. And none of us will until we band together, share our secrets, our knowledge, and watch out for each other. Divided as we are now, no Free Trained gladiator will ever win the games. Because the House of Curge, or Gastillo, or Nexus, or Tilo, or any of them won’t allow a Free Trained to be champion. One way or the other.”
“If…” Halm cocked an eyebrow. “If we did do something, what would you suggest?”
“Pig Knot’s already said it. We start our own house. A Free Trained house.”
“We would not be free then,” Muluk said.
“I’m still thinking on that,” Goll responded. “But I don’t think we have to change anything. Think of it. If a fighter joins us, all he promises is to share his knowledge and train. But no one has to pay any gold. If one of us wins, a portion of the winnings will go into a pot. To finance the house and draw upon as needed.”
“We’d need training grounds,” Halm said. “Lodgings. Food. That would take a good amount of coin. A huge amount.”
“Then we’ll have to win. Frequently. Take a portion of each man’s winnings, as I just said. Perhaps even place wagers in the house’s name. Even the recognized houses do that. It’ll add up. In return, we’ll offer a place of refuge, a place to train, and a place to sleep without fear of waking up in the sewers.”
That quieted the three men.
“Think of this…” Goll challenged. “Right now, there are hundreds of Free Trained gladiators here at the games, all calling general quarters––which is a rat hole––home. Hundreds. We are already together, yet divided. If we have our own house, we become the largest force amongst the schools. We’re no longer threatened by the house gladiators who strut about as if they were gods.”
“That part will never change,” Pig Knot smirked.
“But you understand what it is I’m saying,” Goll insisted.
“Understanding is thirsty work.” Halm raised his mug.
“Aye that,” Pig Knot agreed and drank deeply.
Muluk appeared thoughtful, but in the end, he drank as well.
“Another pitcher here!” Pig Knot called out, lifting the empty one.
“Think on it, lads.” Goll hoped his words wouldn’t fade into the night. “That’s all I ask.”
He took a drink from his own mug.
Halm eyed the younger man, saw how his shoulders slumped. What he said made sense. There was a problem in it, however, and that was one of leadership. And the question of whether or not the Gladiatorial Chamber would actually allow a new house to form while the games were happening. Saying and doing were two different things, and Halm was smart enough to recognize that. He wondered if the wounded Kree sitting at his table recognized it as well.
• 11 •
Dark Matters
In darkness brimming with dust and the smell of decaying flesh, Vadrian slept on the floor of his church. He slumbered on his back, his head resting on a rough sack filled with a few possessions. He was a light sleeper, the Son of Seddon, but even he didn’t sense the figures creeping into his sanctuary, as noiseless as ghosts. The church didn’t allow any light from the moon outside, and the gloom was as oppressive as a violated tomb. The invading ghosts, six of them, moved in a line down the center of the church. They edged past broken pews, toward the altar at the front, careful not to disturb the sleeping Vadrian. They carried a single hooded lantern, its narrow beam of light revealing the path as they stepped with caution.
Vadrian slept before the altar, snoring loud enough to cause a few of the intruders to smirk. They spread out around him and, on the signal from one, pounced on the sleeping warrior.
Vadrian woke with his arms and legs held fast. Rough hands gripped his skull. A fury rose up within him, and his efforts to break free tripled.
He roared.
“You black-hearted bastards! Let me up! Let me up! I swear I’ll kill you all for violating His church! Let––”
An open hand slapped his face. Hard.
Li
vid rage flared in Vadrian’s eyes.
But then a blade appeared above him, just a flash of metal, and the weapon descended to the bobbing knob of Vadrian’s throat.
Feeling that steely sliver against his cheesepipe, Vadrian ceased struggling at once.
“Not pleasant, is it?” asked a voice in the darkness. “To have a knife at your throat.”
The lantern’s light shone into Vadrian’s eyes, blinding him.
“And let me be clear,” said the voice. “Move, and the last thing you see will be a fountain of your own blood. A gurgling fountain. Understood?”
Vadrian swallowed. The weapon’s edge rubbed against the knuckle of his throat.
“Understood.” The pit fighter whispered.
“Excellent,” the voice said. “I’ve tried to contact you before, twice in fact. And the one that did find you, you weren’t very nice to. My man only wanted to speak business, and you were quite forceful with him. Needlessly so.”
“I… will speak now,” Vadrian said.
“Far too late for civilized talk. But I’m willing to talk like this. Now then, to business, and I’ll let you sleep.”
Vadrian wasn’t certain to which type of sleep the silhouette referred.
“Tomorrow, you fight a man called Halm,” the voice declared. “I want him dead. You will kill him. There will be no quarter given. I don’t think you would, anyway, but I want to be clear on this. I want that man dead. In bloody fashion. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” Vadrian understood all too well, but the request was one that he had no trouble in following. It was all part of his grand design.
“Do this for me, and I will be most appreciative. I was actually willing to make you an offer before. I see talent in you. Now, however, I’m wary of offering you anything, including your life.”
“I––”
The voice cut him off. “Quiet. Listen. I’ve heard you rant about Seddon. Well, tonight you are under the knife of Saimon’s child. In his darkness. And while I believe the world would be a much safer place without the likes of you, I also see that you have a purpose. Kill Halm of Zhiberia, and I will have my man talk with you again, under more agreeable conditions. And don’t consider murdering him outside the arena.”
131 Days [Book 1] Page 10
