Ah, Goll mouthed before his attention was occupied with how to best maneuver around a line of brown-robed Salish priests. “Never knew that. Wish to return to the Pit?”
“What?” Clades asked, half a smile on his face.
“Do you wish to return to fighting?” Goll asked. “Under the house’s name?”
That struck Clades as an interesting thought, and it showed.
“No,” he finally answered. “Perhaps not.”
“Because of your wife?”
“Because of my wife. She’d never forgive me if I perished.”
“Suppose not,” Goll said and picked up speed, knowing the arena was drawing closer. “Think about it, anyway. Discuss it with her if you like. With the season as long as it is, I don’t think there would be an issue with you returning. What was your record?”
Clades smiled. “One loss.”
“You didn’t win?”
“No.”
That didn’t impress Goll. “But you survived.”
“I did. In one piece, as well.”
“Perhaps it’s best you remain a guard, then.”
“Perhaps, Master Goll.”
Past the wagons, the livestock herds, and over the heads of the surrounding people, the towering walls of Sunja’s Pit loomed. The street opened onto the stone-tiled expanse surrounding the impressive structure. A crow glided overhead. Goll concentrated upon moving through the tides of fragrant flesh. He and Clades emerged from the masses and approached the arena’s Gate of the Sun. The smells of fresh roasting meats wafted from nearby food stands. The Pit’s imposing heights shielded them from the sun’s glare, and the two men soon entered the tunnel system. They made their way beneath ground level, stopping upon arriving at the Ten’s assigned chamber.
The door was open just a sliver.
Goll yanked it open.
Naulis whirled, overbite and sunken chin a-quivering.
“Lords above,” the messenger gasped, visibly shaken. “I might’ve just pissed myself.”
Goll ignored him. “Any news?” he asked, moving inside with Clades at his back.
The small man struggled to compose his skinny self. “None, Master Goll. I just wandered back from the Madea, who told me to stick my head inside here.”
“He sent you here?”
“He did. There are no new matches upon the board yet. But the Madea told me to stay close by. Not that I want to. The stink about this place thickens by the day.”
That put a smirk upon Goll’s face. The Madea was finally doing his job. “We’ll be leaving the city this morning,” he said. “after we visit the Gladiatorial Chamber. If you learn anything, meet us there. Spare you a trip to the villa. Where’s Borchus?”
The man paused. “I don’t know.”
“But he sent you here?”
“Well, yes.”
“When did you speak with him last?”
“Last night.”
“And?”
“And he told me to come here this morning. To general quarters. I hate general quarters, Master Goll. It smells. And that’s not the worst––”
Goll raised his hand. “You saw Borchus last night?”
Naulis swallowed. “I did.”
“Where?”
“At my home.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know where he lives or sleeps. He’s become very cautious these days. I didn’t expect him last night, but he informed me to let you know all is well.”
That did nothing to reassure Goll in the least.
“Lords above,” the Kree muttered and remembered the Salish brotherhood wandering the streets. He couldn’t remember if they worshipped Seddon or the Lords, but he felt the need to call upon one of the heavenly deities.
“You have a message for him?” Naulis asked, thumbing a strand of greasy hair from his eyes.
“Yes, I’m not pleased with his service.”
Downcast, Naulis nodded. Oh, he mouthed.
“Tell him that when you meet again,” Goll said.
“I don’t know when that will happen. He usually finds me. Believes it safer that way.”
Frustrated with the spy and absent agent, Goll left the room with Clades following him. The house master prepared himself for the confrontation with the Gladiatorial Chamber.
The games’ ruling body hadn’t pleased Goll either.
*
The wagons halted before the five-story building housing the Gladiatorial Chamber. The tall structure nestled against the northern wall of the arena itself, its lofty heights allowing Chamber members to view the fights from high above if they desired. Gray-and-white rock composed the outer shell of the building while a row of six white marble columns rose from street level to a broad overhang, offering protection from the elements if needed. The bases of the pillars were chiseled into scenes depicting small battling figures and ferocious animals. A pair of great oak doors, fashioned to fit an archway, lay just beyond the marble giants. A dozen Skarrs stood at attention on either side of the entrance, their visors dull but watchful.
Clavellus stood before the majestic sight and committed it to memory, drawing fresh ink over the old pictures of his mind. He studied every crook and crevice, every angle and weather-born scratch, fearing he might never see it again in his lifetime.
Machlann stood beside him, studying the establishment with a scornful eye as if, after all these years, nothing had really changed. “Did you ever think,” the trainer asked in an uncharacteristically low voice, “that we’d ever see this beast again?”
Clavellus shook his head. “No. Never.”
“But here we are.”
“Here we are.”
“We should’ve accompanied the lads inside.”
That made the taskmaster frown. “That would only rouse a commotion. Besides… the place is probably infested with spies. It’s bold to be standing here, truth be known.”
“They already know about us,” Machlann growled but glanced around nevertheless.
Koba’s intimidating bulk stood a few paces back, near the corner of the first wagon. The house guards lingered nearby, as well as Junger, who hung about the rear of the second wagon, where Brozz rested.
“Not that I’m worried.” the old trainer resumed. “Nothing will happen with this pack standing about.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Still think it’s an idea to go inside?”
Clavellus shook his head. “Go on, then. You don’t need me.”
“You talk better than I do,” the trainer admitted. “You’re all silk. I’m all scrub brush.”
“You talk fine when you’re not training hellpups.”
“You’re right. I do. But you’ll have their attention all the same. Perhaps even more.” Machlann studied the building’s heights. “Never truly liked this place.”
“I did hear Odant still holds power over the rest.”
“Still? A wonder.”
Clavellus nodded that it was.
“Unfortunate we can’t stay for the day’s fights,” Machlann said.
“Unfortunate, indeed,” Clavellus said, thinking of Dark Curge’s warning weeks before. “Goll wishes to return.”
Looking sour, Machlann didn’t comment.
“Fear not,” Clavellus said. “The season’s a long one now. We’ll be seeing plenty of action before it’s all done.”
The old trainer eyed his companion. “Do I looked fearful to you?”
Clavellus frowned.
Around the edges of the square, where the sun whitened flat fitted stones, children skipped and ran while people walked and lingered. Not many food stalls or merchants were to be seen, fewer than Clavellus remembered. He supposed administrative duties held no attraction for most people. He watched the people meandering the fringes of the square and wondered if any of them were spies of Dark Curge.
Not that he was worried by that.
46
“You waited a long time before?” Mul
uk whispered in Kree, feeling more secure in his own tongue. The chamber’s shadows lent his battered but healing features an even more menacing appearance.
“A long time,” Goll answered in kind, minding the dim interior and appreciating the coolness.
“With Halm?”
“Aye that.”
“What he’s doing now, I wonder?”
Goll’s brow shrugged. “Doing whatever he likes, I suppose. That’s his way.”
“I wonder if he met the woman again.”
“Ah, her.”
“What do you think?”
“About the woman?”
“Miji, I think her name is.”
“She’ll either be flattered, or she won’t,” Goll said, the Chamber’s inner doors holding his attention. “He hasn’t returned to us yet, so maybe he’s charmed her. The Zhiberian is a friendly sort.”
The description placed a smile upon Muluk’s face. “He is that. I remember when I first met him. In the Pit. We could’ve stood there and talked the whole time. And after, when he won, we went looking for drinks. Can you believe that? Not many would do such a thing.”
“Not many,” Goll agreed.
“Goll,” Muluk said, suddenly serious, “I’ve been thinking. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for you. None of it. I certainly wouldn’t be here. I’d still be out there, begging for a bit of work. Perhaps even scraps. But because of you, I have more now than I ever did. Than I ever thought I would. A bed at night. Food on the table, usually hot, and prepared by someone else, even.”
“Thank Clavellus for that,” Goll pointed out. “It’s his servants doing the cooking. And it’s his property.”
“His beer too.”
They both smiled at that.
“Well, just so you understand… the way I see it, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. He wouldn’t be out there if it wasn’t for you. So, if I haven’t said it already, thank you. For all of this.” Muluk gestured with his nearly fingerless paw of a hand.
At a rare loss for words, Goll nodded somberly and kept his silence. That butchered hand bothered him. Muluk’s wounds, sustained while protecting the Ten’s coin, were because of him, in his mind. If he turned his head, he’d see that unsightly knot of pink scar tissue where Muluk’s left ear was no more.
Goll didn’t turn his head, though. He focused on the arena messengers flittering about.
“And I don’t think you should return to fighting,” Muluk said.
That fishhooked Goll’s attention. “What?”
“You heard me. I think you should stay away from the sands entirely. I knew you would win yesterday, but there’s always a chance…” Muluk gently chopped at the air, making his meaning clear. “One error on your part. One surprising move from your opponent, and you might not come back. None of this would have ever happened without you. None of it. And for that reason, you should stop. Because if you die out there, I feel this house, this very fragile house, will fall apart.”
“You’d manage.”
“Me?” Muluk said in complete surprise and chuckled. “I’m a punce, man. I’m not a leader. Look at me.” He held up his mutilated hand again and wiggled the stumps of the missing digits.
“Muluk,” Goll explained quietly from one corner of his mouth. “If there’s anything I’ve learned since meeting you, it’s that you’re every bit as important to the house as any other. I might have led you here, but a head is nothing without a body. Without a heart. You think about that. You think you do little, but in truth, you do that which… I cannot. You’re a friend to all. Much like Halm, in that sense. I saw you sitting next to Pig Knot when he was in sour moods. I saw you go searching for him when he’d gone for long periods. I see you talking to the guards, talking to the servants. In fact”—Goll smiled—“all you do is talk. I’m still wondering how you’ll fare with Ajik, but you’ll find a way to talk with him as well. And Ajik aside, people listen to you because they want to. They don’t always do that for me.”
Muluk’s hairy features creased in thought.
“And if someone crosses you?” Goll smiled faintly. “Well, just ask those six dead men who tried to steal our coin. And you without a stitch on.”
“All right, how about this, then? I don’t want to lead. There. I said it. Which is why I prefer having you alive.”
“You might not want to lead, but there are those who would argue that’s the reason why you should. If I should perish, I’m saying.”
“You’re not going to perish.”
“You weren’t so confident a moment ago,” Goll countered.
The inner doors opened, and a robed man motioned for both of them to enter.
“We’ll talk about this another time, if you wish,” Goll said, rising.
Both house masters followed the Chamber man inside.
The red wood of the semicircle dais appeared all the more polished because of the surrounding drab walls. Raised above a creamy marble floor, the seats of the Chamber members were empty. Despite the heat outside, the inner chamber was cool. Goll stopped at a waist-high table designated for visitors, and Muluk flanked him. There they stood and inspected the dismal grayness of the stone.
“Where are they?” Muluk whispered.
Goll didn’t know and turned. The attendant stood near the closed doors, along with a handful of armed Skarrs on either side of the entrance.
Then, as if the question had been overheard, three Chamber members filed into the room. Their robes of gold and white appeared all the more regal against the gray stonework and polished wood. All three appeared well fed and were in various stages of balding. As they found their seats, Goll recognized the one-eared man, his hair and beard neatly cut short, and recalled the other wizened faces.
“Master Goll, is it?” asked the one-eared man, whose scars served warning not to waste his time.
“It is,” he answered, knowing full well they knew his name.
The one-eared individual regarded Muluk. “And you are?”
“Muluk. Same house.”
“The Free Trained one,” smirked a long-bearded man with a ruddy face. His belly forced him to lean back from the panel before him, and he appeared to hitch his hand upon a hip as he inspected the men.
No apology was offered for the slight, which bothered Goll.
“So, young Master,” Odant rumbled and finished with a disturbing swallow. “What is it you wish to discuss?”
Silence ensued.
“Where are the other members?” Goll asked, still managing to sound civil.
“I’m Odant,” the one-eared man announced, as if he hadn’t heard the question. “That one is Soranthus. And this is Pallus.”
Pallus continued to smile as if addressing naughty children.
Soranthus, to his credit, appeared to be the youngest of the three, while Odant, with his ashen features and missing ear, looked the oldest. Pallus seemed a few years younger but in better health.
“The others could not be present,” Odant finished with a rattle and puffed out both his cheeks.
Goll allowed the silence to deepen then asked, “And why not? Isn’t that the function of the Chamber? To hear the concerns of the house masters?”
The expressions of Odant and Soranthus didn’t change, but Pallus’s smile widened, exposing amber teeth spaced far apart.
Color crept into Goll’s cheeks. “Is something the matter, Master Pallus?”
The Chamber member’s amusement didn’t fade, but his brow crinkled ever so slightly, as if puzzled. “Say whatever it is you’ve come to say, Free Trained.” He chuckled. “And be off. More important matters await us this day.”
Goll didn’t immediately respond, yet much later, in other selected company, Muluk would report he actually felt heat radiating from his friend’s person.
“Master Pallus,” Goll began, speaking slowly, with a nearly perfect inflection of the Sunjan accent. He focused on the member with an unwavering stare. “I’ve been taught from an early ag
e that men in positions such as yours are to be respected. I’ll let that jab go unanswered and hope there won’t be another.”
Pallus’s brow arched, yet his smile remained.
Odant’s red eyes shifted from Goll to Pallus and back to Goll, rolling in their sockets as if badly in need of tears. “Say your piece, Master Goll,” he rasped wearily.
Soranthus watched the two house masters, his thoughts expertly hidden.
Goll kept his chin high. “I wish to discuss a lack of recognition within these chamber walls.”
More silence.
Pallus squinted as if growing less interested with each passing moment. A stoic Soranthus didn’t blink, content to wait for more.
“A lack of recognition?” Odant repeated sleepily and rested his chin upon a hand.
“Aye that, a lack of recognition.”
“We heard you the first time,” Pallus said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Well then, listen,” Goll said right back. “We paid a generous sum of coin to be formally recognized by the Chamber. To be rightfully considered a part of this season’s games and any that follow. We believed that included being addressed and treated with respect equal to the other, more venerable houses, regardless of history. My issue with the games and the Chamber this day is to ask why we aren’t receiving that courtesy and respect?”
Odant absorbed the little speech, rubbed his nose, and looked at the other members. Pallus seemed right and proper entertained, as if he’d discovered an abandoned dog performing tricks for attention. Soranthus, however, leaned back with a troubled but thoughtful expression.
Odant cleared his throat again, a nasty, volcanic sputtering on the cusp of becoming ugly. “You are given,” he said after the rumble had passed, “every courtesy as any other house, school, or stable.” The Chamber member sighed then, as if hoping the explanation would soothe any ill feelings.
“We are not,” Goll retorted.
The one-eared member didn’t blink. “You are.”
“We are not.”
Pallus chuckled and gazed at the ceiling.
Odant glared and smacked his lips. “Master Goll, we’re very busy this day and don’t have the time or patience for such… bantering.”
131 Days [Book 4]_About the Blood Page 39