131 Days [Book 4]_About the Blood

by Keith C. Blackmore

  Gasping for breath, Goll stood back from the target and met Machlann’s contemplative gaze. Without a word, the Kree held out a hand, and snapped his fingers for a second sword.

  High above, Clavellus chuckled, unable to contain himself, and grabbed his wife somewhere below the railing, causing an unimpressed Nala to slap his shoulder.

  “Clades,” Machlann said, gesturing first for another length of wood then at Goll. “Get that man another stick. Show us again, Kree. Show me something. Leave me speechless.”

  The once Sujin tossed a second sword to the panting Kree, who deftly caught the weapon. Goll twisted and with an exhausted bark, he broke the new sword over the practice man’s arm with one brutal chop.

  The crackle of breaking wood hung on the air, silencing all else.

  Nowhere near finished, Goll discarded the ruined half he held and gestured impatiently for another sword.

  That time, Machlann traded looks with Clavellus. The taskmaster leaned over the railing and propped his head up with a hand.

  “Impressive, Kree,” Machlann said in a much quieter tone. “But that’s enough for now. Take a rest. You’ll wish for death tomorrow morning, I wager, just to be spared the soreness. And I’ll personally tickle Saimon’s taint if any bathhouse waters or healing shite will stop that particular rust.”

  “Again,” Goll demanded, his hand unwavering in the air.

  That got some attention from the watchers.

  “No,” Machlann said, his scowl deepening. “Now do as I say, or by Seddon’s rosy ass, I’ll make your last moments here as painful as I can devise. Go!”

  “You’ve proven your point, Master Goll,” Clavellus cut in, his voice a soothing balm in itself. “Do as Machlann says. Take a few moments. When he feels you’re ready for another round, he’ll be the first to tell you.”

  With a withering glance in Junger’s direction, Goll relented. He walked, on sheer stubbornness alone, to the edge of the training grounds.

  Whether or not he saw the pleasant glow upon Clavellus’s sun-baked features was another matter. The taskmaster stood and beckoned Machlann to join him for a talk.

  “He did well just now, didn’t he?” Nala asked her husband’s back.

  “Very well,” Clavellus replied before disappearing into the shady interior. Very well indeed.

  For a man who’d limped his way into Clavellus’s life, Goll had displayed remarkable speed and power in his first training session in over a month.

  He met Machlann at the base of a stairway, and the trainer’s expression mirrored what Clavellus already knew.

  “The lad’s a hellion,” Machlann quietly stated. “You see what he did? You see?”

  “I saw.”

  “And that was after he’d spent a good part of the morning waking those muscles up. He’ll be as stiff as an iron bar come tomorrow, but Seddon above, Clavellus. Is it possible we’ve come across two hellpups in our return to the games?”

  “Why not?” the taskmaster asked and led Machlann deeper into house, away from anyone who might overhear. “Why not? Not as if we haven’t paid a price all these years. Lords above take me now if that’s not true. He broke two sticks over that target’s hide. Two. Split the second one right on the first blow. Who does that? Who do we know who’s ever done that?”

  Machlann’s bushy white beard didn’t move as he shook his head. “No one. Not ever. I’ve seen lads split wood like he did with the first, but not the second. Not when he should be exhausted.”

  “And he was exhausted. And ready to go again.”

  “All push. And damn all else.”

  “And did you see the look he gave Junger?” Clavellus winced.

  “Aye that. Wasted, though. The Perician didn’t even notice.”

  “He might’ve,” Clavellus countered with a trembling finger. “He just might’ve. We were all too stunned by what Goll was doing to truly pay attention to the lad. We’ll have to ask Koba for that matter, but I wager that first broken sword got his attention. Maybe even the second.”

  Machlann smiled. “Daresay I’ll keep my thoughts about Kree’s weapon masters to myself from here on.”

  “As will I,” Clavellus agreed, stroking his beard. “As will I. Two, Machlann, two. The Sarlander is no slouch by any means, but Goll…”

  Machlann nodded, understanding the taskmaster’s line of thought. Brozz was good, but Goll just showed them perhaps why he’d been so critical of the Perician. Perhaps the Kree believed himself equal… or superior.

  “Watch him,” Clavellus instructed his trainer.

  Machlann nodded he would indeed and marched back into the sun.

  Thoughts whirling, the taskmaster returned to his balcony. At the top of the stairs, he met Nala.

  “Is all well?” she asked, eyes clouded with worry.

  “All is very well,” he assured her and clasped her hands. “Very well, indeed. I tell you, Nala. There was a time neither I nor Machlann ever thought much of this Ten. Never thought there was any potential. They were paying coin for our property and experience, and I was lured by the chance to return to the games. Well, these past few weeks have been a pleasant surprise. I feel whole again, as if that which had been cut from me had been replaced. Even better, I think the house––this house––has potential beyond our expectations. Anyone’s expectations.”

  “So what do you mean?” she asked.

  “I mean…” Clavellus searched her face, organizing his own thoughts. “Even though the Ten might be reduced to three, or perhaps even two––those two are exceptional. Better than a good many I’ve seen over the years. If they get the right fights, the right opponents, and if they can avoid any potential blood matches, then…”

  He couldn’t finish, the notion far too much to hope for, not with Dark Curge lurking in the background and the rest of the houses no doubt looking to finish the Ten’s chances. The house was still Free Trained at its heart, and far too many were eager to stomp on it.

  So he shut his mouth and gazed upon her with bright and loving eyes.

  “Well,” she said, pulling at his beard, “if you’re happy, then I’m happy. Even if it means the season will be longer this year.”

  “It might be to our advantage.”

  Nala studied his face. “Clavellus, dearest.”

  He winced, knowing what was coming.

  “I’m not planning on staying home this day. I’m going to travel to Pynn’s Brook and stroll through the public market there. You did well with the items you brought back to me the other day, but there are a few more things I wish to purchase. And we are doing well with coin, are we not?”

  He was having his fun, and the time for hers had come.

  “So aren’t we?” she asked again. “Doing well with money?”

  “We are. We most certainly are. The best in years, I believe.”

  “Then I’ll take a wagon and leave right away.”

  “Take a few guards with you,” Clavellus said.

  “I will,” Nala said and began descending the stairs. “I’ll return later this evening.”

  She fluttered fingers at him, and Clavellus watched her leave, enjoying every movement.

  Once she was gone, he returned to the balcony.

  *

  “What in Saimon’s blue pisspot was that?” Muluk exclaimed when Goll stopped less than a dozen strides away from where he and Shan were standing. “What was that?”

  “That…” Goll huffed. “Was training.”

  “Breaking wooden swords?”

  “Don’t be saucy.”

  “You certainly don’t look like the man who’s been hobbling about on crutches,” Shan said. “Your recovery’s complete, except for a few wayward scars. Any pain?”

  Goll flexed and rolled his shoulder, the same one Baylus the Butcher had stabbed through. “None. Thanks to you. My shoulder feels as it should. I’m slower right now, but by the time I fight, I should be more than ready.”

  “You should train easier for the rest o
f the day,” Shan cautioned. “Machlann’s right about what he said. You’ll be stiff enough in the morning.”

  Goll nodded, but Shan suspected the man wasn’t about to listen.

  “It feels good,” Goll said, studying the training grounds.

  Junger lashed into his practice man with combinations, and while the speed and power of the Perician was still formidable, he wasn’t breaking any wooden swords over his target.

  “Very good,” Goll stated. “I’m looking forward to returning.”

  “Fool,” Muluk scoffed and shaded his eyes from the sun. “Well then, I’ll leave for Ajik. The little man’s working at something over there.”

  Over there was the forge, where the newest addition to the house toiled away at various chores.

  “He’s not lazy, I’ll tell you that,” Muluk said. “He didn’t leave it until nightfall, and he was up before me this morning.”

  “We’re all up before you,” Goll said.

  “Now you’re being saucy. Ajik was working hard this morning, getting that whole area in order. Straightening rods and inspecting tools. He filled the water basin this morning as well. If only I could speak with the little topper.”

  “Go on, then,” Goll said. “Watch him. Have him take a look at our weapons as well, put edges to them all. Then perhaps get him started on some armor.”

  Muluk hesitated. “You realize any armor is a long way off. It takes time.”

  “I know. So get him started on something today.”

  Muluk walked off toward the forge.

  Goll studied his countryman’s back for a few heartbeats. Then his face darkened as he turned his attention upon the Perician.

  Goll finally did listen to Shan and, with Machlann’s dismissal, retired for the day. He relaxed in an early bath and emerged from the bathhouse feeling exceptionally weary but in a good way, the way one feels after vigorous exercise. Wearing only a short cloth skirt around his waist, Goll stepped into the sun.

  The gate guards waved to Clavellus, roosting in his balcony.

  Four riders approached the villa.

  “Clades,” Clavellus called out, “go see what it is, would you?”

  The once Sujin joined the other guards at the closed gate. In short time, faces appeared on the other side. Clades talked with the visitors. When he faced his employers, he looked none too pleased.

  “Master Goll,” Clades called, “perhaps you’ll want to hear this.”

  “What is it?”

  Clades nodded toward the visitors.

  Goll walked along the brick walkway, smelling his scrubbed skin warming in the daylight. Four newcomers waited. Three were guards outfitted in toughened leather and sheathed weapons. Sweat ran down their faces as they sat on their horses and sized up the villa’s defenses. The last man was different. Perhaps in his forties, he waited with a dignified air. The day’s heat and ride had stirred up dust that clung to his fine clothes. A head of white hair had been slightly tousled, and he dabbed a hand cloth around a carefully maintained moustache and beard.

  “Greetings good sar, from the School of Nexus.” The man smiled, revealing teeth that were quite feral looking. “I’m called Bojen, messenger for Nexus himself. We’ve travelled from Sunja to humbly request a meeting with the house masters and the gladiator called Junger. Of Pericia.”

  Leather creaked. A bee buzzed nearby. Metal tinkled from the direction of the forge.

  “What’s this about?” Goll demanded, squinting at the messenger.

  Bojen studied him in turn before unleashing what he probably believed was a pleasant smile. Goll thought it condescending.

  “I wish to talk with your house master, good sar,” Bojen said.

  “I’m the house master.”

  “Begging your pardon, good sar. You’re much younger than I expected. You must be the one called Goll, then?”

  “I am.”

  “Well met, Master Goll. I bring greetings and well-wishes from the School of Nexus on this hot summer day. We’ve traveled from––”

  “Yes, yes, I heard all of that,” Goll said testily. “And I heard you mention our man Junger. What is it you want?”

  Bojen paused, his smile fading. If there were rules regarding pleasantries between the heads of houses and such, Goll was unaware of them. Truth be known, the Kree had no time or patience for such gurry.

  “Master Nexus has been greatly impressed by the extraordinary skills displayed by your man Junger. So impressed that he has decided to respectfully inquire about the gladiator and make a proposition, to you, to purchase the rights to your warrior.”

  “Purchase?” Goll asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Yes, indeed. I’ve been instructed to offer both him and your house a substantial sum of coin if you’ll release him to the School of Nexus, honorably of course, with legal paperwork.”

  A breeze whistled through the gates. People approached Goll from behind, their feet scuffling through the training sands. All the while, the weight of the words sank into his head, causing his guts to roil and bubble.

  In the background, a sudden flourish of activity caught Bojen’s attention. The messenger craned his neck to see. “Ah,” he said. “There he is. Magnificent.”

  Goll didn’t share that sentiment. “You say you’re from the School of Nexus?”

  “Ah, yes,” Bojen said, distracted. “I am that. Master Goll, wouldn’t it be better to discuss matters within? Out of this blistering sun?”

  “No.”

  The curt answer surprised Bojen, but he quickly recovered. “It is customary––and courteous––to entertain messengers from other stables and houses. Perhaps offer food and drink while having an open dialogue. To better understand each other’s position.”

  “I don’t need to invite you inside,” a stoic Goll countered. “And I won’t extend any such courtesies.”

  Bojen’s features sagged. “But––”

  “But you stand there and lecture me about customs with that weasel’s smile in place. You mentioned respect? Where’s the respect in attempting to sway one of our remaining gladiators to leave us for another house? That’s not respect. That’s pure envy. Tell me, what would happen if I met Nexus with the same request?”

  “Master Nexus would most graciously invite you––”

  “Dog balls,” Goll interrupted. “Talking to you is annoying. You’ve wasted enough of my day. And no, in case I’m not clear, you will not be invited inside. Get gone from these gates. Tell Nexus the House of Ten will remember this slight. When our gladiators meet in the Pit.”

  Bojen’s eyes fluttered as if he’d been slapped repeatedly.

  “You tell him.” Goll finished with a louder note, “Now get out of my sight.” The house master regarded Clades. “Keep watch here until they’ve gone. If they’re not gone by the time I pass the gate again, muster the lads, and we’ll drive these dog blossoms away.”

  With one last scalding look, Goll walked away. He marched inside Clavellus’s house, and eventually joined the taskmaster sitting in his balcony. The Kree stopped in the doorway and looked toward the gate.

  Bojen and his guards had departed. The man wasn’t an idiot after all.

  “What was that about?” the taskmaster inquired.

  “Arrogant ass lickers,” Goll growled. “They wanted to buy Junger from us. If it’s not the damned Madea or the unfit Chamber, it’s the rival houses.”

  Clavellus frowned in puzzlement. “Odd.”

  “They were going to offer us coin to give him up to the School of Nexus. And offer him coin as well.”

  “Nexus,” Clavellus said. “I don’t know much about him. One of the newer owners.”

  Goll peered over the villa’s wall, attempting to spy the departing men.

  “It’s common courtesy to invite them in,” the taskmaster said.

  Goll fixed him with a dangerous look.

  “Though not entirely necessary,” Clavellus quickly added. “This wasn’t unexpected.”

 
“It wasn’t?”

  “Oh no. Happens from time to time.”

  “And?”

  “Ah, some houses profit from such a bargain. Others don’t. It’s a question of coin. How bad one house’s finances are, the finances of the gladiator in question, and how much the other house would be willing to pay for a particular fighter. Such dealings are rare, but they’re viewed upon much more favorably than say, a warrior deserting a house entirely midseason to fight for another. That’s bad form. There’s no resentment if a house is sufficiently compensated. And the fighter.”

  “We won’t engage in such practices.”

  “Not ever?”

  “Not ever.”

  “It’s your house,” Clavellus conceded and gestured to a nearby plate of half-eaten cured meats. “Care for something?”

  “No.” Goll marched off toward the stairs.

  With a contented smile, Clavellus returned to eating.

  28

  Pig Knot swam in the darkness, aware of movement at times, then blissfully oblivious. He occasionally felt hot then cold, but those instances were fleeting, and he never fully surfaced from his unconsciousness to see where he was. Once, he had the sensation of being struck again, across the jaw, but he felt hardly any pain.

  He was well past that threshold.

  Cool stone finally roused him, and he forced open his eyes. Daylight was casting shade into the alley, revealing a broken slab of wood wedged between him and the very close foundation of a building. Pain flooded him. Seddon above. He winced, facial muscles barely responding. He’d only just recovered from nearly dying, only to have everything undone in one night.

  Worse, he still wasn’t dead… despite what he considered to be a very fine effort.

  Pig Knot pushed himself up, breaking the bloody bond of skin stuck to stone. He frowned at the sight of his gruesome profile upon flat rock. One jaw tooth gleamed like a dull crown on the street, the red roots visible.