by Amanda Young
Evan watched the monstrous beast pull against his chain, held by a giant of a man. The man was as terrifying as the beast. Muscles bulged, practically breaking his skin. Bones, that looked strikingly similar to a drander, surrounded one arm like a bracer. The tips of the bone were shoved in to the skin, held in place in some spots by metal brackets bent and bolted into the skin. His shoes and clothes were made of drander hide. All he needed was a set of tusks to complete the look.
“Is that him?” a high pitched voice asked. Evan looked over at a girl standing outside his cage. No, not a girl. Despite her child like height and hair pulled up in three bushy ponytails on both side and the top of her head, he could tell she was no child. Given her proportionate features and size, he would guess she must be a halfling, though he’d never actually seen one before. His village was all human with very few visitors from outside. The occasional merchant who passed through was usually human. Every five or ten years an elf or dwarf would run the deliveries. That was rare enough to spark conversations for weeks.
The girl leaned in toward his cage and cocked her head to each side to get a better look. “Are you sure he is the one? Doesn’t look like much.”
“Neither do you,” Evan said out of bravery or stupidity. He wasn’t sure which.
Her eyes snapped toward him, and she moved. He felt a sudden pain on the side of his neck, in the soft skin just to the side of his throat. He jerked back and was held firmly in place by a small hand on the opposite side of his head. The girl’s other hand held a dagger at his throat. She leaned against his back, her face pressed up against his hair. The door of his cage clanged against the metal bars as it hit the wall and then slammed back shut. Evan felt her breath down the back of his neck as she opened her mouth to speak. “To the pit,” she called. The man with the drander looked up and grinned. Evan felt his skin go cold. Somehow his situation had just gotten worse. The girl pulled the knife back and returned it to a leg sheath. Walking casually to the door of the cage, she turned her back on him with no fear of attack. She walked out of the cage, leaving the door open behind her as she talked to the man.
Evan looked at his chance of escape and wondered what game they were playing. Of course he doubted he could make it past either the girl or the giant man. They would cut him down the second he stepped foot past the bars. Even if he did somehow manage to sneak by unnoticed there was still the drander to contend with. Evan looked at the beast and almost wished they would close the door. He wasn’t getting out of here alive. The illusion of freedom was actually crueler than the cage.
The giant pulled on the chain for the drander and led him away. The girl looked back at Evan with a glint in her eye. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked sweetly. Her hair shimmered in the sun, almost seeming to change from brown to red.
Evan stood and walked slowly to the door, pausing before stepping out of the cage. His stomach twisted, made worse by what he saw as they crossed the yard. Men, monsters of every size and race filled a camp the size of a small town. Some cleaned weapons or worked on other mundane tasks, made strange by the mutilated forms of the men. Every man bore a combination of various scars, missing limbs, some with weapons shoved in where the limbs once were. Their clothes were mostly tattered and bloody. Some blood was old. Some was not. There were even a few more drander scattered about, though none were as large as the first one he saw.
As they continued to walk, one man stabbed another with his sword and used the distraction to slice off the injured man’s arm with a small scimitar. With a foot on the man’s chest, the first man withdrew the sword and picked up the severed arm. A gleam in his eye, he removed the spiked bracer on the arm and put it on. The injured man looked down at the bleeding stump and roared in outrage, jumping on his attacker. None of this seemed to faze the halfling girl who continued walking at her same brisk speed around a corner and down, deeper into the camp.
Evan hurried to catch up, not wanting to become separated and find himself alone in this crowd. As Evan took the turn, he could see the two men still locked in their bitter battle. Those in the crowd either cheered them on or ignored the fight. Evan shook his head and tried to find the girl. Panic filled him. The crowd was thick with men, large and small, tall and wide, armed, scarred and able to kill him with very little thought or effort. Sure, he killed three of them, but that was in the heat of battle, consumed by grief for his wife and the need to protect his daughter in order to give her a good chance to escape. He was no warrior. Just when his mind threatened to focus on his fear and worry over what had become of his daughter, the halfling girl came into sight. Jumping high above the heads of the crowd, she grabbed on to the wooden frame of a wall, angled out to set off an arena of some kind. Swinging her body through the small holes between the slats, she gracefully and easily came to a perch on the top of the wall. The fabric of her pants shifted to show strong, muscular legs. The pants, slit down the sides, were secured in two spots with pins. A belt hung over the pants, holding a curved blade. The one she pulled on him before was barely visible, secured to her leg, under her pants. The open side seam allowed her quick access without making the blade completely obvious.
With a grin she launched herself into the air, somersaulting down to the center of the arena. The men in the street crowded around the wall, eager to see what she would do. Ignoring the two men fighting in the arena, she walked over to a woman seated on a large rock and watching the fight. The girl jumped up on the rock and whispered in the woman’s ear. She sat up straighter and tilted her head. Evan couldn’t see her eyes under the small top hat she wore, but the shiver Evan felt made him fairly certain he was the focus of her attention. The woman stood, her short straight hair peaking out from under her hat. Her coat fanned out, large cuffs adorned with gold buttons. She had a flair about her that spoke of someone accustomed to being the center of attention. She lifted a hand and everyone within sight fell immediately silent. The woman looked up at Evan, and he caught a glance of a small conch shell hanging on a chain around her neck.
She shifted her gaze and spoke. “Gentlemen,” she said, “we have something special planned for this evening.” Evan jumped. Her lips remained still, though her voice was clear and concise. Without yelling, her words reached the farthest man, seeming to come from every direction at once. “Today,” she continued, “we have an initiation.” The men roared, clanging together objects and making a loud racket. The woman grinned, letting them get worked up. Tilting her head, she looked up at Evan and grinned even more. Still looking at him, she raised a hand for silence and continued. “Who will volunteer to take to the pit and educate our new recruit in our ways?”
Several men yelled out, fighting over each other to be selected. Evan took a step back. Her eyes continued to follow him. Turning, he stumbled through the crowd. He looked back for a brief second and came up short to find the halfling girl blocking his path.
One hand on her hip, she wagged her finger at him and clicked her tongue. “Now, now, where do you think you’re going?”
Evan froze, no sounds coming from his mouth, as much as he tried to say something, anything. She stepped forward, and he stepped back. They continued their dance until he felt a wall behind his back. His hands grasped the metal rods making up the arena fence. He closed his eyes, trying to drown out the cheering and excitement of the crowd. The girl jumped onto the wall beside him and spoke into his ear. “Wake up. It’s time to play. You should open your eyes. You’ll want to remember this . . . or not. But either way, it will make survival easier and make for a better show . . . for us anyway.” Giggling, she pulled on a pin from the wall, and he felt the support at his back give way. Flailing uselessly, he fell. The ground came at him hard, knocking the wind from his lungs.
“This man,” the announcer woman continued, “killed three of our men during the last raid. Let’s see if he can repeat that task.”
Evan heard the whistle of something moving quickly through the air and opened his eyes to see a man swinging a bat
tle hammer in circles to either side of his body. Evan rolled just before the hammer came down on the ground. Coming to his feet, he flinched at the pain in his back and arm.
“Let the pain make you stronger,” the woman’s voice said softly into his ear. He shook off her words and dodged the man with the hammer, or he tried to. The hammer came down on his good shoulder with a painful crack that left it bruised and disjointed. He saw the rapture in the man’s eyes as he prepared to deliver the final blow. It was the same face he saw that night. The features were different, the hair another color. This man was shorter with a more rounded jaw. But the eyes were the same. He saw that man who cut down his wife. He saw the other two men, each directly responsible for the death of a close friend. They all had those same eyes. Roaring, Evan ducked his head and rammed the man in his stomach, using the force to pop his shoulder back into place. Surprised, the man fell back, dropping his hammer. Ignoring the pain in his arm, no, not ignoring, instead letting the pain feed his actions, Evan grabbed the hammer and swung. He caught the man under the jaw with a sickening pop. The man’s eyes rolled back into his head and closed.
Evan didn’t have time to think of what he had done as another man came running to his side, picking him up off his feet with the momentum, and slammed Evan into the ground. This new opponent was small and covered in blades. Sharp, talon like finger blades scratched and tore at Evan’s skin. Evan pushed him off, but the man spun, slashed and kicked like a wild animal. His movements were impossible to predict. Blades on his hands, knees and feet cut at Evan repeatedly until he dripped a trail of blood. He swung the hammer, but the man was too quick. He couldn’t get close without getting cut.
After another series of slashes that left Evan woozy from the blood loss, he gave up trying to avoid injury and went on the attack. The man was fast, but there was some advantage to not caring about the outcome. Either he would win and survive, or he would die, and this would all be over. With that in mind, Evan embraced what could be his last few moments of life. His senses grew sharper. He could smell the blood and sweat. He felt the sun beat down on his skin. His shadow formed strange shapes as he moved and swung the hammer. He heard the crack of bones breaking as his weapon finally hit. Following up with more attacks, he refused to give the other man the space to recover. He may die this day, but he would take as many of them with him as he could. The man’s finger blades pierced the skin of Evan’s bruised shoulder. Evan just raised a knee into the man’s stomach and followed with a wide swing at his head. Evan looked down at the blood on his hands, just like that night. The only difference was this time the blood belonged to him instead of the men he killed. He closed his hands and felt the blood squish between his fingers. Then the next man jumped into the arena, and he had no more time for thought.
Fighting and killing. That was his existence, now. The dirt at his feet flew in the flurry of battle. His heightened senses and screaming pain made every moment surreal. As the third man lay dead, the fourth on his way to join the fight, Evan noted, not without a hint of satisfaction, how easy it was becoming for him to kill. These men, brutes though they were, each fell to his hammer.
Standing over his latest kill, Evan looked around for his next opponent. No one moved. At the center of the arena stood the halfling girl. Her hair was blue now. Or was it purple? Evan’s grip on his hammer tightened. He wanted to crush her small skull and watch that playful grin die on her face. He ran toward her, but she stood, casually picking something from her fingernails. He swung his weapon, but she jumped, briefly touching off the end of his moving hammer and somersaulting over his head. He turned, but she slid between his feet and kicked him in the back. Evan growled and tried, unsuccessfully to land a blow. She was fast and small, much more so than his second opponent. And she was barely trying to fight. Her weapons were not drawn. She didn’t even use her hands to hit him. Other than the occasional kick, she didn’t touch him at all.
“What’s the matter?” she quipped. “Can’t beat an unarmed girl?”
“I think he’s had enough for today,” the announcer woman said. There were a few disgruntled moans throughout the crowd, but no one argued. The girl relaxed her pose, turning to face the woman, and Evan saw his shot. Running full speed the few feet between them, he swung hard. The woman in the top hat pulled out a small baton from her coat and shook it down into a long staff, catching him square in the chest and sweeping his legs out from under him. Putting one foot on his chest and pushing on the nerve in his wrist so he let go of the hammer, the woman leaned down and looked him in the eyes. “I said, that’s enough.” He opened his lips, but she put a finger to them and shook her head. “Shhh, not a whisper.”
Evan would have argued, but the combination of her hit to his chest, lying still on the ground and too much blood loss, finally took its toil, and he slipped off to blissful unconsciousness.
Chapter 3
Kern loaded another body on to the pyre and headed back to search more houses. At least, what was left of the houses. This was how the entire morning had gone. There were too many bodies to bury, so they built a pyre. That left them each with the grisly task of carrying the dead. Lynnalin helped where she could, but they could all see the toil it had on her. The last house she explored was a bad one. None of them were ready to see so much death. Even coming from Suriax, where death was common and murder accepted, this was different. These bodies were brutalized. Some were missing limbs or even heads. Many were far too young. Even Suriaxians had a soft spot for children. Whoever these raiders were, they didn’t care who they hurt.
Taking out a canteen and handing it to Lynnalin, Kern leaned on a wall and took a few much needed breaths. She took the water gratefully and sighed. “You okay, Lynn?” She nodded. “You know, no one would think less of you if you need to take a break, go for a walk or something.”
Lynnalin looked at the growing mound of bodies in the pile and handed him back the canteen. “Thanks, I might do that . . . for a few minutes,” she hastened to add. Kern nodded his understanding. “Maybe after this . . .” she started, but stopped, turning her head to the side. “Did you hear something?”
Kern struggled to listen but couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. “Like what?”
“It was some kind of creaking, and I thought I heard a moan.” Lynnalin tilted her head to the side as she searched, following the sounds only she seemed able to hear. With both arms, she pulled at the rubble of the door frame, trying to clear a path inside. Kern hurried to help her before she could bring down the house on her head. Practically glowing with excitement, she was oblivious to her own danger. As they moved through the house she moved with increasing certainty. Just when Kern was about to turn around and get the others, convinced she had finally lost her mind, he heard it, too. It was faint, but he though he heard movement below their feet, under the floor. Falling to her knees, Lynnalin threw off rugs and broken furniture, hastily searching for the door she knew she would find. “There!” she pointed to a large armoire on its side. Together, they moved it aside and revealed the trap door in the floor below it. Lynnalin pulled open the latch before Kern could recommend caution.
At first, all they saw was darkness. Steps led down into the gloomy under carriages of the home. All was silent. “Hello,” Lynnalin called. “Is anyone down there?”
No on answered, but they could hear breathing and shuffling, followed by a quiet, “Shhh!”
“Lioceretien,” Lynnalin said, creating a dim ball of light that fell slowly from her hands to float down into the darkness. Children sat huddled, held by women who stared, frightened, yet defiant. “There’s dozens of them,” she whispered, as the light moved around to illuminate all the faces.
Kern thought to lead them out, but the smell of burning flesh caught his nose and he looked again to all the young faces. “Keep them in the house,” he cautioned. “I’ll be right back. He made his way quickly to the pile of bodies, beginning to smoke from small fires burning around the outer edges. “We found
survivors,” he called. Zanden and the others immediately stopped their work. “Children,” he added, nodding pointedly to the pile of dead. Catching his meaning, Casther grabbed some blankets and quickly smothered the fires.
“Grab some clean blankets and follow us,” Zanden instructed Casther and Rand. “Lead the way,” he motioned to Kern. One at a time they took the children, wrapping them in blankets and shielding their faces, and carried them quickly to their camp outside the village. Once at camp, Lynnalin distracted the children with some simple prestidigitation spells. With lights dancing over the camp and children laughing for the first time in days, everyone settled in to get a good night’s sleep. The rest of the work could wait until tomorrow.
* * *
Evan let the hammer fly, crushing in his opponent’s skull and watching the body fall, limp. He looked around for the next person to kill. This was how his days went, now. They would throw him into the arena, hungry and tired. He would fight for his life, killing whoever they sent against him. He’d fight until they told him to stop. Then he would eat, rest, and begin again. He didn’t even know how much time had passed.
