by E G Stone
“Well, be sure you pick the right gift,” Warrith said.
Davorin nodded, the prickling feeling on the back of his neck growing. Was it wariness, uneasiness at being so far from all that he knew, or something else? As the mercenary troops entered the edge of the Slave Market town, tropical greenery greeting them, the feeling only increased.
Davorin led his troops into the centre of the town, where the largest mud-brick buildings were located and people were hawking wares from booths. The infamous Slave Markets were nowhere to be seen, but the faint stench was hard to mistake. He dismounted and handed a pouch of money to Warrith. “Find a place near some water where our people can set up camp. Buy food and supplies as necessary.”
Warrith’s eyes gleamed the colour of the plants around them. Davorin hissed and snaked his hand, grabbing the older man by the front of his tunic. “And don’t think about wasting my money,” he snarled. Warrith smiled, revealing crooked teeth.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” the mercenary said. Davorin released him and let the older man take the reins of his horse. Money was a limited resource and he hated wasting it on that man and mercenaries, but he had work to do. Davorin turned to examine the wares offered by these people, though he doubted anything would be quite good enough, and found himself facing an enormous woman with cunning eyes and a bejewelled dagger in her hands. She lifted it and started picking her teeth with the knife. Davorin curled his lip.
“We don’t normally get someone of your…position in town,” she grinned.
Surely, they could not know him by looks this far out of the Empire?
“My position?” Davorin shifted his stance so he could easily block whatever attack the woman had coming his way, or whatever bodyguards she had at her disposal.
“Someone leading an army is never going to be a man of small stature,” the woman answered, pointing at him with the tip of her dagger. Davorin wanted to snatch it from her hands, but something told him to wait and let her talk. Years of playing nice to the courts of the Emperor had trained Davorin to be patient, even in distaste. “Not to mention you have a certain…presence about you. A foreign dignitary, perhaps?”
“Something like that,” Davorin said. The Slave Markets had no love for the Empire, nor anyone else but themselves. They were a nation unto themselves. And more than human flesh was sold there; information could be bought just as easily. Caution would serve him well. Though Davorin doubted his mercenary army would keep silent, no matter how well he paid them.
The woman raised her painted-on eyebrows and her smile became more genuine. “Indeed?” she said. “I do like someone who knows what they’re about. I am Jazer. I own the Pits and run the Market.”
Davorin frowned. The Pits were almost as infamous as the Slave Markets. What could the owner of the Pits want with him?
“I take it you’re not here to purchase, ah, the more delicate pleasures the Markets can offer?” Jazer said, eyeing him. Davorin ground his teeth but shook his head.
“I am looking for a gift,” he said, deciding that it might be useful to throw this Jazer some sort of bone. Perhaps she could help, if she was as connected as he assumed. His distaste was nothing compared to her usefulness. “Meanwhile, my troops are gathering supplies before we head east.”
“Well, then,” Jazer nodded approval. “In that case, I would invite you to accompany me to my private box and observe the tournament in my arena. Afterward, I will personally assist you in searching out this…gift.”
Davorin hesitated, not wanting to trust that things could be this easy. This woman Jazer wanted something from him, he just was not sure what. He did not like her, and he certainly did not want to waste time watching some idiotic slave fights. Weak warriors up against starved beasts or angry veterans of the arena? Not his idea of sport. But Jazer owned the Pits and ran the Slave Market. She would know what gift would get Davorin his prize.
He lowered his hand from the hilt of his sword and offered his arm to Jazer. She took it with a girlish giggle and led Davorin through the market, the eyes of every person watching, some with horror, some with interest, some with cunning. He ignored them all and accompanied the Slave Master to the Pits, ready to be bored for an afternoon.
Eventually, the arena appeared before them, a giant hole in the ground that was ringed by elaborately carved stone structures. Jazer grinned wolfishly at Davorin as he took in the admittedly impressive sight. The stands could hold nearly a thousand people at least. And the balcony and stone box that Jazer led him to reminded Davorin of the palace back in the Empire, though he was loath to admit the connection.
Perhaps his coming to this desolate desert collection of people was worth more than he had thought. Certainly, it suited Jazer quite well, if the jewels that adorned most of her body were any indication. He had not really bothered to notice them before, but with her glinting in the sunlight now, it was hard to ignore.
Who would have known that a purveyor of slaves could have come so far?
Jazer settled into a stone-carved chair that looked more like a throne than a place to sit and watch the arena before them. She gestured for Davorin to sit next to her in one of the slightly lower chairs. As soon as he did, young slaves bearing shades or fans surrounded them.
“I don’t normally allow others in my box on the opening day of a tournament, but I have a feeling that you won’t want to miss this,” Jazer sneered, plucking a fruit from a bowl offered up by a bronzed boy. Davorin took a piece of fruit as well and tried not to grimace as he felt its overripe juices beneath his fingers.
“You certainly seem well connected,” Davorin replied politely, his many years spent learning court etiquette with Seraphina finally giving him some useful skill. “I am certain that this chance meeting will be fortuitous for the both of us.”
“You are a charmer,” Jazer laughed, tossing back her head. The stands circling the arena started to fill with people from all walks of life. Sounds of distant conversations and the movement of people began to rise. “Tell me more about this gift you came all this way to find.”
Davorin debated licking his fingers of the too-sweet juices the fruit had left behind. Before he could do so, a child of no more than five approached with a bowl of water. Davorin swallowed at the brand on her shoulder but dutifully cleaned his fingers. Though slavery was illegal in the Empire, it was not strictly enforced. Davorin knew that slaves were not uncommon, but knowledge was something much different from experience.
Jazer watched him closely, her eyes glinting some sort of approval as he flicked the water off his fingers.
He slid his eyes to her, hesitating. Finally, he spoke, “Have you heard of the Red Palace?”
Jazer’s eyebrows flew up her forehead and she nearly fumbled the fruit in her pudgy fingers. “You are the one who has been making noises about courting herself? The Queen of the Desert? You are either more daring than I thought, or you are completely insane.”
Davorin allowed himself a wry grin, though he was tempted to just stab the woman and be done. “Why ever would you say that? Queen Lenore has greeted me well and with kindness.”
“She treats everyone well and with kindness,” Jazer said. She waved a hand in front of her, indicating the growing crowds of people in the arenas. “I once invited her to partake in viewing the arena and she refused to come. She told me that if I hunted for slaves from her lands then she would send her army to raze this place. Even the smallest part of her army would tear this place to pieces in a day. But I know she’s dealt with slavers in the past, though I can’t get any details. Everything with her is just covered with that veneer of polite kindness!”
“And yet, I have no reason to believe that my advances would be unwelcome,” Davorin said. Indeed, he was fairly confident that she would hear his case and allow him to court her, if only he could prove his devotion. He had been devoted to the Empire for years. How hard could it be to prove to be devoted to a woman? He had entertained women before, even gone so far as to win th
eir hearts. Surely, courting this one would be no different, even if she were a queen.
Jazer watched him silently for a moment, her teeth working the corner of her mouth into a twist. Eventually, she nodded. “If anyone could do such a thing, I would believe it of you. You have the blind determination necessary, I’ll give you that.”
Davorin inclined his head.
Jazer looked as though she was going to say something more about Davorin, or make suggestions for his gift, when a burly slave with scars on both cheeks came up behind Jazer and whispered in her ear. The Slave Master grinned, clapping like a child. She waved the enormous slave off and turned to Davorin.
“Now I am going to show you something that I can guarantee you have never seen before,” Jazer purred. “What would you say if I told you I had acquired a dragon?”
Davorin snorted, “I would say you were lying. Dragons have been gone from this world so long that they are nothing more than myths. I, for one, have never even seen any evidence that they existed at all.”
He paused and turned to Jazer. “Do you have a dragon?”
Her eager expression turned just a touch dark. It was the same expression Dagan used to wear before drawing blood. Davorin hated that expression. “No. But I have something even more rare.”
Davorin shook his head. He took the goblet of pure spring water another slave brought and sipped it while Jazer stood and sauntered to the edge of the balcony.
“Welcome to my tournament!” she cried, spreading her arms wide to the arena. “It has been too long since I called for a tournament. And now, we have warriors from all over the continent, come to fight and prove who amongst them is the best. There will be no killing, for what would be the point in senseless death of valuable commodities? But I can guarantee you bloodshed! And I can guarantee you something that you will never, ever, see again!”
Jazer pointed to the gate where the warrior slaves were filtering into the arena. The last to appear had Davorin sucking in a desperate breath, his heart pounding in his ears.
“I give you, my warriors and their Angel!”
“Impossible,” Davorin breathed. He rose from his chair for a closer look at the woman wearing leather armour, her skin pale, unblemished, her black hair and wings like night. She could not possibly be real. Had Jazer had a slave slip something into his drink? Davorin cast his eyes at Jazer, desperately seeking for truth.
The Slave Master bared her teeth in a semblance of a smile, her eyes blazing with pride.
“It is true,” Jazer said. “No trickery. And the best part? She is a fallen angel. She cannot fly.”
Davorin did not care about that, did not care about what her existence meant to the religions of the various peoples. He only knew that she was an impossibility. This world was without magic. All thoughts of it being real were lost to the mists of time. Yet standing before him stood this precious commodity. He turned to the leering Jazer and managed, somehow, to hide the desperation in his voice. “I will have her.”
Chapter Eight
The morning of the tournament dawned as red and as bright as any other day. The light turned white and the heat rose quickly as the sun reached its zenith, but Ravenna did not see it. She was in the slave quarters in the Pits, drinking a dark, hot beverage the slaves seemed fond of. It was too bitter for her tastes and nothing like the calming tea she had enjoyed back in Shinalea, but it woke her up.
“Here,” Radim dropped a pile of leathers on the table in front of Ravenna. She looked up in surprise. He gave her a slight smile, likely all the apology Ravenna would ever receive from him. Or that she would allow. “They’re fighting leathers. I had the armour masters modify them to fit your wings.”
Ravenna frowned. That was something she had not considered. Until then, all she had worn when training were her linen tunics and breeches, the backs cut out of the tunics to accommodate her wings. It had not been terribly secure, but it was all these humans seemed to be able to manage. Tentatively, Ravenna held up the leathers.
The torso was stiffened and probably made for a male rather than a female, but it would provide a decent amount of protection from her opponents’ blades. The back had two large slits on either side of a panel that laced together, which would provide protection for the spot of bare skin between her wings and along her spine. Ravenna tested it and noted that it had been stiffened with a piece of metal. Obviously Radim had thought a good deal about this.
“Thank you,” she said. Ravenna unfastened the back panel and slipped the leather over her tunic, folding her wings through the slits in the back. Radim cinched up the laces on the panel and stepped away.
“Does it fit? I had to guess about your measurements,” he said.
Ravenna stretched and twisted, extending and retracting her wings.
“It fits,” she said. It was stiff and would take a bit more use to move comfortably in, but it would work.
Radim nodded and handed over the leather pads for her thighs and shins, which strapped directly over her breeches and reached the tops of her boots. When Ravenna was done, she felt more than ever like a human warrior. She did not belong in this world.
“Ravenna,” Tekko said, stepping up behind Radim and examining the leather armour. Both slaves also wore the leathers, though theirs were worn with scratches and cuts from many battles. “Here.”
Tekko handed her a shining blade, bronze and shaped like a leaf. It was finer than the practise swords they had used and felt lighter in her hands. The edge was razor sharp and would split one of Ravenna’s feathers easily. She tightened her grip on the hilt, nodding her head in thanks.
“Be aware, Ravenna,” Tekko said, his voice more serious than she had ever heard it. “You have natural talent and a good deal of ability, given your experience with your Dalketh. But you have only just begun using it for fighting. You know enough to be dangerous, but those you will be facing know enough to be deadly.”
Ravenna said nothing, keeping her expression as emotionless as she could manage.
Tekko exchanged a look with Radim.
“Keep that ice in your eyes and your opponents won’t know what to do with you.” Radim tried to joke, even tried to smile. Ravenna just kept silent. Radim sighed. “Look, I know that you hate us. But we really are on your side. Us slaves have to stick together. We have no one else but ourselves and each other.”
Ravenna let out a slow breath, nodding. “I know,” she murmured. Her fingers gripped the leather-wrapped handle of her blade. That and the leather armour she wore were all the comfort she had.
One of the message runner slaves dashed into the nearly-empty eating hall. “It’s time,” he panted before dashing off to go find any stragglers.
Radim’s shoulders stiffened as he led the way out of the cave with a grim expression. Then they met up with the other slaves fighting in the tournament as well. Apparently, they were all to parade around the arena before the fights began. At least they would be able to see their opponents, the slaves that other Masters had brought to fight against Jazer’s warriors.
Ravenna turned to face the grating that led into the arena of the Pits. There was a grid of light and shadow on the dusty floor where the sun shone into the passageway. It made Ravenna’s stomach curl.
Tekko placed a gentle hand on Ravenna’s shoulder, speaking in hushed tones. “Jazer won’t let them kill you. You’re too valuable. But that doesn’t mean you won’t get hurt. Please, Ravenna, be careful.”
She fought back the bile that rose in her throat and nodded. “You be careful, too,” she breathed. Ravenna thought she hated Radim and Tekko, the only slaves who had bothered to spend time with her, to talk with her. They were just another horrible example of the human species. But now they seemed to actually care about her. To actually be concerned with her decisions and well-being. And that was even before they knew she was not there by choice. Ravenna swallowed her doubt and took the first of three calming breaths.
The grate began to rumble upward on old chains and t
he cheering of the people in the stands grew louder. Jazer’s voice sounded over the yelling, but Ravenna hardly noticed it. Her nerves were finally taking over, telling her to run. She took the second of three breaths, trying to remember the powerful feeling that came from using her Dalketh to fight and win against Radim or at least hold her own against Tekko. She might not be all that capable with a blade, but she was not weak. She had abilities that these humans would never have seen. She had wings.
The slaves stepped out of the passage and into the sunlight, slight puffs of dust coming up with each of their footsteps. The roaring of the crowd grew impossibly louder. Ravenna fell in line behind Radim and even returned his hesitant smile. She took her last calming breath and settled an icy expression on her face.
It was time to fight.
The warrior Ravenna faced had reportedly come many days’ journey just to fight the supposed Angel. She was tall, towering at almost the same height as Tekko and was almost as wide. Her body, though, did not have the same muscle tone that Tekko had.
Ravenna had not ever heard of a tournament before a few weeks ago. She had thought it to be a pitched battle with the slaves that Jazer owned fighting together against the slaves of her competitors. Instead, they paired individuals to fight against one another, or pairs to fight against beasts that had been starved and beaten. Ravenna’s fight was the final fight of the first day and the crowd was as hungry as ever for blood.
The warrior female swung her weapon in her hand and leered at Ravenna. She carried a stick with spikes at the end, something Tekko said was called a mace. All Ravenna knew was that the spikes were dangerous and the female carrying them swung wildly to try and put enough power into the blow to do serious damage.
“Why don’t you give up now, eh, Angel?” the warrior taunted, showing cracked teeth.
Ravenna kept silent, holding her sword up, her wings halfway unfurled for balance.