by M. Walsh
He didn’t finish either. She struck with a thrusting kick that hit him square in his chest. He gasped and clutched at his heart with bulging eyes. Once he caught his breath, his face turned to anger and he lunged at her with both hands.
Katrina sidestepped him and kicked his knee. He crumbled to the floor, and she followed with a stiff jab to the back of his head. Holding his right arm flat, she drove her knee down and shattered it. He let out a bellow of pain and offered no resistance as she did the same to his other arm. She would’ve broken his legs, but his plea for mercy stopped her.
The crowd was on their feet. They cheered, clapped, and stomped. Katrina heard some trying to chant for her, but only a few remembered she was announced as Rien. Others dubbed her with titles like Lady, Raven-hair, and Stripe. She guessed the last one was on account of the white streak in her hair.
Before more fighters could be called out, she returned her attention to Carmine’s private box. She’d been trained by Eldér warriors—taught to push her body further than natural when needed. When she was younger, she could easily make the jump. But that was a long time ago—before the wandering, drinking, and smoking.
She was pretty sure she could still make it. If not, she thought, she’d look very foolish and leave herself vulnerable to get killed.
Carmine looked pleased. He clapped his hands and motioned for someone to come. Katrina thought he was summoning more fighters, but the two guards who escorted her from the dungeon appeared instead. They took her by her arms and meant to take her back to her cell.
Within seconds, they were both writhing on the floor with broken limbs and bloodied faces. This only inspired more frenzied cheering from the crowd.
There was a flicker of worry on Carmine’s face, but he covered it with bravado. He stood and shouted, “Incredible! Truly incredible! It seems we have a true warrior in our midst!” He looked down on her with a pleased smile, as if he’d discovered a great prize. “I don’t think I’ve seen a fighter of this skill since the Last Vigorian!”
To Katrina, the world seemed to stop, and his words echoed in her mind: Last Vigorian. There was a moment she didn’t believe he said it—that maybe she misheard him. Or maybe that didn’t mean what she thought it did.
But the pieces fit—a slaver outpost that kidnaps drifters, the forced pit fighting, Jagger’s trail going cold … and now someone Carmine referred to as the Last Vigorian.
She took a running start, putting all her energy and focus in her legs and leapt out of the fighting pit. She made the jump and landed in the balcony with feet to spare—feeling a strain in her lungs that made her want to start coughing, and she’d be damned if her calves weren’t going to ache for the next few days.
Carmine stumbled backward and fell to the floor. His bodyguards—seeing how handily she beat the others and leapt ten feet into the air—thought better of it and fled. The crowd stomped their feet, and those standing just outside the pit were shaking the cage.
Grabbing Carmine by his collar, Katrina said, “The Last Vigorian. Who was that?”
“Wuh-what..?”
She head-butted him. His nose started bleeding, while his eyes filled up with tears.
“The Last Vigorian,” she repeated. “Who was it?”
“I—I,” he stammered, his voice becoming high and nasally. “I don’t know what you’re—”
She pressed her thumb against his broken nose. He squealed in pain.
“We found him four—er—maybe five years ago,” he said, his eyes tearing. “He was just a drifter. We—we picked him up and put him in the cage, but—but he was too good …”
“His name.”
“He—he refused to give it. All we knew was he was supposed to be a survivor from Vigor. H-honestly, we didn’t even really believe that. But I—I thought advertising him as the Last Vigorian would be a way to attract a crowd.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know,” Carmine whined. “I told you. He was—he was too good. We sent him to the pits in Seba. For Jonathon Gash. He runs it all! I swear …”
The entire arena was shaking. The crowd chanted Kill! Kill! Kill! She sneered in disgust. These people didn’t care who died as long as someone did. These degenerates who kidnapped the man she loved and forced him—among countless others—to fight for his life for their entertainment. And who tried to do the same to her.
Through the chanting, she heard the sound of footsteps. The guards had gotten reinforcements. She looked at Carmine, who also heard the approaching guards, and saw a glint of triumph in his eyes.
“Dumb bitch,” he said. “You ain’t getting out of here. And when my boys are done with you, I ain’t bothering with the arena. I’ll make a—”
Katrina could’ve done any number of things then. The idea of letting him live never occurred to her. The simplest thing would’ve been to snap his neck, but she thought that was too quick. She wanted Carmine to know she murdered him before he died.
She thrust her fingers into his throat, twisted, and tore out a chunk of his flesh. Carmine gasped in horror as blood spewed from the hole in his neck. She then tossed him into the pit, and he hit the floor gagging.
The arena went silent as Dean Carmine choked his last breaths. It seemed, as much as the spectators wanted to see death, they never thought they would witness the town’s leader murdered in front of them. After a brief pause when Carmine stopped moving, the fighting pit erupted into chaos.
Katrina turned her attention to the private box’s door and braced herself. The coldness came to her. She was unarmed and outnumbered, but that didn’t matter. She was determined to escape this place. If she had to go through a legion of slave traders with her bare hands, she was ready to do it. If she had to burn Gain itself to the ground …
The door opened, but no guards were there to greet her. Instead, she found a grinning Scifer Olc.
“I knew you’d be fun.”
* * *
Krutch was escorted out of Clock’s tower by Vident, who didn’t say a word. Once he was back in Mannix Square, the drawbridge rose behind him and locked in place with a thunderous clank. He looked up at the tower, imagining people trying to sleep in that place, and felt a chill.
It was late, and the Square was deserted. Although he nursed his one drink the entire night, he felt mentally drained. He hadn’t been in Seba for even a week, and he felt like he was bombarded with names and people—all making cryptic speeches and watching what he would do.
He reflected on the card game and everything he’d observed. He considered his options and what he should do next. He was so caught up in his thoughts, he turned west toward Arkady’s loft on Fink Street—forgetting he, Audra, and Arkady had rented a hotel room in the eastern part of Seba the other day.
In his few years bungling around as a would-be pirate, Krutch had interacted with his share of unsavory people. Ruthless men and women who would just as quick cut someone’s throat than give up their money. That past fall, he had found himself contending with an actual sorcerer who utilized demons to do his bidding. He knew there was plenty of corruption in the world that favored the powerful over the weak.
But, as far as he could remember, he’d never witnessed such a gathering of loathsome men before tonight.
He thought of Vel-Etta bullying Gojhi Olgorn for sport. Jonathon Gash—with his beady eyes, unnatural looking skin, and hideous grin—scheming and conniving while profiting off the people in the Three Sons. Vincent Dune and his brutal form of law enforcement. Harrison Elliot, the supposed Magistrate, keeping his head down and allowing this to go on.
There was the rat-faced guy, he thought. I’m sure he’s a jerk, too.
And most of all, Sebastian Clock—imposing his will over everyone, never for one moment letting anyone forget who was in charge, and trying so hard to intimidate or impress him.
Seba was indeed a city where the worst of the worst gathered, and Krutch no longer had a doubt in his mind: he did not like any of these people
and he would gladly wreck their entire foul operation.
He suspected Audra would approve.
Taking advantage of his reputation no longer seemed like a vague ambition. He wanted to overthrow these people. He was hesitant to think he could rule Seba himself, but disrupting the machine and throwing smug bastards like Clock and Gash for a loop had a strong appeal.
It didn’t seem so unrealistic a goal. His curse had done much of the work for him. Without trying, he was at the center of everyone’s attention, and they all regarded him as a man to respect and fear. He could play them off one another. Maybe find out what the Tombs were and exploit that. If he could get more shells for his gun, he’d be golden.
Turning the corner at Fink Street, Krutch fantasized getting one-up on Clock or Gash with a smile. That he, the phony pirate, could tear these ruthless and corrupt men from their positions of power. For all the stories “they” say about him, that would be one he’d be proud to have attached to his name.
Just need to play it smart, he thought. Play along until the right time.
Approaching Arkady’s loft, he remembered Clock invited him for lunch in his mansion later that week. He said Audra was welcome to come along to his place in …
“Ah, crumbs!”
Clock’s mansion was in Oasis Slope, the wealthy part of Seba which was the opposite side of town. It was also where Krutch, Audra, and Arkady had rented their new place. He grumbled, realizing he went the wrong way.
Shaking his head, he turned around only to find three men standing before him. That until this moment Seba’s streets had been mostly deserted was worrying enough, but the grins on their faces and clubs in their hands made their intentions clear without saying a word.
“Double crumbs.”
* * *
Between Katrina’s antics and Carmine’s death, the pit fighters realized they were no longer bidden to any master. They overwhelmed whoever was left guarding them, tore down the cage, and started rioting. The audience—already in frenzy from booze, the fights, and seeing their leader murdered—rioted back.
At the moment, though, Katrina didn’t notice. She only stared at the strange man before her. Scifer stood at the door, her black-bladed sabre in hand, looking pleased with himself and life in general. With a smile, he held it out to her.
All she could say was: “You.”
“Me,” he replied.
“What are you doing..?”
“I’d think that was obvious,” he said, waving her sword. “I believe this is yours.”
She took the sword, still uncertain why he was helping her. The door to the private box kicked open and more guards tried to pile in. Unfortunately for them, they bottlenecked themselves and all she and Scifer needed to do was let them come.
He dispatched the first three with his pair of bladed tonfas. Another two got past him, but Katrina cut them down just as quickly. With five men dead within seconds, two of the remaining three gave up and fled.
The last guard had a braver look and seemed confident he could handle her. Neither would find out. Before he could muster any attack, Scifer cut open his throat and, in a fluid motion, plunged the tonfas into his back.
Meanwhile, madness consumed the arena. Pit fighters were revolting, and people in the audience fought amongst themselves. A fire started and the smell of smoke filled the air. If any guards remained, they either gave up and joined the chaos, or fled. By the look of it, the fighting was spilling outside.
“I think this place is about done,” said Scifer. “Shall we..?”
Katrina didn’t hear. Blood pooled at her feet, and the shouting and yelling turned to static in her ears. She’d been so focused on Jagger and escape panic didn’t have a chance to take hold. But reality was catching up to her, and she was close to freezing. Her grip on her sword came loose, and it almost dropped to the floor.
Scifer took her hand and held the sabre in place. “That’s a part of you,” he said. “There’s only one way out and only one way through it.” Before she could respond, he stepped over the bodies and out the door. He then gestured her to follow with a pleasant smile on his face. “They’re just slavers anyway.”
Katrina followed him outside, only to find the violence was spreading through Gain. The fighting was concentrated in front of the arena, but people were soon marching down the street and breaking everything in sight.
Slaves, inspired by the escaping gladiators, used the chance for rebellion and revenge, but Katrina couldn’t tell them from their captors. Slavers fought slavers. Some slaves were killing each other. Gain’s main street had become a battleground and everyone—slave and slaver alike—was settling scores and rioting.
Scifer charged into the fray with an eager grin. He moved quickly and efficiently, making use of his choice of weapons with slashes and jabs.
Katrina hesitated, still at a loss. She shut her eyes, trying to tune out the fire and screaming, but her chest tightened and she feared a panic attack was coming. She felt like she was back in Daredin’s tower and …
Let them burn.
For a moment, it seemed as though the world muted. In that silence, the thought came to her as clear as day. She opened her eyes and looked at what was happening throughout Gain again.
Taverns were torn apart. One of the brothels was in flames and more fires were starting. Men and women were dragged into the street and killed. Some were storming Carmine’s house.
Scifer was right. This place was a hole for degenerates. It had proven that several times in her brief time there and was proving it again right in front of her. The gods only knew how many innocent people had been kidnapped and forced into slavery long before they tried to do the same with her. For all she knew, Jagger had been one of them.
“To hell with them,” she hissed, feeling the coldness return. Her grip on her sword tightened and several months of pent up anger bubbled to the surface. “Fuck them all.”
At first, she only attacked those who came at her. There seemed to be no motivation for anybody. Men charged at her simply because she was there, and she cut them down just as quickly. Some she recognized from the arena. Some were escaping slaves—apparently feeling no gratitude for her murdering Carmine.
She cut them down all the same.
Scifer Olc killed all who approached him. Soon Katrina was doing the same. The smell of smoke was everywhere, and the evening took an ominous orange and brown glow as they unleashed hell upon the rioting people of Gain.
When the chaos died down, all that remained in the street was Katrina, Scifer, and a sea of bodies. Some wounded survivors were moaning and writhing in the dirt. Those wise enough to escape as soon as the fighting started were long gone. The arena, Carmine’s house, a few taverns, and a brothel were smoldering in flames.
Katrina steadied her breathing. Her heart slowed and adrenaline subsided. She looked at her sword and the blood dripping down its black blade and almost couldn’t believe it.
She waited, but felt no hint of panic even though she thought she should. She felt nothing, and that troubled her more.
“Today was certainly entertaining.”
She turned to find Scifer, looking chipper despite the massacre and fires, light a cigarette. He acknowledged her with a smile and nod as she tried to make sense of the strange, scar-faced man who had helped her twice now.
“Why are you helping me?” she asked. “Who are you?”
“No one of importance,” he said. “Just me.”
“A bartender said you were a mercenary.”
“Is that what he said?”
“Would you give me a straight answer! What do you want from me?”
He looked at her with his gray eyes and sighed. He seemed more amused by her frustration than anything else. “Who said I wanted anything?” he replied. “I just find you interesting.”
Katrina shuddered and pressed her face into her palm. The craving for a drink hit, and all she wanted at that moment—despite the dead bodies littering the street—
was to find a bottle and hide in some secret, dark place.
“So,” said Scifer. “On to Seba, yes..?”
She pushed it aside and swallowed with an audible click. She focused on Jagger—only Jagger. The pieces and timing fit—he might be the Last Vigorian that Carmine talked about. If he was, then he was sent to Seba some time ago. He was out there, and he needed her.
She clutched onto that and held tight. That was what mattered. She did what she had to in order to find Jagger, and she would continue do anything necessary to find him.
I’ll find you, baby. Please be out there. Please … wait for me.
Part III
Albatross
24
Despite the aches and pains, Krutch awoke the next morning from the best sleep he’d had in perhaps years. He was lying on a large and comfortable bed, wrapped in silk covers. The chamber was a luxurious room of gold with curtained windows and fine carpeting. A cooler mage must’ve worked his magic, because he felt comfortable under the covers.
It was a nice change of pace, but experience told him there was going to be some horrible catch for this. He’d only been in Seba a few days, and he already ran a gamut of meeting strange and/or threatening people in stranger locations.
I wonder who I’ll be meeting today, he thought, deciding to savor the quiet time in bed while it lasted.
He relaxed for another hour before the doors to his chamber opened and in walked a man with wide shoulders and a massive chest. He was young, tall, very handsome, and well dressed. Without saying a word, he strode to the curtains and let the beaming sun shine in, making the chamber glow
“Good day, Mr. Leeroy. My name is Hanselton,” the man said, his deep voice sounding incongruous with his polite tone and choice of words. “A bath has been drawn for you, and the servants shall see to it you are cleaned and groomed. Lunch will be at noon.”
Krutch sat in silence for what felt like a long time. Hanselton waited, looking poised and prim, with his hands behind his back. Finally, lacking anything better to say, he muttered, “What..?”