Sea Queen (13 page)

The boy has found courage, strength. Many nights he come to Hus, beaten, bloody. I tell him fight back, show them bikkjas some teeth. He try. I find him half dead in manure. My heart say they would break him, kill spirit. My heart not always right. Somehow he survive. Now, grown, he fights back. Them never seen nothing like him. I laugh when I see them faces in dream world. –Gretzen Spiritbone, 4997.

When Talon was done eating, Torrance showed him to the training room beyond the pits. It was full of a half a dozen Skomm gladiators. Some lifted heavy blocks, while others sparred or practiced handling weapons.

A large Skomm looked over two others grappling in the center of the room. He noticed Talon and scowled.

“Who’s that?” Talon asked.

“That there’s the weapons trainer, Rekkr. In his day, he killed over a hundred men in the arena—even long after he’d won his freedom.”

“Why’s he still working for him?” Talon asked.

Torrance shrugged. “A man’s got to do what he knows, I guess. Besides, he’s paid a percentage of all wins. He’s the wealthiest Skomm on this ship, probably in all of Agora.”

“Get that Draugr out of my Dodja,” Rekkr yelled.

“This here’s Talon Windwalker,” said Torrance.

Rekkr left the men he was overseeing and strode over, towering over Talon. He eyed him up and down, unimpressed and slightly confused. “Is this a joke?”

Torrance laughed. “No joke.”

Rekkr seemed unconvinced and, after staring incredulously for a moment at Torrance, turned to Talon. “I’ll be watching your fight tonight. If you win, we’ll begin training tomorrow.”

“He’ll win, don’t you worry about that,” said Torrance.

Rekkr only scoffed and returned to his fighters.

Torrance told Talon not to take it personally and, after showing him some more of the ship, led him back to his quarters to await the fights.

Talon spent the rest of the day alone.

Finally Grimald came for him and they went to the pits, where McGillus was already waiting. When the captain saw them, he offered a slow nod.

Talon recognized some of the gladiators from the dining hall as well—Argath, Whitewing, and Aegir were there, and a grinning Torrance.

When it came time for his fight, the crier called his name along with his opponent’s. Cannibal, as he was called, wasn’t much taller than Talon, but his shoulders were wide and muscular. His eyes shone with intensity and focus, and the crier said he had won five fights in a row.

Talon felt the now familiar hum of Kyrr’s power and readied himself. The horn blew and he held his ground as Cannibal sprang across the pit in a great leap. When the big Skomm came down with a hammer fist, Talon spun out of range and jumped clear over him, landing on the other side of the pit.

Cannibal collected himself and crouched low, circling.

Talon stayed just out of reach, waiting for a committed attack. When Cannibal finally lunged to grab him, he spun away quickly and punched the giant in the side of the head. Surprisingly, the big fighter moved with the blow.

Before Talon knew what happened, his legs were swept out from under him. He fell to the ground as Cannibal came up out of a low spin and jumped on top of him, biting at his face with gruesomely filed, dagger-like teeth. Talon barely held him at bay, but finally managed to dig his thumb into the monster’s eye, forcing him off.

The crowd was cheering now, but Talon heard nothing. All that existed was the sand, the bloodstained walls of the pit, and his enemy. He scrambled to his feet as Cannibal quickly recovered and resumed his attack.

Talon was knocked to the ground by a fast and powerful spin kick. He hit the sand, ears ringing, and could do nothing to stop the heel stomp to the stomach that followed. Air exploded out of him, and the pit spun as he fought for breath.

Cannibal seemed to believe he’d secured the victory—anyone of that size should have been finished, if not dead—and began walking around, pumping his fists at the crowd. Those who had bet on the wild man did likewise.

Talon staggered to his feet.

Cannibal saw this and, confused, showed a hint of fear. He began to run the circle of the pit, picking up momentum.

This time, rather than try to avoid the man, Talon charged.

They came barreling in at one another, and as Cannibal leapt with a flying knee, Talon slid underneath and kicked him square in the crotch.

Cannibal fell forward, landing on his hands and knees, but quickly recovered yet again. He leapt to his feet, kicked sand in Talon’s eyes, and then tripped him as he staggered around blindly. As the smaller Skomm went down, Cannibal jumped on his back and bit the side of his neck.

Talon screamed out in pain and reached back, ripping a clump of hair from Cannibal’s head, but the crazed fighter was unaffected. Desperate, he swung back blindly and connected. It wasn’t very powerful, but enough for him to slip out of the grip. He quickly rolled to his feet and kicked Cannibal in the ribs, continued with several blows to the head, and finished by slamming his face into the wall repeatedly. When his opponent finally went limp, he let the body slump to the floor.

The sound of the crowd came rushing back to him, and he stared at his bloody gloves in a trance. He heard the count, and the proclamation of his victory, but he couldn’t take his eyes off them.

McGillus stood on his podium, clapping his hands. He whispered something to Grimald and left.

Torrance offered his hand and helped Talon out of the pit. “By Thodin’s harry arse, you just about killed that one! Good figh—”

Talon grabbed Torrance and shook him. “I’m not your godsdamned money maker! Leave me alone!”

He shoved him and started walking away, but a hand caught his shoulder and spun him around.

Grimald regarded him with a stare that dared him to do something.

When Talon breathed deeply and calmed himself, the hooded man looked disappointed and said that McGillus would see him now.

Grimald led him up to the deck. It was nighttime, and dark waters surrounded them. There was no land in sight. The moon illuminated the clouds above, and several lanterns cast an orange glow on the ship and its rigging. The smell of rain was on the wind.

Soon they were standing before McGillus in well-lit quarters. As always, Grimald took his spot by the door.

“Talon Windwalker,” said the captain. He spun his high backed swivel chair from the window. “An impressive showing tonight. I think perhaps you have earned a place in the arena.”

“When can I see Akkeri?” asked Talon.

McGillus laughed and told him to sit.

Slowly, Talon complied. He wanted nothing more than to summon Chief and insist the captain hand over Akkeri, but he knew he could not defeat an entire ship full of gladiators.

McGillus motioned to the glass of whiskey in front of Talon. “Drink, it will help with the pain.”

Talon downed the drink and a fire hit his gut, warming his innards. “Please let me see Akkeri,” he said.

McGillus leaned forward on his elbows and rubbed his beard.

Talon imagined he was debating having him killed. He knew he was pressing his luck, but he couldn’t help it—he had to see her.

“As I said. Once you pay your debt, you will see her. You seem to forget you owe me the lives of seven men. Do not forget again.”

“Yes, Captain,” said Talon, quelling the man’s anger for the time being.

“We land in Hornhollow in a few days. There you will have a chance to pay your debt.”

Talon slept soundly that night. If he dreamt at all, he didn’t remember. After washing up and dressing, he made his way to the mess hall.

Torrance seemed to have been waiting for him. He lit up when he saw Talon and indicated the empty seat beside him.

Talon ignored him and went to get his tray of food. He took a seat at an empty table, and to his frustration, Torrance slid into the seat opposite him. Talon stuffed his face with food, hoping to avoid conversation.

“You ready for the big fight?” Torrance asked, watching him eat.

“Why, you got a lot riding on me?”

“It ain’t like that, I—“

“Dragon shyte! I’m sick of people pretending to be my friend ‘cause they want something from me.”

Torrance looked hurt by the accusation.

He’s acting
, thought Talon, feeling slightly bad for his words.

“Well sure, when I saw you kick Firefang’s arse I said to myself, ‘now there’s a Skomm to bet on,’. But that’s not why I like you. You seem like good people—and there ain’t a lot of them around this ship, if you haven’t noticed.”

Talon wasn’t sure what to believe. He was wary of another ‘friend’ like Tyson.

“Besides,” Torrance went on, “I heard about you from the newest Skomm slaves. They say you defied the Chiefson of Timber Wolf Tribe and disappeared from Volnoss. Some thought you died, others that you escaped. You’re becoming a legend.”

“You want to be my friend?” said Talon, “help me place a bet on myself.”

Torrance bent and glanced from side to side. In a low voice he asked, “How much you have?”

“Around seventy silver.”

“Sure, I can place the bet for you,” said Torrance, “but you mind what I told you—not a word of this to anyone.”

Talon studied him for a moment. Having no other options, he nodded agreement and reached for his coin purse.

Torrance waved him off. “Not here,” he said, looking around. “Too many eyes.”

When Talon had finished his food, Torrance led him down the hall toward the training room. When he was sure no one would see them, he motioned for the money.

Talon handed over the coin purse. “What do you think I’ll get if I win,” he asked.

Torrance pocketed the sack and they continued on to training room. “A shyteload. The odds against you are bound to be high—I’d say at least twenty to one.”

Talon was shocked. “I could make sixty gold if I win?”

“Yeah, but just imagine what someone with McGillus’ fortune would make off you.”

They walked into the training room and found it full.

“Do you understand?” Rekkr was screaming. He apparently had just finished scolding one of the gladiators.

The fighter straightened his back and answered, “Yes, Drengr!”

Rekker noticed Talon and walked over to him purposefully. The former Skomm slave was in his late forties—a big man, nearing seven feet—and his face and arms were covered in old scars. His eyes were that of an animal, watching, always alert and ready.

“You fought well last night. Though your methods were clumsy, your strength and speed are impressive. Welcome to my Dodja.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You will address me as Drengr.”

“Yes, Drengr.”

Rekkr walked a circle around Talon, taking a measure of him. The gladiators had stopped what they were doing to watch the two.

“What are you bikkjas staring at? Back to work!” said Rekkr.

The room became a bustle of activity once more. Rekkr squared on Talon and lifted his chin to inspect his wounds. “You will report to the Dodja every morning by the sixth bell. Understood?”

“Yes, Drengr.”

“Good. Training begins now.”

The boy escaped, but could not run from the evils of man. His soul cries before injustice, heart screams, fists clench. Passion shall find his tongue, blood shall find his blade. – Gretzen Spiritbone, 4983.

All day long, Talon was pushed to his limits. He had hoped Rekkr would show him how to use a sword, but they spent most of the day learning defensive positions and maneuvers.

It was dark outside now, and dinner had ended long ago, but Rekkr’s Dodja had its own food supply. Big barrels of water sat against a wall along with a stockpile of nuts, seeds, fruits, and smoked meat. Talon had not gone hungry. Rekkr had noted that, besides Talon, there were twenty other gladiators in House McGillus.

“In the arena, your opponents will be armored in a variety of ways,” said Rekkr, “but they all possess the same weak points. You hit here, and here.” He indicated the neck and armpits.

“Never face your opponent head on—they will likely be bigger and stronger, and often try to kill you with a single blow. Where they are eager, you will be patient. When they strike you will move and counter—jab quickly and retreat. Agility, Windwalker, is the only way you will survive.”

That night he lay in his hammock in the dark, unable to sleep. So nervous was he about the arena, he decided to summon Chief and have him search the boat for Akkeri. The wolf materialized and Talon signaled him to stay quiet. “We’re on the slave ship boy. I want you to search for Akkeri. You must not be seen.” He bent to one knee and scratched Chief’s ears. “Go on, boy. Find her if you can.”

The wolf turned to mist and disappeared through the back wall.

Talon continued to think of Akkeri as his hammock swayed with the constant motion of the Sea Queen. The possibility that she was somewhere on the ship was maddening. He prayed to the gods that Chief would find her. If she was not on the ship he would have to continue his farce and fight in the arena. What if he died? What would become of her then? He had to free her. Whether she was really on the ship or if McGillus had her stashed away at some other location, he would find her.

And if it turned out McGillus had deceived him, he would kill the man.

When Chief returned an hour later, Talon leapt out of his hammock. “Did you find her, boy?”

The wolf whimpered softly.

Talon’s hope dwindled. McGillus had lied.

Talon awoke to the ringing of the morning bell. The slaver rocked more violently than before, and he found himself swaying precariously in his hammock. With a groan, he untangled himself from its braided ropes and made for the door. Others were rousing for the day as well, and he followed the crowd into the mess hall. After grabbing a tray of boiled ham and bread, he found a seat at Torrance’s table.

Argath offered him a nod. “You ready for the arena, Windwalker?”

“I guess,” Talon said.

“He’s ready, alright,” said Torrance.

Talon ate in silence and then went to see Demoore. He found the old healer rummaging through a large shelf of medicines, ointments and balms.

“Ah, the Windwalker,” said Demoore, “sit.”

Talon did so in the chair beside the bloodstained operating table.

Demoore hummed to himself as he inspected Talon’s eye. “You always been a fast healer?” he asked.

“I guess. Why?”

Demoore checked over his smaller cuts and scrapes. “I was of a mind to suggest to McGillus that you not fight in Hornhollow, but you’re healing surprisingly well.”

Talon wondered if that had something to do with Kyrr.

“How are the ribs,” asked Demoore.

“Sore,” said Talon.

Demoore mumbled to himself and turned to his bench. He began grinding something with mortar and pestle and then poured the ingredients into a mug. After adding several tinctures and powders from the shelf, he stirred vigorously and told Talon to drink.

“What is it?” Talon asked, smelling the concoction.

“Medicine. It will help with the pain and stiffness.”

He drank it down as fast as he could manage—it was terribly bitter. “Is that all,” he asked.

Demoore offered a grunt.

Talon made his way to the Dodja and once again spent the entire day training. The gladiators were excited about the coming competition, and while Talon was apprehensive, he tried not to let it show. These men seemed to know nothing of fear.

Rekkr showed him more maneuvers, as well as counter attacks to be used against everything from swords to axes.

The next morning, after Talon had eaten his fill, he left the mess hall and found Grimald waiting. He was taken topside and told to take his place in the line of gladiators who stood waiting.

The waves were choppy, and a constant wind buffeted the ship from the east. To the south, the coastline and the sprawling city of Hornhollow were visible. He had never seen anything quite like it before. Many lighthouses dotted the coast for miles, with one at the center of the city’s vast harbor. There had to be at least fifty ships, of all sizes, anchored or moored along the long wooden docks.

Even from this great distance, Talon could see the big circular building they called the Arena. Nestled among many smaller buildings, the monstrous structure loomed ominously. Its shadow left much of the city hidden from the light of the morning sun.

Talon stared in awe at the sights.
How many people must live here
, he wondered.
Hundreds, thousands
?

Behind them came the crack of a whip and Talon jumped. One of the other gladiators sneered at him, seeing his reaction to the sound.

The whip cracked again and again, and Talon turned around to see that a metal hatch had been opened. Crewmen were pulling Skomm slaves for the auction up from the hold. Those too slow were being whipped repeatedly.

Talon turned to find Grimald standing right in front of him, scowling from beneath his hood.

Behind him, McGillus came out of his quarters and climbed the stairs up to the quarter deck. He stared down at his fighters.

“Men, feast your eyes upon the Hornhollow Arena! Many of you have fought here before. As you know, House Varner resides in this city—one of the winningest houses of Eldalon. Many other houses will be represented here today as well. They have come to test themselves against House McGillus and its legendary barbarian gladiators. Shall we give them a show?”

The men cheered.

Behind them, the whip cracked again as more slaves were dragged up from the hold. Even from a hundred feet off, Talon could smell the stink wafting up from below. He turned and got another quick glimpse of the Skomm slaves. They looked tired, filthy and starving.

“You are the most feared gladiator house in all of Agora,” said the captain. “On Volnoss, the name Skomm means ‘shamed’. But in the arena, when you stand upon the sand, the name Skomm sends fear through the hearts of men. The name Draugr fills them with dread, and the women with lust. Come, my gladiators. Let’s show these miserable bikkjas what real warriors look like!”

The men clapped and cheered, but Talon heard only the cries of pain from the slaves being readied for auction.

Two rowboats brought the gladiators to the harbor, and another carried their weapons and armor. The Skomm to be sold were transported likewise. When they arrived, the gladiators followed the captain, Rekkr, and Grimald down the docks. McGillus and Grimald stopped when they reached the end, but Rekkr led the gladiators on toward the arena. As Talon passed, the captain stopped him with a raised hand. “You’re with me,” he said.

McGillus led Talon and the slaves through Hornhollow, and took note of his newest gladiator’s awe. “Have you never seen a city so grand?”

“No, Captain.”

McGillus nodded. “It is beautiful, is it not? And wealthy. This peninsula boasts more trade than Volnoss thrice over. The gulf to the southeast runs all the way to the Ky’Dren mountain harbors. This is the first stop for ships heading west around Eldalon. Dwarven gold, jewels, weapons and armor are sold here. It’s also one of the biggest ports for trade between Eldalon and Shierdon, being that the horn extends nearly two-hundred miles north of western Shierdon” He grinned. “Not to mention, it’s a thriving slave market.”

They approached a tall building with a long platform at the front. All around were hundreds of seats for bidders or anyone who wanted to watch the spectacle. The slaves were led around back as the captain stopped to greet a man he recognized.

“McGillus, my friend. I trust your journey to Hornhollow was a pleasant one.”

“Lord Barren, well met. The journey was pleasant—the lady of the ocean has become calm once again,” said McGillus. He was alluding to the Eye of Thodin.

Lord Barren made an exasperated gesture and shook his head. “We barely got the arse end of it here, but still enough to make for a few days’ work repairing the damage. I hear tell Volnoss was hit head on. Gave them barbarians a smart what-for, I bet.” He eyed Talon with a grin. “Who’s this here, Captain, have you taken on a page?”

McGillus laughed. “No, this is one of my gladiators.”

Lord Barren was dumbfounded. He glanced from Talon to McGillus as if waiting for the punchline. Finally he laughed. “If this Skomm here’s a gladiator…then I’m a dwarf’s uncle!”

“Given what I know of your love of the ladies, I’d say that is entirely possible,” said McGillus.

Lord Barren made a slight scowl before bursting into laughter once more “You’re serious about this one, eh?”

The captain nodded with all sincerity. “If you’re smart, you’ll put your money on him against Vlarr.”

“Vlarr!” Lord Barren choked. “This is some joke!”

“No joke, friend. This one here will be a legend.”

Lord Barren was beside himself. He eyed the Skomm runt up and down, as if he must have missed something before.

Talon shifted nervously. All around the platform, men and women began to take their seats.

“I’m…interested to see how your newest fighter fares, Captain,” said Barren. Just then someone called out to him from across the crowd. “You must excuse me, Captain McGillus. There are many here I must speak with. Until next time, my good sir.”

McGillus turned to Talon. “Come, let’s see if the slaves are ready.”

Talon followed the captain to the back of the building with Grimald taking up the rear.

The slaves—men and women alike—were lined up against a wall, naked and screaming. Crewmen were dousing them with buckets of steaming water from a large cauldron and scrubbing them clean with stiff-bristled brushes.

“These here were filthy, Cap’n,” said the crewmen in charge. He snorted and spit in the general direction of the slaves. “The hold is gettin’ pretty bad. Should probably clean it out good before we set sail. We got too many down there, I’m thinkin’.”

“I expect it done by the time we leave tomorrow,” said McGillus.

“Yes, Cap’n,” he said, and began screaming at the Skomm slaves.

McGillus turned to Talon. “Let’s take our seats. This stench is abhorrent.”

Talon’s gaze lingered on a Skomm women being held upright by her hair to be scrubbed. Her eyes met his, pleading.

Grimald pushed him from behind. “Move, boy.”

Anger rose in Talon and he glared at Grimald.

The man was unwavering. A sneer spread across his face as he rested a hand on his sword hilt.

Not here, not now,
Talon told himself, and followed McGillus to the seating area. A number of chairs had been reserved for the captain and his party. McGillus nodded to those around him. They all wore expensive looking suits and puffy, flower-like dresses. Talon had seen enough of Shierdonian villagers to know these people were likely nobles. Their fine clothes, shiny leather boots, and jewelry set them apart from regular folk.

A crier stood atop the podium and greeted the crowd, his jowls shaking with every word. He commented on the weather, the lovely assortment of ladies in the crowd, and made a bad joke before commencing the auction.

The first slave was brought out; a six and a half foot Skomm woman in a brown burlap dress. She stared out over the crowd with fear in her eyes as her future was decided. After a few bids, she was sold and led off the platform.

McGillus leaned in toward Talon. “Five is a good price for the first purchase. It should be a profitable day.”

Talon only nodded, knowing the captain was gauging his reaction. He hid his true feelings at the spectacle and took on a demeanor of cold indifference.

McGillus continued with a sly grin. “I pay the Chiefs of Volnoss one, maybe two gold per slave. The fools think they’re making a killing off these animals.”

A stocky Skomm was sold for seven gold and replaced by a giant of a man—Firefang. He found Talon in the crowd and glared at him with blackened eyes.

Talon was relieved when he was finally sold for fifteen gold and taken off stage. McGillus slapped his knee and nodded to the man who made the final bid.

“That was Firefang…the man I beat the other night,” said Talon.