131 Days [Book 1]

by Keith C. Blackmore

  “Tarcul.” Thaimondus breathed loud enough for all to hear. “Bring me that breed’s head.”

  With that, the man at his side made his way to the ring.

  Goll cleared his throat and called out to the old man, “Another wager?”

  “To Saimon’s hell with your wager!”

  Halm held his sword out at arm’s length, watching the gathered spearmen for any with balls enough to come forth and test him. They did not, preferring rather to wait for the next champion of the village. Tarcul came forth, pulling his broadsword out and swishing it before him much like Neven. The man wasn’t smiling as the giant had been, but as he drew closer, Halm could see the family resemblance.

  “To the death?” Halm asked.

  “I’m going to stab this up your hole, Zhiberian.”

  “Come on, then. Time’s wasting.”

  “Kill him, Tarcul! Avenge your brother!”

  Halm’s brow knotted together just as Tarcul attacked, heaving his broadsword about him like a living hellion held by the tail. They exchanged a brief clashing of blades before spinning away from each other. Halm’s expression was measured yet wary, but Tarcul’s was sparkling hatred. He slashed, slashed, and lunged, his sword snapping out like arrowshot. Halm parried, parried, and whirled away as his foe shot by him. Overextended, Halm spun around, almost impossibly fast for a man of his size, and half-lopped off the wrist of Tarcul’s sword arm. With a grunt both agonized and surprised, Tarcul dropped to his knees, his sword falling from a hand hanging by a thin, gushing sliver of flesh.

  Tarcul looked up, perhaps about to plead for mercy.

  Halm’s Mademian blade flashed in an uppercut, splitting the man’s jaw and face up the middle and flinging his entire body backwards. It landed with a thud. His legs shivered once and became still.

  The Zhiberian put his back to the corpse and regarded the deck of Thaimondus. “Any more sons you want me to kill?”

  The taskmaster sputtered with venomous fury, his face purpling at the energy coursing through his frail frame. It took a few heartbeats, but the hateful blast of “Kill him!” finally pierced the air. “Kill the breed! Someone kill that fat breed!”

  The spearmen looked at each other first before the gladiator, for this was a gladiator before them, and that was all Halm needed.

  He killed two of them with short, well-placed slashes, opening up a throat to a surprised gurgle and splitting a chest with a single, violent note of a shriek. The Mademian’s fine edge sliced through their leather shirts as if they were soft butter. Then a spear stabbed for his gut, but he parried it, went forward, and stabbed the wielder through the back when the man dropped his weapon and tried to flee. Seeing no danger from that quarter, Halm turned around and faced another spearman, who held his weapon before him while his eyes bulged with fright.

  Across the way, Muluk had brained two men with Neven’s mace and was facing down a third.

  Goll had tripped the head—the same man that had taunted them from the wall and taken their coin—and speared him with a crutch. The wretch lay on the ground, grasping at his trousers’ crotch, which bloomed darkly. Goll took only a moment to line up his fallen opponent’s throat before smashing once more with a measured length of wood. The man at his feet went into violent spasms slow in stopping.

  “Bad day all 'round.” Halm smiled at the remaining spearman.

  “Kill them!” Thaimondus screamed still, falling to his knees and baying the words like a wounded hound. “Saimon take me now if you don’t kill them! Kill, Killlllll!”

  The spearman chose to fight.

  He jabbed his weapon at the Zhiberian’s chest.

  Halm caught the spear behind the steel’s head, stepped forward and thrust. The spearman shrieked, released the weapon, and sought to run. The Mademian blade sank into his ribs, splitting them apart and driving the man to the earth.

  With barely any effort, Halm rooted the blade free of the corpse and gazed around. There was no one else. The men who had surrounded them, the guards of the old taskmaster, were chopped down where they stood or tried to leave. His eyes met the drawn face of Muluk, who was holding Neven’s mace across his pelvis with two hands, and then the pensive features of Goll.

  From the deck above, a red-faced and nearly insane Thaimondus squealed and thrashed and cried out for hellions to rise up from Saimon’s hell. He pleaded for the dark to take his soul—which he would give up willingly—in exchange for killing the three he-bitches that had robbed him of his sons and men. Spittle flew. His fingers slashed the air, seeking soft flesh while his screeching continued, long and harsh. His strength finally left him as he sank to his knees, his words lost in a dying wheeze of frustration.

  It only truly ended when Halm climbed up onto the deck and drove his sword through the old man’s throat.

  24

  They weren’t really sure what to make of the villagers.

  Like beaten animals, the men, women, and children crowded around, staring at the dead bodies until one of the women spoke up and told some others to get the little ones back until the mess was cleaned up and the bodies buried. Goll watched them with a stoic face, wondering if he would have to use his crutch as a weapon once again. He and Muluk retreated to the house of the now dead Thaimondus and divided their attention between a resting Halm and the gathering crowd. The men stopped just under the deck and gazed up at the Zhiberian. The sun stayed behind its tattered blanket of clouds, keeping its glare to itself.

  “Well,” Goll announced, “that was interesting.”

  “Not as interesting as the next few moments.” Muluk glanced at the gathering villagers with a worried expression.

  “Aye that.” Halm leaned over the railing and faced his companions. “I’ll sleep soundly this night. This lot had bad to their core. The old man in particular. Something wasn’t right there. What’s next?”

  Goll balanced on his crutches and rubbed at an eye. “I really don’t know. Give me a bit to think.”

  “This place looks good,” Muluk said. “Grounds well kept. Nothing in ruins.”

  Goll frowned. “I’m wondering how well these men were liked. Those people over there aren’t exactly cheering our names.”

  “Not yet.” Halm’s arm creaked out from where he rested on the railing and pointed a finger.

  A woman approached them, dressed in a brown-and-white dress that flowed all the way to her ankles. Her hair, long and dark, was tied back into a single ponytail exposing her sun-browned features, which were plain but not unattractive. Halm recognized her as the barkeep from the tiny alehouse.

  “Who killed these men?” She stopped with her hands at her sides. Behind her, the men of the village dragged the corpses into a pile while another brought around a long wagon with two horses.

  “You didn’t see what happened?” Goll asked her.

  “I didn’t. Just rose to this, and a bloody morning it is. So who’s responsible?”

  Goll looked at Halm while Muluk pointed.

  Halm sighed wearily at being singled out. “Lads,” he muttered.

  “You?” The woman scowled. “I know you. You’re the one from last night. Drank a pitcher. I remember.”

  “I suppose it isn’t hard to remember a new face in this place?”

  “No, it isn’t. Well then, you’ve had a busy morning. See you got some revenge.”

  “I did, and… I did.” Halm nodded slowly, weighing his words. “We’re just wondering how the people will take to us now, seeing that we killed the lot of the guards around here.”

  “Well, I can tell you, they’re happy with them being dead.”

  “They are?”

  “Yes. This lot held us captive for the last two years. Threatened whole families. Didn’t allow anyone to leave unless it was in the back of that wagon there, the same one being used to carry them off now.”

  Goll regarded her curiously. “What this?”

  “Yes, they were pigs. Old Thaimondus was never a kind sort. He came here only five
years ago perhaps, but even then, he cheated the men working on his properties, the same men who built this house. That wall. Their payment was to be allowed to build their own homes inside the wall, under the protection of Lord Thaimondus.”

  “He was a lord?” Goll asked.

  “In his own mind, he called himself a lord. Demanded taxes. Brought in men who were thieves and rapists. Those spearmen. The last two years, the village had shrunk from perhaps a hundred and fifty people to a mere hundred.”

  “Why didn’t you contact the constables in Sunja? The street watch?”

  She shrugged. “We did. Nothing ever came of it, and no one returned. After the first attempt, everyone was rounded up right there where you killed the big one, Neven. Thaimondus cursed us all and said if any tried to leave, he’d execute twice the number. But his mind was addled as well. We all knew that. Everyone knew it was rotting. He’d lash out at anyone, anytime, and forget about it seconds later. So we’ve been living under the whim of a mad man.”

  “He remembered you,” Muluk said to Halm, to which the Zhiberian faintly shrugged.

  “The people aren’t exactly rejoicing,” Goll pointed out.

  She raised her chin and considered them all. “Well, that’s the meat of it now, isn’t it? These people aren’t warriors. We’re all wondering who the new masters are.”

  This mortified both Goll and Muluk while Halm gawked at her. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Miji.”

  “Miji, you tell these people, we want nothing from them.”

  “Ah, we might want the house,” Goll jumped in, flashing a cautious look at Halm. “And the coin these bastards took from us. And half of anything we find inside the house.”

  “But nothing else,” Halm cut off the Kree.

  Miji considered the three. “I don’t think anyone wants the house. Except for the few possessions that Thaimondus stole.”

  “Why not?” Halm asked, sizing it up behind him. “Solid build.”

  “People from this village were killed in that house. And raped.”

  That took the pleasant look off Halm’s face.

  “Then, we’ll leave it as well,” Goll said. “What’s done with it is up to you and all the rest. We won’t lay any claim. Give us a few moments to search it, though.”

  Miji nodded and went back to her people.

  “Saimon’s blue pisspot,” Muluk breathed, watching the woman walk away. “This man was a hellion bastard.”

  “Bad all round,” Halm agreed.

  “Well, get on in there and take a look around,” Goll ordered. “I won’t lie to you. I thought for a moment there we might’ve had our training grounds, but I won’t train in this place. Bad all round. Maybe even cursed now.”

  “Killed and raped,” Muluk said. “That’s…” He couldn’t finish.

  Halm studied the white corpse of the taskmaster, the face pointed towards the lake. With a grunt, he hooked his foot under the dead man’s belly and heaved him off the deck. The body crumpled in a heap below, facedown in the dirt and grass.

  Then the Zhiberian hoarked and spat upon the carcass.

  “That’s what I think about that,” he said.

  In the ensuing silence, the three pit fighters regarded the people whom they had just unintentionally liberated.

  After a few moments, Goll somberly suggested they go through the house, and the others agreed. They searched the premises, finding several items of worth, but left it all, remembering and believing the valuables might have been stolen in the first place. A small oak chest opened with a key found on Thaimondus’s carcass, and they found close to five hundred gold coins, tarnished and dark in the shadows of the house. Another small chest contained well over a hundred silver.

  This, they decided, wasn’t all theirs. Perhaps none of it. Nevertheless, Goll found two small cloth sacks and filled them with half the gold but left the silver.

  “I’m not certain about this,” Halm said, getting an agreeing rumble from Muluk.

  “I am.” Goll tied off the sack. “This coin is ours. Don’t worry, they’ll be happy enough with what’s left, especially with the old prick gone. The rest of the coin they can divide amongst themselves.”

  Halm and Muluk still appeared uncomfortable.

  “Look.” Goll turned to Miji, another woman, and three men who waited just outside the door. “Miji, we found a large sum of money here. Most of it is probably yours. We’ve claimed a little less than half, and the rest, along with anything else of worth which probably was taken from you, is here. But if you truly feel it’s all yours…” Goll held out the heavy sack with one arm.

  The villagers shook their heads.

  “You keep that,” Miji said, causing Goll to glance at his companions with a knowing look. “Coin well spent to be free of the bastards. As for the things in the house, we’ll go through it and take back what’s ours.” She studied the house for a moment. “We’ll burn the rest.”

  “We’ll take our leave then,” Goll said quietly.

  “Where’re you going?” Miji asked.

  “Sunja.”

  “You can’t walk that distance.”

  “We have a koch waiting.”

  “Your pardon,” one of the men spoke up, “but that koch is gone.”

  Goll blinked, handed the sack to Muluk, and swung himself out into the sun. He arched his head up and winced.

  Past noon.

  “But we have horses you can have,” the villager told him.

  “Thaimondus owned the horses,” Miji added. “Down the lane, there’s a stable.”

  “I’m the stable hand,” said another man, dressed in a worn shirt and trousers and with a black bandanna around his grey head. “If you want them, I’ll have them for you.”

  Halm unconsciously met the gaze of Miji, who didn’t avert her eyes. The Zhiberian smiled at her, suddenly careful not to bare his ill-kept teeth.

  “Do you have a wagon?” Goll asked.

  “We do, we do,” the stable hand said.

  “Not leaving you in a bad spot, are we?” Muluk asked.

  The man scratched at his bandanna before he hiked it up over his forehead. The word punce was spelled out in scar tissue. It started from his right temple, below the hair line, before stretching across in horrific fashion to touch the other side. “Tarcul and four of his lads did this to me. Never did find out exactly why. And I’m fortunate as there’re others who got worse. Eyes gouged out. Fingers chopped off. You sons aren’t leaving us…” The stable hand’s eyes watered up suddenly, his mouth clamped shut, and all became very still, the air charged with emotion. His companions placed hands on his slumped shoulders, comforting him. Goll averted his eyes.

  “Not leaving us in a bad spot,” the stable hand finally got out. “Not in the least.” He wiped at his face. “You’ve delivered us from one, in fact.”

  The stable hand sniffed hard then, clearing his flooded sinuses, and smiled gratefully.

  25

  The house of Thaimondus burned as if a star itself had dropped out of the heavens and crashed upon its roof. Halm raised a mug of beer and took a deep pull of it. Putting the taskmaster down had been just the stroke of good fortune he needed out of the arena. The death of Thaimondus and his sons, including the pack of dogs they had collected to keep Karashipa in line, seemed to transform the villagers. No longer did they wear long, emotionless faces but were actually smiling. Upon recognizing Halm, several made it a point to come up to the Zhiberian and thank him for killing their demented overlord. They even thanked Goll and Muluk, and that night, after the bodies of the dead had been placed inside Thaimondus’s looted house and the valuables and remaining money returned to their rightful owners, the town had a public feast near the water’s shore, butchering and roasting four pigs and countless chickens.

  It was perhaps the best meal in a very, very long time for Halm.

  Ale, dark beer, and wine were served then, and Miji’s alehouse became a place to visit after the food ne
ar the lake’s edge. Most people piled inside the palisade to watch the torching of the house, but Halm remained behind. He could see the glow of the highest flames perfectly from the deck of the alehouse. The wild spiraling of glowing embers rode currents of smoke to the heavens.

  When he heard the door squeak behind him, his hopes spiked.

  Miji appeared alongside him with mug in hand. Halm glanced at her and nodded, holding out his own mug. She tapped it, and they both drank, later watching the distant blaze.

  “All this wine and such,” Halm asked, “won’t it break you? It’s a lot to give up freely.”

  “It’s just enough.” Miji looked into his eyes. “And nothing breaks me.”

  “Oh. I like the sound of that.”

  Miji became quiet then. “I was almost raped by that old bastard.”

  Halm winced and took in her profile. She wasn’t a beauty, but she wasn’t hard to look upon either. In fact, the more he saw of her, the more he liked.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Miji shrugged. “Happened two years ago. I’m glad he’s dead. And I’m very happy to celebrate the death of them all.”

  “I’m right happy to celebrate with you.”

  “Do you always go around shirtless?” Miji asked.

  “Ah, yes. Almost always.”

  “I see. You have something wrong with your lip?”

  Halm blinked at her. She had picked up on that. He chuckled then, baring his terrible mess of a mouth.

  “Your teeth are bad,” she said with a frown. “But otherwise, you’re not too hard to look upon. Any wife to speak of?”

  Halm glanced to the glow of fire. “No, no wife. No children. Too old for all that.”

  “Horse shite.”

  “Well, all right. No interest in any of that.”

  “You’re not a daisy, are you?”

  That made him sputter in his beer. “No! Lords, no. Not that I have anything against…” He shrugged.

  “Only asking.”

  “You seem quite interested.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Looking to get married?”

  “To the right one. Like us all. Maybe even raise a family.”