When they finished eating, they left the empty bowls and cups and climbed onto the nearby tables. The great thick planks didn’t even creak when they lay down.
“Just a few moments,” Pig Knot muttered.
But the others were already falling asleep.
*
“So how is it you came to look like this?” Clavellus asked, sitting at one end of a table and eating a slice of dried beef from a large plate. Koba and Machlann flanked him, eating from their own plates of meat and fruit, while Goll sat across from the taskmaster. They ate in the shade of the balcony on the edge of the training grounds, where servants had prepared a table. Over Machlann’s shoulder, Goll saw the heat shimmering off the white sand, and knew that the afternoon would be a particularly brutal one for his men. His men, he thought, and figured they were now. He would be the master of a new house. Almost by default, it seemed, since the others did not question it.
“You mean this?” Goll pointed at the fading bruises about his jaw. “I fought in the Pit about two weeks ago.”
“Did you win?”
“I did.”
“Who was he?” Clavellus asked.
Goll clenched his jaw. “Baylus the Butcher.”
Both trainers regarded the Kree in a new light.
Clavellus leaned back in his chair. “You fought Baylus? I heard he died about two weeks ago.”
Goll nodded.
“You killed him?”
Another nod.
“Seddon above, you’re fortunate to be with us at all. Baylus was… unique from what I understand. I never saw him fight, but I’ve heard enough stories about the man. They rightly called him a butcher.”
“He was.”
“And you killed him. Boys, we have something of a celebrity at our table this day. Sweet Seddon. How was the fight? Evenly matched?”
Goll had to take a sip of water before swallowing his food. “Not at all. He was killing me. I… I’d never faced anyone like him before.”
“Why is that?”
“He was… playing with me. And the more he played, the angrier I became. Lost my concentration. Stopped fighting my fight. I was trained by the Weapon Masters of Kree. Was supposed to defeat the best on the field. And here was this once champion toying with me and making me bleed with almost every step.”
“How did you kill him?” Clavellus asked.
The water in Goll’s cup rippled, and he stared into its clear depths. “He was about to kill me, I believe. The crowds certainly wanted me dead. But then he didn’t. Instead, he allowed me to get to my feet. I remember him feinting. He’d been feinting for much of our fight, and I finally recognized what he was doing, so when he feinted again, I stabbed him through the knee. Then the other leg. That brought him down. After that, I got on top of him, pinned his weapon arm with my knee, and stabbed him through the brain.”
Both trainers stopped eating and stared at the Kree.
“He’d cut me up badly, my left arm in particular. I can barely manage the crutch on that side. But I killed him.” Goll drained his cup.
“A once-champion spared your life, and you repaid him by putting your blade through his head?” Machlann asked in his rough voice.
“I did.” Goll sniffed. He met each face in turn, shrugged, and went back to eating beef. “I admit… it was a mistake.”
“Man’s got push,” Clavellus said to his trainers, but Machlann didn’t smile at the comment, nor did he go back to his food right away. Instead, he sat and mentally weighed Goll’s story. Koba chewed on a strip of dried meat but didn’t appear to taste it. Clavellus knew what they were thinking. Perhaps it was a mistake. It certainly wasn’t the first time they’d heard a story like Goll’s, of mercies shown in the arena that were never repaid. Some would feel badly about the death of Baylus, and there would be more who’d be wary of killers like the Kree.
“Perhaps you are best suited as a house master then,” Clavellus said, and when Goll didn’t answer him, he let the subject drop. Perhaps Goll wished he could have that moment back. Perhaps he would have spared the Butcher in turn, repaying the gesture.
Or perhaps he would’ve killed him again.
“Well,” the taskmaster said, changing topics. “What about your boys here? They’re not in the best physical shape. This morning showed us that. Those two cuts they were practicing shouldn’t have drained them like it did.”
Goll agreed. “Not at all. My thanks for taking the time. Do with them what you will. But please keep in mind, Halm fights the day after tomorrow.”
“Understood. When does that other one go in? The one with the tied-back hair.”
“Pig Knot. I don’t know. Don’t really care, to tell the truth.”
Once more the trainers paused, and this time, exchanged looks.
“Why is that?” Clavellus inquired, his eyes narrowing.
“I’ve seen him fight. He’s not house material. Too sloppy. I’ve had doubts about him from the beginning. His will is questionable. I don’t think there’s much there to work with.” With that, Goll addressed the trainers directly. “If you wish, break him this day. Single him out and make him realize that taking up the steel is hard work. I expect you to do the same to anyone else I bring to you.”
Machlann cocked an eyebrow while Koba went right on eating.
“Who else are you going to bring us?” Clavellus asked, clenching his hand to slow its shaking.
“We’ll need more men,” Goll stated. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but a school or stable or house has between twenty to thirty fighters. Sometimes as many as thirty-five.”
The taskmaster nodded that he was indeed correct.
“When the house is reality, I’m going to go to the ranks of Free Trained and announce it. I expect there will be more than a handful who will take up the offer. Not all will be ready, but over time they will. With your help.”
“Free Trained.” Clavellus exhaled.
Goll regarded him questioningly.
“I want to let you know something,” the taskmaster began. “I have a past with some of the houses in the games. They don’t like me, you see. Why doesn’t really matter now, but I’ve been told… to stay away from the Pit. That anyone trained by my hand will be hunted on the arena sands and killed. Anyone we prepare for the arena will have that on their necks. What are your thoughts on the matter?”
For a moment, Goll didn’t reply. “No matter. We’re Free Trained in all eyes anyway, even if we have the name of a house to say differently. The first year will be difficult, and the second even more so. But if I can get the men I want and win a few matches, with you carving them into professional fighters, the respect will follow eventually.”
“The House of Curge, in particular, will make our lives difficult.” Clavellus waited for the outburst of disbelief, but none came.
“We already have a blood match with them. Halm of Zhiberia killed one of their fighters. It doesn’t worry me. The houses will leave us alone in the end, barring any blood matches, present or in the future.”
Clavellus’s conscience felt lighter. Unloading that burden was easier than he thought, although he wasn’t certain this Kree knew the extent of Curge’s wrath. “It may be dangerous outside of the arena as well,” he said quietly.
“I’m not concerned,” Goll said. “It’s dangerous for us now. And we’ll be training here once we have the coin.”
“Once you have the coin, you may.”
“Then I hope for good things.”
Good things. Clavellus reflected on the words. “I hope you have luck finding the men you want,” he finally said.
Perhaps, the taskmaster thought, he should hope for “good things” as well.
34
They walked through the city streets in a wedge with no one man following another but rather moving along with the shared aura of danger. Armed men walked about Sunja all the time, and no one blinked at their presence. These six, however, exuded violence barely kept in check. They wore leather cuirasses, their bare musc
ular arms swinging, and carried an assortment of weapons and blades strapped on or hanging off their persons. Heavyset and towering over most of the people about them, they sauntered with an exaggerated air through the masses, parting them with dangerous looks. One of the more powerful-looking men shoulder-bumped a farmer and drove him to the road. Other people saw or heard the incident and just got out of the way with a greater sense of urgency.
Skarrs covered in gleaming mail shirts and polished shields stood at guard posts and eyed the warriors but allowed them to pass unbothered. The ever-patrolling Street Watch took no interest in them either, for no one came forth to report any wrongdoing. Once the authorities were out of sight, the acts of intimidation increased. They shoved ordinary men out of the way, eyed women with lolling tongues and groped their bottoms, and kicked at livestock cluttering up the street.
With the wind blowing towards him, Caro stood at the mouth of an alleyway and watched the six strut down the street like big children aware they had no equal here and the master was nowhere in sight. He didn’t like the look of them in the least and knew, just knew, these were the men sent to him by Grisholt. Caro wondered about the old man at times, and if they truly were from Grisholt, he’d sent elephants where cats were needed.
A whiff of roasting pork cut across Caro’s nose and hooked his attention for a moment before he turned back to the approaching men. As he looked on, he saw Ballan leading the way only strides ahead of the brutes. That finished it. They were from Grisholt, walking abreast of each other as though on parade, heedless of the attention they were attracting. That made Caro sigh in exasperation; it was just his luck to have to deal with these swaggering choppers.
Right then, one brute on the far end stopped in his tracks. An old man harangued him about something. The bald warrior made to strike the feeble codger, who fell backwards with dramatic flair. Fortunately, the Street Watch was nowhere to be seen. Caro fumed. He hadn’t even met these toppers, and already he was wishing them dead.
As he came closer, Ballan spotted Caro and glanced over his shoulder to one of the lead warriors, who flicked his chin at the spy to keep going. Caro wished they would do just that. He could hire better men than these for the task at hand. It was just Grisholt’s thinking to save a few coins by letting loose his pit fighters.
“Caro,” Ballan greeted him with an expression of futility.
“Ballan,” he replied. Behind Ballan, the six gathered at the head of the alley like a logjam of bad intentions.
“This is Kurlin, Lantus—”
“You lads certainly made an entrance.” Caro cut Ballan off, inspecting the newcomers with a steely countenance. He held no fear of this lot, having come across enough of their types back in the day when he fought in the Pit. Like dogs, they had to be shown who was in charge, and if they didn’t acknowledge him, he was prepared to strike one down as an example to the remainder.
In this case, the six men stared back, judging the intimidating agent.
“I know of you,” Kurlin said. “You fought in the Pit years ago.”
Caro neither confirmed nor denied it but chose to ignore Kurlin. “You lads follow me now while you’re away from the stable. Understood? No more scaring the locals. This isn’t the arena, and if you catch the attention of the Skarrs or the Street Watch or even asslickers like yourselves and cause trouble, I’ll not help you in the least.”
“No one here will start anything,” the one called Lantus said. “Not until you give the word. Don’t worry.”
“I’m already worried.” Caro gnashed his teeth. “This way.”
He led them down the alley and onto the next street. There was a three-story inn there, built of huge timbers with green streamers hanging from its heights. Into this he brought them, and he sat them down in a secluded alcove, away from the scant patrons visiting the place. Once they settled in, he warned them all to be silent and sat at the head of the table.
“Ballan, buy us something to eat and drink,” Caro commanded and sent him off. With his elbows on the table’s rough surface, he regarded the sitting men over his tangled knot of hands. They studied the interior of the inn like a pack of dogs that had been penned for far too long.
“We’ll eat something. Then I’ll show you to your room,” Caro informed them.
“Our room?” Lantus screwed up half his face in disdain. “We only just got here.”
“Aye that,” Kurlin said for the other fearsome men. “We’ve been at Grisholt’s villa for damned too long to pass on the tastes of Sunja. Give us a night at least.”
Already begins, Caro fumed. “You’ll follow my orders while here, and I speak on behalf of Master Grisholt. You’ll be housed in a cellar nearby, and when the time comes, and I expect it to happen soon, you’ll move out and finish your business. I can’t be rounding you lot up if you’re scattered about the city. Any revelry you intended to do while here will wait until you’ve finished the task. Understood?”
A rusty sickle of a smile spread across Lantus’s face. “Seems like we’ve left the thumb of one master for another.”
In the shade of the inn, the gladiators glowered.
“Yes,” Caro stated coldly, “you have. I’m certain Master Grisholt has made you an offer, so know this: My men are all over the city, watching and listening for these Free Trained dogs. When they come, you do what you have to do, and get out. Then strike hard for the villa. I’m sure you’ll be granted a reward for your services.”
Lantus and Kurlin exchanged quiet looks while the other fighters eyed Caro like sleepy dogs on chains.
“We’ll be ready,” Kurlin finally answered. “Don’t you worry.”
“We’re… professionals,” Lantus hissed, and the entire table of them seemed to relax as though in on a private joke.
None of it made Caro feel any better.
The gladiators forced the conversation after that, which was something Caro didn’t relish partaking in. His feelings about the six men seemed truth enough: they were gruff, barely civilized men who probably took what they wanted whenever the urge struck them. How Grisholt even brought them under his wing with the intention to train them was something Caro would have to ask him about personally. The thought that they might even betray the whole house…
Ballan didn’t return, and Caro knew he’d gone back into the street to carry on with his own work even though they had others watching the alehouse, the Pit, and the southern gate to the city. The food came a short time later, two large platters of roast pork and beef with sliced onions and potatoes heaped on the sides and covered in a brown sauce. A serving maid made two trips with the meal, and Caro saw her face pale at the unwanted attention from the assembled brutes.
“Well, the first good thing I’ve seen all day,” said one.
“You’re a fine-looking thing.”
“What’s under that dress of yours? Shame to hide yourself,” sneered another.
Those that didn’t speak ogled the young woman with lust. When she came back with a platter of fresh fruit, one of the men, an unshaven lout with huge arms, grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his lap with a roar. At once, the hounds around the table let loose with howls of glee. The man, whose biceps were inked with daggers, buried his face into the nape of the woman’s brown, shoulder-length hair while a hand snaked towards a breast.
“Squirmy one,” he hissed.
“I’ll have a squeeze,” said another.
“Open that up,” called a third, pointing at the front of her clothes. The woman screamed.
Caro thumped the table with his shortsword, drawing all attention.
“Let her go,” the agent said to the one with the blades painted on his arms. “Now.”
“Whining, are you? Give a moment.” He resumed his rough search for the buttons on the maid’s shirt.
“Let her go now,” Caro said, rising and bringing his sword to guard in a movement the gathered men recognized.
“You’ve trained with a sword?” Lantus asked.
&
nbsp; “He’ll find out,” Caro promised. “What did I say?”
The table became quiet then, but the insolent smiles remained.
“Let her go, Plakus,” Kurlin finally said, sounding bored.
Plakus did so, throwing the fleshy bear trap of his arms wide and releasing her. He sneered at the standing Caro, not entirely convinced he was truly ready to do anything with his weapon. Sobbing, the serving maid ran from the alcove, leaving only the men to sort things out.
“Either you boys aren’t very smart,” Caro began, “or you’re testing me. Don’t test me again.”
“He was only playing,” soothed Kurlin. “Weren’t you, Plakus?”
“Aye that,” Plakus rumbled. “I’ll play again once you’re out of sight.”
“Who says you’ll be out of my sight?” Caro demanded.
“Then I’ll have to blind you, won’t I?” Plakus countered.
Caro cocked his head, his ire at the brazen words rising. Lantus held out a hand and waved it at the tensed-up Plakus.
“Calm down there, hellpup. Calm down.” Then to Caro, “Boys are in the city for the first time in a while. Won’t happen again. At least, not until the work is done.”
“See to it then,” Caro warned him. “I won’t have another instance like this.”
With that, Caro stabbed the shortsword into a slab of pork and jerked it off the platter. He shook it at them all. “I was one of you once. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how to use a sword. Mind yourselves.”
With that, Caro shucked the pork off his blade and left the fighters to their meal. He showed them his back as he crossed the floor, and when he was halfway across, the alcove behind him erupted in unchecked laughter. His face and ears burned at whatever had been said at his expense. Caro met the barkeep behind his counter while the serving maid was nowhere to be seen. Probably halfway to Marrn now, he thought.
He gave the barkeep five silver coins. “For you, and for the girl.” He handed over a gold piece. “Make sure she gets it.”
With that, Caro turned about and placed his back to the counter, eyeing the feeding frenzy back in the alcove. He kept his sword out, the flat of the blade tapping his leg with each beat of thought. No fouler pack of he-bitches could Grisholt have sent him. The idea struck him that Grisholt might very well be doing a little cleaning himself, ridding the excess flesh from his ranks. It was unfortunate Caro had to be in contact with them. Another exasperated sigh left him, first the episode with Dark Curge and now this.
131 Days [Book 1] Page 43