Of Blood and Steel

by Seymour Zeynalli

  “Look.” He belched and set down his half-empty drink. “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you. Next time, you might not be so lucky.”

  “Understood,” she answered.

  “So, you were in The Pit before I left?”

  “I am going to stop you right there. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s been a rough shift. I’m tired, I’m sore, and I’m just about ready to put this day to bed. So, I’d appreciate if we could move things along here.” She paused until she was sure she had his complete attention. “Very well. My name is Arda. It’s like I said, I need your help.”

  “With?”

  “I’ve heard you know Tartaurus like the back of your hand.”

  “So, you need a guide?”

  “That’s right.” A grim look crept over her face.

  “And where is it, exactly, that you’re headed?”

  “To the Iron Gates.”

  “That’s some distance . . . has it escaped your attention that the whole of Tartaurus is at war?”

  “Which is why I need to be there. The castle of Iron Gates has never been conquered. In times of war, it’s the safest place to be at.”

  “Only that the castle hasn’t seen any action since the riots over half a decade ago.”

  “It’s sturdy.”

  “It’s old.”

  “It was built to last. A safe place for those who seek refuge.”

  “Assuming you get there first.”

  “That’s why I need someone who is strong and knows the land well.”

  “And what makes you think I would help you; do I look like the helpful sort?”

  “You are the one they call the Terror of Tartaurus?” she implored him.

  “Don’t believe what men say in The Pit. But, yes. That is the name they gave me. You don’t wanna find out why.”

  “I have seen enough.”

  “So, you are not afraid?”

  “I am . . . but so are others. I can leverage that.”

  Balak smirked. “I see your intelligence exceeds your age.”

  “So, when can we depart?” Arda asked without hesitation.

  “I am intrigued but not yet convinced. It’s a dangerous trip. If it’s a bodyguard you want, it’s gonna cost you. Let’s say 20 silver coins.” Balak grimaced for effect.

  Arda took out a bag of coins and slammed it on the table in front of Balak. The sound of coins slamming the table attracted unwanted attention and a few visitors began to investigate the source of the sound. Balak leaned closer to Arda.

  “You should be more cautious around here. The people here will sell you out in a heartbeat and just take your coin. What makes you think I won’t do the same?” he asked gravely. He was many things, but diplomatic was not one of them.

  “Everyone can be bought for the right price. This is the least I can offer; there’ll be more when we arrive,” she stated with confidence.

  “The coin can only get you so far, girl. Don’t think most of these men wouldn’t take it by force.”

  “Then they would not receive their full reward. It’s in the best interests of my guide to keep me alive.”

  “You being smart with me? Tell me, how did you get here in the first place?” Balak raised an eyebrow.

  “A friend helped me out.”

  Balak laughed. “What kind of a girl has friends in The Hollow? And how did you find out about The Pit?”

  “I knew I’d find someone with the necessary skills. I was told that former soldiers and mercenaries often entered the ring.” Her cadence rose as though she were asking a question.

  He knew what she was getting at. She was trying to gauge his experience. Swinging a fist in a cage fight is one thing, swinging an axe in an open field, another entirely.

  “Close enough.”

  “Right, well . . . I had the time, so I waited. I’ve been in there for a few nights watching the bouts, trying to figure out who the strongest fighter was. I have seen you take a beating and fall but you always got back on your feet.”

  “I fight to win.”

  “You fight like a Karbadian.”

  “Thanks, I take it as a compliment.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Tell me, were you afraid?”

  “Yes.”

  He hesitated, holding her stare, square in the eye, in the pale flicker of the tavern’s candles. There, in that moment, she hid nothing. He wasn’t expecting such an honest answer to his question. Regardless, he respected the one he got.

  “Good. You wanna make it through war, you keep your guard up.”

  “I will. Thank you.” She smiled meekly.

  “Don’t thank me yet.” Balak lifted the jug to his bearded and bloodied lips and glugged it empty. “Well, alright then. I understand the job. The kingdoms are at war and you need an escort. It’s not going to be an easy journey as the land is turbulent. We’ll have to travel over the mountains, through the Black Garden, west through Elania, around the Mystic Forest, and then we’ll head north, straight to the gates. Not gonna lie, it’s a long journey, one filled with rapists, bandits, and them nasty giants, Narts. I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Can we not just go straight? East all the way through the Mystic Forest?”

  “Cut through the Mystic Forest?” He laughed. “That’s the last place you want to go, believe me.”

  “We may encounter fighting then. Elania and Liveria are at odds with one another.”

  “I see, well if we follow the southern edge of the forest, we should avoid trouble. We’ll have to lay low and move fast.”

  “How long do you think this journey will take?”

  Balak called upon his road knowledge, however rusty. “Give or take three weeks.”

  “I think you’ll find the pay more than adequate.”

  “As long as the other coin awaits me at the end of our journey as promised.” There was no trace of humour or friendliness in his voice.

  “Sure, payment will be made in full when we arrive unscathed.”

  “Consider this as my advance.” Balak interjected, picking up the sack of coin. “The rest to be paid when the job is done.”

  “How is that fair?” Arda asked defensively.

  “It isn’t but you came to me first. Remember that.”

  “Do you know how much silver is on this table right now?!”

  “Keep your damn voice down!” he growled through gritted teeth. “Use your head while you still have it!”

  “Sorry . . .” Her head lay low.

  “Listen, I will get you to the Iron Gates, but you’re in The Hollow right now, and this is a dangerous place. So, until I can get you there, you must do as I say.”

  Oblivious to the anxiety bubbling away behind the poor girl’s eyes, Balak shook his head, grunting in annoyance, and got up to leave.

  “I understand,” she said, raising her head.

  “Good.” He nodded in affirmation and sat back down. “One of us could die on this journey, and it ain’t gonna be me.”

  “I don’t plan on dying either, Balak. I’m aware of the risks.”

  “We’ll set out at dawn. You have a room somewhere?”

  “Here.”

  “Here?”

  “I noticed this is your favourite tavern.”

  “Surprised I didn’t catch on sooner.”

  “Well, I can be discreet when I need to,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Apart from when you’re sneaking up on someone. Might want to dirty yourself up. You still smell like the surface. Giveaway like that will get you killed.”

  “Duly noted,” her face turned sour as she retorted. Though it softened just as quick. She wasn’t quite finished. “Look, there is one more thing.”

  “What more?” he asked.

  “It’s easier if I show you. But you must be very quiet,” She whispered the last part for emphasis. “Follow me.”

  The girl slid off her bench and scurried across the tavern to the stairs in the back before Balak could even stand. As
he made his way towards her, it dawned on him that every man in the place was watching him.

  He followed her up the steps with steely indifference. It wasn’t as if anyone was going to do a thing about it.

  Her door was at the end of a narrow corridor of unfinished pine logs, the brown tree bark on the ceiling and walls slowly turning green, mossy with the humidity.

  “Here we are.” She turned her key in the rusty lock and, with both hands, pushed the small but heavy door open. “Please, come in.”

  Balak followed her inside, perplexed.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Well, I’m not exactly alone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Arda turned and sat on the bed to regain her balance before standing. She held a straw basket of sorts in her arms.

  Balak took another step back, though for different reasons entirely.

  From a threat even more unassuming.

  There in the tatty basket in the girl’s arms, was an infant, a year old at best, fast asleep. Ruddy and wrinkled, the thing was so tiny, Balak would have easily held it in one hand.

  “Just like I said, I am not exactly alone.” Arda repeated.

  “Who is that?” he spluttered.

  “It’s my sister,” Arda beamed and gently took the child out of its makeshift cradle and into her arms proper. The infant didn’t stir, bound tightly like a dumpling in its blankets.

  Balak exhaled hard through his nostrils. Had there not been a sleeping baby present he would have had no problem telling the girl precisely why she was insane.

  “You didn’t think to tell me that you had a child with you? You’ve just made the journey a lot more dangerous!”

  “But nobody will even know she’s there. She’s compact, no trouble at all, I swear, and I’ll be tending to her needs, feeding her, changing her, carrying her, everything. This doesn’t change a thing!”

  “Yes, it does.” Balak began to open the front door, ready to leave and fuming at the girl’s naivety. Arda pushed the door closed again and looked directly into Balak’s eyes.

  “You said you would take me,” Arda whispered firmly. She could see her chance slipping away. “We have to get to Iron Gates.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  “My parents are dead . . . I ran as far as I could without looking back. I seek safety for the sake of my sister. I’m willing to pay you a small fortune here.”

  “Then you better find someone else.”

  “What?!” Arda was distraught. As the child stirred, the poor girl looked like she was at her wit’s end. “No, please! You can’t back out now!”

  “Don’t waste your breath.” He batted the air between them with the flat of his hand, officially brushing her off. “You’ll need it for your trip.”

  “Don’t you see, I am the only family she has left?!”

  The child awoke, and promptly screamed the tavern down. Desperate, dejected and despondent, Arda sat back on her bed and tried her very hardest to keep a brave face on for the child.

  “Look, you have enough in your possession for a very long time, maybe by then things will quiet down and you might make it to the Iron Gates. That would be my advice to you. Otherwise, you are on your own, kid,” Balak said returning Arda her bag of coins.

  “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Balak simply shook his head as he closed the doors behind him.

  — CHAPTER THREE —

  Prisoner of Mind

  “By the Maker . . . and is she still here?”

  “Wouldn’t know.”

  Balak growled uncaringly as he picked at a thin flatbread packed with meat. He finally had a taste of his favourite qutab. His teeth bit through the warm dough and the meet exploded with its intense flavor as the ground beef seeped onto his tongue. He could barely pay attention.

  “Come, don’t tell me a teenage girl has driven you out of your favourite watering hole?” Giorgi cackled with mirth. He was getting more amusement out of the incident than Balak cared for. “Want me to set her straight?”

  “Enough, Giorgi. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Ah, suit yourself.”

  Giorgi was at work, at least what passed for work in The Hollow. His duties were basic. In what passed for a quarry, he was to guard a fuel stockpile, a ramshackle warehouse of constructed of wood and tin, and occasionally patrol the mining tunnels’ entrances to make sure none were broken into. All was quiet, so he sat on an upturned crate by a small fire in the main yard for a spell. With little else to do that day, Balak had joined him for a flask of spirits, and to fill his friend in on his bizarre encounter with Arda the previous night.

  “Where did you say she was staying? I might offer my services for that much coin,” Giorgi commented.

  “Aren’t you too old for this shit?” Balak swigged and passed the strong alcohol back to Giorgi.

  “Don’t forget I am five years younger than you.” Giorgi took a sip of his beverage. “In all seriousness what’s keeping you here? Go. Do something worthwhile.” Taking a pipe from his pocket, Giorgi wiped it off on his trousers and stuck it between his teeth.

  “You trying to get rid of me?”

  “Not at all. You’ve put yourself down here. You don’t have to stay, like the majority do. Help her. Take the money. You’ll never have to work or fight in this shithole again. And I hear the Iron Gates has the best ale in all of Tartaurus. The one that makes you go blind. You wouldn’t want to pass on that.”

  “Yes, but where else am I going to find such delicious qutabs?” Balak responded.

  Giorgi laughed. He pulled out a leather pouch and unsheathed the dagger dangling from his belt. He went about carving a plug for his pipe from a brown and green block of dried leaf and bud.

  “I am not sure if I am fit for a long journey, never mind travelling with a child.” Balak scowled.

  “People have been trying to kill you down here for a long time, what difference does it make,” Giorgi argued. He stuffed the plug in the bowl and searched himself for matches.

  “Least here I know people want me dead. It can be hard to tell a friend from a foe up there.”

  “You should help her. Get out of this place for a while.”

  Balak tossed his friend his own matches, shaking his head as he did. “Maybe I like it here.”

  “Nobody likes it here.”

  “Luxury is a state of mind, brother.”

  “Balak, when was the last time you stepped outside? You live in this shithole. For what?” He lit up, striking the tinder off his cheek. Sucking the dancing flame into bowl, he puffed hard three times and held his bounty in his lungs as long as he could. With a gasp, a billow of musty smoke escaped him, and he passed the pipe to his friend.

  “There’s nothing on the surface for me.”

  “You deserve better.”

  “We both know that’s not true.” He grinned.

  “Get yourself to the surface and help the poor girl out. I would if I could. Maybe even could see my own little girl before it is over for me . . . but then who would be saving your arse from The Pit?”

  The pair erupted into raucous laughter, the kind that came straight from the belly. Balak was far from a social creature, but Giorgi was alright with him. He appreciated good beer, good food, small talks and good fights; and nine times out of ten he never wanted to discuss anything all that serious or irritating. He was the closest thing Balak had to a friend, and his was a solitary role.

  “Still . . . it’s a shame, all the same,” Giorgi said.

  “What is?”

  “Ah, nothing.” Giorgi waved him away dismissively, theatrically. “Just the girl. Sorry, girls. Poor things will be dead before they reach the place.”

  “Giorgi . . .”

  “Let’s just hope it’s beasts that get ‘em. I’d hate to think what would happen to such a pretty, young girl if a horde of bandits got hold of her . . .”

  “I have known you long enough to know what you’r
e doing.”

  “Of course, they’ll probably just kill the infant before they have their way with the girl. Snap its neck. Hurl it off a cliff. Hey, the land is at war, times are hard, so maybe they’ll eat it. Roast it on a spit.”

  “You are a sick bastard. Maybe you need to cut back on the pixie dust. Besides, that’s not gonna work on me. She’ll find someone else.”

  “Down here? Of course. I’m sure any one of these deprived whoresons would be more than happy to take her under their wing.”

  “Fuck, Giorgi, if you care so much why don’t you take her to Iron Gates?”

  “She didn’t ask me, brother.”

  “Alright, out with it.” Balak grabbed the booze, bracing himself for one of his friend’s rare lectures. He could feel it coming on like a bad rash. “What’s this about?”

  “You ever stop and take a look around this place, Balak?”

  “Not like I have much choice.”

  “I’m being serious. Look at these people. They’re all running from something. The law, debt-”

  “Bounty hunters.”

  “You get my point. You were here long before I arrived, and I have been here for eight fucking years. I had to run to keep my family safe. I never got to see my daughter grow up. And since I met you, you haven’t told me why you can’t go up again. Not once. What is it, Balak? What scares you? How many more times can I ask you this?”

  “Lost count some time back.”

  “That’s saying something. People live in The Hollow because they’ve got no other choice. Question is, do you have a choice? I’m not asking what brought you down here, but is it still up there? Do you really still need to be here? What do you have to lose that you haven’t already lost?”

  “There’s nothing up there. That’s the point, Giorgi.”

  “There’s nothing down here, Balak, so go up there and find something. Anything. This place is the last resort, the anus of Tartaurus. So, tell me, you got shackles on your wrist? Are you really trapped here like the rest of us?”

  “You are beginning to repeat yourself.”

  “Because I don’t think you are, brother. Everyone else here is fearful of what’s out there. But not you. I think it’s something or someone that’s keeping you here. Why are you keeping yourself here? The crooks are relieved to be out of the eyes of the law, and the families are scared that the law’s gonna come down here after them. You, however, are neither.”