A manservant came into the room from a side chamber, carrying four wooden cups and a pitcher. Silently, he poured each of the fighters a drink of mead. Outside, the night sky cleared its throat in a grumble that made them look at the thick timbers of the ceiling as the rain hissed with increased force.
“Looks like we got here just in time.” Muluk sipped on his mead in approval.
“We’ll have to go back out in it,” Pig Knot muttered.
Halm wondered if they would have to walk back. He thought about asking, but one look at the moustached bawler who spoke twice as loudly as necessary convinced him to wait.
The main door opened, and three men entered. The first was the big brute with the missing left ear and the ugly scar that reminded Halm of lips. Rain coated his bare, muscular shoulders and chest in a wet sheen. Then Clavellus and Borchus came in, their clothing soaked from the angry burst of rain. Clavellus moved to the head of one table and sat down with a huff, his right hand holding a silver mug. He smoothed his bushy white beard, flicking the water at the floor.
“Damnation,” the taskmaster growled. “We need the rain but not a flood.”
He scratched his bald head and regarded the men sitting before him. “I’ll get to it right away as it’s late and I know Machlann has drinking to do. I’ve got drinking to do, for that matter. You men came to me about a week ago, looking for a taskmaster. I’ve called you back here to tell you I’m interested. I’ve reconsidered.”
His words faded into the sound of a downpour outside. Halm glanced at Goll, but the Kree stared hard at the taskmaster.
“You’ve reconsidered,” Goll stated.
“I have.” Clavellus said, his white beard flexing.
“Just like that?”
The taskmaster took a moment before answering. “No. Not just like that. I have my reasons, mind you, which are of no concern of yours. I’m offering you my staff’s services here, use of my property. Even rooms if you wish. All for a reasonable price.”
Behind him, the one who had greeted them, Machlann, half turned and glanced out towards a shuttered window, scratching at his ear.
“You seemed against the idea before,” Goll stated quietly. “‘Motherless dogs,’ I believe you called us.”
“Punces,” Halm added.
“That was then.” Clavellus took a pull of his silver mug. He savoured its contents, swallowing slowly. “This is now.”
“You came into very good reasons,” Goll said thoughtfully.
“And they’ll stay mine. You wanted a taskmaster and trainers. You have access to one. I’ll even reduce my fee, just to erase the bad memory of our first meeting. But I doubt you’ll find anyone else to take you on. If you are still searching, that is.”
Goll didn’t look at his companions. “We accept.”
Clavellus nodded and regarded his drink. “Then before we talk any further, refresh my mind on what it is you wish to accomplish. You are about to start formal training while the games are in progress. The other houses train for months leading up to the season. I mean, we can’t very well prepare you to face a gladiator who’s been training for months. Or years even.”
“We want to win.”
“To win. Bit simple, isn’t it? They all want to win.”
“One match at a time. As many victories as we can manage. As I said before, I wish to start a new house. That begins now. With you, we’ll do what we can in the current season. We’ll ready ourselves for our matches as best we can and let Seddon figure the rest out.”
“My experience, Seddon doesn’t figure much when it comes to the games.”
“Well, we’ll do what we can, fight until we can’t, and look towards next year. The next season.”
“You speak for these men?” Clavellus asked pointedly.
“I do.”
“You’re the head of this new house?”
Goll hesitated. He turned and met Halm’s gaze. The Zhiberian nodded. Then Muluk, but he folded his arms and shrugged more in resignation. Pig Knot shook his head, grinned, and waved a hand as if it mattered little.
“They don’t seem as set on this course as you are,” Clavellus observed.
Goll didn’t comment on that. “I’m the head of the house. The master. I’ll deal with any who are judged lacking. You just have to weed them out.”
Clavellus thought about it and gestured towards Halm. “My agent Borchus says that one has a blood match with the House of Curge. Of all the houses, Curge is the… last one you want hunting you.”
The taskmaster became reflective then and took a drink. “This all of you?”
“No, I don’t expect.”
“What’s your final number then?”
“Not decided yet. You say we can stay here?”
“That would be the wisest thing to do,” Clavellus said. “No one to bother us out here. The city can be distracting at times.”
“How many can you hold?”
“Here?” Clavellus grunted. “Machlann?”
Machlann stopped twiddling with the ends of his huge moustache and straightened. “Thirty. Thirty-five if we really squeeze them. Or cut off the fat.”
Halm didn’t like the sound of that.
“I’ll let you know,” Goll said, thinking to himself. “I expect we’ll have at least that.”
“All Free Trained?”
“All. But they won’t be Free Trained any longer. It’ll be the start of a house.”
“Have you registered this with the Gladiatorial Chamber? That’s a large lump of coin if I remember correctly.”
“It is. A thousand gold. We have some of it.”
“Some of it.” Clavellus rocked on his bench. “How were you intending to get the rest of it?”
Goll cleared his throat. “Wagering.”
“Wagering.” Behind the taskmaster, his trainers stiffened at the revelation. The agent Borchus studied his feet with a scowl. Clavellus took another sip before continuing. “You mean to wager the coin you have. On who? Your fighters? The very ones you’re asking me to train?”
“Yes.”
“Do you realize how that sounds?”
The Kree kept his tongue, and Clavellus took another drink of his mug, emptying it. “This one has balls, Machlann. What do you think?”
“Has shite in his head,” Machlann replied without rancor.
Clavellus smirked. “Koba?”
The one-eared fellow gave a dismayed shake of his head. “Unfit.”
The taskmaster regarded Goll with gleaming eyes. “Shite in his head. Unfit. You hear this, Goll? That’s what my trainers think of your money predicament, and I’m inclined to agree with them. This might never begin at all, not without coin. The Chamber doesn’t deal in credit. Not even with an established house. Certainly not with a group of Free Trained with high ambitions. And the banks will laugh at you.”
“We’ll get it,” Goll said. “The next fight is Halm’s. In three days. We have that time to prepare him.”
“Against one of Curge’s brutes?”
“Yes.”
“You’re Halm, yes?” Clavellus asked the Zhiberian.
“I am.”
“What do you think your chances are?”
Halm smiled. “Oh, I’ll win it all. Guaranteed.”
In the flickering of the lantern light, the lengthy silence that greeted Halm’s lofty reply was almost as frightening as the storm clouds overhead. Not one of the trainers reacted, not even Borchus.
“You will, eh?” Clavellus eventually responded, not amused. “So why do you need us?”
Halm’s smile dimmed, and he answered in a much more humble tone. “It all helps.”
Clavellus pondered that for a moment. “Then we’ll see, won’t we? Machlann here is my oldest trainer. Koba is my second. Both men are hellions who have trained a few pit fighters out here for the smaller games of Vathia. You think you can follow their instructions?”
“I do.” Halm spoke earnestly, humour gone from his face.
&nb
sp; “What about you, then?” Clavellus asked Muluk.
“Can’t fight. Been put out of the games.”
“Really? By who?”
Frowning, Muluk flicked his head towards Halm.
“So why are you here?”
Muluk fidgeted. “I can fix armour. Do a few blades. That sort of thing.”
Clavellus studied him before switching to the last man at the table. “And you?” he asked Pig Knot.
“I’m still in it.”
“Can you follow instructions?”
“Aye that. At least until it suits me not to.” Pig Knot smirked. “I’ve done some training in the past. I’ll not be jumping through rings of fire; I’ll tell you that right now. Saimon piss on that.”
Clavellus arched his head back as if smelling something and shared a look with Machlann.
“Well.” The taskmaster leaned forward. He placed his left hand on the table, and Halm noticed it quivered incessantly. “We’ll see, won’t we? As for you, Goll, you have to come up with that coin. Doesn’t look like you’ll be fighting anytime soon this season, not in your condition. I’ll place myself and my trainers at your disposal for the next few days, just to see what we’re working with and to prepare your fat man as best as possible. Put him through a few paces. If he’s capable—and fortunate—maybe he won’t get killed out there on the sands. Against Curge’s lot, it’s slay or be slain—and get dragged away with meat hooks. Furthermore, it’s a blood match, so I think you’ll be motivated right and proper.”
“Aye that,” Halm said quietly.
“Well then,” Clavellus announced, “I think that’s all for the night. I’ve had my servants prepare rooms for you in the back, so you may sleep here. In the morning, we’ll start training you. Where are you all from?”
“Sunja,” Pig Knot said.
“Zhiberia.”
“Kree.”
“Kree.”
Clavellus nodded to both Kree. “I’ve known some of your countrymen. It remains to be seen if you measure up to them. Tomorrow, we’ll get an idea. And, you, Goll, you’re rolling dice in a few days. Seems to me it all comes down to what the Zhiberian can do. I don’t share your… confidence in your man. But let’s see.”
“Thank you,” Goll said, “for doing this.”
Clavellus waved it away. “I’m not doing anything for free. If anything, you’ll give us one or two days’ amusement. Perhaps a little longer…”
With that, the old man slowly got to his feet and dusted himself off. “In the morning,” he told them all and left. His men followed him out the door.
Outside, Clavellus motioned his men to walk him back to his house. They crossed his threshold seconds later, wet with rain. There, the taskmaster turned on his staff, picking at the soaked shirt stuck to his chest.
“Well?”
Machlann spoke first. “Unfit, like Koba said.”
“They’ll break in half a day,” Koba added.
Borchus remained silent.
“Nothing to say?” Clavellus asked.
“No,” the short man replied in a tired voice.
The taskmaster almost chuckled at that. He should have expected such an answer from the agent.
Then he was all business.
“All right, then. Listen. Don’t kill them,” Clavellus warned his trainers. “Punish them. Push them past their limits. Break their spirits even, but don’t kill them. See if there’s even anything there to work with. That Zhiberian in particular will need a day to recover. If you can show him a few tricks to keep him alive, then do it. If he wins, we’ll go from there. But if he loses, well, we don’t have anything to worry about. It’s done, finished before it even begins.”
“Why are we even doing this at all?” Machlann wanted to know.
Clavellus didn’t hesitate. The trainer had been with him since Sunja and was his oldest friend. “Partly because… I miss it. These lads are in Sunja’s Pit. The games are the best in the land. Better than anything Vathia can field. I want to see if we can do it once more. This Goll youngster has push. We just might be seeing the start of another house.”
“We might. That all?”
Koba stared at Clavellus, the only one who was in the room with him when Curge had confronted him.
The taskmaster’s face puckered. “You know I went to the games the other day.”
“Aye that,” Machlann said. “And?”
“I met Curge.”
Machlann’s moustache drooped.
“He warned me to stay away.”
“And that was it, eh?”
“That was it.”
The four of them stood in the entryway of Clavellus’s house, the rain crashing down outside.
“Will you train them?” Clavellus asked.
Koba nodded at once.
“Aye, I’ll train them,” Machlann said a few thoughtful seconds later. “Hope for the best. But they’re Free Trained. It’ll take something to unlearn their bad habits and teach them anything. And like you said, we don’t have months. The season’s now.”
“No,” Clavellus said. “Right now, we only have tomorrow and the next. Then, we’ll see if the Zhiberian can win. If he doesn’t, it’ll be all over. They won’t have the coin. But see what you can do with him and that other one in the short time you have.”
Both trainers nodded at their taskmaster, and that was all Clavellus could ask.
“Just don’t kill them tomorrow…”
32
The rain had stopped during the night, leaving the morning air smelling clean and sweet. Grey clouds spotted the sky, hanging without direction while the sun rose below them. While Nala still slept, Clavellus rose from the fine sheets of his bed and gathered up a breakfast of cold cheese and bread in the kitchen area, where he ate at the main table. He heard Koba and Machlann somewhere outside, his old friend’s voice breaking the stillness of the morning like a maul bouncing off beach rock. Nala would probably complain about him and eventually move to another spare bedroom farther away from the training grounds. Clavellus didn’t mind. He looked forward to the commotion. Even if it was for just a morning, the prospect of working again, of crafting men into pit fighters, made his blood pump through old passageways with renewed vigor.
Upon finishing his meal, he stood and left his dishes for Ananda to take away and then strode to the balcony area overlooking the training grounds. The sun was only just peeking over the horizon, causing the deep blue overhead to fade into blinding orange and fragmenting the clouds. The sight of mornings after summer storms always made him feel rejuvenated and filled him with thoughts of the land scrubbed clean. He felt his left hand tremble against his thigh, and then he felt the want of something to drink stronger than tea. Wine would be the very thing. He went back inside to a cellar no longer well stocked. There he found a bottle and cracked it open, filling his silver mug from the night before. On his lands, he had a small vineyard and employed people to work it, which only just kept him in grapes.
Mug in one hand and bottle in the other, he returned to the balcony.
Machlann’s voice once more pierced the morning quiet like a rooster with a pair of shorn balls.
“Get out of there. Get out and stand. Stand, I said, don’t slouch. Koba, if that one slouches, you have my permission to brain the bastard. Seddon above, you’re a fat one. Aye that. You heard me. I said fat. You’ve already fought in the games? No doubt they were right mesmerized by the rolls on you. Did you suffocate your opponents? Unholy Saimon below, you’re a fat one. And you! Any more hair on you? Your father must have rutted with a dog to birth the likes of you. Oh, you find that amusing? Well then, Koba, why don’t we amuse ourselves further, eh?”
As he approached the balcony, Clavellus saw the men through the stumpy columns. He put his bottle on a table outside and kept his mug to his chest as he pressed his pelvis against the railing. Below, three fighters stood at attention on the wide berth of sands. Koba stood behind them, shirtless but covered in his training leathers
, while Machlann stood in front of the men from the previous night. They were clothed in white loincloths without even as much as boots or sandals. All appeared very much awake, and Pig Knot was even smiling.
Clavellus smirked at the sight.
The topper had no idea how Machlann disliked lads doing exactly that.
A battered Goll stood outside of the common room, standing on his crutches and watching intently, waiting. The Kree appeared to be the only one who might have had some merit about him, but he wasn’t healthy enough to go through the paces the trainers were about to have the new meat do. Not many were, Clavellus reflected.
“Eeeeeee, you he-bitches are mine now,” Machlann informed them with a growl, “and here’s what you need to know. What I say, you do whether you can or cannot. If you don’t, the pain is yours. What Koba says, you do. If not, the pain is yours. In my eyes, you are not worthy to be here. Stains of horse shite have more right to be here than you do. I’ve voiced my opinion on this matter to Master Clavellus and Master Goll, and this morning… I’ll prove it to them.”
“Master Goll?” Pig Knot sounded as if he’d tasted something poisonous.
“Speak only when spoken to.” Machlann didn’t look at the Sunjan. “Else, pain will be yours. Now then, morning exercise. Do as I do, else the pain is yours.”
Pig Knot, Muluk, and Halm stared at the older man with looks of disbelief.
“You do know what exercises are?” Machlann bellowed.
The men didn’t answer, which was good. Machlann took a breath, extended both of his arms, and lowered himself until his upper legs were parallel with the ground. And there he stayed.
“Sweet Seddon,” Pig Knot said loudly enough for all to hear, “if he lets slip a cow kiss, we’re all dead men.”
Muluk and Pig Knot broke into grins and chuckles.
Then Koba came into view, scowling and all business. Near his thigh, he carried a club the length of his forearm.
Machlann straightened and studied the three men. “P’rhaps you didn’t hear me.”
With that, Koba cracked his club across the meat of Pig Knot’s bare thigh, hard enough to make the man yell out in pain—a bit too loudly, Clavellus thought. He didn’t like the dramatic ones in the least.
131 Days [Book 1] Page 41