131 Days [Book 1]

by Keith C. Blackmore

  “I’m not asking you, you black-bearded punce; I’m telling you,” Goll warned. “And you better not encourage him, Zhiberian. You’ll be a laughing stock if the whole of Sunja sees you with the print of my broken toes stamped into your ass.”

  “Where exactly is he going to be training anyway?” Muluk asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll find a place.”

  “Like Thaimondus and Clavellus?”

  “I did what I could with the information I had.” Goll defended himself in a cool voice. “What happened wasn’t my fault. And just in case you haven’t noticed, your fat ass is in a saddle provided by that information, however indirectly.”

  Muluk scratched at his unruly black curls as he glanced at Halm. “Seems to be thinking hard about asses this morning.”

  “I was too, last night,” the Zhiberian said. “But nothing came of it.”

  That left Muluk smirking.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Goll promised. “With the coin we have and the coin we’ll get from selling the horses, we’ll—”

  Muluk turned around in his saddle. “Sell the horses? We just got them.”

  “We can’t care for them in the city. It’s an expense we can’t afford.”

  “I’m getting used to it!”

  “You haven’t had to care for the beast yet,” Goll countered. “One day of feeding and brushing it out and shoveling its shite, and you’ll be talking differently.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Well, think on it. Think on this as well—I’ll be able to rent another room if you wish, in our favourite alehouse. You’ll be able to sleep in peace.”

  That brightened Muluk, and he bared his yellowed teeth. “There’ll be no peace if I have my own room.”

  “I really don’t care,” Goll retorted. “Rut whoever you please if you’re drunk enough to. Rut the horse goodbye if you like. Halm is the one I’m concerned with.”

  “You hear that?” Muluk asked his burly companion. “You’re his now.”

  Halm kept silent.

  “This is serious business, Zhiberian,” Goll insisted. “From here on in, we do things my way. Follow my instructions, and we’ll all come out better for it. I guarantee it. I’ll be the taskmaster. We’ll build something from the ground up. Draw fighters to our name and banner. We’ll have our own house. Something that will make the other houses take note of us.”

  “I’ve taken note of you,” Muluk quipped out of the corner of his mouth.

  “What was that?”

  “One drink and you’re through,” Muluk said a little louder, making Halm smile. “Just talking to the Zhiberian, dear.”

  Goll lapsed into silence. The only sounds heard for the next little while were the plodding of the horses, the low conversation of Halm and Muluk, and the gentle creaking of full saddlebags. The land crept past them as the air stayed a comfortable temperature. Cloud cover seeped in from the east and stretched across overheard like fine cotton, and for once, all was fine with the world.

  They took their time for fear of risking saddle soreness and entered the city at suppertime. Goll sold the horses to a willing merchant closing up his stall and almost heading home for the evening. Sixty gold was added to their fortunes, even though Goll believed the merchant didn’t pay full value for the three horses. He leeched another fifteen gold off the man from the sale of the saddles.

  “Carry this,” Goll handed a sack to Halm and Muluk, “and guard it with your lives.”

  “How much do we have now?” Muluk asked.

  “Wait until we get to our room,” Goll answered. “Then we’ll see exactly. But I think we’re a third of the way there.”

  “A third,” Muluk said.

  “We’ll need more,” Halm added.

  “Yes, we will,” Goll said guardedly. “We’ll need more. But I think we can all agree that this time three days ago, we were in a much harder place. Things are moving for us. I can feel it.”

  Muluk eyed a shapely woman moving through the milling crowds. “I could feel that.”

  Both Goll and Halm stopped and took a moment to appreciate the curves, barely hidden by a wisp of a dress. Goll got them moving once again through the streets towards their favourite alehouse. A thick blue-grey cloud like the underbelly of a thunder god dragged itself across the purpling sky, and the sun had almost dropped from sight when they reached the building. Sounds of laughter and conversation perked their ears before they lay eyes on the place. They crossed the threshold with weary feet. Goll immediately left his companions and swung himself though the drinkers and eaters and to the barkeep. The portly man leaned towards him when beckoned, and Goll spoke into his ear.

  “He’s a determined bastard, isn’t he?” Muluk said.

  “He is. He is,” Halm had to agree.

  “Think anything will come of all this?”

  “You have anything else better to do?”

  Muluk met Halm’s steady gaze. “I do not, good Halm.”

  “Neither do I, good Muluk. Neither do I.”

  “Then… let’s see where it all goes.”

  Halm nodded in resignation. “What’s to lose? I can’t think of anything.”

  “Except your life, I suppose.”

  There was that. Halm shrugged it off.

  Then Goll waved them over.

  “I have us the only three rooms just above the bar here.” He held out three keys. “Take one, and that’s yours for the night. We’ll meet in mine. I’ve ordered food to be sent up as well as a couple ale pitchers. Water for you,” Goll directed at Halm; then at Muluk, “I figure it’s best to keep this one in good cheer else I hear the groans all night and tomorrow.”

  “You won’t hear a word from me.” Muluk beamed as he took a key, clearly happy with Goll’s gifts.

  “Nothing for me?” Halm asked, taking his own.

  “Just the food and water. No beer or ale, and certainly no firewater.”

  “A bit of wine?”

  Goll scowled as if he hadn’t heard that last bit before turning and making his way towards the stairs through the people. Muttering, Halm followed with Muluk. They climbed above the crowds, hauling themselves up the stairs to the second floor, which was open to the main floor below. A wide, scuffed walkway was bordered by a rounded wooden railing, which was all that kept one from falling into the masses below. Halm looked up at the ceiling, inspecting the slanting planks nailed to the ribs of thick timbers holding everything up.

  Halm fitted the key and opened the door to his room just as some pipe music started below. He peered through the railing and saw a group of men start playing while rosy, long-haired sirens twirled and pranced before them, attracting onlookers. Feeling tempted himself, as he enjoyed such revelries, Halm turned back to his door and felt the heat from Goll’s stare. Without meeting his companion’s eyes, he entered the darkness and closed the door behind him. Fading light from a far, shuttered window barely illuminated the interior, and he fumbled his way. He dropped the cloth sack with the coins on a bed that looked to have had its middle squished, as if it had endured far too much action over the years. But he was thankful for a cloth blanket draped over the straw for cushion, with another, thinner blanket pulled neatly on top, suggesting a woman’s touch. The heavy wooden frame appeared surprisingly strong for an upstairs room of an alehouse, double sized and otherwise enticing. A single, square table lay beside it, along with a washbasin, a pitcher of water, and a chamber pot poked halfway underneath the bed. Three long fresh candles, stuck in individual clay cups, also presided on the table.

  With the music from outside surprisingly muted, Halm gazed upon the room and sighed contentedly. He sent a silent thanks to Goll. It was hard to fault the man when he provided accommodations such as these. Another tired groan escaped him, and he plopped down on the bed, discovering it quite soft. He swung his legs up and lay back, boots still on, while folding his hands behind his head just and savouring the luxury. The ceiling above was a murky lattice of wooden sl
abs and bare timbers, and for a moment, he studied them while listening to the pipe players below. Each eye blink became heavier than the last.

  Someone knocked at his door and opened it, allowing a wide gash of light to fall across the bed and floor.

  “What? You sleeping already?” Muluk asked in shock as he stuck his head in.

  “No.” Halm sat up.

  “Come on then. The food’s here.”

  “Already?”

  “You have been sleeping.”

  Halm rubbed at his face. “Perhaps a little there.”

  “Come on. Eat now and sleep afterwards.”

  With a grunt, he followed Muluk to the room at the end of the walkway, where the door stood half opened. Inside, Goll’s table was filled with a platter of lamb and beef, bread, and two pitchers with cups.

  “You sleeping?” Goll asked with the corner of his mouth hitched up. He placed a slab of lamb on a slice of bread and folded it up.

  “I did for a bit.” Halm sat down.

  “That’s good. You eat what you can and sleep. Tomorrow, we work.”

  “What about me?” Muluk got comfortable in his own chair.

  “You,” Goll said, “will have the most important task of all. You’ll stay here and guard the gold.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Someone has to do it.”

  “Why not just leave it in a bank?” Muluk helped himself to the meat and bread.

  Goll paused before biting into his food. “I thought about it, but I’d be forever going back and forth to the place. No, we’ll keep one man here. Perhaps even two eventually. With the barkeep down below and you above, no one will bother you. Plus, no one knows it’s here. And in case you were wondering, we have a little over three hundred gold pieces to our names. A small fortune.”

  Both Halm and Muluk stopped in midchew. Neither man had ever been so close to so much money. It was bewildering. Halm slowly looked at the bed.

  “I’ve hidden it,” Goll said, “but don’t worry. If anyone really searched for it, they’d find it. Reminds me—here.”

  Goll leaned back and winced, still tender from the beating Baylus the Butcher gave him on the very first day. He pulled up his leather purse, undid the drawstrings, and counted out five coins to Halm and then to Muluk. The men watched in wonder.

  “This is yours. Your first coin other than what the house will provide for you, being food and rooms. Spend it on whatever you wish. But Halm, no drinking. And you, well, understand that I don’t know when you’ll get another handful of coins from me, if ever again. So make this last. You lads understand?”

  They nodded and made their gold portions disappear.

  “We’ll head to the arena tomorrow and see when and who you’ll be fighting,” Goll told Halm. “With luck, perhaps we can get a little more information on the dog. And you must win. I’ll be wagering a lot of coin on you.”

  Halm didn’t say anything. Two thoughts were on his mind: the whereabouts of Pig Knot and what Miji might be serving in her little alehouse down by the lake.

  Below, the pipe players carried on. Caro had heard better playing in far better establishments with far prettier women. With a contemptuous snarl, he nursed his mug of ale and wandered to a window, minding himself as he moved through the gathering crowds. He placed a shoulder against the frame and alternated between peering out into the street and up at the second floor. The fat man and his companions had returned as he thought they might when they first disappeared from the city. They appeared to be in fair spirits, which coin would do for a pack of motherless dogs. Not many could afford private rooms in the alehouse, especially Free Trained shite surviving match to match if they were lucky. No, something else had happened. They came into money somewhere.

  He sipped from his mug once more and caught the eye of a blond serving maid, wearing a dress exposing a dark gash of cleavage. There was no temptation there, however, as Caro focused on what he had to do. His attention lay on the rooms above and the men keeping them.

  He would send word to Grisholt in the morning.

  29

  Voices in the street woke Pig Knot from his sleep. He cracked open his eyes and took a deep breath, paused a moment, and then stretched his limbs, clawing at air. Relaxing, he gazed up at the ceiling and smelled the pungent saywort Bindon had rubbed on his wounds the night before. Pig Knot screwed up his face at the odour. He smelled as if he’d been dragged through a forest planted in a shite trough.

  He then sensed a presence in the room and turned his head. The shuttered window lay open, and dull daylight cut across the room, revealing the tall form of a giant standing quietly at attention.

  Klytus. In armor.

  The huge Sujin shifted his weight, causing a floorboard to squeal.

  Groaning, Pig Knot looked at the window. Clouds blotted out the usual sunshine. He snorted, clearing his sinuses and again abhorring the smell smeared onto his person, then rubbed at his eyes and regarded the mountain of metal standing before the stairs. The man didn’t come any closer, and Pig Knot believed it was because the ceiling was too low for him and he didn’t like to stoop.

  “What is it?”

  Klytus was brief. “This day, you fight.”

  Pig Knot sighed and wearily swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He felt the stitches and swollen bruises over his face. Bindon had actually brought up a mirror to him at one point, and that was a fright he didn’t need to repeat. The Sunjan’s face looked like a sliced and battered peach. He’d wear a visor if he could. Perhaps Halm’s.

  “All right.” He got to his feet.

  *

  Descending the steps to the Pit’s general quarters felt like wading into a rank sewer. After days of being aboveground and in relatively fresh air, Halm’s nose wrinkled at the smell wafting up from the darkness before him. The foulness crept over his tongue and throat with every breath. He turned around to Goll, coming down behind him and favouring his foot with the broken toes.

  “What?” the Kree asked him.

  “This place stinks.”

  “Are you only just discovering that?” Goll jerked his chin at the steps, orange in torchlight. “This place smelled like shite when I first came here, and that was at the beginning of the games. Now, I’d sleep in the morass of a pigsty if I had a choice. Move on.”

  They reached the bottom, and the Zhiberian inwardly cringed once more at the number of men present. It felt like a market day, with the merchants and buyers all crammed into a public latrine. Men moved through the torchlit shadows like white eels in deep water. Something was squishing between his sandaled toes, and he didn’t have the courage to find out what it was. It all made him greater appreciate having his own room. Goll maneuvered around him and made his way to the Madea and his prickly fence of Skarrs. Already the arena official was pondering over his matchboard and consulting his papers.

  And there stood Pig Knot.

  Standing at the mouth of the white tunnel, Pig Knot wore a vest of leather armor and held a sword and shield.

  Another man, dressed in brown trousers and a white shirt, talked with him. Pig Knot listened as his companion leaned in and spoke aggressively, his teeth flashing at times.

  “That’s Pig Knot.” Halm pointed.

  “What?” Goll turned.

  “There.”

  Goll peered in that direction. “Are you certain?”

  “Aye that. And he just slapped on my helm.”

  As they watched, Pig Knot fumbled with the straps under his chin as the other man continued to talk. Then the Sunjan disappeared from sight as men passed through their line of sight.

  “You there,” someone said nearby, distracting them both. A short man emerged from the figures milling about. Long sideburns scythed down his sallow cheeks, and his dark though greying hair was cut close to the skull. He wore a brown vest over a white tunic, exposing a set of powerful-looking arms.

  Halm glanced in the direction of Pig Knot. He was striding up the white tunnel w
hile his companion had seemingly vanished.

  “My master wishes to speak with you once more. At his residence,” the man said.

  “Who’s that?” Goll asked. “And who are you?”

  The shorter man moved in closer, conscious of the press of bodies. “I’m Borchus. I speak for Clavellus.”

  The name of the taskmaster froze both men.

  “Clavellus wants to see us?” Goll asked, unconvinced. “The same man that called us… what was it?”

  “Punces,” Halm supplied dutifully.

  Goll nodded. “I remember ‘masterless pit dogs’ myself.”

  “Asslickers.”

  Goll lifted a finger at that one, approving of Halm’s memory. “And there were a few other cutting words as well. So why does he want to see us?”

  “You’ll have to see him about that.” Borchus hung his thumbs on a leather belt. “I was only instructed to locate you and deliver the message. Especially you.” He nodded at Halm. “Hard not to pick you out of a crowd. How much do you eat to keep that striking figure?”

  “Depends. How tall are you?”

  Borchus’s brow cocked as if hooked from above. “Ah, that was wit,” he deadpanned. “You surprised me. Give me a moment to compose myself. I’m breathless. My ribs.”

  Halm opened his mouth to say more, but Goll cut him off. “You tell him we’ll see him tomorrow.”

  “This day would be best, I think.”

  “My friend said tomorrow,” Halm said.

  “Since all of your fat clings about your waist, how is it you still cannot hear?” Borchus retorted, his face expressionless.

  “Not sure, why don’t you climb down off your chair and try shouting again?”

  “You don’t wear a helm when you fight, do you?”

  “All right.” Goll eyed both men. “We’ll be there. And we’ll leave shortly. After we get the third member of our group.”

  “Ah yes, I’ve heard of him. I hope he’s not the size of this one. Doubt if there’s enough cattle about to feed two.” Borchus straightened, unimpressed. “I’ll wait for you outside the city’s southern gate.”