by Nelson, J P
We could pick some place to go, and I would take her there. Once out from the chains, I believed I could escape with her. I started to think and look for ways to get away, clean and clear. These guards were former military and were well trained. Escape for two would take more than just getting out of camp and would be tricky.
When we lay at night her hair would fall in that certain way I learned to like, and she enjoyed me pushing the loose strand or two away from her eyes. On the occasions I would have to fight, she would be there, she understood, and she helped me wash off the blood.
Over a year and a half we toured around Nahjiua and surrounding Wilderlands. Franko didn’t want to over fight us, and he wanted to cultivate a good name in pit-entertainment.
As for me, I took to looking to the far northwest. Up there somewhere was the Itahro Mountain range and an land of ice. For some reason the Gadriel’s Peak dominated my mind and I wondered how long it would take Debohra and I to reach it.
Would the elves up there accept me, us? Were they still even there? Was anyone left who might remember my momma? Again I thought of my twin, U’Lahna, the other sister who had died, Kalisha, and my younger brother, L’Sol. Would our paths ever cross? Was it possible we might have already seen each other and not known it?
I remember looking over at Deborah’s sleeping form and resolved to help her get free. We would make a home, and once all was good, I was going to hunt my brothers and sister. For better or worse, I wanted to know what had become of my family. And there was one more … I had made an oath to myself to find one other, I had sworn to find Lath and make her free.
Was that a silly self-promise of an adolescent for sake of fantasy? Why did that golden haired warrior still linger on my mind? Four times, only four times our eyes had made contact and never a word spoken. It had been years ago, but hadn’t there been some kind of connection, or was it my own imagination playing tricks with my memory?
What if I did find Lath, and if there was some kind of spark there, what would that mean to Deborah?
Reflecting over the last few years I was aware that her name had only come up on occasion as a reference. No one of her description had been seen since Edgarfield sold her years before. If I were to search for her, where would I begin, Aeshea was a big place.
The thought finally came to me the most likely truth was that she was dead. Fighters rarely if ever made it out alive. Perhaps the best thing for me was to accept she was indeed gone … another person I wanted to save, but couldn’t.
Again I looked at Deborah sleeping with a slight smile on her face, and I gently brushed the hair out of her eyes.
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The township of Verage was on the Shudoquar border and it was to be our last night there. I fought the main event, which was routine, and was being escorted back to Debohra and my holding cell when I noticed she wasn’t in there. I turned to ask where she was and completely missed the warning signs. My head was clubbed hard, and when I woke up I was fully shackled with my neck and wrists in a wide metal collar.
In front of me, kneeling was Franko, and he had a very bad face on. “Well now, what have we here?” He tapped me rather hard sideways on the head. “Have you been holding out on me?” He tapped me again. “Haven’t I been good to you? I let you keep your own whore … fed you right … even gave you some privacy.” He pulled out a scroll with a broken seal and waved it under my nose, then slapped me with it.
“You were supposed to knock her up, you bastard. Doesn’t it work?”
He looked around and laughed. Tilting his head to some of the males to the side he said, “They liked her. Liked her good.” Back at me he tapped me three quick times on the top of the head. It’s alright Mis-s-s-ter Tim-m-mber Wol-l-lf of the Ahn-n-nagor Mount-tains. Mis-s-s-ter Ma-a-ajor of Ke-og-na-riu. That’s right.” He waved the scroll in front of me again. “We have a special contract for you, back at Dahruban.” He stood up and kicked me in the face. “Now heal yourself of that. You son of a whore.”
My head reeled, and the surprise of it all started setting in. As I looked at Franko I knew that no matter what happened, I was going to kill him.
Someone came to him with an urgent message, and I strained to hear. The merchant band Franko had sold Debohra to had been wiped out by brigands. Only one person survived, and it was the messenger who just brought the word. We were on the way to Dahruban within the hour.
Chapter 55
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HATE, ANGUISH, LOATHING, more hate … that’s what I was feeling. Debohra had hurt nobody, and now she was dead, wiped out in a caravan not ten miles from the town. Straight to Dahruban we traveled, and every foot of the way I fumed and planned vengeance on them all. Only Ernt was exempt, he had been at the pit with me.
What I would do after I escaped, I wasn’t sure. My life had to mean something more than gladiatorial combat, but Franko was going down. And who wrote that letter? There was only one person I knew who could link me from the Ahnagohr’s to Keoghnariu, Uven.
Back in Dahruban, I fought six different matches over the course of seven weeks and spent the rest of the time in my holding cell. This evening, Ehnday of the ninth week, I would fight Karthanook. It had been what, around four years, since I had fought in this coliseum? Using my real name wasn’t fooling anyone, but the gimmick tag-line was a lot more catchy. These people hadn’t forgotten me, not one bit, and most of the guards remembered me as well.
The money on our fight tonight I heard was the biggest that had ever been laid down. For two weeks after my sixth fight the promoters hyped the bout as the match of the century. Some hopefuls were betting entire fortunes. Somebody was going home broke tonight, and somebody was going to find themselves rich. The odds were going down at three to five, in Karthanook’s favor, of course, but it was amazing who was betting for me.
Aristocracy were swarming for Karthanook, but the lower class, elvin-bloods, and an entire clan of d’warvec had come to bet on me. ‘Now that,’ I thought, ‘was irony for you; d’warvec betting on an elf.’
We were both put in separate cages surrounded by guards on the outside of the coliseum for the people to come and see. I knew the routine; all manner of people would come and stare, make comments, give gestures, all sorts of things. But this time I saw three people walk by not paying attention, and then one saw me as if by accident and was shocked. I had never seen these people before, and they all looked at me as if mortified.
The one was a female with long blonde hair who looked to be part elvin. One was clearly an elf-male with dark brown hair and something of a wilderman’s look to him. I trained my hearing to the three and heard the female address this one as Sparrow. She was addressed as K’Ruhn, Kharron, Karen or something like that … it was a name I had never heard before. The third they addressed as Raph. He was short for a human, had his blonde hair drawn back into a ponytail, but unlike the other two seemed perfectly at home in his surroundings.
Something more, the other two had it to smaller degrees, but Raph reeked of magic. From twenty feet away, yes, I could almost smell it and it made my skin tingle. From the ring in his left ear, to a ring on his right hand, articles in his belt, and more; more than I had ever noticed on a single being, ever. And these three didn’t appear to be here for the fight. My curiosity was aroused. But, I reminded myself, it was none of my business.
They finally went away whispering to each other. That was odd in itself, people didn’t whisper amidst the noise of Dahruban. Usually you had to talk loudly, if not sometimes yell, just to make yourself heard.
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Back inside my holding cell I had my meal, stretched, and went over all of my mental notes on Karthanook. His skeleton would be next to impervious, not unlike a cognobin, and his strength incredible. I could see two avenues. The one; go in for a quick kill and hope he had no endurance. All of his wins were drawn out, but he showed no deliberate hasty action. That could indicate a lack of wind and
a reliance on superior size and strength.
Another idea would be to let him exhaust himself by beating on me while I spread out my healing process. But that option had absolutely no appeal. I would not be able to go berserk on this critter. I just wasn’t close enough in strength to make it work, without weapons, that is. I was going to have to play it careful and rely on what was now eleven years of pit fighting experience. If it came down to it, there was the idea of timing that foot stomping routine of his, but that was a long shot, and if I was in that bad of a shape …
The introductions were made with much grandstanding and music, and there we were on the ground of hand-to-hand combat. This was supposed to be the fight of fights, the greatest contest of the age, and there was not an empty seat to be found. I flexed my arms and fingers, and squiggled my toes through my moccasin boots. Remarkably, my footgear had still not ever worn out. It was the only thing left from my days as a soldier, well, almost.
I was always careful when taking my boots off to bathe, and they were the first thing to go back on after. I even slept with them on. But right now they were helping me with my traction.
Karthanook loved to taunt, and he was doing it now. It was for the crowd, really, I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. I was watching his abdomen, to see if he had closed it up into that ball of muscle. I didn’t know what it would look like if it had. He looked normal, I guess. The male I watched him destroy never got in for a hit, so I was going to have to do some experimenting I really didn’t relish.
Shael’s, those feet really looked mean.
I shot in fast and hard, switching in mid-movement to the outside while landing a strong left into his mid-section. The intent was to soften him up and deliver a good right to the kidney, but when my left wrist snapped in half and drove pain all the way into my brain, I knew this wasn’t going to work. He backhanded me across the dirt and by the sounds of the crowd it was clear the fight was on.
Time after time I went in and made a hit of some kind, and either got out of the way or was batted with a backhand. So much for going in for a quick-kill, nor was this critter tiring. Somehow he knew most of my moves … not fair. How dare he use intelligence in the ring.
He came after me a couple of times and my rolling techniques served me well, but a well placed drop-kick, one of my favorite movements, only served to hurtle me away from him. It had been like drop-kicking a solid wall.
At what I was guessing was just past the half-hour mark, I was simply out of my own reserves of power and had healed all I could. I think I counted forty-one bones I had broken so far. I could heal, yes, but it still hurt to Zaeghun’s Lair. It was looking more and more like my one chance was to suck it up to the end; but could I endure that long?
Circling him once more, I had all of my strength I could reclaim. This was it. I made one more all out charge and he caught me with a clout that sent me reeling, followed by another, and another. I was on one knee trying to get up when he said in guttural Longish, “Ce-beg say hel-low.”
Cielizabeg, it figures … and then that hoof-like foot hit me and everything went black.
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When it was all over and the guards stepped out of my way so I could return to my holding cell, one of them said to me, “I was betting on you, Mr. Wolf, sir.”
Another said, “By Eayah that was a good fight.”
I just wanted to get back and lay down, this was too much. I wanted, needed to get out, but how. My feet, something was wrong with my feet and they wouldn’t work right. Stumbling, I almost fell into the hallway wall as the world seemed to be slowly spinning. The guards were there, but none of them wanted to touch me. That was fine because I didn’t want to be touched, despite the fact that everything began to blur. Visions and memories I thought I had forgotten faded in and out through my mind.
Did I hear the sounds of Barlan the hostler putting harness on the horses … was that the smell of my momma’s griddle cakes? Where, when was I? ‘Momma? Is that you?’ I felt the words form in my mind and whisper through my battered lips. I was confused as I fought to bring myself together.
A sharp pain in my knee helped me to regain a semblance of control as I partially fell to the stone floor, then immediately staggered back up. Weaving like a drunk I made my way down the corridor.
When I finally got below and walked past the cells, they were all looking to see who it was coming back, and some of them cheered. Ernt had won his fight and was lying on his blankets, but sitting up he watched to see if it would be me returning down the hall. ‘Animals,’ I thought, ‘we are all in here like a bunch of animals.’ I paused in front of his gate, not to say hello, but because I was ready to fall over. Still, he held up his fist.
Orgs and elves weren’t supposed to like each other, like the enmity between elves and d’warvec but worse, yet I found myself wanting to like this person. I squeezed my own fist and held it up as far as I could reach.
Making it to my cell, a guard unlocked the gate for me to step in, but as I did, I could feel magic inside, and over in the corner, I saw a blurred outline of someone standing there. It was some kind of invisibility, stronger than Y’nesia used. I could just make out the one called Raph. He was shocked that I could see him, and he raised a finger to his lips.
Apparently he had just got there, so I staggered in and they shut and locked my door. I wanted to talk, to ask what in Cherron’s Beard he was doing there, but he shook his head no, and then he took what looked like a folded handkerchief and put it under my blanket. With a smile and a nod he eased to the door. As he stepped to the bars, he angled himself to look out in both directions, which didn’t make sense to me as he was invisible, and then walked right through the iron gate as if he were a ghost.
I wondered if other elves could see invisible beings like I could. It was one ability I didn’t have to concentrate on to use. It was natural for me, like my hearing, sense of smell and ability to see magical auras. Cats could see in the dark, and I believe into other dimensions, for sure. But at the moment my real curiosity was what was in that handkerchief. As I sat down on the blanket, however, I went right to sleep.
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Franko didn’t like me, but he always came to check on the physical state of my condition, his property, within a day of my fight. This time he didn’t show up, and any change in established routines always led me to questions.
My sleep was interrupted only by the bringing of food, after which I went back to sleep.
The holding cells of the main fighters were built of solid stone block. There was no way for one prisoner to converse with his or her next-door neighbor, so I couldn’t talk with Ernt, who was five cells down from me. From time to time, the guards would talk with the prisoners; even establish friendly relationships with them.
Over the years of my fighting, and you might as well say making my home in the Dahruban for so long, I had developed a reputation. While I wasn’t friendly, I never was rude to the guards.
During my days as City-State Champion, this one night-guard use to walk through the halls trying to memorize poetry. After months of listening, I corrected him as he was stumbling through a verse of Onigha Scientelli’s poem, Rose beneath my Pillow. It was a long, but beautiful poem, even if it was human written, about the love between a soldier and his lady. Anyway, he was startled that I would speak, let alone know the poem.
“Beware,” I told him in a low, slightly sardonic tone, “the somber perch of the bird within the cage; for careful sight may lend visage of the eagle who yearns for soar-dom.”
He carefully walked to the gate of my cell and said in astonishment, “Whence Walked the Wayward Yeoman, act two, by Tannon … I don’t remember which line.”
“Scene one, line twenty-six.”
“You’re educated, I wouldn’t have thought …”
“You never know who might be in here. I had a cellmate who was a physician, once. Another had been a priest, and for a while a li
brarian fought who could quote ninety-two books from memory.”
“… It’s just, just, watching you fight out there. You’re so savage.”
“Savagery is a state of mind. Out there it’s a state of necessity.” Leveling my gaze at him I added, “The options are rather bleak.”
“I see your point,” he said.
His name was Kendle and up until the match with the tiger we talked regularly. We weren’t friends, but we were friendly. Mostly I helped him learn his poetry, sometimes he would ramble about things in the city, but I never talked about myself. He was clearly a person alone, who didn’t feel as if he fit in.
Kendle was still around, and shortly after Franko brought us in, he made it a point to come and talk. He didn’t take it personally when I wasn’t happy to see him, but when he came by one night and quietly said, “I’m genuinely sorry to hear about your mate,” I snapped my head his way and gave him a careful look.
“When I destroy this city, I will let you live.”
I wasn’t being sarcastic, and he knew it. He could have been rude and obnoxious, as I was in the cell and he was outside. But he wasn’t. Instead he said very slowly, “I would appreciate that.” Then he went back to making his rounds.
On the second night after my fight with Karthanook, Kendle came to my cell once more when everyone else was mostly asleep. Putting his hands around the bars and leaning his weight inward he asked, “Pssst, are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you might want to know ...”
I got up to my feet and walked to the bars. This man wasn’t afraid; he wasn’t arrogant, but he knew he had always been courteous to me, and he knew I respected courtesy. It would have been so easy to snatch his arms, to grab his head … I leaned up against the bars and gave him my attention.