“My father is a strong man, but he is dying of age and sickness,” said the prince. “In this last, desperate year a new threat has steadily become the worst: Monsters and hellish abominations worse than the one you fought in the arena are leaking out of Blast’s chasms and pits, and they are wreaking havoc on our allies in the Greenwood and Greyfeld. In response, my father… King Larion… had sent me with a message to persuade Dunelord Ymorio, the last and most powerful Sand Strider in this part of Vast, to aid us in our time of need.”
“Fat chance of that. He probably would’ve had you killed if we’d gone with your plan for meeting him,” Gribly commented. Lauro shrugged.
“My father wasn’t a fool. The message asks only that I be guaranteed safe, guarded passage north to the Grymclaw. Nothing more.”
“The Grymclaw…” Dunelord Argoz nodded, lost deep in thought while the two lads spoke together. “King Larion has not entirely forgotten the old beliefs, I see.”
“He has kept the Statutes better than any nymph!” declared the prince hotly.
“I don’t understand,” Gribly interrupted, hoping to stop whatever age-old argument the other two were about to renew. “Why would the southlands king risk his own son to make the journey all the way up eastern Vast, just to make some sort of pilgrimage?” Not the best way to prod, but he hoped it would do. Apparently it did- both Argoz and Lauro calmed down and looked at him seriously.
The wind strider prince answered first.
“There are two reasons I’m making this pilgrimage,” he told the thief. “The first is simple: my father has no one else to send. No one trustworthy can be spared from the border wars except me.” He glanced knowingly at Argoz, seated on the other side of the table. “As to the second reason, I believe our loyal cleric is better suited to answer.”
The nymph didn’t protest. “Though it is not expressly stated in the king’s message, I can think of only one reason the prince would desire to visit the Grymclaw.” He pushed his bushy gray eyebrows into a furrowed “V,” scrutinizing Gribly closely. “You have demonstrated exceptional perception thus far, young one, so I will assume your claims to knowing the Aura are true.”
“Would I lie about something that crazy?” Gribly laughed, suddenly and strangely excited.
“No indeed,” smiled the cleric ruefully. He stood up and backed away from the marble-sand table.
“Wait!” the thief cried, pieces falling together in his mind. “Are you saying the Grymclaw has something to do with the Aura and their Creator?”
“Even better,” burst Lauro, quietly but emphatically. “If the old, secret beliefs are true, it’s where one of the Aura lives.”
Chapter Thirteen: Fighting Legends
“Your plan is crazy... blasted bloody crazy,” Gribly said, shaking his head as he and Lauro wound their way through the dirty crowds of the city's underbelly. They were both dressed similarly to the poor folk around them. This, coupled with the hubbub of noise that enveloped everything here, was sufficient to disguise anything out of the ordinary about themselves or their conversation.
“Then why did you agree to help me?” Lauro asked, grunting with displeasure as a burly butcher in a bloody apron shoved his way between them and was lost in the crowd. The prince was obviously not used to such mistreatment, and Gribly had to stifle a chuckle.
“What, help you on your mad quest past the known limits of the world, to find an ancient imprisoned spirit and use his knowledge to save a kingdom I've never seen in my life? Who wouldn't want to do something like that?”
“You,” Lauro said simply. Gribly led him around a tight corner, where they hopped down into a sunken, cracked pathway that ran between two tall mud-daub buildings. No one followed them, and the way was empty except for two men at the far end.
“Honestly?” Gribly answered, quieter than before. “I'm doing this because you saved my life. And because... well... I have my own questions to answer, just like you.” An awkward silence followed as they neared the end of the alley. Just when Lauro was about to speak again, Gribly interrupted, feeling strangely hesitant for their talk to go any deeper. “Here we are, m'lord,” he said jokingly, stopping a few yards from the end of the pathway.
“Don't-” Lauro began, but something made him stop.
Gribly could imagine what. The two men at the end of the alley were striding towards them, enormous arms bared, hefting clubs the size of small trees. One was tall and broad, the other short and immensely stocky.
“What're yuh here fer, blotching little boy?” the larger of the two brutes asked gruffly, poking his club in Gribly's direction. Lauro gave a start, as if he thought they were about to be assaulted, but Gribly knew better.
“I'm here to see the fights,” Gribly said, grinning widely. The men stepped closer to him, dark sneers on their faces.
“Yuh got th' pay for that?” inquired the shorter man, in a tone that suggested he strongly doubted the likelihood of such a thing.
Gribly simply nodded and produced three shiny gold coins he had acquired courtesy of Dunelord Argoz. “And this is all there is, so don't bother clubbing me, gents... I've nothing more for you to take.”
The piggy eyes of the bouncers bugged out in astonishment, and the smaller one licked his lips. “Got more fer yer friend? He ain't talkin' much.”
“This'll take care of us both, I'm sure,” Lauro said, stepping up beside Gribly. His voice held just a hint of malice. The bouncers looked the companions up and down, eyed Lauro's steady hand where it rested on his sword hilt, and decided a fight was not worth it.
“S'pose it will,” grunted the taller man, reaching for the coins. Gribly tossed the money towards the bouncer, who easily caught all three coins in his huge hand.
“C'mon, Lauro,” Gribly called, striding between the two huge men as if he had not a care in the world. Nervously the prince followed him, and they passed out of the alley into a whole new part of Ymeer. “Even the Dunelord's guards know better than to come down here,” he told Lauro, winking.
The prince was not impressed. He didn't look quite afraid... just grim. Very grim. “Then why are we down here?” he asked in a low voice as they passed several high piles of refuse. A group of rag-clad children, stained with soot and dirt, scampered away from them and hid among the labyrinth of trash heaps.
Gribly frowned as memories of his childhood in places like this came back to him. “You and Argoz want a guide, right? Someone who can take you not only past the mountains of the Spiral, but all the way to the Inkwell? Well, hack it all, this is the best place to find one! Don't argue so much.” The sharp intake of breath beside him warned him to push the proud older lad no further, but Lauro's only response was a rather subdued question.
“But... the fight pits? Why would any kind of guide be in the business of fighting lowlifes?”
As he spoke, Gribly led the way around the burned-out shell of an abandoned slum. There before them was a high palisade of wooden stakes, woven tightly together with cords nearly as thick as the thief's wrist: an impenetrable wall to all weapons and most men.
“Look at this, Lauro,” Gribly answered as he led the Wind Strider parallel to the palisade. “Almost a legitimate fortress within the Dunelord's own domain. There's no better place for someone with the skills we need to hide from the Dunelord's service. You see?!” Towards the end, his voice had to be raised for the other boy to hear him. A thunderous volley of frenzied shouting had suddenly erupted from within the wall. “Quick!” he called over the noise, “the fights must be starting for the night! Let's find an entrance and get in to watch!”
~
Cramped as he was among the hundred or so dirty bodies surrounding one of the smaller fight pits, Gribly couldn't help but grow excited along with every other urchin, slave, and streets-man. The air of this place was foul, but it seeped into one's blood quicker than wine, dulling the senses and quickening the pulse.
This was a place of combat and strife, where the baser instincts of men preva
iled. Try as might not to succumb, Gribly liked watching the fights. It wasn't war... it was sport. He could tell the Lauro felt the same way as he, try to hide it as he might. Glancing to one side, he saw the prince's tightly-drawn face over the head of a short, sour-faced girl who had squeezed between them to watch some minutes before the last duel had ended.
“When'll they start the next fight?” grumbled the girl to herself, pushing her matted mess of auburn hair to one side and shivering. Her clothes were threadbare, and the evening was giving way to a cold desert night. The torches being set up around the edges of each pit weren't enough to warm her. Gribly wondered why she was here- this was certainly no place for a woman of any reputation, much less a girl who looked younger than he was.
“You have something riding on this fight?” Gribly asked her, offhandedly as he could. “If you've bet on Longstrider, you shouldn't even have to watch. I've seen him before- he's likely the best fighter here.”
The girl had ignored him in the beginning, but at his last words she jerked her face upwards at him, eyes wide and face pasty-pale in the dying light. To her side, Lauro finally noticed the conversation and began to watch silently. “Are you sure?” the girl asked, biting her lip.
She'd seemed unhealthy before- now Gribly thought she looked as if she was about to drop dead on the spot. “Pretty sure,” he said, feeling apprehensive.
“Oh Aura,” the girl moaned, turning away from him and hugging herself with skinny arms. The thief saw a glinting tear run down her cheek right before her tangled curtain of hair fell in the way.
“Why, did you bet on Shadow?” Gribly asked, a heavy knot in his throat. “He doesn't stand a chance...” The contestants had been announced at the beginning of the fights, and he had just caught their names as he and Lauro entered the rough-and-tumble interior of the fight pit palisade.
“Not me,” the girl whimpered, “My un... uncle... wh... who I live with...” She was definitely in tears, Gribly could tell... and he thought he knew why.
“What did he bet on this fight?” Lauro asked, interrupting. His voice was strained, and Gribly caught a look in his eyes that told him the prince had guessed the same. Perhaps he wasn't so spoiled after all...
The girl looked up at Lauro fearfully. He obviously intimidated her, and she could barely choke out an answer.
“M... me.”
Suddenly a huge, beefy man with food-encrusted sideburns elbowed his way through the crowd and seized the girl roughly by the arm, dragging her away and cursing.
“Don't ever, ever run off on me again, you hear? Blast you, girl, you little restavek-” but the end of his tirade was cut off as the crowd surrounding the pit began to roar with excitement. The next fight was about to start. Gribly stiffened in shock as the man turned and stormed away, still swearing, the girl stumbling along in his grip, tearful but silent. In seconds they were lost in the press of the crowd. Restavek. Dirty slang for child slave.
The thief met his new friend's eyes as they were thrust together again, the mob instantly pushing to fill the tiny spot the girl had once stood in. Lauro's expression was white... but not with fear.
“Damnable man,” the Wind Strider hissed, enraged, and twisted around with an effort, intending to rescue the girl despite the pressing mass of people. Gribly stopped him with a fist pressed hard against the youth's chest.
“You can't do anything,” the thief said urgently. “This happens every day here, prince,” he snarled, anger at the senselessness of it all making him fiercer than he intended. He felt like crying or fighting, himself, but he knew it was useless. “Nothing can change that. Not a new ruler, not a new city... not a new hero. Nothing. So don't try! We don't even know her name...”
Lauro turned on him angrily, almost shouting over the noise of the crowd. “Then why are we here, Gribly??? Why are we watching any of this???”
“Because we've almost found what we want!” Gribly yelled.
“How?”
“Watch this fight,” the thief answered, right before the shouts of the crowd gave way to utter silence. “The winner is the one who can guide us to the Inkwell.”
Surprised at the sudden halt in noise, Lauro obeyed Gribly and turned to watch the fire-lit fight pit again. The two combatants had already entered, throwing the crowd into a frenzy. Now they were circling each other warily, waiting for an opening to exploit, and the bystanders were deathly silent in anticipation.
Longstrider was a man of prodigious talent and reputation, Gribly knew. Despite his pity for the nameless girl he'd just met, he knew anyone challenging the fighting legend of Ymeer's underworld was as good as dead. He'd actually even met the man once, when, to his utter surprise, the mysterious fighter had appeared in Murie's shop. In fact, Longstrider was the one who had provided Old Murie with her first sphere of healing balm.
This, among other facts, was a the reason for Gribly searching Longstrider out again, after all his years of keeping away from the seediest sides of Ymeer. If anyone could do what Lauro and Argoz needed, it would be Longstrider.
Swallowing down his unease about the slave girl, he forced himself to watch the fight.
Longstrider was a grizzled man of uncertain age. His hair and beard were doused with gray and cut short. His face reminded Gribly of a man aged beyond his years... or an old man who looked younger than his years... or both. He wasn't sure. The man had on great soft, leather boots, baggy pants, and an open, floppy canvas shirt that was cut off at the shoulders. Not exactly war gear, but Gribly knew from experience how many weapons could be hidden in such an outfit.
The only visible weapons Longstrider carried were the knife strapped to his chest, and the curious short staff he held in both hands, which sported a blade at the end. His face was the very mask of calm, but his eyes spat fire at his ill-fated challenger. Gribly didn't know who Shadow was, but one look at the newcomer told him all he needed to know, as the old street-smarts he had once memorized so well at the fight pits gradually came back to him.
The challenger was swathed in black clothing that was both comfortable and concealing. A mask of dark fabric veiled Shadow's face, and he carried a short, curved scimitar in each hand. This appearance, coupled with the dramatic slinking and sword-flourishing Shadow was doing, convinced Gribly that Longstrider's opponent was all show and little skill.
A few more seconds of tense anticipation followed as the two combatants edged slowly nearer, then apart, then nearer again.
Without warning, Shadow lashed out, leaping across the center of the pit with a high-pitched yell, his swinging blades glowing scarlet in the firelight. The crowd roared with applause, curses, shouts, and general mayhem.
Longstrider was there to meet his challenger, knocking the attack away with his pole-blade and swiftly retaliating. The next few seconds were a barely-discernible blur of sparks and shadows, grunts and calls as the two fighters danced the deadly dance of pit duelists. Shadow weaved and slashed, cut and twirled; Longstrider blocked and evaded, swung and stabbed.
In seconds, the veteran had gained the upper hand. Soon Shadow was being pushed steadily back across the open center of the pit, accumulating a number of painful cuts and harsh bruises inflicted by Longstrider's crude poleaxe. During one of his elaborate spinning maneuvers, the masked challenger had been caught across the neck with the haft of his opponent's weapon, ripping the black fabric and exposing a ragged tuft of longish brown hair.
Finally Shadow made a last-ditch lunge at his enemy, but the Longstrider easily knocked first one, then the other scimitar away, climaxing with a swift blow with the butt of the weapon to his opponent's shoulder. Shadow was thrown on his back so forcefully that he somersaulted and flopped over on one side, vainly struggling to rise under the pain of what was probably a broken collarbone. Longstrider was there in a moment, the blade of his weapon held confidently under his downed enemy's chin.
“KILL! KILL! KILL!” screamed the crowd. Gribly shook his head, and met Lauro's angry eye with a sad shrug. That p
oor girl is as good as sold.
Suddenly the cheering, hooting, screaming mob fell silent, and Gribly turned back to the pit. Longstrider had drawn back from his opponent with a look of surprise and confusion on his normally placid face.
The force of Shadow's tumble had shaken the mask down from his face.
Shadow wasn't a he... long, disheveled brown hair tumbled down the back of the black robes, and there was no beard... Shadow was a woman.
“What the... what kind of place is this?” Lauro said, disgusted. The crowd, momentarily stunned, erupted into shouts of bloodthirsty vigor again.
“KILL HER! KILL THE WENCH!”
“Blast!” Gribly snarled. “I forgot how much I hated this place!” Any pit fighter who disobeyed the general whims of the spectators usually fell out of favor, and too many such losses could cost a man his life, down here. What in Vast was wrong with that woman, that she had challenged the leading fighter? Gribly doubted even Longstrider would let her live.
Brother Thief (Song of the Aura, Book One) Page 11