by RG Long
Before she could take in the full sight of people gathering, they were led off into a hallway that formed out of the rock and behind the benches. After a short amount of walking, they found themselves being led into a large chamber that was filled with metal bars and moaning occupants. Whatever this place was, Felicia thought, it certainly felt like a jail.
The three of them were shoved into a small cell. It would be just large enough for them to sit while not actually occupying the same space. The smell that surrounded them was vile and reminded Felicia of dead animals. If not dead things, certainly the smell of excrement filled the air.
“I’m glad we’re still together,” Jurrin said as he looked at both Felicia and Urt. She gave him a rare smile.
“Aye, Jurrin,” she said. “We're a proper trio.”
“What do you think this place is, ma’am?” he asked.
One of the prisoners who had been moaning loudly overheard their conversation.
“This place?” he asked, his eyes rolling in his head. He held a dry bit of bread in his hand. Parts of it were black with mold. “This is the Pit. You’re stuck here until she throws you to her guards and they throw you to the pits below. Then they all watch and make sport of your downfall.”
Felicia gave him a stern look.
“Your downfall, eh?” she asked, looking him over. “Looks like you’re halfway there.”
“You can refuse to go,” he said. “You can choose to rot away in your cell, like me. Sure, you get better food and water that’s not brown if you fight. But anything is preferable to death from her strong arms.”
The man shrugged.
“You can joke,” he said. “But you look new. You haven’t seen a fight. You don’t know what they do to you in the Pit. No one kills quick in there. They make you scream for death. Most of the time, you black out before they actually give it to you.”
Felicia saw Jurrin visibly shudder. She put a hand on him.
“I’m not letting you face that fate,” she said.
The man smiled grimly.
“You’re new here, all right,” he said as he turned back to the crust he had in his hand and put a piece in his mouth. “They don’t ever let you choose your fate. Just whether or not you fight.”
Felicia looked around at the other cells and the other occupants. She was sure at least two were dead. There were others who looked like they enjoyed being here. They looked strong and fit. They eyed the newcomers like pieces of meat.
“Come on,” she whispered, kneeling down and taking Jurrin. “We’ve got to learn as much as we can about this place so we can get out of here.”
“You whisper real loud,” the man said through a mouthful of bread. “And you’re hopeless, too.”
FELICIA THOUGHT HOPELESS was not the word that was going to describe their situation. Tough, sure. Difficult to maneuver in, alright. But hopeless? Surely not.
That was before she fought her fourth battle and Urt had his sixth. Now their situation was not only dire, but approaching the point of no return. Not because they were going to be killed anytime soon. It was because they were too good at what the task they were given.
Both she and Urt had proven themselves to be crowd favorites in the Pit.
Urt for obvious reasons: he was exotic. Most of the occupants of Blood Spire had never seen a Skrilx. So, to not only see one, but witness his impressive reflexes and dizzying battle prowess, was a novelty. Felicia knew she benefited from being the companion of the deadly Skrilx, but also because she was the captain who protected the halfling.
During their very first fight, both she and Jurrin had been thrown into the pit to face a popular duo of thugs: Black and White. They got their name from their lurid costumes including masks. Black had attacked Felicia first, while White went for Jurrin. Rather than leave the poor halfling to die, Felicia had defended him and took on the pair by herself. It was her determination to see Jurrin survive this ordeal that saw her win this first battle. Though, she had to admit, Jurrin had made short work of Black’s Achilles tendon when he had the opportunity.
Jurrin had been spared fighting on his own so far. Perhaps it was because they knew he wouldn’t make much sport. Perhaps it was because they wanted to see Felicia try to save him. For whatever the reason, he never went in without Urt or Felicia beside him.
Good thing, too.
The little halfling may yet surprise them all.
Felicia’s arm shook with the force Jurrin brought his own sword down to bear on hers.
“Well done!” she exclaimed as she backed off from him. “You’ll be a fierce warrior one day soon.”
Jurrin took a few steps back as well and put his sword down on the table. He didn’t smile.
“What’s wrong?” Felicia asked as she came up to him. “I know you think you’re small but you’ll be a strong fighter. You’re not what people expect to face. It’s a challenge fighting you when they're used to fighting someone at least close to their own size. Just keep practicing and you’ll be able to handle your own.”
He took a deep breath and then sighed as he let it out.
“Thank you, Miss Felicia,” he said slowly. “It means a lot coming from you, being so strong and all. But I’m not sure being a fierce warrior is what I wanted to be when I set out to help you all with everything.”
Jurrin picked up the sword and made a slashing movement with it. Then he set it back down on the table of other training weapons they had been allowed to have in their room. They were all wooden of course. No slave gets a real weapon, even when they’ve been given a real room with real beds and real food twice a day. Three times on fighting days.
Their accommodations were spacious for the three of them. Felicia even had a curtain for privacy around her small bed frame made out of bones. Of what creature, she didn't ask. Urt and Jurrin shared a bunk, with the halfling sleeping on top. A threadbare rug, a table and chairs, and some windows that looked out from the compound were small additions, but helped make the fact that there was still a big metal lock on the door that only opened from the outside more bearable.
“I’d rather be a good cook than a good swordsman,” Jurrin said. “I don’t know how you do it in there.”
By ‘there,’ Felicia was assuming he had meant the Pit.
“You just do what you must to survive,” Felicia said, replacing her own sword on the table. “IF you want to live another day, sometimes you have to kill someone who wants to kill you.”
Jurrin swallowed.
“I just wish there was a way to get by without the killing part, ma'am,” he said. “I reckon all these folks were nice once. They have or had a family. Maybe even were real decent at some point in their lives.”
Felicia smiled. She was glad to see that someone, anyone, could still be innocent and think that most people were decent and kind, even after all they had been through. She held back her thought on the matter at hand. She knew full well some people were just raised to hate. Others were raised to survive. Some never get a chance to be decent at all.
“I think we’ve got just about all we need to get out of here,” Felicia said. “With the right coin in the right hand, we can make this happen.”
She put a hand on Jurrin’s shoulder and he smiled up at her, resolute and innocent.
“Someone’s coming,” Urt said, his ears perking up. Just a few moments later, Felicia heard the footsteps of someone coming down the hall towards their door as well. There were a few other rooms like theirs, or at least Felicia understood that there were. Guards frequently came, knocked on a door, and carried someone off to a fight.
But today, it was their door that was opened.
Three knocks, followed by the sound of rattling keys told them that they were about to be paid a visit.
The door swung open and in walked three guards, followed by Lord Gerald.
“Good morning,” she said as she strode into the room with her usual casual air. “Today is going to be a wonderful time in the Pit, I imagine.
”
Lord Gerald had been decent to them. She had kept them together, given them this room after three successful fights, and even made sure that they had appropriate rations given to them at the proper time. Still, Felicia didn’t like something about this woman. She had to be grateful to a degree, she knew. Otherwise, she would have spent the last three weeks warming the bed of a slob.
Or, more likely, resisting that horrible fate with all of her might.
“I’ve just been told that an exotic and wild creature has been brought to my door,” Gerald said. “And I think it’s going to make for a fight like no other.”
She walked to the table and picked up the sword Felicia had just placed on it.
“The three of you will go in together this time,” she said. “I’ve heard from a reliable source that you’ve spent quite a bit of time adventuring around two continents and causing a stir wherever you go.”
Felicia folded her arms and shifted her stance.
“And who might that source be, Miss Gerald,” she said, trying to restrain the mock tone she wanted to put into those last two words.
“Me,” said a voice in the door. Felicia took a step back and grabbed for the sword Jurrin had put onto the table. Some of the guards started forward, but were waved off with a hand from Gerald.
They took a step back, but kept their hands on their swords. Felicia did not relinquish her grip on the wooden one she held. If nothing else, she decided she could club him to death if it came to it.
The Boss had just walked into their room.
“Oh, put it down,” he said without even looking at her. “I’ve seen you fight and you’re good, but not five on one good.”
“Three to one,” Urt said, standing.
The guards looked at Lord Gerald, but she merely waved her hands.
“Now, now,” she said. “None of this. I want my fight to happen and it can’t if you’re all going to kill each other before you get into the pit.”
Shrugging, the Boss leaned up against a wall.
“At any rate,” she said, turning to the three of them again with a look of sizing them up. “I have a proposition for you.”
Felicia raised an eyebrow at her and glanced at Urt. What could she possibly want to do with them, three slaves who happened to fight well enough to get her a bigger audience than usual?
“If I keep putting you out there to duel, I have a feeling I’ll eventually run out of willing fighters. Or, perhaps, seeing how reluctant you are to kill until your lives are in danger, I may have three very popular but unwilling fighters. Do I have you pegged?”
Felicia, still holding her wooden sword, put her hands on her hips and gave Lord Gerald a stern eye. She saw Jurrin shuffling by her side.
“You’re not too far off,” she said. “Though, keep sending in filth like that man from Dern and I might be all too willing to kill them.”
Lord Gerald let out a laugh without joy.
“I thought as much,” she replied, walking over to the table and, taking one of the wooden practice daggers up, spun it in her hands. The sight impressed Felicia. She appeared gifted with a knife. All this time, she had just considered Lord Gerald to be a pretty lady with an eye for business.
“Here is my proposition, then,” she said. “Train my fighters.”
“What?” Felicia asked, sure she had heard her wrong.
“Train my fighters,” she said. “And, not only will I grant you three your freedom, but I will ensure that you are well taken care of. A home for the three of you and regular pay to do with what you will.”
A silent moment hung over the room.
“You’re lying,” Urt grunted.
“She isn’t,” the Boss said as he strode over to them. Felicia tensed, but he merely cracked a smile at her. “It was my idea. And my ideas typically go well in Blood Spire.”
Urt stood directly behind Felicia with his arms crossed. She looked back at him, but he was glaring at the Boss. Jurrin stood to the side of them.
“You won’t just be training pit fighters,” the boss said. “You’ll be training our army.”
“Army, sir?” Jurrin said, looking pale. “What army?”
“Blood Spire’s army,” Lord Gerald said. “With the Enoth Empire expanding every day and the Wrents being the ruthless animals they are, we need a way to defend ourselves somehow.”
“You want to go up against the largest nation on Irradan with a ragtag army trained by three slaves?” Felicia scoffed. “Are you sure your ideas go over well?”
The Boss laughed.
“Don’t think too highly of yourself,” he said, chuckling. “You won’t be the only ones in our service. You’ll find we have a surprising amount of people who know how to spill blood around here. And no, we won’t be challenging the Enoth empire head to head. That’s suicide. We’d only be doing a little here and there to make sure they know to leave us alone and agree to our terms.”
He lazily flipped a sword off the table into his hand.
“You should know,” he continued. “We did a pretty good job of that with Darrion. You’d be training our army how to perform hit and run attacks. Scare the empire’s citizens and direct their fears somewhere else than us.”
Felicia shook her head. She remembered the sight of a city burned to the ground and the elven weapons strewn around the place. The set up. Innocent people killed, their homes and entire livelihoods up in flames. And for what? Just to stir up hatred towards a group of elves who only wanted to protect their forest.
Could she really be a part of something like that?
“And what about when they come to blast your keep into oblivion?”
Another wry smile crossed the Boss’ lips.
“Armies aren’t the only thing we have to use against our enemies,” he said. “And, as you’ve probably noticed, this keep is a veritable fortress in the cliffs. We can hold out against any threat they bring against us. So, we have that going for us.”
They stood for a moment looking at one another.
“And if we refuse?” Felicia asked.
“You’ll fight in the pit for the rest of your lives,” Lord Gerald said. “And we can arrange for that to be a very short amount of time. Today in fact.”
This time it was Lord Gerald’s turn to smile drily.
“We just received something that should draw some very large crowds to the Pit. And I’m sure watching the three of you take it on would be a treat.”
Jurrin gulped.
“It?” he asked with trepidation.
Lord Gerald winked at the halfling.
“We’ll give you an hour to think about it,” she said. “By that time, you’ll decide whether or not you want to live a life of luxury and command Blood Spire’s soldiers, or forfeit living all together.”
She swept out of the room; but, before the guards and the Boss followed her out through the door, she turned.
“But, of course,” she said. “The choice is yours.”
17: Wings and Flames
They were being led down a very familiar path. The underground entrance into the pit was a simple stone tunnel with torches every ten paces. Heavy metal bolts secured the flame holders to the wall. No fighter was allowed any weapon other than what they were given before they made the trek through the tunnel.
But Jurrin would certainly have wished for any additional weapon he could get. The short dagger and sling they had given him would surely be lacking in the fight they were about to encounter.
“I know we made the right choice, Miss Felicia,” he said with more trembling in his voice than we wanted to convey. “But I’m not sure throwing the fake sword at the Boss was the best idea.”
Felicia laughed remorselessly.
“I will never forget the satisfying thunk on his skull,” she said. “That was worth the three licks from any whip.”
She said it like the welts didn’t bother her, but Jurrin watched her shrug at her back. He knew that under the armor she was given to wear her
white shirt was stained with fresh blood, even if it was only a little.
“Too much,” Urt grunted. He hefted the stout spear they had given him and the sturdy shield up higher onto his strong arms. The few weeks of good food and training had done the Skrilx well. He was much more like his former fit self.
Jurrin, on the other hand, was quite sure he was still a little too wide around the belly for his own good.
“I think it was the perfect way to refuse training murderers how to do it better,” Felicia said. She had been given a mail shirt, two short blades, and a buckler that fit around her arm. No helmet for her, though. Jurrin knew that they wanted the crowd to see her and know her face.
He had been given a small breastplate, though who it was for originally must have been a dwarf. The thing was much too broad for him and made it difficult to move nimbly. But, it was also good protection against most things aimed at his heart.
He’d bear it.
The gate to the pit was closed. It would be so until they were announced to the crowd. Then guards from above them would turn large wheels in order to raise the iron bars. Once they released the handles, the gate would crash back into place.
No one escaped the pit after they had been announced.
“I wonder what ‘it’ is going to be?” Felicia asked. “They haven’t armed us in any way different than normal.”
Jurrin shuddered.
“Maybe a troll or a really big Wrent?” he suggested.
“A troll sounds more likely,” Felicia said, staring out of the bars. Jurrin knew she was taking in the sounds of the crowd just as much as he was. It certainly did sound like they had managed a large gathering. “Trolls are pretty exotic for Irradan. I haven’t seen a single goblin here either. But one of those wouldn’t be a struggle.”
The ground shook as soon as she finished her words. Cheers from the crowd filled their ears.
“What was that they said?” Jurrin asked, craning his neck to see Lord Gerald in her normal spot, sitting by the announcer’s booth on the first row of seats.