131 Days [Book 1]

by Keith C. Blackmore

  “Like one big pisspot,” Muluk commented.

  “Doubt the people around here would call it that,” Goll said without humour.

  “Why? It’s true.”

  “It does look like a big pisspot. Even with the wharf and boats,” Halm added.

  “Or shitepot,” said Muluk.

  “They wouldn’t shite or piss in their drinking water,” Halm retorted. “What fool does that?”

  “Look.” Goll grated. “Let me do the talking when we’re inside. Don’t say anything unless spoken to. Make no comments about anything. Just silence.”

  “Sounds to me he doesn’t feel we’re up on our social skills,” Muluk said.

  Halm didn’t bother answering as he was vigorously scratching at his crotch.

  To the left of the lake, narrow logs almost the height of two men rose up from the bare earth where they’d been rooted. The tops were sharpened to raw points while dull metal spikes protruded from the wall. They walked towards the large wooden gate set into the barrier and could see a tile roof rising up a ways beyond, smoke slinking from a chimney.

  “Someone’s home, anyway,” Muluk said.

  “Rap on the wood,” Goll instructed.

  The Kree looked about a moment before pounding three times on the gate, not moving the timbers in the slightest.

  “Good morning!” Muluk called out, causing Goll to squint.

  No answer from beyond.

  “What now?” Muluk asked.

  “We wait.”

  Halm’s unease grew as his guts squirmed, seemingly rearranging his insides.

  A man could be heard humming to himself then, drawing closer to the gate. Two others could be heard talking and chuckling. Then came the sound of boots climbing steps, and a head peered over the wall.

  “What is it?” the head asked.

  “Is this the residence of Thaimondus?” Goll asked, craning his neck backwards.

  The head’s jaw rolled as it chewed on something. “It is.”

  “We’ve come to speak with him.”

  “What about?”

  Goll frowned. “That’s between us and him.”

  “No, that’s between you and me. You tell me what about, and I’ll mention it to him when I get around to it. And the longer you wait, the less important it is, I figger.”

  The head spoke rough Sunjan, and Halm had to concentrate to make sense of the thick accent.

  “We wish to hire him as our taskmaster. We’re pit fighters. From Sunja.”

  “Course you’re from Sunja. Free Trained are you? No trouble to tell.”

  Muluk shared a who is this punce? frown with Halm, who wasn’t feeling well at all about this. The encounter with the locals the night before, coupled with this bastard on the wall, were cutting a very clear picture of people living in this area.

  “Please pass on that message,” Goll politely asked.

  “When I get the chance,” the head answered, still chewing.

  “Then we’ll wait here.”

  “Move on back a bit. Over there in the grass. Don’t piss on anything.”

  With an exasperated sigh, Goll turned to move.

  “Course,” the head continued, “I might pass on that request a little faster if you toss me a coin.”

  “What?” Goll snarled.

  “A coin. What’s the matter? You deaf? Or just stupid?”

  Even Halm scowled at this topper above them. It was a young man, unshaven, with a shock of curly brown hair. He gripped the points of two logs with fingers that looked like fat sausages.

  “I’m not paying you anything.”

  “Well, then, that’ll be two coins now.”

  Goll balked. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

  “I do. I truly do. And be careful now. Any unpleasantness and the price goes up once more.”

  “We’ll wait,” Goll told him.

  “You’ll wait a long time, then.”

  “You have to come out some time.”

  “No, you stupid topper.” The head sighed. “You don’t understand. I’ll make it simple for you. You listening? Hey, cripple? You listening?”

  Goll’s jaw clenched. “Go on.”

  “No, I asked you if you were listening. You answer me first, and then we’ll go to the next bit.”

  The crippled Kree smiled then, as harsh as a gleam of steel, and Halm saw the restrained fury in his eyes. “I’m listening.”

  “Good. Try not to be so thick, eh?” At this, chuckles could be heard behind the closed gate. “Always heard you lot were stupid, eh. Stupid. But never believed it. I’m the sort where I have to see it, right? Have to see it. Lads,” he said to the men laughing behind the gate, “you should see this crippled ball licker. He looks like he’s ready to burn something. Hey, cripple,” he directed back at Goll. “Get happy there. It’s four coins now.”

  Goll glanced at Halm, and the Zhiberian wanted nothing more than to strike that pile of shit on the wall.

  One of the head’s hands stuck out from the wall, fingers flexing. “Toss them up here. The only way you’ll see anyone here. Old Thaimondus hisself wants the coin. Told me to get it from you. Coin first, then we’ll let you in.”

  Rubbing his face, Goll struggled with his purse and fished out four gold coins. He tossed the first one up at the head. It bounced off the wood, and the man made no attempt to catch it.

  “In my hand, you angry tit, in my hand. Toss it here.”

  Muluk walked over and picked up the gold piece.

  He was about to throw it up when the head spoke. “Ah no, no, no, that’s not fair. The cripple tosses it. Come on, little man. Toss it here. Pretend one of those sticks is up your ass.”

  Holding his temper, Goll tossed up all four coins, one after the other while balancing himself on the crutches. Some attempts failed, but after a while, the head grew bored with his sport and eventually made the effort to catch the gold.

  “That’s good, cripple.” The head smiled in nasty fashion. He nodded to the men behind the gate. Sounds of a plank being removed and falling to the ground could be heard.

  The gate slowly opened inwards.

  Halm’s gut sank.

  The brute standing right in the widening opening was none other than the shirtless giant from the night before.

  And the big man smiled at him.

  23

  “Breed,” the giant hissed with evil delight. Half a dozen other men stood about, dressed in leather vests and capped off with ill-made cloth hats. All carried swords and spears, and none appeared particularly friendly. Some still chuckled in wicked amusement from the head’s taunting of Goll.

  “Welcome, breed,” the giant greeted and stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter.

  Goll lumbered in, heedless of the monster’s recognition of Halm, and for that alone, the Zhiberian wanted to throttle the Kree. Muluk followed him in, and Halm reluctantly brought up the rear, wary of the big man exuding hateful mirth.

  Two men behind the gates pushed them closed, bringing the count of armed men to ten. Halm didn’t like the odds in the least, and the presence of the great, evil, smiling brute before him made him feel terrible. Four of the spearmen with brazen smirks on their faces blocked Goll from proceeding any further. Beyond their crossed spears stood a fine-looking house built on a knoll.

  “Ah,” the head called out, stepping down from the wall’s rampart. He was dressed in fine pants and a grey shirt open from the neck down to his upper belly. “I’m afraid I misled you a bit. The price to get in here was four gold pieces. To see Thaimondus will cost a bit more.”

  Goll scowled at him, the colour creeping up his neck like a furious rash. “Thaimondus!” he roared.

  The smiles on the gathered men bled away. Two of them even looked back to the well- made house facing the wharf and water. Other smaller houses were behind the wall, along with a barn and a smithy, all squatting well away from the prized house lording over them all. At the startling yell, people milling about with chores looked
up.

  “Thaimondus!” Goll repeated.

  The head’s amusement disappeared, and he took two steps towards the Kree, but Muluk stopped him by blocking his path and staring into his face with a questioning glare. The spearmen about them tensed, and Halm placed his back to his two companions, his hand on his sword’s pommel. Before him, the giant’s smile didn’t dim in the slightest. The man had even taken to punching meaty fists into alternating hands.

  “He’s heard you already, you stupid punce,” the head said. “Dog balls, you’ll wake up the whole town.”

  “What do you care?” Goll asked.

  “I don’t, truth be known. Ah…”

  From the house on the hill, two men emerged from a door and stood on a deck facing the wall. Halm inwardly groaned. The henchman with the grim look helped the bowed-over frame of a much older man, Thaimondus himself—the same saucy bastard who had ridiculed him the night before. The old taskmaster came into view dressed in a red robe of considerable worth.

  “This will not end well,” Halm spoke under his breath, catching Muluk’s ear.

  “Is it him?”

  “Aye that,” Halm said wearily. “In the wasted flesh.”

  “I’ll do the talking,” Goll insisted.

  Halm gestured be my guest.

  “Father,” the giant called out, “the breed from last night is amongst these dogs.”

  The dark one’s face split into a murderous smile while Thaimondus steadied himself by grabbing onto the deck’s railing. His unpleasant features screwed up and glowered down at them all. He swished his hand, unsteady for the moment it took, and the spearmen blocking the three moved aside.

  Goll called out. “Master Thaimondus, I wish—”

  “Shut up,” Thaimondus snarled with all the fury from the previous night, squashing Halm’s hope that he might have been drunk after all. To his regret, he could see that Thaimondus, in his charming years, was a right vengeful old prick.

  One of the old taskmaster’s hands stabbed in Halm’s direction. “You.” He seethed, his lips puckering up in hate. “You piece of horseshite. Miserable sack of maggot juice. I spit. I spit on you and any who claim you as family.”

  And he did, graphically summoning up curds of phlegm but generating only a weak bauble of a dribble that stretched for a moment from his lower lip before finally breaking away and falling to the ground. The sight and sound of it made Halm cringe. Even Goll looked back at the Zhiberian with a concerned expression, silently demanding a greater explanation when there was no time to tell.

  “You there,” Thaimondus screamed out, “cripple! What are you doing with this topper?”

  Goll closed his eyes as if in mortal agony and faced the taskmaster. “He travels with me and my other companion. We’re gladiators—”

  “Pah.” Thaimondus jerked his hand in the air. “You’re not gladiators. Gladiators wouldn’t be here talking to me while the games are on. Who are you? Unless, Saimon paddle my ass, unless you’re Free Trained shite. That’s it. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re Free Trained rabble. Dog balls. Should’ve seen it earlier. Boys thinking since they have a blade they’re men. I’ll tell you what, cripple, you and your daisy friend there can leave now and don’t look back. This fat breed and I have some unattended matters to finish. I said I’d find you, breed—but Saimon take me, I never figured you be knocking on my front door so early in the morning!” A rusty laugh left him, sounding like a woodsman taking a saw across a frayed tree trunk. “Saimon’s black hanging fruit, we’ll string you up nice and proper,” Thaimondus cackled with wicked glee, clasping his claws together in anticipation.

  “You can’t have him,” Goll announced.

  This drew the taskmaster’s attention, and he took a moment to address the upstart. “Watch me, cripple. There’re no Skarrs about. This is my land, and you stand upon it. You and anyone on it are my property in my eyes, as sickly as they are. Any thinking man here knows that.”

  “Then we’ll fight you,” Goll stated.

  From where he stood, Halm felt a rush of admiration for the Kree. Even Muluk was adamant in his pose. The Zhiberian’s fondness for the pair grew.

  “Fight you?” Thaimondus exclaimed. His frame shook and he leaned to one side. In alarm, the man near him reached out and steadied him. The rotten sounds erupting from Thaimondus’s one-toothed maw were foul to hear, forcing Halm to glance elsewhere. He saw the workers beyond the spearmen—men, women, and children, all poorly dressed—and knew in an instant that Thaimondus probably was a self-proclaimed lord here in this wooded land.

  Worse, he might very well be a tyrant.

  “I’ll fight,” Halm shouted and drew his blade, “him.”

  He pointed his weapon at the giant. The big man eyed Halm’s sword with interest and cocked his head in a question towards the taskmaster.

  “Neven?” Thaimondus laughed so hard his breath came in short dangerous gasps. Halm wished the man dead right there, but the ancient taskmaster recovered. “What do you say, Neven?”

  Towering Neven growled and bared surprisingly fine teeth as he tensed his powerful-looking upper body, causing everything to bulge.

  Muluk cast an incredulous eye at the Zhiberian, his meaning clear: You’re dead.

  “I wish to wager!” Goll shouted, catching everyone’s attention.

  “Wager?” Thaimondus asked. “Wager what?” He put the question to the head. “Didn’t you get all their coin already?”

  The head frowned and cast his eyes downard.

  “Youuu dolt,” Thaimondus fumed. “What is it you wish to wager then, cripple? Entertain us.”

  “If we win, you will…” Goll paused.

  Halm wanted to tell him then there was no way in Saimon’s hell he was going to be trained by that shrivelled ass.

  Goll continued, “You will release us. And pay us a hundred gold coin.”

  Thaimondus leaned over the railing. “Do you have a hundred coin on you?”

  “No.”

  “Then lick my ass, you brazen pup. A hundred gold. You’ll get your lives, and that’s that. The fight’s to the death as well, if you have the balls for it. There’ll be no love tapping on my land.”

  Goll didn’t back down. “To the death, then.”

  “I’ll have that Mademian blade of yours soon enough, breed,” Thaimondus said to Halm in a cracking voice.

  Halm bristled at the mention of his prized weapon while Neven brightened with desire.

  “Neven!”

  The giant glanced about at the sound of the taskmaster’s voice.

  “Fetch something to pound the breed’s ass into the dirt.”

  With that, Neven lumbered off. Halm saw the muscles flex in his powerful back.

  “Make a ring right there,” Thaimondus croaked at his guards standing around. “Keep it in the dirt. Easier to cover up when things get messy. Move back, cripple, you’re blocking my view. My lads won’t hurt you. Not yet.”

  Swinging along on his crutches, Goll got out of the way and stood to one side with Muluk. Halm wandered over to them with a sorry half-smile on his face.

  “Now, this is good,” Halm said. “My thanks for making the fight to the death. Clears up matters.”

  “Can you take him?” Goll asked, causing the Zhiberian to frown at the question.

  “You’re not judging his chances by his size, are you?”

  “I am,” Goll said.

  “You didn’t do that for me.”

  “Well, you’re… you.”

  Those words took a moment to sink in, and when they finally did, Halm frowned at the Kree. He then slapped his belly. “Get ready,” the Zhiberian said as he backed into to the center of the ring formed of guardsmen.

  “For what?” Goll asked but got no reply.

  The people living behind Thaimondus’s wall gathered behind the spearmen, watching with anxious faces.

  Soon Neven returned, flourishing a long-shafted mace. He swung the weapon back and forth, from left hand to right,
loosening up thick muscles as he entered the ring. Neven’s dusky features were lit up with wicked mirth. Halm’s answering smile was tight-lipped and sly.

  “Introductions all round,” Thaimondus shouted over their heads. “Welcome all to the games of Thaimondus.”

  The spearmen yelled out their appreciation while Halm noted none of the people beyond shared it.

  “Neven of Sunja!” Neven roared and flung his arms wide. He turned around on the road, immersing himself in the guards’ applause.

  Then it was Halm’s turn.

  He held his sword overhead. “Halm of Zhiberia.”

  Thaimondus’s face twisted up in thought. “Zhi—”

  Halm rushed the giant. Taken aback, Neven retreated a step and lashed out with the mace, making the wind whistle from the force of the blow. Halm ducked under the swing, slashed at the man’s bare washboard of a gut and opened it up with a heavy spurt of red. Neven’s face blanched, and he buckled over, pressing a hand against his wound.

  An instant after Neven bent over, Halm spun around and hacked the larger man’s head clean off with one fell chop.

  The body and head crashed into the dirt. Neven’s corpse moved at the waist as if considering rising once more to fight, but then it wilted and became still. Halm inspected his work before gazing up at the old man watching from the deck.

  Thaimondus clutched at his fine robe as if stabbed through the heart.

  Goll’s jaw hung open, and when Halm locked gazes with him, the Kree’s face broke out into a smile. Halm slapped his fat belly once more in an unspoken “See?”

  The wail from Thaimondus made everyone hearing that ghastly sound shudder in fright. Halm then remembered Neven had once addressed the old man as father. He’d just killed the old man’s son. He realized he felt more than fine about it.

  The old taskmaster held onto the railing as if to yank it up and heave it across the road. He swore, hot and loud enough to scorch the very air about him. He clawed at the air, cross-cutting it with enough feeling to draw blood. After long seconds, he settled down and caught his breath. He eyed Halm with a glare black with hateful rage.