by Aaron Bunce
This does not aid us, Pera scorned, his dark emotions battering Julian’s mind.
A clicking, grinding noise echoed out of the cage, a heartbeat before something flashed out. Julian staggered back into the table, his bare hands flopping down to his sides. He heard the creature swallow the mouthful of meat.
Someone approaches, Pera said, but he heard it too. Feet crunched in the snow beyond the open doors. Julian hobbled back towards the door and ducked between cages, pulling his legs into the darkness.
The animals in the cavernous room chattered and cried out as a dark figure appeared in the bright outline of the door. It was a man, heavily bundled in furs. Julian could tell almost immediately that it wasn’t Tongues.
“Wait!” someone else out of sight yelled. A heartbeat later, a second dark figure appeared out of the snow, a brightly glowing lantern in hand.
“I made my stance clear, Benik. I’ve no new words for your ears,” the first man said, his tone that of tempered impatience. He walked straight at Julian, as if he were his destination. He stopped at the last moment, and turned to stand before the large cage.
“Resting well, my champion?” he asked, whispering into the darkness of the cage. The creature shifted inside, responding with the clatter of claws and a throaty hiss.
“Alas, I fear you didn’t hear my proposal properly, Wraithman. I beg only a moment to discuss something of great import. If the new pit champion could afford the old one a moment, out of respect,” the second man said. He walked quickly, but wheezed and struggled to catch his breath.
The man before the cage, the one called Wraithman, turned and acknowledged Benik, the larger man, as he approached. Julian shifted in the darkness, the combination of his weight and the cold air making his leg throb horribly.
They are too loud. They will wake the Yu, and this will all be for nothing! Pera growled into his mind.
What would you have me do? I can’t overpower two healthy men…hell, I couldn’t manage one weak one right now, Julian responded.
Wraithman tucked his hands into his furs and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He turned and faced Benik.
“Speak quickly, please, I have other, more pressing issues to consider,” Wraithman said.
“Yes-yes, I completely understand,” Benik said, setting his lantern down on the table before him. “It’s just that, your life is bound for change now that you rule the pit. There will be many decisions that require your attention, many pressures from many different people. I could afford you a bit of my extensive knowledge, in return for…just a small bit of coin.”
“So you seek to position yourself as my advisor?” Wraithman asked.
Benik nodded eagerly.
“Good, Benik,” Wraithman laughed warmly, and clasped the larger man on the shoulder.
Benik returned the smile and laughed, dropping his dinner plate-sized hands on the shorter man’s shoulders. “I knew you would…” he started to say, until Wraithman snapped forward, his right hand punching hard into the larger man’s side, right under his armpit.
Julian heard the air rush out of Benik’s lungs in a wheezy groan, his words dying away. His hands bunched up in Wraithman’s furs as he pulled him into what looked strangely like a brotherly embrace.
“You shit on me, goad me, mock me, and then ask for my charity and mercy with the very next breath? You would place yourself next to me, polluting my champion while you position a new one of your own. This table was covered in meat when I was last here. Now it is empty…” Wraithman growled into his ear.
“I…” Benik mouthed, his eyes fluttering crazily.
“Would you feed my beast the food left out of reach to sate its hunger? Ruin its training, and make such a marvelous beast fat and complacent? Or would you simply poison it and make it weak? I think you would do them all, and when my beast fell, you would be right there to take my place. Well, Benik, no, you are beyond my trust. But more importantly, your Goliath is dead, your coin purse is mine, and now so is your treacherous life!”
Wraithman pulled his arm away, a blood-covered dagger shining in the lantern light. Benik staggered once and then fell in a pile, steam rising from the hot blood pumping out of his body.
“Wha-wha-wha,” Benik stammered, his arms flopping like dying fish.
“People only follow the strong out here, Benik. How many times have you reminded me of that? Well, now you’re the one looking up,” Wraithman said.
Perfect, only one remains. Take him from the shadow, Pera urged.
He just murdered that man…Julian thought back, trying to work through the shock.
A fortunate act for us…two we couldn’t hope to overpower, yet one is a manageable feat, Pera reasoned.
Julian cast a series of angry thoughts at the Nymradic. Its cold logic was far too absolute for his taste. He switched weight from one foot to the other, biting his lip when pain shot up his leg. He tried to catch himself against the bars of the small cage next to him, but he misjudged the distance in the darkness, and tumbled sideways into the unforgiving bars.
You doom us! Pera screamed into his mind as he rolled forward, his head smarting where it struck the metal.
He pushed off from the ground, the dust from the ground covering his hands and filling his nose. His leg throbbed so badly he couldn’t even let it rest against the ground. A light fell over him, before he could even get off the ground.
“What is this?” a man asked, hooking the toe of his boot under Julian’s chest and kicking him back against the wall.
Julian looked up into the man’s face. The one the dead man called Wraithman. He saw a fellow not much older than him, but whose face was lined, hardened, and tanned by the cold mountain winds. A large scar ran down the side of his face. Julian wondered if he himself looked so very different.
Wraithman leaned over and grabbed Julian by the shirt, hefting him easily off the ground and dragged him out into the light. Julian grunted and cursed as his weight fell upon his injured leg, and rolled quickly to shift his weight.
“Why are you skulking back there? Does Tongues know you’re back here?” Wraithman asked.
Julian took a deep breath and tried to master the pain, but it felt like his foot was torn loose again.
“Well?” Wraithman asked again. He came forward and kicked Julian gimpy leg, sending him painfully to the ground.
Just get close enough, I will do the rest, Pera said, breaking through the pain.
“We…I, injured on the trail. Needed a healer,” Julian growled, cradling his leg.
Wraithman looked down on him, back to the bloodstained table, and finally to Benik’s body. “So, it was you? You’re the damned fool that did it!”
Julian’s gaze slid to the bloodstained table, and back to Wraithman’s dark eyes.
“What good is a half-starved animal?” Julian replied defiantly.
Wraithman’s brow wrinkled and a heartbeat later, he smiled. “A desperate, hungry man fights twice as hard as one who is well fed and rested. A half-starved beast with its back to a wall fights to survive and to eat. Or, a mother will fight for cubs it thinks are just out of reach. That is the way of the wild, and it is the way of the pit.”
“Sounds like brutality to me,” Julian said.
“Yes, it does. We fight for the next breath, the next beat of our hearts. Nothing is easy. Life is hardship and struggle. Life is brutal,” Wraithman replied.
“And him?” Julian said, nodding his head toward Benik’s prone figure. “Did your dagger find his heart because you are starving? Or was that out of charity or mercy?”
Wraithman laughed and scratched his chin, his hand splattered with red droplets. “If one knew him well enough, they could argue for both, I think.”
“And what might his family or loved ones think? Would they understand the reasoning behind his death? Will they ever know of his fate?” Julian asked.
“Unfortunately, there are many dangers up here this far from the provinces. There are beasts and
raiders, and the weather. Well, it can be the most frightening foe of all. Sometimes, people just disappear. The folk of Spear Point know this. To them, it is part of life. So they regard every day with passion, for tomorrow, they might just see their end.”
Julian nodded. He watched the man’s feet, and his dagger, which was no longer clutched loosely in his hand, but with purpose.
Prepare…Pera warned.
“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” Wraithman said quietly. “You seem like an honest enough man. You hate what the pit signifies, I can tell just by the look in your eye. You see these creatures trapped in cages. They’re all beaten, starved, and taught to kill one another, and all for entertainment. But these people need the pit and these beasts. It is a constant reminder that the strong survive…only the strong. You don’t belong here, friend. You hold life in high regard. Believe that every beast, from the lowliest beetle to the mightiest predator, all deserve to survive. But that is not life, friend. You wouldn’t survive up here long, and that is why I like you. Hells, in another life, we might have been friends.”
“Friends?” Julian mumbled, and shook his head. “I live only for my friends, and a woman I hardly know, but feel wholly compelled to protect.”
“A pity. You cannot protect her from the ground,” Wraithman said.
Julian struggled, and never removing his gaze from the dagger, pulled himself to his feet. Wraithman came forward a step, but faltered when a shadow and a voice sounded behind them.
Wraithman turned. Tongues stood just inside the large double doors, a large pile of firewood in his arms. Snow plastered his face and hair. His eyes stood locked on Benik, before slowly rising to Wraithman, and then Julian.
“Benik?” Tongues whispered.
Wraithman looked to Julian, a crooked smile playing at his lip. He saw the thought play across his face a heartbeat before his mouth moved to form the words.
“This man, he fell upon Benik from the shadows. I entered as he withdrew his knife and our former champion drew his last breath,” Wraithman said.
Tongue’s mouth fell open as the wood spilled out of his arms.
“I have him. Run and fetch men. Go now!” Wraithman yelled.
Julian watched as the large man turned and ran back out the building, his leather shoes flapping loudly.
“Why?” Julian asked, “What will they say when they return and find me with no weapon, and blood upon your hands?”
“Unfortunately, you came upon me as soon as Tongues left, and I was forced to defend myself,” Wraithman said, his dagger flashing forward.
Chapter 30
Cast out
Dennah stopped to wipe moisture from her face.
“Again?” Sayer asked.
“Yes,” she said, and set her feet.
The bailiff lunged, his wooden sword driving hard at her midsection. Dennah swept her sword down, knocking the strike aside. Sayer half-stepped back and came forward again, cutting sideways. Dennah turned, knocking the sword away with her shield, spun, and cut high in response.
“Good!” Sayer cried out, ducking the sword and lunging back in.
They continued the exercises, striking and blocking back and forth. The snow drifted down gently all around them, fluttering in massive, fluffy flakes. The wind had died down as well.
She took to the exercises alone at first, using the exertion and quiet as a means to work through her troubled thoughts. But Sayer found her during one of her sessions and stepped forward.
She found great comfort in his presence. He seemed to know when she required silence, and on the occasion he did speak, his words were quiet and supportive. Everyone else gave her a wide berth, averting their eyes or simply passing in silence.
“You deceive!” Sayer yelled as Dennah caught her foot behind his and pulled him off balance.
The bailiff staggered back, pulling his shield up to block her thrust. Then he countered, but she swatted the wooden sword aside easily. Advancing steadily, Dennah moved high, then low, and high again, pushing the larger man back until he stumbled over the raised lip of the sparring circle.
“Ow!” he cried out, falling heavily onto his backside.
“Yield?” Dennah asked, laying the flat of the wooden sword beneath his chin.
“Again?!” Sayer laughed, swatting the sword aside.
“I’m sorry,” she grinned, grasping his proffered hand and helping him off of the ground. “Do you want to go again?”
“I’m not sure I can handle any more today,” he said. “Let’s grab some stew and warm by the fire for a while.”
Dennah nodded and fell into step beside the young man.
“Have you always been so good with a sword and shield? I’ve not sparred with a…” Sayer said.
“A girl?” Dennah asked, stepping through the doorway as he opened the door.
“Well, yes. But I…” Sayer stammered, following her through.
“It’s alright,” Dennah said, waiting. “And, no. I didn’t heft a proper sword until arriving in Silma, after I was pledged. But I watched my brothers when they sparred. I played with sticks and copied what they did.”
“Well, if your skill is any indication, I would hate to stand before them!” Sayer said.
Dennah laughed as they walked into the dining hall. They took plates from a young kitchen maid, which they filled from the various platters and dishes on the service table.
They pushed past a group of men engaged in lively conversation and settled down at an empty bench. Dennah filled her cup from a pitcher of wine, before filling the one across from her. Sayer dropped his plate down and moved to sit, until someone called out his name.
Teague approached from between the tables, the cluster of soldiers breaking apart before him.
“Bailiff, a word,” he said, his gaze surveying the table but passing over Dennah.
“Captain,” Sayer said respectfully, before walking quickly down the line.
Dennah tucked into her plate, picking the meat off a chicken wing. She took a sip of wine and worked hard to keep her attention trained on the fire.
Teague’s deep voice carried in the noisy dining hall, despite his obvious attempts at discretion. She tried to block him out, knowing she would be better off ignorant, but her ears defied her.
“Snow…road…gone.” She picked out certain words, but looked away as the two men broke apart.
Sayer sunk into the seat and took a gulp of wine. Dennah picked at her food, taking small bites and gazing into the fire. She cleared her throat and took a sip, before meeting his gaze.
“What?” he asked, before taking a bite of meat pie and chewing noisily.
Dennah tilted her head and raised an eyebrow expectantly. He nodded and took a drink.
“It appears that your time with us has come to an end,” Sayer said, reluctantly meeting her eyes. “With the storm passed, and the worst of the wind tamed, Captain Teague believes it is time for you to rejoin the caravan.”
Dennah nodded, solemnly taking another bite of chicken. It was something she thought about often, despite her best efforts not to. It wasn’t just a return to the caravan, its people, and her duty, but the faces and the looks they would give her. They would remind her of what happened.
Her time at the fort wasn’t just a distraction from those thoughts, but it was also a brief promise of a dream. She was allowed to live amongst the soldiers, eat beside them, and train with them. For a time, she felt like one of them.
“Did you hear me?” Sayer asked.
“I’m sorry. What’s that?” Dennah said, snapping out of her musings.
“Where did you just go?”
“I’m sorry. I just got caught up in my thoughts,” she said, unable to give her worries voice.
“Some of the heaviest burdens,” Sayer said quietly, “are those we carry inside. But we do not have to carry them alone always. I have been granted permission to escort you as far as Bardstown, so you will have to put up with me for a bit longer.”
“In this deep snow, a day’s journey will likely be four. Teague gave instruction to the guard captain to wait out the worst of the storm in town, and then return to Silma directly. The snow will slow the wagons, so you should not be far behind them.”
The idea of slogging through the snow, sleeping in the cold, and removing herself from hot food and good drink wasn’t exactly desirable, but at least she wouldn’t be doing it alone. She watched Sayer tuck into his plate, scooping his food hungrily with a spoon. His large blue eyes and freckled cheeks gave him a boyish appearance, despite his well-muscled shoulders.
“How soon do we leave?” she asked.
“Morrow,” Sayer said through a mouth of meat pie. “We enjoy warm blankets, beds, and food tonight, and come morning, we head north.”
Dennah nodded, picking up another chicken wing, her thoughts pulled down, beneath her feet and towards a friend they would see her deny. Her thoughts must have crept onto her face, because Sayer scowled.
“We will have horses. You will be issued provisions and warm furs. The road will be manageable,” he said.
“It’s not that,” she said, shaking her head.
“What is it?”
Dennah lifted her eyes from her plate. Sayer watched her, his dark brown eyes searching her face. Lord Desh’s words still rang fresh in her mind. Although he didn’t say it openly, his subtle threats were keenly felt. Keep silent, or else.
“My friend. Roman. Would they let me see him, perhaps talk to him before I go?” she asked finally, deciding to place her trust in the young man.
“I overhear the lord constable talking on occasion,” Sayer said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I would fear to even ask this if I were you. They speak of your friend in whispers. It is strange, like they fear him. I think you should take care. You have been granted an honor, and with it, your freedom. But if you push the matter…”