Caged Warrior

by Désirée Nordlund

  “Is this the boy?” Raborast asked the woman, and she nodded. The situation was still tense. He made an assuring gesture.

  “Put your blades away, boys. You don’t want to get killed.” Some of them smirked or muttered, but they followed his bidding. The warrior relaxed, and though she still had her knife in hand she did not pose an immediate threat of attacking again.

  “Here’s the deal,” he said. “You’ll fight tomorrow with three more or less untrained scraps. If you win, you’ll get the boy. The day after, you’ll fight one of my regulars. If you win, you’ll get a hundred gold coins. What do you say?” A hundred gold coins were a lot of money, but if she managed it, she deserved it, and he would have earned more than that on the fight. The first day would spread the rumor, the second day could be legendary if all went his way. And a hundred gold coins could even be enough for her to wish for more and stay for another fight. And, if she did not pass day one, what had he lost?

  “With which weapons?” she demanded.

  “You chose your weapons. I chose mine.” He saw the doubt in her eyes. “I’m a businessman. I’ve nothing personal against you. There’s no entertainment in a fast kill. You’ll have a fair chance.” It was true. He had no intention to bring her out on the area to kill her. He wanted a good fight. He saw her relax and put the knife away.

  “We’ve got a deal. My name is Avia.” She held out her hand, and he shook it.

  “Raborast”

  “Take care of my grandson in the meantime.” She turned to the boy and added, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” Then she left. Raborast grinned, pleased at the deal. He turned to the bodyguard holding the boy.

  “Lock him up in a cell of his own.” No need risking something happened to him. “And give him something to eat.” He sure did not want the warrior angry. Did she win the boy back, he wanted her interested in staying.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The fight

  Avia lay on her bed at the inn that night and had a hard time sleeping. She knew she needed it, but somehow tiredness did not arrive. The truth was, she was nervous. Scared almost, though she tried to deny it. If she failed tomorrow, Putt would probably face death one way or another. She had no idea why the arena owner had kidnapped him, but it was not likely the first and only child smitten. Considering his business, death was probably involved. How she wished she had had her mother’s talent for magic and had her skills. Although she was armed and proficient with both bow and blades, she felt so helpless when it came to protecting her own grandson. When she had realized Putt was caught in there, there was so little she could do. Her mother would have had some powder up her sleeve that caused smoke or sleep or even giggles and laughs. Avia herself had no such tricks. She could only pose a threat of violence and death. A threat easy to disarm now when Putt was at stake. When she lay there awake, she thought of a possible profession for Putt. If she won that money, she could put him in the Wizard’s school where he would be taken well cared of and gain a respected profession. Would they take him in? At least she would be able to pay them enough if they did. The wizards were few and even more mythical than warriors. She had only met a few in all her years and knew little. But she knew they were educated in the legendary wizard’s school. Her own mother was one. If Putt had magic in his blood, he would likely become a decent wizard too. Relaxed by having a plan she finally fell asleep.

  To Raborast’s pleasure, Avia turned up early to the fight. When asked for weapons of choice she said she stuck to her own blades, removing her bow and arrows. He nodded in approval. A bow on the arena was not possible due to the safety of the audience, and the distance was too short anyway. It was a good thing she knew this, so no argument was needed. He counted to three blades - Two swords and one knife. He had her guided to one of the arena’s entrances as he walked his row of cells. To most scraps, it came as a surprise that he had them locked up, but to him it was necessary. When he had been new to the business, he had considered everyone asking to fight as a free man or woman, but he had soon learned that free people had a habit of changing their minds no matter agreement made. When their lives were at stake, fulfilling a contract turned out to be of less importance. For him, it was a matter of keeping to plan and be able to give his audience what he had promised. They had offered to risk their lives voluntarily, and these days he had no second thoughts of forcing them to keep their promises to him. Their deaths were a far less problem than having no fighters on the arena for a paying audience.

  He had however not placed Avia in a cell and turned the key. She had every reason to turn up, and even if her grandson had not been in his custody, he was quite confident this woman did not make this kind of agreement on a whim and then abandoned it. He felt too much respect for her even to consider that treatment. A younger one, maybe with a little too much to drink, and with an idea he was a hero, desperate for money, was something else. After all, he had several regular fighters who stayed in the building with unlocked doors, as the free men and women they were.

  Raborast passed the doors and glared through the bars. Three scraps for Avia to fight. Which ones? He wanted her to win the first fight, but it could not be too easy. She had to show skill. She had to appear legendary to spread the rumors for the next battle wide and well.

  Avia walked into the arena, with both swords drawn. It was a circular area surrounded by a high wall. Above the wall was a rood-loft and gallery for the audience. The arena’s surface was firm but absorbing. No risk of slipping on blood pools Avia noted. From the opposite gate, her three opponents came out. The first was tall and solid as a piece of walking rock. He had no armor but a long spear and a shield. The next was a younger copy of herself, but appeared edgier and had provided herself with a sword in one hand and a shield on the other arm. Avia had never understood the idea of a shield. In theory, it was suitable for arrows, but they came too fast for anyone to put a shield up in the right place with any accuracy. And a blade could block another blade to less weight. Her third opponent was hardly more than a boy. He could not be past twenty, and he had a nervous grip with both hands around a sword that was too large for his fragile body. His eyes went to the audience above them just as much as to her and his fellow team members. He would be an easy target. The man with the spear ranged further than she, both with length and the choice of weapon. But he did not appear to be fast, based on what she had seen so far. The boy, then the woman and the rock last.

  She attacked with her eyes on the woman in the middle. Then she dived to the right and sliced both calves of the boy sending him to the ground with a wail. She kicked his sword away. One down.

  She maneuvered herself so she had the woman between her and the rock-man. This one would be trickier. Her opponent was sure of herself. Yet she waved she shield in front of her as if she would get attacked from anywhere. Avia saw she had not much experience of real fights. She aimed for the shield with her right sword and as she saw the other’s eyes follow the movement she went for her throat with her left. Her opponent caught the lethal strike with her own blade. As the other pushed Avia’s attack away, Avia let go of her sword, keeping the opponent’s unexperienced focus on Avia’s left hand, now unarmed. Avia took a dive with her right and followed the blade all the way until the hilt met her opponent's skin. Blood pumped from the holes her sword left in the guts as Avia pushed the dying body towards her last opponent, who backed away. One to go.

  The big man did not appear quite as big any longer. It was like he had shrunk during the fight. Her hands were covered in blood, and with a grin, she drew lines across her face with it. The man went pale. Avia growled and almost thought the rock-man would climb the walls of the arena out of fear. He threw his spear at her. A clumsy move out of terror. It missed. He had wasted his only weapon, and he fell on his knees. A wise move if he wanted to keep his life.

  Then a rotten apple hit the man’s face. Avia came abruptly aware of the audience. She rose her sword in a gesture of victory and the men and women watching cheered f
or her. It felt fabulous, and she remembered why she had fled from the arenas last time. She felt invisible. To her surprise, she did not even bleed. Three enemies down and she had not a scratch. Did that say something about her or her enemies? From the bloodstained sand, she picked up her left-hand sword. On her way out she stopped by the young man she immobilized first. She grabbed him by the arm and helped him to his feet.

  “You’d better use whatever you’ve left of your legs, son” she hissed in his ear. “I know what usually comes out of those gates when the winner has left.” The boy seemed to get the idea. Probably he had watched enough games to know for himself. With a significant amount of support from her, he managed to get out. The other man did not get the situation fast enough, and the gate closed before he got there. Avia heard the animals’ roars and the man’s screams from the other side. She was grateful she did not have to watch.

  The owner of the arena approached them.

  “I pay for his healing,” Avia said at once. “If you” and she faced the bleeding young man on the floor by her feet “promise me to stay away from the fighting arenas in the future.” She got an eager nod as a reply and a lot of thanks.

  “You rob me of my fighters?” Raborast asked. Avia gave him a glare. “No need to worry” he smoothed over. Raborast called for his healers, and the man was carried away.

  “Well done” he expressed with admiration. “Pity the big boulder was such chicken. I was hoping he would be the grand finale for you.” The screams from the arena had ceased.

  “It had probably been a better end for him to fight me” Avia noted. She had saved the boy’s life, not the other man’s. She had robbed the boy of his option to leave the arena by himself, and it was only fair to help him. The large man had been unhurt.

  “Shall we go and fetch your grandson?” Avia nodded, and they left towards the cells. “I guessed you didn’t want him to see the fight. It may seem harsh to keep him here, but it was the safest place.” Avia nodded her head again. Safe both for Putt and Raborast, who could be sure his leverage stayed put until released. He unlocked one of the cell doors. Avia peeked inside but made sure to keep clear of the door. There was no reason to trust Raborast. She had spent a few nights in a cell herself before a fight, last time she did this. She knew how it worked. Putt sprang to his feet and threw himself around Avia with a resounding cheer of joy. Avia hugged him and as soon as possible began to move backward, away from the cells keeping Putt close.

  “I’ll be here tomorrow for the fight” Avia assured Raborast.

  “I’m sure you will” Raborast agreed. She was confident he would make sure she would. He had likely been in the business long enough to know all the gold in the world could not stop people from changing their minds and chose safety instead.

  “Granny! You don’t have to!” Putt protested. “Please, granny, don’t!” Avia hushed him.

  “I’m good at this, Putt” she answered, irritated over his blunt comments in the wrong place. “Have some faith in me. Now hush!”

  “Don’t worry, boy” Raborast grinned. “Your granny’s fight tomorrow will become legendary.”

  They sat together eating dinner at the inn.

  “What if you die?” Putt asked. He saw she did not approve of the question and he regretted to have said it. She was up to a fight tomorrow. She would not go if she thought she would die, would she? But still, it was a lethal fight. She could lose her life.

  “I was thinking about you becoming a wizard” she declared. Putt did not quite get the turn the conversation.

  “If you die, I become a wizard?”

  “I won’t die tomorrow” Avia hissed. “I thought I could use the prize money to put you in the wizard’s school.” A wizard? Him? He was no old man with a beard.

  “I thought wizard was something you were born to be. Don’t I need some talent for it?”

  “My mother was a sorcerer. You can very well have a knack for it.”

  “So my great-grandmother knew magic and then I should be able to do it too.” It was not a question. But not a confident statement either. He hoped his voice rang of irony. She seemed baffled.

  “Like most things in life it’s a matter of practice” she explained. Both had, however, Putt’s failure as a warrior’s apprentice in fresh memory and the statement was ill-chosen. Putt felt sully. “You know, I wouldn’t place you in the school if I thought it wouldn’t suit you.” Putt ate in silence. What did she know about what fitted him when he did not know that himself?

  “What will the fight tomorrow be like?” he asked to change the subject but regretted it at once. Did he really want to know?

  “Well… Today’s fight was too easy to suit the arena owner, Raborast. Tomorrow’s will be harder.” He swallowed. He did not want to hear more, but she spoke of a subject that interested her. Maybe it would do her good to give voice to her thoughts about what awaited her.

  “What does that mean?” he encouraged her and tried not to think it was his granny who would be in the arena tomorrow.

  “It will be one opponent, as promised, but it will be someone trained, someone who has survived these kinds of fights more than once. That means I can’t go for the obvious move. The easy feints will not work. And it’ll certainly not be a working concept to drop a sword to distract the opponent as I did today” she added with a grim smile. Putt felt uneasy, almost dizzy. Had she dropped a sword to fool the opponent? He had never seen her fight for real, but though he did not want to either, he was curious. Was she any good? Was she even someone worthy of legends, his very own granny? Raborast had said so, but what did those words mean from him?

  “Putt, do you think you can finish up on your own and return to your room? I need to be alone for a while.” Putt nodded. Avia ruffled his hair. “I’m glad to have you back.” He smiled at her.

  “I love you, granny.”

  “I love you too.” He watched her leave the Inn. He was almost done and scooped up the rest and chewed it. Back in his room, he stared at the walls. To his surprise, he found it less comforting than the cell in which he spent the previous night. The inn’s room was dark, without windows, and they slept two in a place that was just a little bigger than the cell, which also had had a barred window high up on the wall. The small chamber at the inn felt cramped with its low ceiling. He returned to the main hall where they had eaten their dinner. His first thought had been to go for a walk in the city, but he did not want to risk getting kidnapped again, and the inn was not placed near one of the major streets either. He walked up to the innkeeper behind the bar.

  “I feel kind of restless, sir” he began. “Can I help you out with something just for tonight. Lay the tables maybe?” The innkeeper watched him up and down.

  “Aren’t you the warrior’s little boy?” He nodded though he thought he was too old to be called ‘little.' “Will your master not be angry with you if you work as a common runner?”

  “She ain’t my master, sir. She’s my grandmother” he replied. “And if she gets angry it’s with me, as you said yourself.” The innkeeper gave him a grin.

  “It’s alright for me if you want to help out.”

  And so, Putt served and took dishes to the kitchen the rest of the evening until he felt tired enough to go to bed. The innkeeper thanked him and gave him a piece of candy. Putt decided to save it for the moment when he knew his grandmother had won. Then he lay on his bed and asked himself why he had had no problem to talk to the innkeeper on his own initiative while he had had such trouble to speak to the guards Sinik and Pho. He decided it probably had to do with being commanded to do something compared to when he felt the need himself, but somehow, he was sure that was not the whole truth.

  Avia arrived early to the arena the morning after. Not only could she not concentrate with the worried Putt around, but she also wanted Raborast to know she would turn up. On her way there she had heard some of the stir the day’s fight had caused. Those who liked that kind of entertainment seemed thrilled by the idea of
an experienced warrior against one of Raborast's veterans. The hundred gold coins she had been promised would not be a problem for the owner if she caught the mood right. The gallery would be full.

  She had been shown to a separate room to prepare. There were food and drinks and even a bed. If she was about to eat she had better do so early, so she served herself a meal. To her surprise, the door was opened without a knock, and muscular man with shaved head entered and shut the door behind him. His clothes were soft, expensive wool. He gave her an uncertain smile.

  “Don’t tell me you’re my opponent for today” she breathed as the silence between them had become uncomfortable. The stranger nodded. This was not a good thing. They were not supposed to meet.

  “What do you want?” she growled at him. He moved a few steps sideways, back and forth. He had an impressive body, seemed lithe yet strong. He was indeed younger than her, but the scars on his face and arms told of his experiences in the arena. A wound on his face was not fully healed, and she guessed something had punctured the cheek, probably taking some teeth with it.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “We’ll fight today” he confirmed in words. “And I know you excel at what you do, because Raborast picked me, and you would not have lived to this high age if it was otherwise.” He paused, and Avia waited. It was not likely he had come to flatter her. “I…” he continued and sounded embarrassed “I came here with the hope to make a deal with you. A deal not to kill the other.” Avia became so startled she dropped the metal plate she had been eating from when the fighter entered her room. It banged to the stone floor with a ring and the food scattered.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Bahadur.”

  “Well, Bahadur, aren’t you experienced enough to know that kind of deal is out of the question?” It was, really. Two fighters not fighting for their lives was not a fight worth watching. And if a fight did not meet the standards of a good battle, the arena owner would make sure they got other things to fight instead. Like releasing wild animals into the fighting pit, or more fighters.