Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel (27 page)

Dante and Prince Loyl said nothing, letting
the news sink in.

“What do we do now?” Lindsey asked.

“This is a slave ship,” Loyl said. “We can’t
just knock on the door and make an inquiry.”

“I say we don’t knock,” Dante replied. “We
climb aboard late at night and pay the good captain a surprise
visit.”

So, they kept the ship in sight and waited
until nightfall. While Lindsey held the rowboat steady by sculling,
Loyl deftly climbed up the side of the ship by hooking the wood
with claws. When he got to the top, he tossed down a rope for
Dante.

“Careful,” Lindsey whispered.

Under the nose of the ship’s heavy security,
Dante and Loyl broke into the cabin where the captain lay snoring.
Loyl stuck an arrow into his left nostril, while Dante held him
down. In less than a minute, they learned that Lars and Josie had
been sold to a Commoner called Mr. Bayloo.

“Mr. Bayloo of the Bayloo Theater Company?”
Dante asked.

The captain nodded.

Dante had caught the theater company’s show a
couple of times. Even though everybody knew the actors weren’t just
acting, Dante had never questioned that they were willing
participants until now. When through with the captain, Dante tied
and gagged him, then returned to the rowboat with Loyl. Within a
few days, they were docking at the port of Tectonia, where the
captain’s story was confirmed.

Loyl had spotted a poster on the wall of a
saloon. The missing pair’s likeness was drawn intertwined in a sexy
embrace.
Want to catch a glimpse of the mysterious newcomers in
action?
the advertisement read,
Come see the Dread of the
West and the Bitch of Galatia battle it out in the arena!

“Holy crap!” Lindsey’s eyes bugged out. “It’s
them!”

..............................

(Dante Armstrong)

Prince Loyl took advantage of the status quo
to secure seats for the show, but he sat in the area for important
people, where he schmoozed with other royalty, while Dante and
Lindsey were regulated to the common area. Rolf was situated on the
opposite side of the bleachers with Josie’s father. Even though the
weather was a balmy 60 F according to Lindsey’s electronic reader,
Dante’s teeth were chattering at the thought of seeing Josie in the
arena again. Sweet mother of mercy, his teenaged sister-in-law had
become a lauded killer. Would she even want to be rescued?

Oh, god, how embarrassing.
The Bitch of
Galatia
had just come out, wearing tons of makeup and a cocky
grin on her face, but very little everywhere else. Only the golden
cord around her wrist confirmed her identity. She carried a net and
an iron metal trident. A thick black ponytail came out of the top
of her golden helmet.

“That’s Josie all right,” Lindsey said. “I’d
recognize the haughty glare a mile away. Could she wear her makeup
any thicker? And what’s with the metal bra? It looks like something
out of a sex and bondage magazine.”

“Quiet,” he said. “That’s my sister you’re
talking about.”

“You mean sister-
in-law.
”

“She’ll always be little sis to me.” He
watched her toss her sword in the air and deftly catch it. “Whoa,
where’d she learn to do that?”

During a show two days ago, Dante had watched
her disembowel a Commoner. A second later she sent a Sleestak
look-alike to its death by throwing a dagger into his throat. She
fought so methodically, so coldly, it was like watching the
Terminator at work. It had taken him the last forty-eight hours to
process that the Bitch of Galatia and Josie were the same
person.

According to today’s roster, Josie would
fight solo for act two. Lars would fight solo for act eight. The
fifteenth act was the last of the show and the two of them would
team up against an unnamed opponent.

“I am glad Josie doesn’t hate me anymore,”
Lindsey said through a mouth full of popcorn, bringing Dante’s
thoughts back to the present. “She’s kind of scary now.” Even
though Dante thought Lindsey was generally annoying, after seeing
her lingering near death for so long, it was nice to see her energy
level returning. “I thought my popcorn days were over when we came
forward to the future. Hey, Dante, be a sport and snag me another
bag.”

Rolling his eyes, he held his breath when the
battle started. A Bulwark charged at the Bitch of Galatia, horns
down. Dante flinched, and his hand went to the hilt of his sword,
the urge to spring to her rescue was so strong. He needn’t have
worried: Josie leapt, twisting in midair over the Bulwark to land
squarely behind him. Her dagger found the base of his neck. Down he
went. The crowd cheered, but Dante felt ill.

“Any third year gymnast can do that,” Lindsey
said. “I mean the tumbling part, not the stabbing, which would be a
full point deduction, I’m sure. Oh, look!” She pointed to the main
entrance where Prince Loyl made his graceful way up the bleachers
into the main box with Mr. Bayloo. “The lucky dog,” she said,
narrowing her eyes menacingly at the squad leader. “Did you see
that? The serving wench just handed him a sandwich and a glass of
wine. I wonder if he has to pay for it. I bet not. The food is
probably complimentary if you’re a big wig.”

“Being a prince has its perks.”

“The richer you are, the more free stuff you
get. It’s just not fair.”

As Lindsey complained about the injustice in
the world, Dante was sweating under his cloak and hood. He hadn’t
expected there to be so many soldiers in the crowd. This plan could
blow up in all of their faces. He took out a photo secured in a
sandwich bag. It was of Jo, Nick, Shasta and himself sitting in
front of the Christmas tree in their pod a few months before the
earthquake. That had been a wonderful day filled with family and
close friends. His bright-eyed babies had torn into their gifts and
spent the rest of the day bouncing around, so full of joy had they
been. Sam Harvey had snapped the picture. So much had changed.
Where had the time gone? Would he ever see his loved ones
again?

“I’d kill for a soda right now,” Lindsey
said. “But this stupid world hasn’t bothered to reinvent it
yet.”

“What I do for Galatia,” he whispered like a
prayer as he gazed at the fading images of his family, “I do for
you.” Kissing the photo, he tucked it safely back into his army
jacket.

Then it was Lars Steelsun’s turn on the
stage.

A pack of necodens, also known as
kill
tooths,
had been held in an igloo-shaped cage off to the side
of the arena; a few of them had turned on each other during the
show. As big as grizzlies, but more wolf-like in appearance, the
Kill Tooths were known for taking down huge prey, though these
looked thin and ragged. Probably starved for days, they went nuts
at the sight of a lone man with only a shield and sword to defend
himself—Lars.

The doors to the cage was released.

With nowhere to go, and no chance at
outrunning the animals, Lars scrambled up the side of the igloo
cage. Three Kill Tooths crawled back into the cage, trying to snap
at him from underneath. Lars threaded his sword through the slats
and killed them without much effort. Three down, six to go.

One of the Kill Tooths figured out how to
climb up the cage.

Trapped, the end seemed certain for Lars,
until he leapt onto the largest Kill Tooth’s back. The animal ran
in circles like a gigantic dog chasing its own tail, trying to bite
him. Lars ran his blade through the back of its neck. Popcorn flew
everywhere when Lindsey jumped to her feet with excitement,
whooping and hollering as if Lars had made the winning
touchdown.

The Kill Tooth skidded headfirst across the
ground. The other members of the pack leapt over the body of their
dead companion to get at Lars, who sliced them in the belly while
they were helplessly airborne.

Guts spilled on the ground, leaving the crowd
gasping and erupting with cheers.

“Dread, Dread, Dread,” the people
chanted.

Despite the situation, and his growing
anxiety levels, an electric thrill passed through Dante. The kid
was so good itfilled him with national pride.

“For Galatia,” Lars hollered at the
crowd.

A boo went through the crowd, which made Lars
frown, give them a rude gesture with his fist, and hold his sword
higher. He somersaulted off of the pile, sauntering back to the
exit.

“Wow,” Lindsey gushed. “Look at the nice arms
on him. I never realized Lars Steelsun would grow up to be such a
hottie. Six more acts,” Lindsey said, glancing at the gate where
the fighters entered. “And then it’s lock and load.”

(Larsen Drey Steelsun)

Lars returned to the backstage area where he
sat down on a stool and doused himself in buckets of water. Another
slave polished his armor for the final act. Slaughterhouse massaged
his shoulders, making him feel like a prize fighter about to enter
the ring.

“You want to look your best when the devil
comes for you,” Slaughterhouse mocked. “Can’t say it’s been nice to
know ya, but at least it was educational.”

If it wasn’t for Josie dying with him, he
could accept his fate. Almost. Although he still planned to take
Josie by the hand and make a break into the bleachers, the chance
of success was small. If only it weren’t for his family back home,
the kids he used to babysit. They were all counting on the Blood
Map, but the chance of finding it had slipped down the mountainside
on that fateful day not so long ago. His life had been a complete
and utter failure.

Crashing Thunder returned from the arena
splattered with blood, wearing his usual dopey, fish-eyed grin.

“That is the biggest crowd ever,” Crash said,
taking off his helmet and tucking it under his arm. “I’ve never
seen them so worked up.”

“Good luck in the next world, Dread,” one of
his cellmates called out to him.

“Save me a warm spot in hell,” someone else
said.

Crash pulled him into a hug.

“When you swim that great ocean in the sky,
tell my dearly departed mama that I love her, will ya?”

“Sure, Crash,” Lars said.

A few minutes later, stagehands brought in a
dead Commoner on a stretcher. His lifeless leg dragged along the
ground, leaving a trail in the dusty floor. As Lars was fighting a
sense of rising panic, Josie came into the staging area wearing a
dazzling costume.

Her coverings were woefully inadequate as
armor, but he had to admit that she looked stunning. Breast plates
made of gold covered a black leather bra, which pushed her real
breasts into two luscious white mounds. Thigh-high black leather
boots with spiked high heels added two or three inches to the
length of her legs. Ridiculous for fighting, but sexy.

Bronze powder with sparkles coated her
skin.

Thick mascara and heavy black eyeliner made
her cornflower-blue eyes totally pop. Long strands of black thread,
woven with blue ribbons and red roses, flowed from the top of the
helmet, making her black ponytail look long and thick.

Josie was a rare blue rose blooming in a dead
garden.

Unable to speak, he offered her his elbow,
and Josie hooked her arm into his. The slightest tremble came from
her body, but the emotion wafting from her psyche was stoic
determination. As his charisma latched onto her courage, he felt
his own strengthen. Tossing their noses into the air, they entered
the stage together playing the part of arrogant champions, sure of
their upcoming victory.

The arena was set up like an obstacle course.
Cargo nets were suspended over spikes driven pointed side up into
the ground, rope swings dangled over tar pits, sandbag barriers
were set up downwind of archery towers. A large ball-shaped
predator with blood-red wings, long bird legs, and the muzzle of an
alligator, was straining on its chains, snapping at the air with
its jaws.

“Flying creatures are the worst,” Josie said.
“I’ll distract it, while you take off its wings.”

Applause thundered as they did the customary
reigning-champion stroll around the stage to the march of drums and
the blare of trumpets. When they stopped in the center, Josie put
her weight on her hip and plastered a sexy scowl across her painted
red lips, while Lars remained passively stone-faced.

Mr. Bayloo stood on his perch to address the
crowd. “The Galatians have pitted their skills against creatures
great and small, but the real question is this: how will they fare
against the best soldiers of the Western Alliance?”

The gate opposite the one Lars and Josie had
just left started to open. Which meant the winged orb wasn’t going
to be their only opponent. Not knowing what lurked behind the door,
waiting to tear off their heads, was the scariest part.

Josie’s hand tightened on Lars’s forearm as
his mouth went dry.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this act is different
from anything you have seen today. At the request of the Western
Alliance, the Dread of the West and the Bitch of Galatian will pit
their skills against trained soldiers, the best the four major
races have to offer.”

Lars could only see his foes’ silhouettes.
They weren’t shaped like beast or monsters—they were humanoids.
They entered in formation six at a time.

First came Commoners dressed in navy blue
military uniforms. Sabers hung at their sides.

“The Galatians will face six soldiers from
King Elrod’s Royal Guard,” Bayloo’s voice echoed through the
arena.

“Shit,” he heard Josie say.

Then six Bulwarks, pounding metal hammers
into their palms, entered with their horns heavily decorated with
boasting rings. Antlered Deermas trotted in next, brandishing their
sharpened racks at the crowd. Last, a dozen Regalans came out with
bows slung across their shoulders. They climbed the cargo nets with
ease to take their posts along the fence like snipers waiting to
kill anything that moved.