131 Days [Book 3]_Spikes and Edges

by Keith C. Blackmore

  Pig Knot sighed.

  How could he have lost so much? The question flash-burned in his mind as he willed new flesh to burst forth from the old. Failing that, he reached out to a bundle of cloth bandages Shan had provided him and began to aggressively wrap his stumps to keep them somewhat clean, a new chore he had to do before moving about. A clay container filled with that evil concoction of ointment—no doubt squeezed from a cat’s blossom—lay just to his left. That foul-smelling crack grease used to promote healing soured his stomach. Pig Knot couldn’t be bothered applying the ointment and turned away from it. He finished wrapping his legs and, failing to control his frustration, lowered himself to the ground, ending in a slip, a painful raking across his naked back, and a solid pounding to his ass.

  Pig Knot growled through his clenched jaw and forced the pain down. At least he hadn’t squashed his balls. Fuming, the Sunjan gathered his wits and slowly, tenderly, shuffled his body through the curtain on hands, buttocks, and thighs. The movement was awkward, cringe-worthy, and ungainly, and any moment Pig Knot believed he’d start a fire down there, but he far preferred moving along on his own than being lugged about like a sack of maggot shite. If Shan saw him, he’d be annoyed. Right and proper annoyed. A part of Pig Knot wanted to make the healer right and proper pissed just because he possessed legs. No one, including Shan, could understand Pig Knot’s plight.

  Shan. The healer had specifically instructed him to apply that smelly, gurry stew to his stumps and cuts. Pig Knot had already left it behind. Perhaps tomorrow, he’d smear it over himself. He wouldn’t waste the strength this morning.

  Growling through the bandages fixing his jaw in place, Pig Knot scuffled toward the common room, careful to lift the meaty ends of his legs through the door and avoid slamming them into the frame as he’d done the night before. That one sudden lance of agony was something Pig Knot wouldn’t soon forget. The basic movement itself was familiar––a short, energetic thrust of the hips—not unlike rutting. He simply had to be mindful of lifting his stumps when he moved.

  Sweat beading on his flesh, he waddled past tables and benches, determined to see the world beyond. Let the earth slap, scrape, and tickle his balls and buttocks for another day. The thought made him growl louder. Perhaps he should strap planks onto his bottom.

  A straw mat waited for him, just to the right of the living quarters’ entrance in the shade of the bathhouse’s eaves. He greeted it with a relieved huff and maneuvered himself over its spread, taking his time to become properly situated before lowering his bulk. His plums felt fine, unharmed during the short journey, which pleased him. Pig Knot slumped. That little morning grunt and shuffle damn near exhausted him. Having one’s limbs hacked off robbed one of his strength. He wondered if he’d ever be strong again. An evil chuckle bubbled from his throat at the thought, and he threw his head back in a lapse of sanity. As his fit of giggling receded, he settled in against the wall. His breath steadied.

  He looked up and cursed Clavellus’s mansion for blocking the majesty of the rising sun.

  “You would build it there,” Pig Knot muttered with venom. Damned if he was about to move.

  The pleasant smell of bread baking reached his nose but did nothing to lift his foul mood. Above the main gates of the villa, two guards with spears stood together at one point of the ramparts, keeping watch of the lands beyond Clavellus’s walls. One of them noticed Pig Knot.

  The sentry wandered over and stooped to address him. “They got in late last night.” The guard’s voice carried in the morning calm.

  “How did they fare?” Pig Knot asked through clenched teeth.

  “What was that?”

  “How… did they… fare?”

  “Well…” The man leaned on his spear. Pig Knot recognized him. One of the newer guards Goll had hired, an old Sujin, but he couldn’t remember the name. “I believe they won four of their matches and lost three. Two of them died.”

  “Died?” Pig Knot lurched, his wounds protesting. “Who?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Not the Zhiberian?”

  With a doubting look the guard indicated that he still didn’t know.

  “Seddon above,” Pig Knot whispered. “You’ve put poison in my head now.”

  “Apologies.” The guard straightened. “One moment.”

  He walked off to join the other man at the gate, leaving Pig Knot to squirm. The bandages covering his left stump had come undone, so he occupied himself reapplying the dusty streamer, knotting the ends with an annoyed huff. Halm had perished yesterday, and he’d slept straight through the news. Cold overtook him, shooting up from his backside and turning his guts to ice. Pig Knot suddenly knew that his friend had died in the blood games of the Pit. He slumped again and swore oaths of pure misery.

  “Not the Zhiberian.” The guard returned from the gate. “He sleeps inside. But the one called Kolo?”

  Kolo? Pig Knot remembered the quiet man, but sympathy eluded him. He was too gladdened by the news of Halm’s survival. Still, he recalled the Sunjan’s face and his mild temperament.

  “And Tumber.”

  The black-bearded Vathian. Pig Knot grunted in disappointment. Unfortunate. The fighter had trained hard under Machlann’s guidance.

  “Who deserted?” Pig Knot asked.

  The guard held up a hand and looked at the other lad. “Who deserted again?”

  “The big one called Sapo.”

  “Sapo,” the guard relayed.

  “What?”

  “He deserted. Right there on the sands. In front of thousands. But the others won their fights.”

  The news stopped Pig Knot’s flow of thought. He raised a hand in thanks, and the guard drifted away, leaving the legless pit fighter to sit and ruminate. News of Halm’s survival had lifted his spirits, but the loss of Kolo and Tumber disappointed him. Sapo’s desertion wasn’t surprising in the least. Images of vengeful glares flooded Pig Knot’s mind, and every one belonged to Sapo when Machlann or Koba ordered him to strike harder, move faster, or to repeat a drill. A man didn’t need a nose to smell the hatred smoldering off the big lad. Sapo despised training. He’d probably only joined the house for the food and bed.

  Like them all, perhaps.

  The sand around his mat glowed in the morning heat. Pig Knot squinted at the empty training area and the wooden men bracing for the storm of practice strikes. He regarded his missing legs. Self-loathing and despair welled up inside, and Pig Knot sank deep into its depths. His legs. Why did it have to be his legs?

  The sound of footsteps lifted his head, and she walked toward him.

  Ananda, with her blond hair tied back, was enough to mesmerize any man fortunate enough to gaze upon her. Concern clouded her pretty face, but her presence dissipated Pig Knot’s dreary gloom.

  “Good morning, pretty one.”

  That ignited a smile.

  “Good morning, Master Pig Knot,” Ananda greeted him. “I’d thought you were perhaps ill.”

  “Ill? No more than what you see here.” He waved at his crippled predicament. “Seeing you this morning is as good as any of that sauce Shan smears upon me—without the smell, I might add.”

  Ananda smiled again. It improved Pig Knot’s mind and heart considerably.

  “You’re up quite early this morning,” she said.

  “I am. Right and proper.”

  “I’ll bring you something to eat and drink.”

  “Just something to drink.”

  A frown of indecision shaded her lovely face, and Pig Knot drank it in. “Or just sit here and take in the morning with me.” He patted the ground beside him.

  “I’m afraid I’ve work to do.”

  “When you’re finished, then. The offer will stand because you’re you.”

  “I imagine the tavern ladies often hear the very same,” she countered with a sly twinkle in her eye.

  Not so naïve as Pig Knot thought, and he liked her more because of it. “They do, but that doesn’t lessen th
e truth.”

  “The truth?”

  Pig Knot’s smile widened. He drew breath to deliver a well-used compliment, but he never got to utter a word. Shan stepped through the door of the living quarters, eyes closed as he finished a deep yawn that could have summoned cows from pasture. He scratched at his head of light-brown hair.

  “You’re up and moving around,” Shan sleepily greeted the once-pit fighter. “Excellent. Ananda, would you be so kind as to bring us something to drink?”

  With an energetic nod, she walked away. Pig Knot watched her go, his depressing mood returning. He regarded the healer with annoyance. “Why did you send her off?”

  “Oh, she’ll be back,” Shan mumbled good-naturedly and combed his thinning sandy hair with a few fingers. “Let’s see those bandages. You made it out here by yourself, I see. Impressive.”

  “My arms work fine.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” Shan dropped to a knee and unraveled the bandage from one stump. His aging eyes narrowed in puzzlement. “What’s this?”

  “Hm?”

  Shan blinked. “You didn’t use the saywort.”

  “The what?”

  “The saywort! That ointment you’re supposed to rub on your legs to speed the healing. You must put it on every morning.”

  Pig Knot looked away and grunted his opinion.

  Shan undid the other stump’s bandage. “This one as well? Did you forget? You mustn’t forget in the future. It’s very important. Here. Where’s your saywort?”

  Lips puckered, a sour Pig Knot indicated the living quarters with his chin.

  “I’ll get it then.” Shan stood. “But remember from now on. It requires no effort on your part.”

  A growl emanated from the pit fighter.

  Shan went inside. No sooner had he disappeared when the unmistakable, towering form of Koba the trainer walked around the corner of the main house.

  Just what Pig Knot needed. “You unfit kog lasher,” he growled, not caring who heard. “My, but you strut about like a cock amongst hens.”

  Ananda emerged from the house with wooden cups and a water jug. She spied Koba and greeted him with a few words and a smile. The trainer responded with a few friendly words of his own, almost dispelling the image of the right and proper bastard Pig Knot knew him to be. The one-eared trainer––normally brooding at the best of times––exchanged pleasantries with the young lady. Not only did he speak with her, she seemed to enjoy it. That little nugget of mystery lodged in Pig Knot’s craw. If he had his legs, there would be no contest for her attentions. None. He knew it.

  Ananda broke away from Koba and crossed the training sands. The trainer with the gruesome scar snaking up the left side of his face stood and watched her all the way… until he spotted Pig Knot.

  The friendly face vanished.

  Pig Knot smiled, knowing full well it annoyed the trainer.

  “Here you are.” Shan emerged from the nearby doorway, causing Pig Knot’s grin to frost over. The healer held a small container as well as clean strips of cloth. He knelt and placed everything on the ground.

  “Ah, thank you.” Shan took the water Ananda offered and served himself. Ananda handed Pig Knot a cup as well.

  Not one to allow an opportunity to slip by, Pig Knot touched the back of her hand during the exchange. “You’ve soft skin.”

  “What’s that?” Shan asked.

  “Not you,” Pig Knot blurted.

  “Well, then.” Shan handed the empty cup back. “Thank you again. Now, let me take care of this.”

  The healer got to work upon his patient, unaware of the scene unfolding before him. Pig Knot’s compliment had taken Ananda aback for a heartbeat, but then a little smile crept across her face. She waited for Pig Knot to finish his drink. He took his time, eyeing her over the brim of his cup.

  She eyed him right back while Shan obliviously tended to his legs.

  Pig Knot didn’t return his cup. “For later. When you bring me a jug of beer. Or wine. Whichever’s more plentiful.”

  “I’ll look.”

  “My thanks.”

  “Master Pig Knot,” she addressed him formally, smile still in place, and walked away. Pig Knot watched her go, taking evil pleasure from the stoic expression on Koba’s face. The trainer slowly showed his back, moving in the direction of the stables.

  “She’s a treasure,” Pig Knot commented, his eyes returning to Ananda’s retreating curves. No doubt he’d dream of her later.

  “What’s that?” A gob of ointment coated Shan’s fingers.

  “I said, she’s a treasure.”

  “Who?”

  “The girl.”

  Shan glanced over his shoulder. “Oh.”

  “That all you can say about her?” Pig Knot cocked a brow. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Barely crossed into my fifties.” The healer smiled.

  “Then you should appreciate that.” The gladiator stuck his chin out at the departing woman.

  “I’ll praise her name if it reminds you about the saywort.”

  “Perhaps I’ll ask her to butter me up when it’s needed.”

  Shan chuckled, appreciating at the double meaning. “Well then, you’d best pay attention to how I’m applying it now.”

  Pig Knot ignored him.

  “Is he making morning difficult for you?” Muluk hobbled from the barrack’s doorway. The Kree appeared exceptionally brutalized this morning. His dark eyes stared out from darkened caves of flesh and bone. Water moistened and speckled his thick beard. Sleep had flattened one side of his wild bush of hair, while the rest appeared ravaged by a windstorm. The bandages covering his muscular shoulders, legs, head, and midsection needed changing. Seepage of some kind had dampened them during the night. His left hand curled, the stumps of the missing fingers doing their best to become a fist.

  Legless he might be, but at least Pig Knot didn’t look as though he’d just clawed his way out of a dead man’s hole.

  “No more than you.” Shan studied the Kree with a critical eye. “And when I’m done with him, you’ll sit and allow me to change those bandages.”

  A sleepy Muluk smirked. “More of that pissy salve?”

  That struck a mortal blow, and it showed on Shan’s tanned features. “I really wish you wouldn’t call it that. That salve is the reason you’re walking around right now. And you’ll be mended even faster if you’d sit still long enough and allow it to do its work. Both of you. All of you.”

  Muluk dismissed the healer with a wave of his butchered hand. The Kree looked about and spotted the mat off to one side of the barracks. He bent over with a groan, exposing bandages under his short skirt and loincloth. He fetched the straw mat and swung it over next to Pig Knot before dropping it, stirring up the dust. A thunderous groan left him as he lowered himself, wincing when his buttocks hit the ground. He hissed when his back touched the barrack’s wall.

  “Unfit,” the Kree said through a rack of yellow teeth that had seen better years. He watched Shan fuss over Pig Knot’s wounds. “Lords above, that was unfit. I’ll piss myself before I rise again.”

  That brought a scowl and a headshake from the healer.

  “What?” Muluk asked.

  “Men died yesterday,” Pig Knot informed him.

  A suddenly reflective Muluk raised his face to the sun. “I know.”

  “As do I.” Shan regarded each of them before returning to his task.

  “Where did you hear?” Muluk asked Pig Knot.

  “From one of the guards here, just this morning.”

  “A bloody business all ’round.” Shan slapped and lathered saywort onto Pig Knot’s right stump. The smell of strong onions permeated the air, wrinkling the noses of the recovering former gladiators.

  “That smells… horrible,” Muluk muttered through puckered lips.

  “Where did you hear?” Pig Knot asked the Kree.

  “Heard them come in last night. They’d just finished burying the dead. Unfortunate. That Sapo lad le
ft the house as well. Gone.”

  “I know why.” Shan applied cloth to the stump. “One of the houses placed a bounty on the House of Ten. Three times the gold for any man who could kill a Ten’s pit fighter. Sapo found out about the bounty and didn’t care for it, said he was done with the house. He was very… vocal about it.”

  Pig Knot squinted at the rising sun. “Harsh.”

  “Very harsh,” Muluk agreed.

  “And to think, we’d be respectable by now,” Pig Knot added with a cold smile. “What of the others?”

  “Did they renounce the House of Ten, you mean?” Shan asked.

  “Aye that.”

  “Surprisingly, they did not.”

  “That is a surprise,” Muluk said. “They must like it here.”

  “Truly,” Pig Knot added.

  “Or nowhere else to go.” Shan eyed each of the men.

  “Or don’t care,” Pig Knot finished. “Being out of the hell of general quarters is reason enough to stay. A bounty. Pah. The Pit is life or death most days anyway. What’s a price on one’s head?”

  “The House of Curge placed it,” Shan informed them.

  That silenced them.

  “Seddon above,” Muluk breathed in dismay.

  Pig Knot screwed up his lips in contempt. “Dog balls, why not Curge? If we’re going to make enemies, why not the best? Why not, I say? As it is today, we’ll all have to attend to Seddon’s fleshy crack to escape Saimon’s hell. What’s another hellpup? Dying Seddon, Halm must have chuckled hard enough to make his bells ring upon hearing that news. Another reason for Curge to kill him––for being a part of an upstart house of Free Trained hellpups. Well then, my rosy bastards, I don’t know your intentions, but I believe this bit of news is all the more reason to drink this day, and I mean to drink until my eyes cross and my kog becomes a fountain.”

  Shan drew back from the second stump and glowered. “Spirits hinder the healing.”

  “The healing can lick my crack,” Pig Knot scoffed. “I’ll not spend my waking hours simply healing.”

  The healer rolled his eyes before returning to work.