131 Days [Book 2]_House of Pain

by Keith C. Blackmore

  “And in broad daylight? Not fearing much, are you? What were you going to do, you brazen punce? What’s in that unfit skull of yours?”

  “Perhaps he was going to cripple you?” one nearby man suggested, pointing at the sword.

  “Oh, he’s a killer,” another declared. “I’ve seen him in the Pit. Right vicious, that one.”

  “Aye that, don’t let the fat fool you.”

  “He’s quick. He’s quick.”

  “I wasn’t going to do any such thing,” Halm barked, chagrin coloring his face. “Not at all.”

  The boy peeked around his father’s leg and stared with distrustful eyes. Nothing could have more effectively leeched the will out of the Zhiberian.

  “Get away from here this instant, or I’ll punish you, right and proper,” Skulljigger warned. Eager faces turned to see what Halm’s reaction would be. He disappointed them, nodding profusely and spinning around to leave. His elbow caught a brown-robed man in the chest, buckling the bystander in pain. Halm apologized with a look and a pat on the grimacing spectator’s back.

  “Away with you!” Skulljigger stepped forward and shook his fist, banishing the Zhiberian from the light as if he were one of Saimon’s hellions. Similar cries erupted from the line, enough to draw the attention of the guarding Skarrs.

  But Halm turned about and hurried away. Insults and jeers pelted his ears in his hasty retreat. Mobs. He cursed. Nothing braver when they’re hounding only one man. But what was he going to do just then? The boy’s face had eclipsed his plans, making them unclear. He had never thought to kill the boy’s father––Skulljigger, he corrected himself––or did he? But in a public area? His vision narrowed. His breath quickened. He skirted the southern curve of the arena walls, ignoring calls from merchants in their booths, placing distance between him and the Domis and just wanting to get out of sight.

  A short time later, he leaned against a red brick wall of the inner city, off a street and in the forgiving shade of an alley. Robed people passed by its mouth, and a few walked by the large man, ignoring him.

  Halm caught his breath, turned around, and placed his forehead against the cool surface of the brick. Skulljigger had a son? Who would’ve thought the he-bitch had a family? A groan burst past Halm’s lips, and a terrible sense of loathing wrenched his heart. He knew he could be a hard man, and he wanted to revenge Pig Knot but, Seddon help him, he wasn’t about to leave a boy fatherless. And he’d only barely noticed the lad! Worse, Skulljigger might be a father to even more children. He certainly had a wife, for that matter. The horror of the revelation fattened in Halm’s mind, pressing thoughts against the roof of his skull. He had never considered the fighters participating in the Pit as being family men, and he realized how myopic he’d been. The notion he’d been executing fathers all that time made his bandaged belly lurch in horror. He bent over at the waist and opened his mouth to retch, the shock rendering him queasy.

  No. They weren’t all fathers, he argued against the stormy swells in his gut. It wasn’t possible. And if they were, they had no qualms about carving slabs off his person. But Halm could see only Skulljigger’s son, and all hate leaked away. Dying Seddon, even just fighting the man ran a fair chance of somehow crippling him…

  Halm spat onto the fitted stones and gasped for air. His mouth hung open in panic.

  Lords above.

  He’d issued a blood challenge to the man.

  One of the arena gates wasn’t far away, but the Madea wouldn’t allow him to retract the challenge. He’d learned that seasons ago. Blood matches couldn’t be done that way, else the arena official would spend a season issuing and then cancelling such matches as drunken men sobered. Once Skulljigger checked with the Madea, all would be sealed, and Halm would have to battle the father to the end or be executed himself.

  Choices. There were always choices. Skulljigger might not accept the challenge, and that naïve idea went through Halm’s mind like a bird fluttering through a house. The man saw him as a threat now and no doubt wanted to butcher him.

  Halm could forfeit the games and leave the city, as it was unheard of to carry a blood challenge over to the next season. Yet not even that would work. To run meant forsaking his own run of victories, the best showing he’d had in any season of the games. The newly established house itself, of which he held the formal title of master, also entered his mind.

  A quiet stream of oaths left him. No, he wouldn’t leave the games. Halm rubbed his chin. Talk. He had to talk to Skulljigger. Had to convince the murderous bastard to not accept the challenge. Even that seemed improbable.

  Gold.

  Halm exhaled in a hiss, his breath sawing on ruined teeth.

  Coin might be the only way.

  A voice whispered that it might be easier just to kill Skulljigger and have done with it. Halm cringed at the notion. There was no way he’d knowingly rob a whelp of his father, despite the man being a right and proper king of a ball-paddling he-bitch. Taking a breath, he faced the alley mouth and strode toward the river of people passing by, reasoning that if Skulljigger had the boy with him while in line for the Domis, there was a very good chance he wasn’t fighting that day. And if he wasn’t fighting, sooner or later he’d be leaving the arena. Maybe even from the Gate of the Sun.

  Halm believed it was as good a place to start as any. He returned to the brick archway of the gate, spotting a large strip of parchment, covered in the mysterious scrawls and symbols, hung just outside for all entering to see. Halm stood and fumed at what he knew was the schedule. He stopped a man going inside and asked if the name Skulljigger was present on the parchment. After a quick inspection, the fellow reported it wasn’t.

  Relieved, Halm thanked him and moved away from the gate. He placed his back against a mighty column of black-veined Vathian marble, which was large enough to partially conceal him from anyone exiting. Behind him, on the arena’s wall, gloriously painted murals depicted battle scenes from a bloody past, the images stretching all the way to the next magnificent column and beyond. Halm stole glances at the artwork, appraising the drawn heroes and beasts in ferocious poses. Every so often, cheers and applause of startling power erupted from the arched heights, causing Halm to look heavenward.

  Time passed, and Halm’s belly rumbled as suppertime drew closer. Before long, a great gout of people exited the arena, talking excitedly about the day’s events. A rush of panic shot through the Zhiberian, fearing he’d miss Skulljigger in such a flow of bodies. He almost did, except for the boy.

  Skulljigger left the arena with his son perched on his shoulders, keeping high him above the tide. The lad bounced on his father’s shoulders, his little hands wrapped around Skulljigger’s forehead, delighting in the view. Minding the crowds, Halm merged with the sweaty deluge of flesh and kept the gladiator and his boy in sight.

  They walked through the main streets, passing by tall wooden homes and stone walls. The taverns and the alehouses had opened their doors and windows, and people bled into them in spurts. The smells of spiced racks of lamb and beef assaulted Halm, and his belly protested. When Skulljigger and his boy turned down a side road, the Zhiberian’s spirits spiked. He rushed to the corner of a tailor’s shop and peeked before proceeding, drawing attention from the men and women working just inside the shop’s open windows. Halm ignored them and hurried down the smaller road. Skulljigger was far enough ahead, and a small tributary of people walked behind him and his son. Walking briskly, Halm cut the distance in half, using the crowds as best as he could to conceal himself.

  The pursued pair took another turn down an alley, and Halm suddenly found himself trying to get around two men pulling a cart of melons. An opposing current of people attempted to get around them from the other side. Yelling erupted, and moments passed before the men hauled the cart to one side, allowing the pent-up traffic to gush past. Halm rushed, bumping people and hearing the curses flung at his back as he rounded the alley’s corner. He found the next path much less populated, with heavy tarps
stretched overhead in places, casting shadows and breaking the heat. In the gloom, weary boot- and shoemakers worked to the dull tune of tap-tap-tap, bent over with awls and leather. Old vendors beckoned, urging Halm to sample their displayed goods. He strode past, ignoring cooked chickens glistening on skewers. He reached an intersection, backed up, and peered left and then right.

  There. A glimpse of Skulljigger turning a corner, his son at his side.

  Halm picked up his pace, heedless of how narrow the alley became. The stone walls of the buildings pressed in and towered overhead, connected by bare clotheslines. Halm’s arms grazed the walls, rasping against his flesh. Halm pushed on, focused on the approaching corner, intent on catching Skulljigger before he could get too far ahead.

  Halm rushed around the bend, and a hard fist greeted his jaw, snapping his head back in an explosion of black light. He staggered, kept standing only by the confines of the passage. A second fist cracked into his face. A crushing jab deflated his gut.

  “Couldn’t wait, eh?” Skulljigger hissed.

  “Kill him, Father!” yelled a boyish voice, all too eager. “Kill him!”

  Skulljigger grasped Halm’s forehead, shoved him against the alley wall, then grinned and cocked a fist. “Lad wants you dead––”

  Crack—hard knuckles hammered into Halm’s right cheek, splitting flesh.

  “And I’m in favor of––”

  Smack, to the left cheek, plastering the Zhiberian flat.

  “Doing it.” Skulljigger’s voice strained as he gripped Halm’s jaw and straightened it for an overhand fist intended to flatten the fat man’s nose.

  He punched, but Halm got up both arms, blocking the blow.

  “Kill him, Father! Smash him!”

  Halm knocked away the hand on his face and lashed out. Skulljigger deflected and countered, smashing Halm’s belly and making him yelp. The Zhiberian pressed ahead, throwing his greater mass into his foe and smothering him against the other wall. Both men hissed and grunted with exertion. Halm splayed fingers over Skulljigger’s mouth, who attempted to bite through them. Halm squealed. Blood spurted. They twisted and rolled against the building, exchanging short, brutal punches. One fist bludgeoned the Zhiberian behind the ear, and he staggered. Another hammered across his jaw. He punched back and heard Skulljigger grunt in pain. An instant later, Halm saw his foe’s eyes blinking back a ribbon of blood.

  They grappled again, without any style, seeking only vitals, rolling along the wall and leaving a dark smear of red.

  Halm stopped a hand groping for his crotch, caught it, and twisted the wrist.

  Skulljigger winced and momentarily dropped his other arm. Halm hammered an elbow across the pit fighter’s face, hitting him repeatedly, bouncing the Sunjan’s head off unyielding stone. All fight left Skulljigger then, and his legs gave out. His shoulders slumped. Relentless, Halm grabbed his tuft of dark hair and lined up a fist, suddenly very intent on breaking every white bone in the bastard’s face.

  “Father!”

  The boy clawed and kicked at Halm’s back and legs with a frantic energy that momentarily stunned Halm. He turned and shoved the attacking boy back on his rump with a yelp. Red eyes were framed in a contorted face.

  Those eyes defused the Zhiberian’s blood lust. He stared at the weeping yet outraged face for a heartbeat before releasing Skulljigger, allowing the pit fighter to crumple as if he were a handful of steaming offal. Halm leaned against a wall, grateful for the support, and eyed the youngster, whose jaw trembled while water leaked from his wide eyes.

  “Go on home,” he told the boy.

  “No!”

  “Your father and I have some talking to be done.”

  “No! No!”

  Dying Seddon! “Get on, or…” Halm fumed and raised a bloody fist.

  “Don’t.”

  The voice arrested the Zhiberian, and he looked down into a bleeding mess of a face. A single eye, bright in an otherwise blackening mold of flesh, blinked. Skulljigger spat blood, grimaced, and took a very deep breath. He tried to sit up from where he’d collapsed against the wall. “Don’t… hurt him. Please.”

  The sight of this father begging for his son’s safety turned Halm’s guts on himself, as if he’d been dumped into a vat of shame, set afire, and left to howl. He hung his head and exhaled mightily, regaining some energy spent in the fight.

  “All right, then.” He panted and focused on the battered Skulljigger. “Listen. You can’t fight in the arena. Your season is done.”

  Skulljigger’s eyes, even the one swelling shut, widened.

  “I made a blood challenge,” Halm admitted.

  “You what?”

  “Aye, but it’s only if you accept it.”

  “Oh, I’ll accept it, you fat, unfit pisser.”

  “Listen,” Halm cut him off. “I… I didn’t know you had the boy. Truthfully, I thought a brute like you probably had to…” he let the thought go unsaid, mindful of the nearby child. “Anyway, I didn’t know. It changes things.”

  “Changes nothing in my mind. I’ll fishhook you on the sands.”

  “No, you won’t. You’re done.”

  “The season is everything to me,” Skulljigger gasped and spat out a gob of blood. “It’s work! I’ve a family to feed, you fat prick.”

  Halm shook his head and came to a thought he wasn’t sure he liked, but he threw it out there anyway. “How far do you think you would have gotten?”

  “What?”

  “In the games. How far you think you would’ve gotten?”

  “To the last.”

  Halm chuckled cruelly. “You wouldn’t have gotten to the last, lad. Stop thinking with your ass for a moment.”

  “I’m undefeated.”

  “You haven’t fought anyone of note yet. Not even the house gladiators.”

  Skulljigger prodded his nose with red fingers, wincing.

  “Truth is,” Halm went on, “they would’ve cut you up. And then where would your family be? Eh? Your son? Your wife?”

  “Wife’s passed on,” Skulljigger whispered. “Died during the last childbirth.”

  Halm balked. “You miserable bastard. And here you are fighting in the Pit?”

  “I’ve four children. Three girls. One…” He pointed weakly to his son, now standing and ready to charge if needed.

  “One hellion.” Halm eyed the boy warily.

  “One… hellion.” Skulljigger smiled weakly, his pride shining through his bloody teeth.

  “Well, regardless, your season is over. The Madea won’t take a refusal. You know that. That’s the frightful thing about a blood challenge. Once it’s out there, it’s there.”

  “I’ll butcher you on the sands.”

  “Listen,” Halm talked over him. “I made the challenge. All you have to do is stay away from the games for the rest of the season. Nothing’s carried over to next year. Stay away and… and I’ll pay you gold for the next three matches, just supposing you would’ve made it that far.”

  Skulljigger’s bruised face was in full hideous bloom now, and Halm wasn’t certain whether the man had heard him or not. “Well?”

  “Six,” the battered Sunjan finally countered.

  “Six?” Halm almost shrieked. “Who do you think you are, Seddon’s fist?”

  “Six or nothing.”

  “I should’ve grabbed your bells from the start of the fight. How could I miss those kegs?”

  Skulljigger released a lungful of air, deflating himself. Blood lined his teeth.

  The sight weakened Halm. He braced himself. “All right… five.”

  A considering pause. “Done.”

  “Done,” Halm agreed, glad of reaching an agreement. “And you’re finished for the season. You just… just stay with your youngsters. Think of them, now.”

  Skulljigger weakly nodded.

  “All right, then.” Halm extended a hand. The battered Sunjan studied it for a moment before taking it.

  Halm gripped the hand with both of h
is own, captured a pair of fingers, and snapped them back with a grisly pop of bone and flesh. Skulljigger howled. The boy shrieked and flung himself at the Zhiberian, who stopped him with a flat palm to his chest, dropping him again on his rump.

  Making sure both were out of the fight, Halm regarded Skulljigger cupping his wrecked hand. “That’s just in case you changed your mind.”

  Skulljigger mewled in agony as he righted the pair of fingers on his sword arm. He gulped great lungfuls of air at the crackle of bone.

  “Now look,” Halm explained, not dropping his guard around the wounded pit fighter, “I’ll walk you home. Or to a healer. Your choice. But have no worries. I did that to make sure you did as told. I’ll get that coin for you. And I’ll get it soon.”

  Halm abruptly became aware of his left hand and saw with disdain that Skulljigger had, at some point during their scuffle, bitten through the flesh of his middle finger. A gob of meat hung off the bone. “Seddon above,” he muttered and, with trembling fingers, fitted the chunk into the wound as best as possible. Thankful, Halm believed it could all be stitched. He made a fist, and a sharp throb shot up to his elbow, but he believed he could still use it.

  “All right?” Halm grated.

  Skulljigger took a few moments before he nodded.

  Halm held out his hand again. Skulljigger eyed it as if it were a smithy’s set of red-hot tongs. The beaten man avoided the offered help and struggled to his feet. Halm didn’t fault the Sunjan for that. The boy rushed in and hugged his father’s waist. Skulljigger rested his good hand on the lad’s shoulder with a gentleness that made Halm feel like the underside of a sun-scorched cow kiss. Who would’ve thought the bastard had a family? Not he.

  “When will you have the coin, then?” Skulljigger whispered pitifully.

  Good question. “Soon,” Halm answered, evading the man’s penetrating gaze.

  “I’ll need it soon.”

  “You’ll get it.”

  “I’ll… wait for you, tomorrow, outside the Gate of the Sun,” Skulljigger said. “At noon. Bring me the gold then.”