ã€ŠKing on The Sands One: BloodRockã€‹


 Chapter One: Take a few to the Tower

    Part One

    The Beast of BloodRock

    Chapter 1

    Take a few to the tower

    I spin about my eyes wildly looking for assistance. Of course, there is none. The miniature sparring pits are empty, the heavy lifting stones stacked in their pile, the training armour unworn, the running track quiet. For once the BloodRock training yard is empty. I curse myself. I had wanted the place to be empty. Wanted to be alone. It was empty. But I''m not alone.

    They had crept up on me while I  was drilling with the little stabby shortswords they like up in Near Mantys. I hate the weapon, I''m terrible with it. Hence why I wanted to practice alone.

    I swear at myself for not noticing earlier. it''s not like they had places to hide. The group had just walked over while I was concentrating on the movement of my body with the unfamiliar weapon. I should have smelled the scent of weapon oil and their own nervous sweat. Should have heard something, Should have moved so they couldn¡¯t form a ring around me.

    Four other BloodRock boys. Two youth teams. I recognised them all immediately of course.  Kalon and Morean, backed up by their partners Tota and Task. ¡°What''s this?¡± I grunt, annoyed that nerves are audible in my voice. In spite of what I said I know what this is. They are here to hurt me badly enough that I get dumped in the tower for a few weeks.

    This seems to happen every few months. One human boy or another will bring whatever friends he has, and they will attack me as a group. Often wounding me bad enough that I can''t walk let alone practice for weeks at a time.

    "I''m here to challenge you," says Kalon, his voice seeming weird. Higher pitched than usual. I knew he was going to say that. Challenges happen all the time between the youth pit slaves. But they are one on one. Short fights to settle minor disputes or just respect. If you won lots of challenges the other kids would defer to you, stay out of your way. Get you things.

    ...Well they don''t get me things, but they do usually stay out of my way.

    This isn''t a challenge. Not really and  We both know it. But if I say no the story that I was too scared will spread around, doesn''t matter that it was four-on-one. No one will hear about that detail. Just that North finally turned down a challenge. That he''s slipping. I''d end up fighting some kid every four days. So just like every other time, I will agree, and this ritualistic farce can begin. I hope I can put at least two of them in the tower with me.

    As my nerves rise something else comes with them.  My laugh. The nasty little snicker that always plagues me when I''m at my most anxious.

    I try to hold it back but the obnoxious laugh forces its way past my lips anyway. It''s embarrassing not having control of myself like that, especially when I''m trying to project a dangerous image. I feel my face heat up.

    My brain goes blank thinking only of the embarrassment. I had been hoping for something more clever, more cutting. But all I manage to get out is "Yeah? Good."  Before quickly looking amongst the group as I don''t want to meet Kalon''s eyes, certain he can see the embarrassment on my features.

    We are all dressed the same. Linen pants and¡­that''s it.

    Kalon and Morean are human broad for their age and species.   Morean has strange veins of marble running through his dark skin, and a pair of horns like little stalactites jut from his forehead. Touched by the elements, a blessing, not a curse. Not like the other two backing them up.

    Not like me.

    No one really knows for sure how the cursed end up that way. Something happens while we are still in our mothers.  Magic I guess. But we come out with some of our humanity replaced with animal¡­ness.  Among us Pitt slaves it''s never a subtle curse. Never a mild warping of features. The human-looking ones of us get better jobs than hitting each other with sharpened metal.

    None of us three could ever be mistaken for humans. I''ve never seen the actual animal but Tota¡¯s back and arms are covered in weird bone spines that he can point up or down at will.  Unlucky for him he doesn¡¯t even have hair. Just spines.

    Task on the other hand is covered in thick black fur. He has huge claws on his hands and feet. I don''t what that animal is either, but his face is a lot pointier than a human''s

    My curse is something called a Hyena. I think it''s like a dog. Except people like dogs. Either way, my curse is strong. You can see it in the main running from my head halfway down my back, from my broad ugly face, my patchy fur,  or the stupid way my knees bend.

    Even  My feet are like a dog''s. Padded, and claw-tipped.  But they are tiny things compared to the Task''s blade feet.

    The weapon the curse gave me is my bite. My mouth resembles nothing so much as a pit of spears. All jagged and different sizes. Propelled by a jaw and neck that is thick with muscle.  I''ve been able to bite through bone since I was a little kid. BloodRock used to have me do it as a party trick.

    I''m proud of my bite.

    At the sight of the boys, I feel my hatred stoke like a furnace inside me. Even just the sight of these boys is enough to ignite it.

    I hate Kalon for the way he talks to me and How normal he looks. Kalon who is a year older than me at sixteen. With his northerner''s blonde hair, the domestic slave women are always cooing over.

    He always makes me wonder what I would look like if I wasn''t cursed.

    My fur is sort of blonde, so maybe my hair would be too.  My name is North so maybe my parents are from up there? Would my skin be on the paler side like his too?

    Focus idiot! I tell myself. Feeling ugly compared to humans is about to be the least of my concerns.

    Besides, I need to be at my best. Kalon has brought Morean with him. That''s going to be a problem

    The fact that he is a slave at all has always confused me. There is zero chance a parent sold a son with a blessing of stone into slavery. It''s in the name. Blessed. Our opposite, our antithesis.  The ones who are a boon on their homes. Rather than a danger.  Morean, like most Blessed, looks exotic and powerful. Not wild and ridiculous Like we cursed do. Matter of fact he is exotic and powerful. Imbued with a natural magic from the world of stones.

    He is the only one of these boys who outweighs me. I think he''s stronger than me too.  I''m taller and more muscular. But the blessing of stone lends him power and solidity that is hard to match.

    But truth be told I reserve the deepest of my rage for the least remarkable of the four. Tota and Task. And all the other boys like them too. They are cursed like me. But they aren''t like me. I don''t trip over my feet trying to Impress the human slaves. They are property just like the rest of us.

    I don''t think I''ll ever understand it. The cursed are usually better fighters than humans, and we outnumber them as slaves too. So why does everyone act like they are so special?

    I''m the best among the youth Pitters. I train with the adults. Not them. I have been here the longest. Not them. But it¡¯s always the humans that they cluster around. Like true animals seeking scraps from their master. I might be a slave, but I am not an animal.

    I¡¯m about to be a badly hurt slave.

    Even if I am the best fighter among BloodRock¡¯s youth pit slaves. Four on one I¡¯m going to lose. These boys might not be as good individually as I am but they can fight.  BloodRock¡¯s fortune is tied up in the Pits. They wouldn¡¯t be here if they couldn¡¯t fight.

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    All four boys are staring at me now, I guess they were expecting me to say something else.

    I''m not sure, but I briefly wonder if they will let me go get an axe. I dismiss the idea as stupid. Kalon might still be standing casually with his Pit-sword over one shoulder, but the other three have dropped into fighting stances and fanned out.

    Morean is armed with a trident of all things, while the two cursed boys both carry bronze-headed clubs. Isn''t that just typical?

    The humans have fancy weapons. While the cursed have to contend with metal balls on the end of sticks. That doesn''t mean I can treat them as less of a threat. One of those clubs will break my bones easily enough.

    Kalon though is still looking at me expectantly. Not sure what he wants, and wanting to move before my anger starts turning to fear. I leap at him.

    The pit-sword has better range than my stupid stabby thing, but much of it isn''t a killing edge. The weapon resembles a long sword in shape but is in truth more like a short glaive. Only the top half of what would be the blade on a regular longsword is actually metal or sharp. The rest is wood just shaped like a sword.

    He swings the pit-sword down from his shoulder trying to intercept me with a slash to the body. It would have worked with a real longsword but only truly beloved slaves get those.

    I don''t try to avoid or block the strike

    Simply surging to pass the threat range of the weapon. I mostly do though the last inch or so of the metal tears across the skin of my ribs. Not deep enough to really matter but it hurts.

    More important than the pain is that I can reach Kalon with my own little sword now.

    I''m bigger than him taller than all four of the boys.  So I assume he didn''t expect me to be so fast. I''m not fast like Resh. But I am definitely quicker than I look, and Kalon has only been in the BloodRock compound a few months, he hasn''t trained or fought with me yet.

    I don''t have time to be nice. Not that I would anyway. But when you are outnumbered unless you have some special advantage there are only a few strategies that work.  In this case, my only real hope is to break through Kalon and escape the circle.  Before picking another target and rushing them. If I can bring each boy down fast enough it''s almost like fighting them individually.

    I stab at Kalon''s chest as I crash into him, he desperately tries to bring his Pit-Sword back in between us while moving directly away from me.  Have to give him credit. He''s pretty good at fighting while moving backward.  Not everyone is. I''m not. my knees make that sort of footwork difficult.

    It doesn''t help him. Should have moved to the side not straight back. Dropping lower my third thrust finds a home just below his ribcage. The tell-tale feeling of resistance gives way then wetness as skin and muscle are pierced, and blood starts to flow around the blade.

    He falls then. Screaming and scrabbling at the embedded blade. I know what that''s like.  Kalon isn''t going to be back in this fight. But dropping him took too long. I see the flash of movement out of the corner of my eye.

    It''s Morean''s trident. I don''t have time to get the short sword back. So I abandon thoughts of the weapon and slam my elbow in the way of the tri-pointed spear. It mostly bounces off the bone like I''d hoped, but it does find some purchase tearing a gash through the muscle of my forearm.

    For a moment the blossom of pain threatens to cow me. It makes me want to cry and scream and beg to be left alone. Fortunately, it''s a familiar feeling and I have long practice at dealing with it.

    Stay angry. I remind myself, ¡®Use the pain to keep yourself angry¡¯. A lot of pitters say anger makes you fight worse and I guess that''s true. It certainly results in me making some questionable choices. But if I can''t keep the anger and the hatred going it will turn back into fear and I will lose.

    The stone-blessed boy yanks his trident back as I turn to face him. This isn''t good. Already Task and Tota are flanking me, boxing me back in.

    I have to try another rush, but it''s not going to be at Morean while I''m unarmed. Faking a lunge forward  I  pivot and charge Tota.

    The spined boy swings his mace at me. Like an axe, a mace looks like the implement of a brute but it actually requires a fair bit of accuracy. There is only a certain area in the arc of each swing that will allow you to land with the head of the axe or mace. That means you need an excellent sense of timing to get the most out of a weapon like this.  Timing Tota hasn''t quite mastered.

    Skidding to a halt I lean backwards. My knees bending the way they do makes hitting me a little tricky sometimes. I feel the wind as the bronze head passes inches in front of my face.

    Against a thrusting weapon, I would have been asking to get impaled. But it worked well here.

    Still, all this costs me yet more time. Time for the other two boys to get in strike range.

    Morean especially is after me like The Reveller chases red heads.

    I hate how smart he is. Isn''t an elemental blessing enough?

    I manage to avoid the trident again, but it means getting hit with Tota''s mace. I don''t have time to pull the same trick I did on Kalon, but I manage to crowd the spiked boy enough to steal some of the blow''s force

    Some¡­ it still nearly breaks my left arm as I fling it out in front of me. That''s alright. I''m going to bite him.

    Crashing into Tota I don''t let him fall. snatching his mace haft with my bloody but still functional right arm I yank the boy towards me latching onto whatever I can catch with my mouth.

    It''s a forearm he gets in the way of me ripping his throat out. Despite the spines that dig into my face I bite down.

    His scream is gratifying, but I don''t have time to enjoy it. Besides, the taste of his blood and sweat kinda makes me feel sick.

    A second later there is a crack as his bone shatters that half sound half feeling passing through my head.

    Blood floods into my mouth as his scream changes pitch.  I let go. Tota is pretty soft, he won''t keep fighting with his arm destroyed.

    I rip the screaming boy''s mace out of his hand. He doesn''t resist. Morean and Task come at me from both sides and I know this isn''t going to be fun.

    Stay angry. I tell myself again. The pain doesn''t matter. That will be future North''s problem. I knock aside Morean''s Trident, with a little parry trick I''ve been drilling, and then slam the head of my maul into his face before he can get his weapon back in position. Against anyone else that''s it.  fight over. Probably they die.  But Stone Blessed as he is it''s like there is bedrock just beneath his skin.

    I split his lip and maybe broke his nose. The boy stumbles back a little but he recovers in a fraction of a second, causing me to blink.

    Honestly, that''s just not fair.

    Sudden pain shoots through my back. Task has caught me with his mace just below the shoulder blade, and I feel something crack in my back and chest. Instantly it hurts to breathe.  My already numbing arm goes completely limp and I stumble forward.

    "Gotcha" comes the breathy taunt from Task. But my eyes are still on Morean. The human boy is coming at me again, and I''m not sure I can stop him without eating another blow to the back.

    The sound of my own snicker crosses my ears. I hadn''t even noticed I was still doing it. Well, No time to feel like an idiot.  I meet his next lunge with my mace, once more knocking it aside.

    This time though I lurch to my right before spinning about wildly mace barely controlled as I swing it one-handed.

    Maybe Task isn''t as good as I thought, because a stupid move like that  Shouldn''t have hit him. And yet it does.

    The clawed boy had gotten over-eager, and he paid for it with a bronze ball to his ribs.  I hear things snap inside him.  And he falls to the ground through the snicker. A genuine smile crosses my face. It''s nice to have a little luck on my side for once.

    Morean tilts his head examining me from a few feet away before starting to back up. I think he can tell I''m having trouble breathing but it''s hard to know. The stoneblessed boy is the type to fight with his features a mask, and say nothing.

    I want to call out some taunt. Try to provoke some sort of expression onto his blank face. But it hurts so much to just fill my chest with air. I can''t imagine getting the breath together to say something.

    Stay... Angry.

    I grit my teeth, heft my mace, and charge him.  To my surprise, the dark-skinned boy turns and runs. I don''t think he is planning to flee the fight exactly. But the training yard is a big space. All he has to do is stall for long enough and my injuries will win the fight for him.

    I can''t let that happen. Faster. I force myself to move faster even though it feels like I''m drowning. A buzzing sensation fills my chest, but I ignore that too. I''m about to catch him. I''m sure he knows it, as Morean stops and whirls about neatly facing me once more.

    So intent on my prey am I that I don''t notice the pike coming in from my right before it collides with me.  Blade down sweeping my legs out from under me. I tumble over and let out something between a snarl and squeal as the agony of my injuries flares in protest at the impact.

    Thats twice in less than five minutes I''ve been taken by surprise. It''s galling.

    I look up at my new assailant. Pain and surprise halted my rising. The heavily scarred balding head of Muraab. The master of BloodRock''s guards. Looks back down at me. Expression dark with rage.

    A fortune worth of worked metal armours his thin ropelike body. Giving it the appearance of youthful muscle he no longer possesses.

    I try to explain, but I''m snickering again. Or had I never stopped? I clench my jaw trying to control myself. Little laughs are still forcing their way through my closed lips when his boot descends and everything goes black.

 Chapter 2: Our Most Common guest

    CHAPTER 2

    Our most common guest

    I wake only moments later, as I''m being carried off. The training yard has several woven stretchers for situations like this, and I''m on one.

    Suspended between two domestic slaves

    "I was winning" I manage to rasp out before pain and exhaustion drag me back under.

    The next time I come to, I''m in new pants, chained to a bare cot. The room around me is cool with night air, a single lantern burns on a chain in the centre of the room. The ceiling above me is the dark stone of the tower, and I can smell the cleanliness of the room around me.

    I smile a little. I like the tower. It''s the only place in the whole BloodRock compound where a slave gets their own room, with a clean bed, and food that comes close to filling you all the way.

    While you are in the tower you can almost imagine someone cares about you.

    There is a little window near the bed as well barred and too small to climb through anyway, but up high like this you can see the sprawling labyrinthine streets of Far Mantys, the homes, and businesses built up on top of each other, even at night the streets are lit and busy and I can see teeming people made tiny by distance.

    My view goes all the way to the dark mass of the Mantyian Ocean. In the day it will shimmer the vibrant turquoise it''s famous for. It''s only a few miles away, but it may as well be on the world of fire. I''ve lived in this city my whole life, but I''ve never been even close to the ocean. What reason would BloodRock have for sending a pit slave to the water?

    But one day when I''m free I''m going to walk those beaches. Maybe even find someone to teach me to swim. I imagine the scene, the sand underfoot wouldn''t be like sand in the pit. It would be cool and damp, not packed down near hard as stone.

    A cool breeze scented with the salt of the ocean would duel with the heat of the sun. Families and lovers playing carefree in the surf whilst ships glided past into dock.

    It is a wave of an entirely different sort that brings me back to the present. Hunger now aware that I''m awake has come crashing into my stomach like a furious ettin shrieking to be sated.

    At first, I wonder how long I''ve been asleep to be so excruciatingly hungry, but then I realise I''m not as sore as I should be. In pain, yes, and if I move I can feel the pull of stitches in my arm, and my side, but I can breathe mostly without pain, and my shoulder moves. My arm is a dark mass of purple bruising, and it sends spikes of pain down my arm to flex my fingers. But I can Flex them.

    There is only one explanation. I''ve been magically healed, at least to a point. That''s why I''m so hungry. I let out a swear, Magical healing is expensive, and BloodRock isn¡¯t going to be happy. For a second I think I''ve somehow summoned the old man when the heavy wooden door opens, but no it''s Muraab. I suppose that''s a blessing, but he looks ready to rip my head off.

    We stare at each other in silence for what feels like a long time before he pinches the bridge of his nose. ¡°Well?¡± he says sternly ¡°Why do you keep doing this?¡±. I frown, taken aback. Before my outrage springs to life. ¡°ME!?¡± I yell at him, pulling against my chains. ¡°YOU THINK I WANTED TO FIGHT FOUR SLAVES AT ONCE!?¡±

    He raises his wrinkled eyebrows, the scars across his face pulling taught.

    "The way Morean tells it, Kalon was trying to issue you a challenge, and before anyone could figure out rules, or weapons, or anything you were all over him" he gives me a hard look, but his eyes don''t go dead the way they do when he is preparing for violence." that boy is lucky to be alive by the way"

    My mouth moves a little but it takes me a moment to get anything out. Yes, that''s technically what happened, but there were four of them. They had come to kill me, or at least remove me from the top spot for a while.

    Understanding dawns on me. I know what this is, it''s humans helping humans over one of the cursed. Even Muraab who is fairer than most is doing it. Of course, he is. With bitter resignation, I realise I should have known better.

    I try to respond anyway "That''s not-" he cuts me off.

    "You then proceeded to run the other boys down. "

    All I want to do is scream at him, but it''s not a smart move to keep pushing my luck with Muraab. He will hurt me if I disrespect him too much, injuries or not.

    "I didn''t run them down" I manage through gritted teeth. " they had me surrounded"

    ¡°Surrounded? And you never thought to just surrender?¡±

    The urge to scream intensifies. They had come to attack me as a group, if I had stopped fighting they would have hurt me even worse. Besides this way, it wasn¡¯t free. If Kalon wants to build his reputation in the compound he will think twice before doing it off my back again.

    Muraab looks at me like he expects a response, but I am too busy choking down my anger and incredulity to give him one.

    After an awkward moment, he sighs and sits down on the end of the bed.

    "All four of those boys have fights in two days." Those words throw a cold bucket of water on the bonfire of my rage and I wince.

    "Who''s hosting the fights?" I ask, my heart already sinking.

    "Saffron". He replies coldly, causing me to wince again.

    The spice lord of house Saffron is the richest man in Far Mantys, which may make him the richest man in the world. Any event thrown by him no matter how small has the prestige and attention of a major tournament.

    Again magical healing costs money. A lot more money than a few stitches put in by a surgeon who is a slave as well.

    BloodRock will already be angry that we hurt each other so badly. But if he has to cancel fights for House Saffron heads will roll. My head most likely.

    I don''t know how long I was unconscious but it probably wasn''t more than a few hours. With only two days left no amount of magical healing is going to get Kalon fight-ready on time. Not after I left a sword buried almost to the hilt inside him. The memory of his flesh parting beneath my blade is gratifying but I know I''m in trouble.

    "I''ll fight for Kalon," I say quickly. To which Muraab nods.

    " Oh you''ve got that right, you will be teamed up with Tota, and if you win there is a very very small chance you won''t get sent back to train with the youth pitters.

    I can feel a lump form in the back of my throat as fear washes over me. I had fought so hard to win my place training with the adults, and I couldn''t imagine I would get another opportunity.

    If Muraab sends me back to train with the other kids I will be stuck drilling the same techniques I''ve been practicing since I was four for another two years.

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    Two more years surrounded by people who hate me, who would sabotage, lie, and fight me four-on-one if it meant taking the spot of best youth pitter in all of BloodRock.

    "Of course I''ll win" I snap back before I can think better of it. " I always win" the words are tumbling out of me now. Pent-up frustration and bewilderment overwhelming any control of my tongue.

    " I beat Casta and Vixus, I beat Torrigen and Sorfo, I beat Daring HighSail so bad he ran back to Daddy¡¯s merchant fleet. I killed Loritus and Andra Phoenixheart! " I take a breath, but go on quickly before he can reply.

    " And those are just the good ones. I have a better win streak than you did when you were king on the sands!" He raises his eyebrows at that, and I can see him working the math out as I go on. I''m right. Mine is better. Granted he wasn''t fighting children but I''m not planning on mentioning that part.

    "What''s the point of making me train with kids? They hate me, and I''m better than all of them anyway. What can I possibly learn from boys who have been here for three years or less?"

    Muraab waits for me, his face impassive. I know He doesn''t like getting yelled at by slaves. I can''t blame him I guess. He won his freedom before I was even born."Enough" he says eventually, his tone is authoritative. My mouth snaps shut almost on its own. After eleven years of slavery, some things are just automatic.

    "Maybe I want you to help improve the other kids, maybe it''s not just about you" With that he pulls out a heavy iron key and approaches. The scent of stale alcohol and pipe smoke that always follows the old fighter fills my nostrils as he draws near.

    "Don''t bite me" he commands as the key slips into the single lock where each of my chains meet.

    I''m annoyed by the demand. The frequency with which I bite people is massively exaggerated. But I''ve already pushed my luck with Muraab enough for one day.

    Instead of complaining I let out a little sigh of relief. I¡¯m still in trouble. But at least I can stop my muscles from cramping now. Well most of them. Moving my left arm while possible isn¡¯t really an option at the moment.

    For a second I think he is going to tell me I have to go back to the slave dorms but he just lectures me some more and leaves.

    It''s mostly the same old crap about getting along with the other slaves and how the rest of the cursed don''t get into so many fights.

    But one part of it stays with me all night. Ringing in my stupid fluffy ears with a finality that turns my blood to ice.

    " you might be the best. But you don''t have the crowd on your side. You''re starting to cost more than you make"

    It seems like an eternity later a pair of domestic slaves bring me my dinner. Let me repeat. They brought the food to me. I love this place. If the price of admission wasn''t most of my blood. I''d spend every night up here.

    The fifteen or so tower rooms are bare except for a single cot in each, and a chamber pot under the cot. I''d dug mine out the moment Muraab had left, needing to piss almost as desperately as I needed to eat something.

    Once that was done though all I had to do to pass the time was look out the window, if I focussed hard I could catch the occasional bit of music from the city streets, or someone shouting from within the BloodRock compound.

    Normally I wouldn''t mind a bit of idleness, but hungry as I am each minute seems unreasonably long. Eventually, I start walking laps of the room. My arms held protectively against my body. They hurt, My whole upper body hurts, walking probably isn''t helping, but I don''t know what else to do.

    I''m on my twelfth circuit of the square room when I hear the sound of the door unlocking. I freeze, feeling oddly self-conscious like I''m about to be caught doing something I''m not supposed to. Internally calling myself an idiot I turn about fast enough that the stitches in my side feel like they pull a little. It''s not painful exactly. But it''s still unpleasant in the extreme.

    Standing in the doorway is Coil, one of four surgeon slaves BloodRock keeps. I''ve often wondered how a surgeon ends up a slave. But I suppose everyone makes bad decisions.

    He''s old, I''m not sure how old. But he''s been here my whole life and seemed ancient the entire time. His hair is Grey and perpetually dishevelled jutting in various directions. He wears a large charm around his neck, displaying a fancy cup and a scythe. Doesn''t mean anything to me, but you see Easterners wearing them sometimes.

    "North!" he says, eyes going wide and voice unsteady. I roll my eyes. Not this again.

    "You were supposed to be chained up."

    I had a little tantrum six years ago and bit off two of his fingers. But honestly, I was nine you''d think he would have gotten over it. Even if I did swallow them meaning they couldn''t be regrown with magic.

    ¡­..Well I also broke some of his ribs in an escape attempt when I was twelve. But those healed up fine. Nothing to resent or fear me over.

    He''s holding a bowl of bloody stew in his good hand, and my stomach howls at the smell.

    I grin at the old surgeon, walking towards him "Muraab came by and let me out" I say with a casual shrug. That was a mistake. Pain shoots down my back. Hiding the wince I gesture with my head at the bowl. " Is that for me?" He takes a half step back. I have to admit I get a little thrill of pleasure seeing a human afraid of me. Even if he is an old man.

    He takes a deep breath and seems to steady himself. Before fixing me with an annoyed glare " Yes" the old surgeon holds the bowl towards me. It doesn''t have a spoon. I don''t care.

    "Why Thank you, " I say. Tone all false cheerfulness and take the bowl. It''s only then that I notice Coil isn''t alone.

    The palest girl I have ever seen in my life is a few feet behind him on the landing outside the door. She looks older than me, but not by much. Her hair is a dark brown, stopping just short of black. I can¡¯t tell if it¡¯s long or short as it is tied up under a bonnet. Freckles lightly dust fine features above a pointy chin. She''s wearing a multi-layered¡­ dress? Weird. Plenty of women in Far Mantys wear dresses but not like this one. Hers is a heavy chaste-looking thing. Her neck is about the only skin on display. Not at all like a normal Far Mantyian dress. Is she not overheating?

    I''m equal parts suspicious and intrigued. If that girl is a slave then I''m an Itti''Ati fire witch. But if she isn¡¯t a slave what is she doing here? Is she here to buy some of us? Surely not. She''s a teenager no one is going to send a teenager to haggle for slaves. A BloodRock distant relative maybe?

    I''m staring. It''s not like I''ve never seen a pretty girl before. I''m from Far Mantys, the greatest city in the world. Some of the house lords have slave girls men would spend a dozen fortunes for a night with. The thing is though. Seeing a gorgeous woman on a rich guy''s arm in a viewing box, or dancing on the arena floor doesn''t really prepare you to talk to a girl in front of you.

    Especially when I have no idea what she''s doing in front of me.

    Yes, there are female pit slaves but BloodRock doesn''t keep any of them. He''s old-fashioned like that I guess.

    She must realise I''m staring because she meets my gaze. I quickly look at my stew.

    I need something to do. Anything to distract me from how aware I suddenly am of my own near nakedness. Of how ugly my injuries are¡­.how ugly I am.

    Snatching the bowl from Coil I put it to my lips. Warmth floods me as I guzzle the steaming bowl. It''s mostly blood and water but there is some salt meat and root vegetables. I can feel little chips of bone from the broth brush the inside of my mouth. Rice clumped at the bottom. They give you the good stuff when you''re hurt.

    "And this one?" She asks Coil in an accent I''ve never heard before, thick and oddly listless.

    "North here " replies the old surgeon moving to leave but never actually turning his back on me" Is our most common guest in the tower. He is the one that injured the boys downstairs"

    "Ahh yes I remember the boy with the stupid name " she replies, sounding uninterested. " My brother has mentioned him."

    As a slave, you get used to people talking about you like you aren''t there. I can put up with casual insults¡­.. Wait, Mentioned me? Who''s her brother that he knows who I am?

    "Apparently he is very promising, one of the best youth pitters BloodRock owns."

    One of?!

    The stew slides down the wrong side of my throat and I feel a spike of annoyance as I begin to cough and splutter uncontrollably. I swear this happens to me more than other people.

    Soup chunks fly from my mouth and from the bowl spattering on my face, chest, and the floor.

    There it is North. The stupidest you will ever look. And in front of a cute foreign girl too.

    Between the coughing and my injury, catching my breath seems to take an epoch.

    By the time I''m able to speak. Coil and the strange girl are gone, and the door is locked. Still. I feel a need to justify myself. So much for being used to people talking about you. " I''m not one of the best!¡± I call at the door ¡±I...am...the best "

    The door unsurprisingly does not reply. And yet I repeat myself to the empty room. " I am the best " This time it''s not quite the same declaration. It feels hollow, desperate. I sigh and finish my stew before routing around to lick up any remains I had spilled or spat out.

 Art Interlude one

    Full disclosure the following art is all AI generated.

    I had heard that people on here like to see art of the characters to help with visualization.

    So I thought it might be fun to post the occasional art interlude outside my intended upload schedule.....Though it kind of turned into "shirtless fantasy dudes" the chapter.

    So uhh enjoy I guess.

    PS. You guys know what the image situation is like. Please overlook any random gibberish haha.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    <hr>

    North

    </a>

    </a>

    <hr>

    Morean

    </a>

    </a>

    <hr>

    Kalon

    </a>

 Chapter 3: Leather scraps and hope

    Chapter 3

    Leather Scraps and Hope

    I spend the next day and a half in the tower. Eating, stretching, or sleeping. I don''t have much else I can do. The sun at least catches my room in a pleasant way. Heating the stone enough that it stays warm well past dark.

    Something is happening in the BloodRock compound below me. It has been all day. A party? Some trade festival I hadn''t known about maybe? Whatever it is. It''s loud. The many voices below fuse on the trip to my window. Becoming the wordless chatter of a crowd.

    When I was a kid the peace up here was so novel. A chance to rest, to have the domestic slaves read me stories. They don''t do that anymore.  I used to enjoy Just taking some time to not be tired. Enjoy the quiet. Not have to carry stones, or run mile after mile for a few days.  Not have to fight animals and other children. Not get beaten if I lost a fight or yelled too much...or cried too much.

    This time though. What I initially thought was frustration due to hunger has morphed into something much worse.

    Maybe it''s the sense that I am missing out on whatever festivities below? Maybe it''s the feeling that I should be preparing harder If I have a match so soon. Maybe it''s the lingering dread over what Muraab told me. " you are starting to cost more than you make." He may as well have told me BloodRock was considering my execution. It would be the same.

    I don''t know for sure. All three feelings twist around my insides. Battling back and forth in the arena of my emotions. When one briefly gains dominance over my thoughts.  The others will seemingly team up against it. Demanding my attention, making sure I can''t ever focus on one problem at a time.

    While I''m unable to say for sure who was the victor or if there even was a victor. For the first time ever I''m anxious to get out of here.

    Eventually, on the morning of my fight, Muraab comes and gets me. I''m not anywhere near recovered but I''ll be able to fight. While not a hard and fast rule. Non-BloodRock pit slaves tend to be of a lower quality.  The programs here kills a lot of us. Especially after we first arrive. There is a payoff though. Outside the walls of our own compound, we don¡¯t lose often.  Even with both me and Tota hurt we won''t lose today.  At least that''s what I tell myself, again, and again.

    I was surprised it was Muraab to be honest. Seems like the head of the guards should have better things to do than play escort for me. In fact he often handles me when someone of lesser rank would do. I guess he doesn''t trust me.  Still, I''m grateful to see him and follow the former pit slave without comment when he commands me to.

    Each floor of the tower is much the same as the last. A circular landing with three rooms identical to the one I was in. Blank cells that double as operating rooms.

    It turns out I am on the fifth floor. Second from the top. I don''t envy whichever domestics or surgeons had to carry me up here.  I''ve always wondered about that. Wouldn''t you want your hospital to be as low as possible? All the one floor even.

    My bewilderment at the choice to put me up here only deepens as we descend the tower.  The place is all but deserted. I don''t see one occupied room till we are only a floor from the bottom.

    Of course, he''s here. Kalon.  The door to his room hangs open with Morean, Task, and Tota clustered around his cot.  They have pulled in chairs from somewhere.

    The blonde human looks better than the last time I saw him, but not by much. There is dried blood soaked into the straw mattress beneath him. The wound I dealt him open and weeping. It doesn''t look infected at least.

    I assume there has been extensive magical regrowth deeper inside him. As Kalon is conscious. Sitting up even.  He''s chatting tiredly to his far less wounded friends.

    When they see me peering in from the landing the boys fall silent. Morean gets to his feet and puts himself protectively between me and the group. Just inside the doorway.

    We lock gazes. It''s not a friendly interaction.  His eyes are swollen and dark-ringed. A memento of me smashing a bronze ball on a stick into his face. He almost looks cursed. Like one of those Thief-Rat people. But of course, he''s not. He was born blessed.  His dark skin is unmistakably lined with marble, and his horns are unmistakably made of stone.  He looks like someone carved a person out of rock and then painted skin over it.

    The blessed aren''t like the cursed. There is no random chance in their creation, no in vitro divine providence that decides they deserve to be less than human.

    No. For someone like Morean to be born, he has to have an ancestor from another world and within only the last few generations.

    "What do you want?" he says. Face impassive but voice full of reproach.  I realise  truthfully I have no idea why I stopped to watch the group of pit slaves.  It makes me feel stupid.

    To hide my own embarrassment I force a scowl. Breaking the eye contact I look over at Tota "If you''re late I''ll break your other arm" I snap ... I''m not quite sure why I said that. I just know I don''t want to look weak. Not with Morean and Kalon right there.

    I guess it worked as Tota''s eyes go wide and he stammers out that he won''t be. Morean steps closer to me and uses some very colourful language to describe what I should do with myself instead. I''m about to reply with equal creativity or maybe try and bite his rocky face off when Muraab grabs my main and roughly hauls me away.

    My blood was already growing hot. After being grabbed I desperately want to attack the guard. But I grit my teeth and ignore the urge. I''m not afraid of Muraab...I''m not! I''m just not as stupid as I look.

    He hustles me out of the tower into the post-dawn light. Even early the sun has some bite to it. After so long inside it seems unreasonably bright.

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    "South gate," says Muraab as I ward my eyes. "One hourglass." I nod. Should be plenty of time.

    "You coming?" I ask with genuine curiosity. "Not this time," he says, shaking his head. "Atark." He means BloodRock. "Is sending me and his eldest to do a small-market run In Ashton''s rest." He means buy children there.

    I frown. Muraab will be gone for at least three weeks maybe more if the kids are slow. That''s not good for me. While the former pit slave has put me in the tower more times than anyone he actually recognises my talent. It was his words on my behalf that got me moved to training with adults early. It''s him that keeps me from the most demanding or demeaning tasks BloodRock has for his Pit Slaves.

    Times when he has gone away before have been tricky for me. Often I''m thrown into an exhaustive number of matches, or forced to team up with boys expected to lose, or maybe worst of all dressed up like a savage and paraded in front of BloodRock guests with my jaw restrained. Letting them pet or hit me, letting them walk me around like a dog.

    I hate it. I hate it so much I can barely breathe for days after a night like that. I hate it so much I destroy my own things, or send boys to the tower. I hate it so much I stay up late biting my cot''s frame, and crying tears of rage.

    "Expecting much of a haul?" I ask hoping he will say no. The fewer kids he is bringing. The faster Muraab will be back.

    "No idea," he says casually before pausing. I think he notices something in my face because his expression grows conciliatory. " don''t fret so much, just do not under any circumstances start or participate in challenges while I''m gone."

    I let out a sigh. He¡¯s right. We both know he''s right. I''m walking close to the clifftop as it is. I can''t afford to piss BloodRock off without the meagre protection Muraab offers.

    "I won''t, " I say. " I mean it. I won''t." he puts a hand on my shoulder and I have the weirdest urge to hug the old man for a second. Can''t explain that one. It''s not like he''s my dad. I ignore the rogue thought as he replies.

    "Just try to relax a little." Yeah wow, Great advice. Thanks. Did I really just want to hug this man?

    "Oh, and your friend Resh will be there today?" He''s trying to distract me. I know this. It works anyway. "Resh is fighting?" I ask. Suddenly very invested.  Muraab snorts "It''s just a couple of matches while Saffron does business. Of Course, he isn''t. But he will be attending. For us, Today is mostly so Atark can show off his special new youth pitter. It won''t be much of a show if the boy has to fight The Rush."

    I''m initially disappointed. Though it will still be nice to see my one and only friend in all of Far Mantys. Wait! New special youth pitter?

    WAIT! Fight Resh?! At this point, Resh only fights in main events. They are putting this boy in the last fight of the day immediately?

    "We have someone new and special enough to go right into a main event?" I ask flatly. Looking up into Muraab''s scarred face. " Oh yeah," he says. Eyes bright with mischief. " a foreign champion, a genuine prospect." I''m getting annoyed now. A foreign champion? The only one of those I can think of is that monster Cathal in Azel¡­. and I guess if you count the Reveller. Which I don''t. But neither of them are youth anyway. Or slaves for that matter.

    ¡°Who?¡± I ask. visibly dubious.  Muraab just shrugs. A small smile crosses his face. Satisfied that he has effectively distracted me. "No time to chat with the likes of a lowly slave I''m afraid. An important man like me''s got a caravan to lead. You understand."  I can''t help it, I smile a little. He''s an annoying old bastard. But it''s hard to hate him. Of course, I say the opposite.

    "I hate you." But there isn''t any venom in my tone and I''m grinning. "I hate me too," he says without much mirth as he turns to walk away. I guess he really doesn''t have time to chat with a lowly slave.

    I, on the other hand, have a little time. It will only take about a twentieth of an hourglass to strap my armour on. Maybe a little longer with my injuries. They do not give me a whole lot of it. Not that many pit slaves have it better. Even the houses that favour armoured pitters usually give them something more decorative than practical.

    I''ll pick a weapon from whatever the arena has and warm up on the way there.

    I could wait for Tota. Most teams will run through some last-minute tactic, or just hang out together before a match. ....I did bite his arm kind of in half and almost killed his friend. So that''s probably out. No, I''ll go get my armour on and see if I can find anything out about this special new slave.

    Like most of the trade house compounds within Far Mantys. BloodRock is a sort of town in miniature. A central fortress-like manse surrounded by dusty streets populated with various workshops, warehouses, regular houses, a bank, the tower, the youth and adult barracks, and of course the training yard. All penned in and isolated from the city by a tan stone wall four times the height of a man.

    I head towards the youth barracks. Intentionally keeping my eyes on the ground. Not out of some deference or command. My eyes still haven¡¯t adjusted to the bright morning sun, and looking higher is uncomfortable.

    I don''t have free run of the compound exactly. I can however move around it unescorted. Without the need of a collar or a chain to follow. That''s not rare here but they won''t even chain me up when we leave for House Saffron.

    That might sound like an odd prospect. Giving someone like me any leeway is not the sort of thing you do if you want to be a slave owner for long.  The simple answer is I don¡¯t have leeway. I have a Forspoken stone.

    Somewhere inside my body a piece of bone has been devoured and replaced by An enchanted onyx-looking pearl. Well at one point it was a pearl.  Now though it is indistinguishable from the finger, or toe, or knee, or eye socket, or¡­I¡¯ll probably never know which bone it is exactly. But it means BoodRock can find me at will wherever I go. Or even detonate the stone with a mere thought to cripple or kill me. It''s sombering to think about. At least the Forspoken Stone allows me some degree of autonomy. I¡¯m proud of the freedoms I¡¯ve earned for myself even if their source horrifies me.

    The inside of the barracks feels stuffy and hot when compared to the cool stone of the tower. Also, it stinks. Stinks the way only a wooden building with poor ventilation, in a hot climate,  inhabited by close to seventy boys can. The scents of sweat, blood, and other bodily fluids are practically baked into the walls.

    The barracks is the sort of place that always has someone in it. Boys working on their gear, boys sleeping off minor injuries, or just regular sleeping. Boys talking or playing made-up games, boys eating whatever food, or contraband they can get their hands on, or just relaxing in the little common room they gave us. You can''t enter the barracks without encountering someone. No matter the time of day or night.

    It''s made up of three long halls connected by a hallway. Each filled with roughly twenty identical cots with identical chests at their feet. Well, they started out as identical. There isn''t a chest or cot here that hasn''t been carved into, painted on, or otherwise personalised by a past or present pit slave.

    Entering hall three which has my own bed and stuff in it I glance around. Sometimes boys will wait to ambush you just inside a dorm.  It''s something I have seen Morean do before so I stay on guard. Of course, no half rock half human monster bursts from beside the doorway. It''s a bit of a stupid concern. There is no way he could have gotten in here ahead of me.

    In fact, all I see are a pair of human kids no older than ten helping each other change bandages. They are new and I don''t know them. From the way their eyes widen and their voices drop below my hearing I guess they know me.

    Oh, and an antlered cursed. I hadn''t noticed him right away. His name is Gori.

    He''s sitting on that corner cot he fought so hard to get. Just about the only thing I''ve ever seen him fight hard for.

 Chapter 4: Saffron

    Chapter 4

    Saffron

    I''ve crossed most of the way to the south gate before I remember Muraab¡¯s words. Attacking Charik wouldn¡¯t have technically gone against what he said, Not being a challenge fight. I don¡¯t think anyone else would see it that way. So I guess I was being a smart, obedient slave. The kind of slave that gets freed one day.

    That soothes my self-loathing, but only a little.

    The less valuable pit slaves are already at the gate. Not that they get much choice, they are chained together in a line connecting to the wagon they will have to pull. No Forspoken stones for them. Losers. They are all youth pitters which makes sense. Outside certain special occasions, events are always divided between youth and adult fighters. Given the rivalry between houses and the aggression of pit slaves, the houselords like to keep the groups separate. I don¡¯t blame them. Things tend to get pretty rough for us when the adults are around.

    I can see Tota near the head of the group, which draws a little smirk from me. The rest of the boys I have seen around but haven¡¯t really met. Ever since I started training with the adults I only know about the goings on in my own hall. Which boys have been killed, sold, bought, or traded for I have no idea. With the probable exception of the nervous-looking six year old. I have no way to know who is new to fighting in the pits and who is just new to me.

    The gate is that kind with metal bars in an arch that gets pulled up into the wall above it.  I head towards it and find a spot in the shadow of the wall. As the sun climbs towards midday Its fangs grow, and the light is already turning from an annoying gnaw across my shoulders and back to a piercing bite.

    Normally we would be escorted by Muraab and one or two others. That won¡¯t be the case today. I wonder who will be leading us today. Bashik maybe? He is second master of the guard after Muraab. Or Harrk I suppose. He''s a veteran and leads the pit runs sometimes.

    A little while later my question is answered. A small uncovered wagon being pulled by two huge servile slaves slowly trundles over to the gate. I spot Harrk driving it. Even accompanied by two other guards he''s easy to recognise by the fancy gold-coloured helmet BloodRock gave him for some act of heroism. It has a mask bit that closes over his face creating an intimidating facade.

    Even knowing that Harrk is a fairly plain-looking man with black hair underneath doesn''t diminish the effect.

    Morean walks beside the wagon. No chains for him either. Blessed as he is, they gave him a Forspoken stone years ago. Basically, as soon as BloodRock bought him. Maybe he even came here with one and they just realigned it to a new owner.

    To my surprise, I don¡¯t see this apparent new pit slave. Maybe he is already at the arena? That idea annoys me a little. They are really treating this kid like a big deal if that''s the case.

    A few minutes later the chained-up teams have swapped and I''m walking beside the wagon as it leaves the compound. I feel a little bad for the boys pulling the vehicle. The city isn''t exactly fun to navigate while chained to a wagon.

    I''d feel worse but I''ve been in their place dozens of times. Besides it''s things like this that make us the strongest. Makes BloodRock Pitters the best.

    Past the gate, the street remains wide for a little while to accommodate the comings and going of the house. It won''t stay that way for long.

    House Saffron is in many ways the beating heart of Far Mantys. One of those ways is literal.

    It sits at the centre of the great city. A monolithic compound reminding all who see it who rules Far Mantys. Who dominates every field of commerce.

    To get there our party needs to head west to the grand tradeway.

    It is a huge road running from the northern entrance all the way to the city''s south-facing docks. Various markets and compounds run off the tradeway. I''ve never seen a river, but everyone says it''s like a big one bisecting the city.

    As the newest house, BloodRock doesn''t have what you would call a prime location for their compound. So we will have to pass through winding streets where people make their homes before we get to the tradeway.

    No one will be stupid enough to get in our way this close to the compound but it''s still dangerous for the boys pulling the wagon. One misstep going around a corner and they could end up under the wheels of the thing.  I''ve seen it happen more than once.

    Not today though. People scatter, and we make good time through the thin streets. While the sun is still bright, on these thin streets we are mostly protected by the shade cast by homes on either side of us.  There is no footpath here. The streets go from road directly to mudbrick and wood dwellings, stacked atop each other five or six stories high. They tend to have crude stone steps or even cruder wood ladders running around or up their sides.

    This isn¡¯t the slums exactly, but BloodRock certainly lives in the poorer half of the city. Considering his wealth it boggles the mind to consider how rich Houses with more central locations must be. Yes of course Saffron, but others as well like HighSail and Tariff. Their fortunes must dwarf BloodRock. Though Muraab says it adds to our mystique, whatever that means.

    We pass the body of a young human man at the end of a trail of dried blood. His right arm ends in a ragged stump. Ribbons of skin and flesh hanging limply like a huge force has ripped its way free of his limb. Whoever owned this man had activated his Forspoken stone rather than let him escape. I wonder what pushed him so far that he ran even with the threat of a stone? Maybe he hadn¡¯t even known it was inside him.

    The body sparks some chatter amongst the chained boys. Various musings on who might have owned the slave. His clothes don''t bear an obvious house icon so it falls to conjecture. Harrk allows all this without complaint. So long as we get where we are going on time and incident free he is happy to let them talk. If anything it''s a sign the training is working that they have the breath to do it. Well everyone but that little six year old. To the shock of no one he is struggling, but the others help keep him going.

    I suppose it''s nice to see solidarity between slaves and all that nonsense, but I can¡¯t help but feel a little bitter. I remember being in his place, and no one gave me a helping hand. I guess it doesn¡¯t matter. I proved my worth and I  earned my stone. I don¡¯t have to pull a wagon, and other than the tower beds I haven¡¯t been chained up in years.  So I probably shouldn¡¯t be wasting energy resenting a little kid especially when I will be expected to hack down another boy in just a few short hours.

    I have a win streak to protect. That Is what I should be thinking about. Easier said than done. I don''t know who I''m fighting, I don''t know what weapons will be on offer, I don''t even know what rules if any Saffron will insist we fight under.

    So all I''m really left with is steadily mounting excitement flavoured with anxiety. Same as every other fight.

    The wagon takes a series of turns in quick succession, the chain team straining with effort to keep the wooden vehicle on the narrow roads and not colliding with someone''s home.

    For our part, Morean and I just try to stay out of the way and away from each other. It''s not difficult, one of us walking on either side of the chained slaves. I think we are almost like extra guards.  While I''ve never seen anyone....else try to escape while pulling a wagon. Having us here is a pretty good deterrent.

    When we hit the Grand Tradeway I''m reminded why Far Mantys is the greatest city in the world. I don¡¯t need to have travelled to know this is a spectacle nowhere else can boast.

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    The tradeway is less like a road and more like a market in motion. Though it is a road, one huge enough that wagons travel it six across.

    Between the constant stream of people, beasts of burden, caravans, and slaves. Children and traders dash about. Swapping stories or goods. Impromptu market stands pop up on the footwalk and disappear almost as quickly. Where people live in squalor only a few streets away there is always a festival aire here. No matter the time of day.

    Getting a single wagon onto the tradeway can be a bit tricky but we are house BloodRock. Battering people out of our way is what we do best.

    A bit of shoving into the crowds by us slaves chained or otherwise.  Alongside some threats of extreme violence from Harrk and we have made it from the sidestreet to the major road in no time.  The guards never even had to get off the wagon.

    Things go quickly from there, and before long the monstrously huge Saffron compound is in sight. Where other houses build their miniature towns around the Tradeway Saffron ends it.

    The massive processional splits into two equally massive roads that run in different directions around the dark walls of Saffron.  One continues south to the docks the other Southeast to the largest of Far Mantys seven markets.

    As we approach Harrk and the other guards start digging things out of the wagon.  Their own weapons, the bleeding stone banner of house BloodRock, and in Harrk''s case a metal shield.  I eye the round metal with jealously.

    I''ve never even held a shield. While not illegal, no one ever gives pit slaves a shield. They say it''s to keep the fights exciting, but if that was true then why are free pit fighters who buy their own more than welcome to use whatever gear they want? Shields included. They just like seeing us bleed I guess.

    An army of houseguards supported by mercenaries from all over the world shepherd the masses of people making their way into house saffron. It¡¯s always like this. As long as any of the compound¡¯s eight gates are open they will be clogged with people coming and going. Be they hauling goods, coming to seek an audience, accessing the superior craftsmen within the compound, applying to be those craftsmen, offering services, or begging for investment. Whatever it is there are always men and women of all shapes, sizes, and degrees of freedom flooding here from the grand tradeway.

    Today I even spot a few centaurs in from the grasslands

    Fortunately, the guards are expecting us and expedite our entry. As always they are dressed in fine metal armour that covers their entire abdomens worn over flowing robes of a strange purpley-red kind of colour that I only ever see here at House Saffron. Outside that there is little uniformity among them. The Saffron Defenders are a motley collection of different piercings, tattoos, skin tones, and cultures.  Even their weapons seem to be based on individual choice rather than any strategic intent the houselord might have.

    While not as fun as battering some free people ourselves it is still gratifying to watch the vibrantly adorned guards brutally force a path for our wagon to get through. A bald man in a much finer wagon than ours begins to protest. The complaint is short-lived, very short-lived. A pair of the Saffron guards drag him from his own vehicle. Toss the man to the ground.  Then to my shock, they lead the two animals pulling the wagon to the back of the line. I don¡¯t know what these beasts of burden are called, you see them around sometimes. Like cows but bigger, darker, and with big horns. It doesn¡¯t matter. Our path is clear and Harrk calls for us to advance.

    Once through we find ourselves in a courtyard half the size of BloodRock¡¯s entire compound. It is also bustling with people. These ones are smart enough or observant enough to get out of the way on their own. So we stroll through a smaller sea of richly adorned people. At least they seem rich to me. But even I can tell there is a division between them.

    Some sport more practical clothes like robes or tunics. Others are in anything but. One woman has accessorised her slaves, having each of the two men and one woman wear a collar linked by thin silver-looking chains to a metal spine running down the back of her outfit.  When she turns to see the commotion  I recognize the Black swirl tattoo of house BlackMist dominating one side of her thin pale face.

    BlackMist is maybe the weirdest house. The second youngest after BloodRock they came here only three generations ago from Mordrun, the city of warlocks. Possessing magics, and contacts in their former home no one else can boast about. BlackMist House quickly amassed a huge fortune by being able to import or even make the Forspoken stones en masse. Not Saffron huge obviously. But still enormous.

    They can famously channel power and creatures from the world of shadows. Which is probably better than money anyway.

    You would think three generations of living near the pinnacle of Far Mantyian society would have softened their weird warlock behaviour. It hasn''t.

    In maybe the most backward behaviour I have ever seen, they mark their family members with a tattoo like you might brand a slave. Yet their slaves are clean-skinned. BloodRock might not force his mark on us like some do. But he sure isn¡¯t branding his family members instead!

    I''ve been here before but it''s still hard not to gape and stare. Once you get inside the second set of gates, the Saffron compound is a marvel. It has all the usual trappings of a house compound of course. But there is a stream of water that runs from somewhere underground that weaves throughout Saffron. The dark earthy water changes everything. Rather than a mill that can only run so long as slaves turn it, the water powers it. Rather than a smithies surrounded by water barrels. There is a cluster of workshops along the banks of the stream. It goes on like this. They fish from it, they grow crops and gardens with it. Crops Inside a house compound. Ridiculous.

    Then there are the buildings. Huge stunning things painted bright colours. There in the centre is an airy palace five or six times the size of BloodRock¡¯s manse. Here a statue of some famed Saffron man standing tall as an ettin. There a garden of sunflowers. Here a zoo the size of a city street filled with animals from all over the world. They call a chorus that underscores the chatter of the miniature city.  There is a guest manse overlooking the zoo.

    Everywhere banners with actual rubies woven into the fabric to make the red pyramid of house Saffron.

    It''s a lot cleaner than BloodRock too, an army of slaves keeping the paths and buildings dust-free.

    Despite all these wonders I only have eyes for the Arena. The multi-tiered saffron pitt is of course one of a kind. Large enough to seat maybe a thousand viewers. Tiny compared to the grand arenas out in the city. But this isn¡¯t out in the city. This is a family¡¯s home, the idea that they would have a need to seat a thousand guests is insane. I had first thought Saffron simply let the workers who lived in his compound attend the fights he held here. It''s not the case. Sometimes he just hosts personal events with that many people.

    Where most arenas are large circular structures built around a sandy pit at the centre. Saffron¡¯s is a pyramid-shaped building. Huge pylons support the corners of the mostly open-air structure. Another massive column runs up the centre.

    Each of the three layers boasts a pit and seating.  The bottom is the largest.  The top is the most opulent. It''s kind of a pain to fight in, as other than the pit on the top you have to deal with that central pillar sitting in the middle of where we compete.

    With every step towards the Arena, I can feel my breath quicken a little more and my chest grows a little tighter. I always get nervous before a fight, but it''s worse when I''m on a team. I do not like having to rely on other pit slaves. Especially not when they are still recovering from injuries.

    Yes, Tota can fight, he''s BloodRock property of course he can. But the pit is an ever-shifting horror. Who or what you were going to fight could and would change wildly. Men, monsters, animals, beings from other worlds. Could all end up across the sand from you.

    Then there were the conditions and rules, those were entirely at the discretion of the arena''s owner. And seemed to change every few months, based on nothing more than what the houselords found most amusing at the time.

    When I step into that place on the sands, relying on myself was already a big ask. Expecting someone like Tota to keep me alive is a ridiculous notion.

    Glancing at the boy I sneer a little.

    Five Saffron Guards have come to escort us and Harrk is releasing the chained slaves. The spine-covered cursed was clearly still winded from the trip here. Pathetic.

    Just like every other time I¡¯ve been put on a team, it¡¯s obvious I am going to have to do all the work.

    There. Found it! The little spark of annoyance I felt at having to always be the best. Focus on it. Feed it my frustration about my nagging injuries, about Muraab being gone, about being a seven world''s damned slave. Let it grow and blot out my fear, drive back my anxiety.

    My shoulders set. My breathing doesn''t exactly even out, but I don''t feel afraid anymore. I feel angry.

    The Saffron soldiers lead us to a side entrance. Every arena big or small has at least one side entrance. Yes, there are times when pit slaves are brought to meet the fans of our fights. But our owners still don''t want us randomly interacting with people entering or leaving an arena. Probably smart. I don''t know what I''d do if an excited fan snatched a handful of my fur or something.

    In the case of Saffron¡¯s open-air pyramid, this means climbing stairs that run around the outside of the structure. With a little landing on each tier that leads to a holding area. I find it oddly reminiscent of the homes of the poor near our own compound.

    I used to think it was weird that each level of the pyramid has its own holding area for the pit slaves. I understand now. The guests of House Saffron will want to see the state of who they are betting on as early as possible. Though I¡¯ve never quite been able to shake the feeling it''s just because the houselord likes to watch us like he might the animals in his zoo.

 Chapter 5: Who rules the pit?!

    Chapter 5

    Who rules the Pit?

    We are led to the highest tier which surprises me. I¡¯ve never been up here before, and I''m curious about the nature of today''s event. Saffron fights are always special. He pays the most, he enforces the strangest rules, and He imports the scariest creatures. I can only imagine what awaits us in what is probably the most exclusive pit in the city.

    It''s a nice view from the side of the Pyramid. You can see out over the huge walls of the compound the city glowing in the afternoon sun.

    I don¡¯t get long to enjoy it. We are quickly moved into the holding area. It is a caged-off set of benches that opens to a stone staircase leading to the pit.  A pair of Saffron mercenaries await at the bottom of those stairs, with more surrounding the cage. The pen already has two other packs of slaves roughly the same size as our own. Even if they hadn¡¯t been grouped up around their house banners it''s easy to spot what slave belongs to which house.

    Under the Blue orb of explorers are the sleeveless pitters of house HighSail. Like us, they tend to be armoured in leather. But where we are a hodgepodge of whatever scraps BloodRock decides to give us. The HighSail boys¡­and girls I see a pair of girls near the centre of their group. Are uniformly wearing helmets and padded leather gambesons that offer decent protection from neck to thigh.

    The Saffron, under their jewelled pyramid, are honestly ridiculous looking. Each one sporting polished iron armour sculpted like Muraab¡¯s is to give the appearance of impressive abdominal muscles.

    Crammed in like this the slaves from each house would usually be jostling and fighting. Not today though. Not in front of Saffron.

    Thinking about him makes me glance across the pit at the set of tables where our host and his guests are seated.

    Saffron himself sits on an ornate throne of dark carved wood that some poor group of slaves would have had to drag up here. As is the way of old men In Far Mantys time and the sun has turned his olive skin brown. The hair on his head and long drooping moustache are both white. No doubt the silks or whatever his loose tunic is made of is worth thirty of me.  Around him is his family. Or maybe his bodyguards and servants. I really have no way to know.

    I spot BloodRock seated not far away chatting between tables with Saffron.  He is a born and raised Far Mantyian but unlike Saffron, he doesn¡¯t look the part. So crammed full of elemental power he barely looks human at all. Atar BloodRock is the end result of a generational breeding program. I don¡¯t know the details exactly but he has both fire and stone blessings. Creating a man whose skin is perpetually shifting shades of red. Who has six dagger-sharp points of obsidian jutting like a crown out of his head. Who¡¯s tied-back hair always seems wet and drips little motes of that burning liquid you find in volcanoes.  They sizzle on the ground but run off his skin like water. That''s probably why the old man never wears a shirt. Just torques on his arms and rings on his fingers.  Despite his age¡­He¡¯s old I know that much.   BloodRock Radiates strength and solidity. His muscles have never turned to fat. Maybe they won''t, no matter how old he gets. Who knows how his blessings work?

    My houselord is accompanied by three others. The red-headed man I recognise from around the compound is BloodRock¡¯s adopted middle child. Not really sure how that works either. He adopts people sometimes I guess? Not slaves of course. Never us.  The other two are less familiar to me. Though after a moment I realise one is the girl Coil had shown through the tower. The other must be her brother. They share dark hair, ridiculously pale skin, and pointy chins.  The boy looks close to my own fifteen years though he¡¯s taller than I am. That''s pretty rare among kids. Especially when they are a human that is neither cursed nor blessed. It''s always a strange experience looking at teens who aren¡¯t pitters. They seem skinny to me. Skinny and oddly smooth-skinned. Even the other kinds of slaves seem soft to me if I''m honest. I try to keep that opinion to myself. This boy has more muscle than most I¡¯ll admit but he¡¯d still look like a stick next to me or Morean.

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    On Saffron¡¯s left is a table occupied by five HighSails. The explorer house seemed to be simply chatting among themselves, and enjoying the sumptuous lunch provided by Saffron. I can¡¯t blame them. Both BloodRock and Saffron are famously dull conversationalists. The more interesting HouseLords BlackMist and Tariff are halfway around the pit where they will be able to see the fights, but not really converse with the other three. I wonder if it''s an intentional snub. BlackMist maybe.But Tariff? Not a chance. Not the lawkeepers. Not the second oldest house.

    It''s a bit cramped in the pen but the Saffron and HighSail groups shuffle over for us. They always do. No one wants to confront the house built not on clever trade-wise investment, or providing society some service. The one built on violence.  BloodRock was exactly what he was bred to be. The best, most savage, most successful mercenary of all time. So powerful in his day the other eleven houses had made him one of them and given him a fortune to back the title.  It had been that or watch him burn the greatest city in the world to the ground.

    Also, none of the other houses do what we are about to. Once all nine of us have filed in behind him. Harrk Turns to face us with his metal shield in hand. Slamming it three times against the cage bars he screams at us.

    Bang!

    Bang!

    Bang!

    ¡°WHO RULES THE PIT?!¡±

    We scream right back.

    ¡°BLOODROCK!¡±

    Bang!!

    Bang!!

    Bang!!

    Louder this time.

    ¡°WHO RULES THE PIT?!!¡±

    All nine of us match his volume. Even the little kid.

    ¡°BLOODROCK!!¡±

    All the rich people at their fancy tables are looking at us now. BloodRock is laughing deeply at the show. I don¡¯t know why he¡¯s so impressed with himself. We do this every time.

    One final call drives us to a fever pitch.

    Bang!!

    It¡¯s not even really about him.

    Bang!!

    It¡¯s about us. The slaves who bleed and sweat and dominate that arena more often than not.

    Bang!!

    So when he asks there will only be one answer. There can be only one answer. Because It¡¯s the truth. Each and every one of these wretches I despise rules the pit.

    ¡° WHO RULES THE PIT???!!!!¡±

    We do.

    ¡°BLOOOOOOODDDDDRRRRROOOOOOOCK!!!!!!!!!¡±

    The other kids may be right to stay out of our way.

 Chapter 6: Traditional Greetings

    Chapter 6

    Traditional Greetings

    It¡¯s not long after we have settled in that the pit judge appears outside the cage. He is a middle-aged man with thinning hair, wearing the colours of house Saffron. Every arena has several pit judges to explain the rules of the day, declare starts, and ends to the bouts, and of course, adjudicate any confusion about the rules.

    He is in the midst of explaining that the pit¡¯s walls are covered in various weapons when I hear my name.

    ¡° North! Hey North Over here!¡±

    I already know who it is. The ghost of a smile twitches at the corners of my mouth.  Following the call with my gaze, I¡¯m surprised to see it¡¯s coming from the BlackMist table. Arguably the best youth piter in all Far Mantys. Undefeated, with one hundred and six wins. Some people are already calling him the SPAT: Strongest Piter Alive Today.

    Naturally, he¡¯s standing on his chair waving at me like an idiot.

    ¡°Where¡¯s my rematch, Resh!?¡± I shout back at him.

    He laughs. I don¡¯t consider it a pleasant sound. High-pitched and nasally. Like most of us who fight in the pits, Resh is cursed. Unlike the rest of us, he chooses to be here.

    "No one will be having any matches at all  if I am not allowed to lay out the rules!" Interjects the judge. Resh visibly winces.

    "Sorry," he calls back to the judge awkwardly. Then to Saffron himself

    "Sorry"

    Neither houselord nor his arena judge look impressed. Still, they let it slide without further complaint. People always let Resh get away with stuff like this. I suppose being an undefeated prodigy has its perks.

    Shaking his head a few times the judge continues. " There is no ban on house-supplied weapons. ¡°

    Usual stuff for this kind of arena.

    "Rules will be standard incapacitation or surrender. Killing an opponent will result in disqualification. When I call ''begin'' you do not hold back regardless of the weapon situation¡±

    I stare at the man for a second in mild shock. Those are the sort of rules you use for little kids. For people having their first bouts in the pit.  I suppose there will be at least one little kid match. But surely they could have just made that a special rules affair on its own. Enforcing no kills for every match of the day is bizarre. Normally the fans love nothing more than a death or two.

    "When I call ''end'' the bout is over. Not a moment before or after."

    He wraps up with a few more words about how entertaining Saffron and his guests is a high honour, and that our owners will expect us to give our best. He¡¯s not wrong. No one wants their slave to put on a poor show in front of the most influential family in Far Mantys.

    The fights don¡¯t begin as soon as the judge is done droning on. Of course not, that would be far too efficient. This time is supposed to be so the households can come inspect us in the pen. See who they will be betting on, gauge our health or see who they recognise. That sort of thing. It¡¯s just that it takes such a long time for them to actually wander over and inspect us.

    Not Resh though. The moment the judge is walking back to his own little viewing spot, my friend is on his feet dragging some poor BlackMist girl around the pit to a pen full of sweaty slaves.

    It''s not the woman I saw outside. She is still seated. This girl is closer to my own age. Though the family resemblance is clear. Dark hair, thin face, a weird black outfit featuring metal skeleton parts, and of course the black Swirl tattoo. Not the forehead this time but the underside of her chin, running down her throat.

    As the pair approach, I rise to meet them. It requires shoving a HighSail boy out of the way, but I get to the bars easily enough.

    Plenty of the other slaves are staring As Resh approaches. There isn¡¯t a youth pitter in the city who doesn¡¯t know ''The Rush'' on sight. He is mostly the shape of a small human with a mop of black and white hair. The curse still dominates the rest of his features though. The animal is some kind of rat. He told me once that it''s something called a Mongoose. I think he was lying. I''ve seen bird cursed before, and Resh is absolutely not one of those.  His nose is pointy, his face and neck are furred, and his ears are big and round. They are furry too.  He even has whiskers on one side of his face. Not like Muraab has whiskers because he is too lazy to shave. Whiskers like a cat.

    Naturally, we exchange our traditional greetings. Celebrating how we nearly killed each other.

    I stick my tongue out making a loud ¡°AAAAAAHHHHHH¡± noise as I mime a stabbing motion into the largest scar on the twisted mass of red lines and missing fur that is my chest.  For his part, Resh makes much the same noise while pulling down the collar of his shirt to reveal the jagged marks around his collar where I had tried to tear his throat out.

    After a few seconds of this, it devolves into the comfortable, if not entirely genuine laughter of friends repeating a joke for the thousandth time.

    He slaps the bars of the cage. ¡°No one told me you were fighting today! Who¡¯s donating their body for win number forty-four in a row?¡± Like always when he talks it¡¯s a tumble of words running together.

    ¡° Some kid, who cares?¡± I snort. ¡° what are you doing here if you aren¡¯t fighting?¡± I glance at the girl. Who up close is pretty-scary. Not as in more than a little scary. But pretty and scary in equal measure. In the shadowy and mysterious way that seers and sorceresses are sometimes. Definitely BlackMist stock. ¡° And who¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°Oh rightright¡± he says turning to her ¡° Ever since I won the big Saffron invitational at the end of last season you know the one where I won my freedom.¡± He says it so casually. As though The Spice Lord¡¯s major invitational isn''t the tournament we all dream of winning. The one where you go free at the end. ¡± The BlackMist family hired me.¡±

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    I¡¯m about to reply with ¡®To do what?¡¯ When I notice the girl is glaring at me. So much so that she is practically squinting.

    Baring my teeth in perhaps the least friendly smile of all time I growl at her.

    "What?"

    "This is¡­.Visc..carra" he slows right down noticing that we are staring daggers at each other. The girl¡­Viscarra I guess, turns away. Raising a hand to block half her face as if it was just utterly unbearable to look at me. I blink a few times in surprise.

    Mordrun people are weird, but who does that?!

    "Sorry I...I''ll see you back at the table. " she apologises to Resh haltingly."Nice to meet you North". It doesn''t seem nice to meet me. Especially since she doesn''t even lower her hand as she says it.

    Resh looks concerned for a moment but doesn''t stop her as she hurries off.

    He turns back to me and shrugs. I offer one in return. "The beast of BloodRock still undefeated with the opposite sex" he says. A smirk flashing across his rat features.

    I throw my arm out between the bars trying to grab him. It''s a wasted effort. Resh dodges back laughing. Of course, that''s not what it looks like. My friend is so fast your eyes can''t keep up. It seems as though The air distorts and Resh is suddenly a few feet away. As though he had never been close enough to grab at all. "That was not my fault!" I protest. My arm still hanging out of the cage. "The pen probably stinks or something."

    He waves a hand dismissively.

    "Don''t worry about it. Visc is an abyss gazer. She probably realised Tenebrous is in multigrade or some spooky thing we''d be too dumb to understand."

    ¡°Right..¡­¡± I reply, far from satisfied with the explanation. "Anyway, what do you mean they hired you? Are you a bodyguard or something?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a consultant .¡± He says proudly. I¡¯m about to ask what that is when he continues on quickly adding ¡° I¡¯m still fighting in the pit. I¡¯m going to be King on the sands.¡± Talking to Resh can be a bit of a pain like that. It used to annoy me. Still annoys me. But he¡¯s not doing it on purpose. ¡°But for now I¡¯m helping them structure their invitationals this season, and giving advice on which Pitters they should invite to what events. It''s fun and I can¡¯t wait for you to see what we have planned for the season!¡±

    It takes me a moment to piece together everything he said. I imagine I look just like Gori did this morning. Mouthing the words silently with a bewildered look in my eyes. Resh rolls his own eyes in return but waits for me to figure out what he said. It doesn¡¯t take too long.

    ¡°Wow,¡± I¡¯m honestly taken aback. ¡°That''s amazing.¡± I guess I shouldn¡¯t be surprised Resh might be cursed but he has to be the luckiest slave in the history of Far Mantys. He was never even really a slave. The women who owned him would have freed him years ago if he hadn¡¯t wanted to win the Saffron major instead.

    ¡°So¡­you''re going to tell them how great I am right?¡±

    Resh Snorts ¡°I¡¯ve been telling them idiot, but I need you to back it up. Put on a show today so Viscarra and her mother have a reason to add you to the shortlist.¡±

    I blink ¡°Those women decide who BlackMist invites? What do they know about pit fights?¡±

    Resh shakes his head ¡° I forget how backwards BloodRock is sometimes, yes North they decide, and they know a lot.¡± He grins at me then ¡° This is why women don¡¯t like you, they can sort of sense the stupid BloodRock ideas in your head.¡±

    That can¡¯t be true. Can it?

    ¡° Fine, whatever!¡± I snap back.  I feel oddly defensive of my house. It might be a prison full of people I hate. But BloodRock is still home.

    ¡°I¡¯ll give them something special to talk about.¡±

    ¡°Good, and would you wave to my sisters for once when you go out to fight?¡± I glance over at the BlackMist table where Resh¡¯s three ¡®sisters¡¯ sit with the BlackMist women and their slaves. Adaline, Adalena, and Ada¡­something. I don¡¯t remember.

    ¡° Why?¡± I grunt. ¡°The Ada¡¯s hate me anyway.¡±

    ¡°Oh, and I¡¯m sure the way to fix that is to alternate between glaring at them and ignoring them. Besides, they don¡¯t hate you. They are scared of you.¡± Again I open my mouth to speak but he cuts me off ¡°And they are my family. North I want you and them to get along. So please just make a little effort not to seem like you¡¯d bite their faces off if you got the chance.¡±

    I consider several counterpoints. Perhaps the most eloquent being ¡® I would bite their faces off if I got the chance.¡¯ But the way he¡¯s staring at me, black eyes almost pleading. This matters to Resh. I might have no idea why. But it does. ¡° Fine. I''ll wave to them, I¡¯ll wave and I¡¯ll put on a memorable show.¡± This is a pretty drastic change from my previous plans which had been stomping into the pit, saying nothing and sending two boys to their version of the tower as quickly as possible.

    His face splits right back into a grin. Sometimes I wonder if Resh feels his emotions faster than the rest of us too. ¡° Thank you. ¡° he says with infuriating earnestness.

    ¡° I don¡¯t want your thanks. I want my rematch¡± I growl at him. He either doesn''t notice how irritated I¡¯m getting or just doesn¡¯t care. Probably the latter. Resh¡¯s steadfast refusal to be put off by my anger is half the reason we became friends in the first place.

    He opens his arms palms upwards in a gesture of helplessness. ¡°Keep winning and it will happen eventually, but you know I can¡¯t control that.¡± I continue to glare. He continues to pretend he doesn¡¯t notice. The silent Implication is that he won''t lose either. Arrogant Jerk. He won''t of course but he still shouldn¡¯t talk like it.

    Resh glances back at the table he had come from. ¡°I have to get back, but I can bring you some of our fancy lunch if you want?¡±

    It¡¯s a tempting offer. I¡¯ve seen the kinds of things these people eat. It would probably make the blood stew in the tower seem awful by comparison.

    ¡°No. I don¡¯t eat on fight day. At least not till after.¡±  My stomach which can usually keep down rotting meat always betrays me if there is food in it when I''m fighting. I either feel sluggish or I throw up. While I¡¯m lucky enough to have never actually vomited in the pit. I can recall doing so both just before my match or just after at least three times.

    ¡°I understand.¡± He says not needing further explanation. While I¡¯ve never talked to Resh about my issues with food on fight day. It''s a common problem among pitters.

    Neither of us say goodbye or wish the other well. Everyone knows that''s bad luck for pit slaves. He simply inclines his head and scampers off.  His tail poking through the hole specifically tailored for it in his pants.

    I watch my friend go. My eyes drift to the pair of short swords he wears at his waist. One curved, one straight. Thread and Needle he calls them. Stupid names if you ask me. I know, I know his sisters are seamstresses. It''s all very cute. With the little charms hanging from the sword pommels. One is shaped like a pair of miniature shears, the other a tiny dress.  I don¡¯t care about any of that really. What I care about is that they belong to him. They are his swords. He can carry them around the city whenever he wants.

    I should hate Resh. I really should. I used to. When did I stop exactly? I¡¯m not sure but it wasn''t long after we fought. No one can go through something like that with a person and not have their feelings changed by it.

    Turning away from the bars I shoulder my way back to the BloodRock benches. This is HighSail territory in the cage. Most move out of my way gladly, some stare at me with awe.

    ¡°Yeah that''s right, losers. A kid from BloodRock is friends with the SPAT.¡±

 Chapter 7: The Flame Witch

    Chapter 7

    The Flame Witch

    Being a Pit Slave is strange. Even I who have never been anything else can tell that. We are around the lowest rung of society. Treated no better than criminals. Matter of fact I''ve heard of prisoners volunteering to work ships or mines rather than become one of us.

    Yet we spend a lot of time interacting with the richest, most powerful people in all of Far Mantys. There is something about us they like. I don''t really understand it, but they love to have us as guests at their events or have us talk on behalf of their businesses. Well, not me. Usually, they just want to watch me eat a live animal or something¡­..else equally demeaning.

    In the case of today, we are sent over to the sides of the cages so they can inspect us before betting amongst each other. Fortunes enough to change the world will pass between hands today. Bet on fights between children.

    Waiting for the rich people to get their fill of looking at us takes a while. They all have their own stupid ideas about what makes a good pitter and want to gauge information they think will matter.

    ''How much does he weigh? How tall is he? What weapons does he use? How much does he run? Can he dance?'' As though this bunch of merchants and debutantes really think their own knowledge of the pit could be comparable. If they weren''t idiots they would just pay a former pitter to bet for them. Or just always bet on House BloodRock of course.

    Today is at least quick. An advantage of the more personal nature of the event.

    The first match of the day is a free-for-all between the little kids. I see Morean giving our own tiny representative some advice beforehand. Hopefully, he listens. Morean might not be good enough to beat me alone, but he¡¯s what we call ¡®smart on the sands¡¯. If I¡¯m being honest I¡¯m not sure there is a youth pitter in the whole city with a better understanding of tactics.

    Then the pit side door of the cage is thrust open. One kid from each house makes his way down. There is a call from the judge and they start scrambling around for weapons on the walls. Three-way matches almost always go the same way. Whoever looks the strongest will get teamed up on. Not today though. The little six-year-old human we brought to make his debut has obviously recovered from pulling the wagon since he flies at the other two with reckless abandon. Smart. Don¡¯t give them a chance to actually start colluding. He emerges victorious maybe a twentieth of an hourglass later. One of the other boys has to be dragged off the sands, the second just gives up and accepts the loss. I don¡¯t pay much attention. Still, I give the kid a pat on the back like everyone else when he strides back into the cage. He''s bloody but grinning.  His eyes are wide like he can¡¯t quite believe he won.

    The next set of boys is getting ready when Tota sits down beside me.  I grunt as some of his spines jab me in the arm.  He makes a self-conscious face. ¡°Oooo Sorry¡±

    ¡°What do you want?¡± I growl. Checking to see if he¡¯s broken skin. He hasn¡¯t.  Unlike the BlackMist girl, he actually answers the question.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been watching the other houses and I think I have some idea who we are fighting¡±. I repress a sigh. I don¡¯t want the company but we are supposed to be a team. Also if he has figured out who we are fighting he might prove a little useful after all.  ¡°What have you got?¡± I lower my voice and ask.  No one outside of the BloodRock benches can likely hear us. I¡¯m still careful though. You never know what weird gifts one of the cursed might exhibit. There are all sorts and most are more useful than ¡®eat stuff good¡¯. ¡°So I asked Harrk and he said our match is straight two versus two. No third team, and no weird nonsense. ¡° He means traps or monsters. It makes sense. This isn¡¯t even a tournament. We are entertainment for a luncheon. They aren¡¯t going to want this to take all day. ¡°Alright,¡± I say glaring at Morean as the dark-skinned boy takes a seat on the other side of Tota to me. Does he really think he needs to protect his friends from me just randomly mauling them? As if it hadn¡¯t been them who attacked me. ¡° you''re trying to spot a duo¡±. I go on glancing around.

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    ¡°Exactly and I think they are from Saffron or HighSail. ¡°

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Numbers¡± He replies tapping a finger to his eyebrow. ¡° There are only five from BlackMist here.¡±  At the mention of House BlackMist, my eyes drift across the pit to where my friend and his ¡®sisters¡¯ are sitting. Resh is gesturing wildly. Relaying some story to women around him. It seems to be going over well as they look like they are laughing. Well, not Viscarra. The girl is¡­.still glaring at me? She is! I¡¯m in the midst of trying to figure out why when I¡¯m snapped back to the moment at hand by something I¡¯ve never heard before. Morean swearing.

    ¡°Saffron¡¯s golden balls!¡±

    Both Tota and I stare at the stone-blessed boy in surprise. "what is it?¡± hisses the spine-bearing cursed.  Wordlessly Morean points into the pit. Following his gesture my eyes go wide. ¡°Gods above and below! where did they get her from?¡± I exclaim.

    Tota looks from the pit to Morean, to me, back to the pit. The spined boy doesn¡¯t understand what he¡¯s looking at. ¡° What? What?¡±

    Morean Replies. ¡° just watch. We are in for a show¡±

    He¡¯s right.

    In the Pit, they are starting another three-way match. One Saffron, One BlackMist, and a girl from HighSail. Thankfully no BloodRock. As HighSail is going to win this.  The girl in question has been handed what looks like a metal staff by the judge. A house-supplied weapon. Not just any weapon though. The staff is actually a hollow tube. With grating near the centre of it where your hands go. It has some fancy name. But everyone I know just calls them fire sticks. And only one kind of person uses a fire stick.

    Itti¡¯atti. Not even a fire blessed like BloodRock can actually use the thing. He has fire inside him. He can¡¯t make or control fire. The girl who I had first taken as Far Mantyian can. She¡¯s a flame witch.  I see the difference now. Her skin isn''t quite as tan, her hair is darker. Itti¡¯atti look human. They aren¡¯t though. Where a fire blessed has an ancestor from another world. The Itti¡¯atti are a species from another world. The world of fire. Their ancestors were changed so that they could survive on the world of humans. I don¡¯t really understand it. Something about their goddess wanting them to live here. But everyone knows they don¡¯t get thirsty, and are in fact terrified of water. That''s how you know they aren¡¯t human. No matter the blessing or the curse, everyone needs water.

    Even before the judge calls to begin, the HighSail slave is twirling the metal tube around her. The other slaves are picking their weapons but I don¡¯t care about them. I¡¯m about to see some magic in action, and I don¡¯t want to miss a moment of it.

    The call comes. All three slaves are moving.  Fire lashes out from the ends of the flame stick. My mouth hangs open. The fire isn''t moving like fire. It''s more like a pair of corded whips extending out from the weapon. No, that''s not quite right. It moves like some combination of a weapon and a living thing. Going from twirling about the Itti''ati or licking out to scorch the other pit slaves with no notice at all.

    The Saffron and BlackMist boys don''t have an answer for it. I can''t blame them. The fire has more range than any weapon in the pit. Which means you have to get close. Getting close means getting burned horribly before even getting a chance to deal with the girl''s whirling metal stave.

    The whole fight is over in the time it would take someone other than me to eat an apple.

    As far as I know, there have only ever been three flame witches to compete in the pits ever. Four now I guess. All three went down as Icons. Handing out losses and flame-related deaths with joyful abandon. One was even king on the sands. She is going to be trouble.

    When the Itti¡¯atti returns to the pen the HighSail slaves cheer. The rest of us are dead silent.

 A Quick Sketch - Resh

    Just a quick sketch my wife did of the most dangerous youth pitter in all of Far Mantys. Undefeated with 106 wins.

    He also happens to be North''s best friend and greatest rival.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    I know he doesn''t look like much. But I''m excited for you guys to see what he can do.

    </a>

 Chapter 8: The Basics

    Chapter 8

    Basics

    I and Tota are meant to compete only a single match later. Normally it would annoy me to be so many fights before the main event. And what''s worse, so many before Morean. Today though I''m fighting for Kalon who absolutely deserves to be in the middle.

    We never actually figured out who we are fighting. Instead devolving into quiet chatter about how one would try to beat the flame witch. The shock of seeing an Itti¡¯atti in action cuts through the tension enough to have something reassembling a normal conversation.

    The three of us even share a laugh at the idea of Morean just letting her burn all his skin off to get in range.

    When Harrk calls for us to get ready I take a deep breath. I''m nervous again, and I''m not sure if it is because of the fight or the talking. "Just¡­.just stay to the right of me" I grunt at Tota. He makes a weird face obviously not realising I''m trying to protect his wounded arm. "JUST DO IT!" I practically roar in his face.  Tota nods eyes wide. Just like he did in the tower. Morean looks over at me with his usual lack of expression but lets out a long sigh. What''s his problem now?

    We sidle up to Harrk. The pair of Saffron boys we will be fighting do the same with their escort. It''s strange to be this close to my opponents before the fight starts. Most places keep you in separate cages. Not Saffron. He has to flex his power. Show off that we won''t dare offend him.  Our owners would make our lives seem like the world of shadows if they didn''t just kill us outright for a sin of that magnitude. I imagine that''s also why we let the Saffron team go first. When the cage door opens Harrk makes us wait patiently until they have passed down the stairs and entered the pit.

    It''s sort of an advantage. They have more time to pick out their preferred weapons. It won''t matter. Saffron''s pitters are like Saffron''s family. Richly adorned but soft.

    As I walk down the stone stairs to the pit I look up at BloodRock. He is having a good time. I can tell by the dozen or so empty cups arrayed around him. The Fire blessed houselord is laughing and gesturing at me. Once again or I guess still chatting to Saffron himself between tables. The two men are gambling, and it''s obvious Saffron is having a less enjoyable time. I''ve seen this before. BloodRock likes to get extremely drunk while he watches fights. The other Houselords have a tendency to assume that means he won''t make savvy bets. It''s true. He isn''t savvy about anything while drunk. It doesn''t matter though BloodRock pit slaves win far more than we lose. So it doesn''t matter if the bets are well made BloodRock will win most of them anyway. I''m a little surprised Saffron fell into the trap, but I guess with his mountains of gold. A fortune or two, lost gambling is irrelevant.

    Once we get to the pit floor I cast my gaze around the walls. There is a small metal door I couldn''t see from the cage. A pair of Saffron¡¯s mercenaries casually leaning against it. That must lead to where hurt pit slaves are taken for treatment. It certainly makes more sense than having your slaves drag them up a tower.

    "There," says Tota quietly pointing. I follow the gesture to a type two medium axe. Big enough to be used two-handed, small enough to be used one-handed if you''re strong. A Larger head than the type one medium axe. It''s my favourite weapon by far. I use it whenever I can.

    "Thanks" I mutter. Realising I have no idea what Tota prefers to use, and can''t return the favour.

    ¡°ARM!¡± comes the call from the judge. All four pit slaves explode into motion. Each of us making a beeline for our preferred option. I snatch the axe off the wall and dash back to the centre of the pit. Tota for his part has armed himself with a halberd. Normally I¡¯d think that was a good choice. The fact that I felt his arm bones splinter inside my mouth a few short days ago robs me of some faith. If he''s recovered enough to use it. The halberd is a great weapon. It will allow him to stay behind me and still be effective. Also, the sheer leverage generated by polearms means it''s almost impossible to block outright. If Tota isn''t recovered. He won''t be able to use the weapon at all.

    I paw at the sand with my left foot. My final pre-fight ritual. I¡¯ve done it ever since  I was little. I don''t remember why I started but something about feeling the sand under my claws has always helped me calm down a little.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    The Saffron boys in their fancy armour have both opted to dual-wield short swords. I almost laugh at the sight. I swear Resh has ruined a whole generation of pit slaves. It makes me feel a little better. Dual wielding is fine, but short swords are side arms at best. It only works for ''The Rush'' because he¡¯s so fast.

    "Begin!"

    Having discussed no strategy beyond me yelling at him. Tota and I fall into a standard two-person pattern every pitter drills.  He has the longer weapon so I take point. The spiked boy a little behind and to my right.

    This is another problem with the short swords. The Saffron boys only have two options when it comes to formation. Either they split up entirely or they stand side by side. Anything else and they will just end up fighting us two against one.

    It''s that moment I remember I was supposed to wave at Resh''s sisters. It might be a bit arrogant of me but I point my axe at the BlackMist table and shoot them a wink. This is a fairly personal arena. They might have even been able to see it. In a smarter decision than I would have given them credit for, the pair of Saffrons use my momentary distraction to rush me. You want to have the initiative in a fight. It''s almost always better to be first than to try and react to your foe. Even more so if your weapon is shorter than your enemy¡¯s.  I bring the axe back down, pivoting off to the side as I do. From behind me, Tota¡¯s halberd comes swinging down at the head of the boy closer to me. It has the added advantage of blocking his partner from pursuing me as I move off to the side.  My own partner is using his weapon backwards, the Halbard¡¯s blade pointing towards himself rather than the Saffron boys.

    Makes sense I guess. If Tota cuts one of these boys in half we will be disqualified by the little kid rules in place. The backwards halberd can still knock a boy¡¯s wits from his head. Or kill him. But as long as the boy dies after the judge declares us the winner it doesn¡¯t matter.

    The Saffron boy manages to avoid the descending polearm. Barely. The dodge breaks his posture and he stumbles a little. Terrible. Now actually prepared I launch myself at the off-balance boy. It¡¯s hard to feint with an axe like mine. It doesn''t respond to little twitches of movement the way a lighter weapon might. It can be done of course, and there are a number of other tricks it does facilitate. The most basic of those tricks is to batter your way through one of those lighter weapons. Basic doesn¡¯t mean bad. Sometimes the basics are the best course of action. I swing my axe two-handed at the Saffron boy¡¯s chest. He has regained his balance but not in time to move out of the way. His only hope is a sort of cross-bladed block with both his weapons. Axe head meets twin swords. I¡¯m bigger, I¡¯m stronger. My weapon is heavier. The swords are driven back into his chest but slide off his fancy armour.

    Tota is having no issue keeping the other Saffron at bay. Matter of fact he is practically chasing the boy around the pit.

    Good.

    Seeing no reason to change it up I swing my axe at my opponent¡¯s chest again. He blocks the same way. Feet more solidly planted this time he does a better job repelling my axe, but he winces when he does it.

    That''s good too.

    ''Why mess with a winning strategy?''

    I swing my axe a third time in the exact same way.  He winces again.

    A moment later I am surging past him as he preemptively raises his swords for what he assumed would l be a fourth strike at his chest.

    Another example of the basics might be establishing a pattern, and then breaking it to catch your enemy off guard.

    Twisting my axe I slice up into one of the few unarmoured places the boy has. Under his armpit. I figure since the Saffron pitter was nice enough to raise his arms and expose the weakness for me. I may as well take advantage. Dark blood begins to pour from where I have cut him, thick and heavy flowing. He will probably be fine. But if he isn¡¯t treated it will kill him fairly soon.

    ¡° I give, I give. You win!¡± He hisses at me, dropping his swords. I guess the boy knows how badly he¡¯s been hurt.  A few heartbeats later I hear a sickening crunch and turn to see Tota has snapped the other Saffron¡¯s leg with a blow from his polearm.  I nod at him. Easiest fight of my life. I''m not even out of breath.

    ¡°Guess you didn¡¯t need to stay to my right huh?¡± I say forcing myself not to smile. He was actually useful. Who would have thought?

    ¡°Guess not¡± He pants back. His grin is a mirror of the one I''m repressing.

    Raising our weapons in celebration we both look up to the judge. Seated on his own observing the fights. At this point, he should be standing. He¡¯s not. He should be calling ¡®end¡¯. He¡¯s not. He should be declaring House BloodRock the winner. He¡¯s not doing that either.

    I share a confused look with Tota. Who clearly has just as little idea of what''s going on as I do.

 Chapter 9: Broken

    Chapter 9

    Broken

    I feel like I can¡¯t breathe. I know what''s happening now. I knew as soon as the mercenaries guarding the door to the treatment room shoved the approaching wounded boy to the ground. They won''t let him get help.

    Glancing up at BloodRock and Saffron all but confirms it. Saffron is looking rather smug as he plays with his moustache. BloodRock has left happy drunk well behind him. Instead, he sits in sullen silence. Saffron is going to let his slave die. Then the judge will disqualify me. I''m hyperventilating now. This will go down as a loss. They are breaking my win streak so Saffron can what? Win a bet?

    Forty-three consecutive wins. I have forty-three! The one thing I can call my own. The one path to maybe go free one day. They are taking it all from me. The boy is trying to stem the bleeding. But it''s pointless. He just can''t. Can¡¯t even get back to his feet.

    "Can..can we help him?" Asks Tota quietly.

    "How?!" I snap. ¡°I don''t know anything about healing. Even if I did. What am I supposed to do here? Stitch him up with an axe?¡±

    ¡°Uhhh we could stuff the wound with cloth maybe.¡± He knows it would be a waste of time. I can hear it in his voice. The Saffron boy is barely moving now. He likely has more blood on the sand than inside him. His partner tried to drag himself over. But even if his leg wasn¡¯t broken there is nothing he can do either. All three of us have no option but to watch in horror.

    Eventually, the last twitch leaves the Saffron slave.

    ¡° END!¡± Comes the call from the judge.

    ¡°BloodRock pitters have killed a Saffron pitter against the rules of this arena. ¡° Tota hangs his head and starts trudging back to the cage.

    ¡°The winner is Saffron.¡± I knew he was going to say it. But the words still hit me like a kick to the liver.

    ¡°No,¡± I whisper.

    The broken-legged boy is being carried off by the pair of mercenaries now. He will get treated at least. The lucky one.

    ¡°No No No No No¡± I whisper again and again. At least I think I¡¯m whispering.

    I can feel my snicker building up. This can¡¯t be happening. The laughter bursts from my lips.

    ¡° Go on boy¡± comes the call from BloodRock. He sounds resigned. ¡° We lost. Go sit down.¡±

    I snap my head towards the rich men then quickly away again. ¡°NO!¡± I gesture with my axe at the judge ¡° I¡¯m not going anywhere until he says I won!¡±

    I don¡¯t know how to describe what I¡¯m feeling. Some combination of panic-inducing fear and vision-darkening rage. They can¡¯t do this to me. This is the pit. Where things are fair. Where the slave with the better skills, the better plan, the better abilities, or is stronger or wants it more wins. Always fair.

    I¡¯m going to regret this, I know it. But the little voice crying out for logic in the back of my mind is a tiny pitiful thing. Nothing compared to the raging beast rampaging between my ears. Nothing compared to my need to hurt Saffron hurt the judge, hurt everyone.

    ¡° Yes you are North¡± comes my owner¡¯s reply. His voice is as full of menace as I¡¯ve ever heard it.

    ¡° Who¡¯s going to make me?!¡± I scream back. Seeing as the answer is ¡®no one¡¯ he says nothing in reply

    I¡¯m stalking toward the judge platform now. Just up a few steps and he will be in my grasp. The Saffron Mercenaries have returned, but they aren¡¯t doing anything. That¡¯s smart, I¡¯ll kill them both. BloodRock himself won¡¯t come down here either. He might be almost invincible in a fight, but his old man''s knees will stop him dead before he gets down the steps to the pit floor.

    ¡°Well If no one else wants the honour¡± comes a strangely accented voice I¡¯ve never heard before. With the crowd silent as they are now I can hear the slap slap slap of running feet on stone. I look back towards BloodRock just in time to see the dark-haired skinny boy who had been at the table hurl himself over the lip of the pit. That stops me.

    He rolls as he hits the packed sand and comes up with a long thin sword drawn. Sheath lying on the sand behind him. I blink.

    ¡°Seriously?¡±

    The boy smiles sheepishly. ¡° You are stealing the show. So I needed to make an Impression ¡± Closer now I can tell for sure he is related to the girl with the covered hair. He speaks in that same strangely listless way as well.

    ¡° Get out of here before I rip you apart¡± I¡¯m still laughing but the words come out mostly how I intended.

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    He does quite the opposite. Advancing on me in stance, sword held at the ready.

    "I can''t do that, " he says with a shake of his head. " The judge. If you kill or hurt him they will kill you, and even worse there will be no one to judge my match later"

    I frown trying to concentrate. I''m bad at it in the best of cases. Right now my mind is a whirling storm.

    There is something important about this boy. Something about him having a match later. It doesn''t matter. I''ll hack his head off then feed his fancy sword to the judge.

    My muscles know what to do even if my brain is all over the place. I stride forward and swing big. Aiming to take the kid¡¯s head from his shoulders in a single attack. The dark-haired boy ducks out of the way. Instantly resetting his stance so he stays facing me. Normally this would be the perfect chance to counter me. Slip a little thrust into my side, fight over. He can¡¯t though. Even as he avoids the first attack I feed into the momentum of the axe. Turning with the weapon to keep pace with my enemy. We are dance partners the axe and I. Turning and moving with each other¡¯s weight. It¡¯s always been my favourite way to fight. Big swings that lead into each other. The axe and I trading the lead back and forth. It might look wild, but if I do it right I won¡¯t tire quickly. Not to mention there is something about defence through attack that appeals to me. Yes, I leave openings when I¡¯m dancing about with the axe. You have to be willing to face a massive return strike if you want to exploit them though.

    The kid steps back from the next swing and changes direction. Smart. That is a flaw in this style. I have to waste time and energy every time I need to reverse directions. Unless I want to spin on the spot. Which I am of course not going to do.

    He tries to take advantage of the gap with a lunge. Leaning into the turn I manage to catch it on the shoulder. The fancy sword slides across the leather pauldron without breaking the skin beneath. I owe the piece of armour an apology. Not so useless after all.

    I lash out aiming to carve his chest. The boy doesn''t block my blow. That''s smart too. My axe along with my size will overwhelm almost any guard he puts up. Instead, he relies on his footwork to keep him safe as we battle back and forth. It''s honestly spectacular, the way this human moves. It''s better footwork than any I can manage. Better than Resh''s too honestly. Though I think he would still lose to Resh. The Rush is just impossible to keep up with no matter how technically perfect your movements are.

    I quickly abandon the wild nature of my attacks. He''s too good and too fast for that. To my surprise, the human insists on pressuring me. It''s a problem. The nature of my knees has a couple of advantages. Fighting while moving backward is absolutely not one of them.

    Every strike he throws is a work of art. Targeting the tiniest of gaps I leave, or timing me with near perfection. Still, my axe is an iron wall. One after the other I turn the blows aside. I have to. If I do let him make me give ground he will pursue. That thin blade will easily find openings as I keep from tripping over my feet.

    Up this close, I can''t generate the same amount of leverage. Which means he can parry or block my axe now. I''m still stronger though. When our weapons clash I come off the better. At this rate eventually, his arms will go numb. Or if I can just find a moment when he is even a little off balance. I''ll crush him.

    I had expected him to pivot away, keep attempting to circle me, or create advantageous angles. He doesn''t. After the initial clash, he only employs forward and backward movements. In range or out of it, never in the middle ground. This is the first time I¡¯ve fought someone who does that against a larger enemy.

    I can hear shouting from the arena now. But the actual words elude me. So focused on every moment. Every step, every movement of my body and his. There are only a few youth pit slaves who can push me like this. And none because of their technique alone. Fighting this human is like fighting a full-grown man. Not his strength or speed. But the way he moves. The way he handles everything I throw at him. It''s like he''s seen it all thousands of times before. He might even be better than I am. But fair in the pit or not, the victory doesn''t always go to the better fighter. It might go to the stronger one, or the one with greater endurance. The pitter who is naturally faster, or the one with a specially devised plan for his opponent. I am going to beat this boy. I have to. As stupid as it is, some part of me believes that if I can win here and now. My disqualification will somehow be erased.

    All of a sudden the pressure is gone. He springs backwards putting distance between us quickly. His balance of course is perfect the whole time. I¡¯m about to rush him down when he drops his sword and gestures wildly behind me. No one is stupid enough to actually try that trick, are they? Are they? Flicking a glance over my shoulder I conclude. No. He is in fact not that stupid.

    Most of the rich people are standing making frantic demands. That''s not what the dark-haired boy is pointing at though. His wild gesturing was directed at the BlackMist table and for good reason. The two spooky Housewomen are both standing hands held outward. Flowing from those hands is swirling darkness. It moves like smoke. Flowing languidly forward. It isn¡¯t smoke. It¡¯s the Black Mist. A tear, in reality, A hole their magic burrows through the world linking us to another. The World of Shadows. My jaw drops open and I can''t help but stare. The smoky darkness congeals. Thickening and speeding its movement. I must have blinked because I don¡¯t notice when it changes but suddenly I''m looking at a shiny black-scaled snake four times the length of a man and half as thick as I am across. The creature doesn¡¯t have eyes. Not even sockets. It does have fangs though. Four of them, each the length of my whole hand. The lack of sight doesn¡¯t seem to bother the monstrous serpent. It surges towards me with horrifying speed and unerring drive. It is definitely coming for me. And it definitely knows where I am.

    I¡¯m fast too though. I almost beat Resh! With a little snarl, I pivot on the spot and twist away from its bite. I don¡¯t even think about my counterattack before it''s happening. Years of practice driving my movements with more alacrity than my brain can keep up with. I bring the axe down just behind the snake¡¯s head. I shouldn¡¯t have bothered. The weapon passes through the beast without leaving so much as a mark.

    ¡°That is not fair!¡± I cry. Shock stealing my movement. Terrible form. I hate myself a little for it. I hate the snake more as it whips its back half out smashing into my ankles and knocking me from my feet. I guess it''s only made of shadows when it wants to be. Before I can do anything its coils are around me crushing any hope of movement. That''s not right. It didn¡¯t move. It was just around me suddenly. That¡¯s not fair either! While I''ve never really thought about it before. When the eyeless snake is squeezing the breath from my lungs I conclude I hate magic. I desperately strain to get my axe free as it brings its weirdly featureless face up to mine. After the longest moment of my life, it lunges forward. Those huge fangs punching straight into my chest. It doesn¡¯t hurt as much as it should but I can feel it pumping what is no doubt liquid death straight from its fangs into my veins.

    One of the few gifts of my curse is a strange constitution. I am virtually immune to poison. Poison is when you get sick from eating something. Venom on the other hand is when you get sick from something trying to eat you. If I had ever wondered if my immunity extended to venom. I can now say with certainty. It does not.

    My legs go numb. My upper body starts to twitch and spasm. I try to bite the beast in return but the world transforms into a barrage of blurring colours that rush by with nauseating speed. I never find out if my bite has more success than my axe.

 Art Interude Two

    I can''t figure out if people love or hate these. Please let me know!

    Full disclosure the following art is all AI generated, I just think its fun to see how close AI can come to the images in my head.

    <hr>

    Gori

    </a>

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    <hr>

    Xael(The boy North Fought in chapter 9)

    <hr>

    Kapira(The Itti''atti flame witch in chapter 7)

    </a>

    <hr>

    Atar BloodRock

    </a>

 Chapter 10: The Rush

    Part 2: The GodsBlade

    Chapter 10

    The Rush

    The dream gets some details wrong. The crowd was a lot smaller for one, just a few gamblers and fanatics. Not the roaring mass I see in the stands of my mind. The Pit in question is wrong too. We fought in the HighSail arena just outside their compound overlooking the docks.  Closest I''ve ever been to the ocean.

    This is some other place, an amalgamation of all four of the primary pits. A dream arena indeed.

    The rest is just how I remember it. Resh is still short now, but back then he had been tiny. A slight little thing, but with each step he took from the opposite tunnel he seemed to grow, and transform until what stood before me wasn''t a rat boy, but a towering mass of shadows, teeth, and claws. Its blades shine with razor lethality.

    I had seen him fight before. He had won four tournaments back to back. All without taking a scratch.  It is hard to conceive anyone could ever hope to challenge this monster. I take a deep breath. For once my snicker doesn¡¯t start up the second I get nervous.

    Pawing at the arena floor with my left foot I focus on the sun-warmed sand, the feeling of it under my claws. And slowly I manage to calm down a little.

    The creature I see is only in my mind. He''s just a boy like me. We are both thirteen. I am not fighting a monster, not fighting a win streak. I am fighting a boy. That is all.  Just a boy holding two short uneven swords.

    We spoke then for a few moments.  I don''t remember the exact words, but he had seen me fight and said he was looking forward to our match. I said something along the lines of ¡°Go fuck yourself.¡±

    Then the yell to start comes, and he vanishes.  I knew what was coming, but it was impossible to be prepared for Resh in earnest. He''s so fast it defies belief.

    Keeping my axe close to my body I dodge to the right. Of his swords, Thread is the longer, and he likes to attack with that first. Which means he will go to my left. Even knowing it''s coming he opens a line along my jaw. And is past me before I can even consider a defence. ¡®Just a bit lower and...NO!¡¯ Don''t waste time thinking about it.

    He comes at me again, and I lash out with my axe at his legs, he leaps over it and is past me again. Who does that? pitters that jump tend to be pitters that die. Still, only a quick jerk of my head downwards saves me from losing an eye. As it stands he opened another gash across my head, where his blade scraped along my skull.

    ¡®He''s too fast. I can''t¡­SHUT UP¡¯. I tell myself. I knew he was going to be fast. Stick to the plan. No one can move like this forever. He will slow down. He will!

    I spin to face him swinging my axe blind as I do.  Good instincts. He dances backward, abandoning whatever assault he was about to begin.

    I can''t let him pin me in place like this. He will use that speed to build a cage of empty air around me. Force me to focus only on defending while he blitzes past me again and again. So I pursue, even knowing I can''t catch him. I have to keep moving.  Staying in one place is a death sentence.

    He comes at me again. That monstrous speed and solid footwork mean he can always attack me from a favourable angle. I''m ready for it this time. Leaning back a little I thrust my axe forward. It won''t cut him like that but Resh still crashes into the weapon moving too fast to stop himself.

    Hopefully, it broke something in his midsection. Even if it didn''t, the top of the weapon knocked the breath out of him and the pain will make breathing hard.

    The rat manages to keep his feet. And even maintain his balance enough to retreat again. Pitty, if he had fallen I could have ended this right now.

    He''s watching me now. Eyes wide with shock. " Thought you were too fast for me to time huh?" I taunt. He grins but I think he''s trying too hard to regain his breath to respond.

    ¡®Keep pushing.¡¯ Don''t let him breathe. Don¡¯t let him decide the flow of the fight.

    Before I can get back in range he begins a series of testing dashes that no one else would even attempt. A rush of air, and suddenly he appeared just inside my range, but just out of his. Another rush, and he has dashed back out again. Practically materialising out of thin air about ten yards away.

    Leaving me hitting nothing but arena sand.

    I feel the whoosh of air, and he''s back. Swinging for my neck. I deflect. He''s gone again before I can even begin to counterattack.

    Where usually I would use my axe like a dance partner, the two of us whirling around the pit feeding off each other''s weight and momentum. Against Resh, the gaps it would leave are too big. Today I keep the weapon tight and disciplined.

    ¡®Keep moving forward¡¯ I remind myself.  Don''t get mesmerised by his movement. If you can force him against the arena wall.  You can take away his room to move.  If I can cut off the arena, I can Build a cage of my own.

    He might be faster, so much faster. But you can counter speed with a good sense of timing. Mine is better than good.

    I blink and he''s back in range. Not a test this time. Fully committed. Needle thrusts at my face, and Thread sweeps toward my stomach.  I smash both blades away with the haft of my axe. Then step forward countering with a diagonal slice towards his face.

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    Resh stumbles backward, hurling himself into a roll before neatly coming back to his feet. I''m breathing hard, and I can taste the salt of my own sweat. Or is it the iron of blood? Doesn''t matter. If I''m getting tired, he must be exhausted.

    He certainly looks tired. His hair sticking to his face with sweat of his own. It still doesn''t seem to be affecting his movements.

    Am I wrong? Will I wear out before he does?

    At the thought, I start to snicker.  Resh looks taken back for a second then he too starts to laugh. Like we are sharing some grand joke. We aren''t.

    "This is the best," he says in between hard breaths. " I hoped you would be good, but this might be the most fun I''ve ever had."

    I feel very differently.

    "You''re broken in the head" I pant. He doesn''t deny it.

    ¡°And you''re amazing" he replies with utter sincerity.

    Suddenly he''s jabbing both of his swords, point down into the sand of the arena.

    I frown. What on the seven worlds is he doing? "Honestly" he continues" I wish this could go on forever"

    while I watch warily. He Pulls a length of twine from somewhere and ties his hair back. I snort with amused bewilderment. Is this for the crowd?  It has to be. No one does this sort of thing in real life.

    I guess I should be grateful. I''m not good at riling up the audience. This however has gotten their attention.

    "But I have to win this tournament, when I do my sisters will own their store for themselves." His grin fades, and his black eyes go hard.

    "I have to beat you."

    I consider his words. Then glaring I spit on the ground.

    "Beat me then"

    From that moment the fight changes.

    No more dancing around for the rat boy. Now he moves like debris tossed before a cyclone. Random and awkward, but hard to predict and still possessing a lethal velocity.

    Suddenly we are face to face once more. Needle and thread are all but invisible as he launches flurry after flurry.

    I block, I parry, I counter, But mostly I bleed. My skin is thick, and his attacks are light.

    But he is still tearing flesh from my arms and chest. While he uses that speed to dodge everything I send back his way.

    Still¡­ I was right. He is getting tired, I can feel it in the force of his blows, see it in the way his face is turning red. That''s why he is fighting like this. He has to beat me while he still has the energy left to do it.

    Swinging my axe out in the briefest moment while he is recovering from a missed attack. I force him to block. Well, sort of. Small as he is even with both swords my axe will smash through any block he attempts. A deflection however is possible, if difficult.  He lashes out with the blades together to knock the attack away from his body. He uses the momentum of the clashing weapons to spin in place, rather than fall back or over.

    Got him.

    Lunging my upper body forward I lock my jagged teeth around his shoulder and collarbone whilst he is still mid-spin.

    With a jerk of my neck, I lift him from his feet. He screams. I bite down harder. I can feel flesh tear, and bone start to give way.  Blood fills my mouth. It tastes like victory. Salty disgusting victory.

    I fling my head back and forth like a dog trying to break a rat''s neck. I suppose it isn¡¯t that far from the truth. I feel his collarbone snap, and my teeth dig further into the soft flesh of his neck.

    This is the end.

    A sudden flash runs through me. A lightning bolt of utter weakness.

    The jaws I''m so proud of fail and to my shock I release him. Resh goes tumbling onto the ground. That was weird, but it doesn''t matter. I all but tore his throat out. The fight is over.

    And yet¡­

    With one hand pressed to his neck desperately trying to arrest the flow of dark arterial blood, he uses the sword ''Thread'' as a cane. Slow and laboriously, Resh climbs to his feet. His face is still set, still determined to win.

    "I have to beat you" he pants. Again and again " I have to beat you." I don''t think he''s talking to me. Not really. It''s a chant, a prayer to the gods above and below to keep him standing.

    "I have to beat you"

    So be it. If I have to kill him to win. Then I''ll kill him.

    "Suit yourself" I pant back at him.

    I take a step forward and heft my axe. Except I don¡¯t, I can''t. The axe feels heavy, unbearably so. Like some great force is pulling it downwards. I fight against it with every ounce of my strength, but I can''t even bring the head of the weapon past my waist. It slips from shaking fingers.

    I look down at my axe when I see the issue. The shorter of Resh''s two blades, Needle. Is buried hilt deep in my chest. I don''t recognise what I''m looking at right away, as not a speck of blade is visible. But then I see the little metal charm shaped like a dress he keeps tied to the weapon. Understanding dawns on me.

    ¡®When did he?¡¯

    The spin I realise. When he spun on the spot he must have reversed the shorter sword, slamming it into me blind.

    I look back up at Resh in shock and horror.

    Blood is still pouring from between his fingers, but he continues his chant. More importantly, he continues to stand.

    There is no pain, but that''s only because I''m dreaming. When this happened for real the agony was so great I could barely see.

    I can still beat him. I can! It doesn¡¯t matter that I can¡¯t breathe. I take a step forward. Axe or no, if I can get ahold of him again I will end this in an instant. And he doesn''t have enough left inside to move, let alone avoid me.

    But there never was a force pulling at my axe was there? It''s simple. My strength has fled. I''m dying. I take another step towards him. He''s close enough to reach out and touch. But my legs buckle. Buckle then fail.

    ¡®No!¡¯ It isn''t supposed to be like this. The plan was working! Just a little longer, I can see him sway. He''s barely standing. No one can keep fighting with an injury like his. No one can.

    I manage to catch myself on my knees but no matter how I try to force myself back up. My body refuses to obey. One after the other my muscles are giving in to shock and blood loss. They can''t even hold me up anymore. I search for any glimmer of strength. Some spark of will to drive me on

    I can beat him¡­ I''m the best...I ca- the world goes dark and the last thing I remember is the taste of sand and the ragged crowd cheering his name.

 Chapter 11: Bad in The Blood

    Chapter 11

    Bad in the Blood

    I¡¯m clutching at my chest when I come awake gasping. Panicked and sweaty I sit up. The Last thing I remember is a snake creature from the world of shadow and I were trying to eat each other. It had been winning. Weirdly I don¡¯t seem to be dead or missing any body parts. I¡¯m sore. But it¡¯s the same injuries I went to Saffron with. There isn¡¯t even a mark where the snake bit me.

    It turns out I am in my own cot. Which means I wasn¡¯t hurt enough to end up in the tower. Whatever venom had been pumped through my veins must have had some magical property to prevent it from killing me. Maybe it went back to the world of shadows when the creature did? I don¡¯t know how this stuff works. I do know I¡¯m not dead. Not dead and the familiar if terrible scents of my hall in the BloodRock compound are wafting through my nostrils. I think it¡¯s early evening as I see a few covered torches burning. There are only a few of the boys around and no one is sleeping. Just as my breathing and heart calm down from the excitement of the dreamt memory I notice another smell. Just as familiar, but utterly out of place here. Rain on hot stone. I¡¯ve heard people say they love that smell, lots of people honestly. They talk about fond memories and lazy afternoons. I don¡¯t love it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. It¡¯s the smell of punishment, the smell of fear, and burned flesh. The smell of Atar BloodRock up close.

    ¡° I didn¡¯t lose¡±. I hiss. Launching myself to my feet before I¡¯ve even seen him.'' where''

    Spinning about, I eventually catch sight of him. Massive and muscled, red-skinned, and dripping burning rock. My breath catches and I bring my fists up protectively in front of my face. He hasn¡¯t said anything yet. He is just standing there expression utterly neutral. It won''t stay that way. Oh no, I know why he¡¯s here. BloodRock deals with losers personally. With torturous slowness, he pulls a pipe from his belt. Packs it with dried leaf of some sort and ignites it with a little dab of his spit on a finger.

    ¡° I didn¡¯t¡±. I say again glaring at the man who owns me. He doesn¡¯t reply right away of course. He¡¯s dragging it out. So he takes a long inhale from the pipe. I¡¯m reminded of Gori smoking his Karata. Though BloodRock¡¯s pipe is a little more on the fancy side, fancier than an apple at least.

    Without warning he drops the pipe and rushes me. I¡¯m faster than him. A lot faster in a situation like this where he doesn¡¯t have time to get some momentum going. The problem is I don¡¯t have anywhere to go. I can only set my feet and brace for the collision. When we collide I fight him. I always fight him. Scratching, punching, even biting. None of it matters. Not only is he strong in a way that stretches credulity but his blessings make fighting him unarmed all but impossible. Every boy in the compound could attack him at once and all we would get out of it would be burned flesh and broken bones.

    It¡¯s his flesh. He does something magical and his red skin becomes that same liquid fire that drips from his hair.

    I¡¯ve spent my whole life trying to be the biggest, the best, the scariest around. He hurls me back against the wall with contemptuous ease. My instincts kick in and I¡¯m staggering to my feet before I even realise what I¡¯m doing. It¡¯s pointless. There are real monsters in this world. It doesn¡¯t matter how hard I work, I will never be able to join them. BloodRock wasn¡¯t just born this way. He was designed. His parents had been the final step in a multi-generational program to create him. Mine had sold me for roughly the price of a half sack of seeds.

    There is no path from where I started to where he is, and there never will be. I still ball my fists and bring them to my face. He won¡¯t go easy on me just because I don¡¯t fight back.

    The moment he is within reach I throw a straight punch at his face. It won¡¯t hurt him. It can¡¯t hurt him, but It will fill his vision and I might get a chance to slip past. I¡¯m wrong. BloodRock makes no effort to defend himself. I feel the heat of his skin just before my fist lands and the scorching pain of burning liquid a moment later. A tiny amount of the flaming fluid splatters when I connect with the blow. That doesn¡¯t matter, neither do the burns on my hand. I¡¯m already ducking down to dash past his left side.

    A huge fist looping into an uppercut is there to greet me. The old bastard has predicted me. I manage to snap both my arms in front of my face before the blow lands, but I am moving into the punch. Meaning my momentum will add even more power to the excess BloodRock already possesses. He connects with my guard driving my own fists into my mouth with enough force to crack one of my teeth and hurl me right back into the wall. My head spins and my eyes water. But I still try to pull myself to my feet.

    ¡° I didn¡¯t lose¡± I manage groggily, hoping to buy myself a little time. ¡°They cheated.¡±

    ¡°You lost¡± He practically spits the reply. I don¡¯t notice the punch accompanying it until it''s slamming into my midsection. Old man BloodRock has always been accurate, and he has no trouble hitting me in the liver. A half moment later I¡¯m collapsing again. My body simply refuses to let me rise.

    ¡°You lost to a cheat so simple an infant could have avoided it.¡± He delivers a kick to my chest. He must have held back as it only knocks the breath from my lungs rather than breaking anything.

    ¡°Just don¡¯t kill the other kid!¡± He is starting to shout now.

    ¡° You pathetic child. How difficult is that?!¡± He kicks me again, and again, and again. At some point, I curl around myself with my hands over my head.

    ¡° but that''s not it. Is it?¡± He says leaning down to spit a gob of his burning saliva on me. The sharp pain of the sizzling spit breaks through the haze beaten into my brain.

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    ¡° You didn¡¯t even try to find a way to win that wouldn¡¯t kill him did you?¡± It¡¯s not really a question, and I don''t reply.

    ¡°I told Muraab this when he first brought you here. I don¡¯t want a hyena. Every one of you is bad in the blood. Too angry, too stupid, and too determined to kill everything.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°He swore to me he would make a winner out of you, and I agreed since the only place for your useless kind is the pit anyway.¡± His tone has calmed to a simmer but the rage hasn¡¯t gone out of him. Far from it.

    ¡° And what do you do? You get hurt constantly, You injure my pitters and lose me bets. It would save us all time if I just let you rob me!¡±

    He hauls me to my feet by an arm and I choose that moment to strike. Twisting in his grip I slash an elbow across his face. My skin scorches, and some of my fur burns away in a flash. But it¡¯s worth it. Unlike a punch, this particular type of elbow strike is intended to split skin not smash into his face. It works, I open a gash above his left eye. He doesn''t bleed exactly. I¡¯m not sure he even has blood. It won¡¯t even last more than a few heartbeats. His non-skin closing back over in mere moments. But the thick burning liquid does leak down from his brow. It won¡¯t burn him but it does blind him in one eye. When BloodRock reaches up to wipe his face with his free hand he can¡¯t see me at all. This is it, my chance to escape. Maybe I can get away till the old man calms down. He will still punish me with some demeaning task when he remembers, but that will happen anyway. And I would very much like to avoid the rest of my beating if I can. My arms and side already feel like I walked through a rockslide. I don¡¯t want to endure any more of this. Putting my other hand on the one of his holding my wrist I force the last ounces of strength into my aching arms and try to jerk free. The key to escaping a grip is usually sudden explosive movement. Even against a stronger opponent a sudden burst of force at the right moment can win you freedom. Either I picked my moment poorly or there simply is no key to this lock. BloodRock¡¯s hand is an Iron vice. One that doesn¡¯t budge a hair despite my best efforts. I can¡¯t escape. Fine! I move on to my all-purpose backup plan. Lunging my head forward I snap my jaws shut on his wrist. I bite down with bone-crunching force. Ignoring the horrible heat flooding my mouth and scalding my gums. My cracked tooth aches at the sudden change in temperature, but I ignore that too. Driving my teeth together as hard as they will go. I hope to break through that layer of protective burning liquid and actually rend muscle or splinter bone. BloodRock smirks and I realise my mistake. From my perspective I¡¯m biting into his arm, forcing a struggle to see what will give out first. My mighty jaws or his elemental magic. From his perspective, I have pointlessly locked myself in place. In a panic, I try to get my mouth off his arm. But it''s not up to me anymore. BloodRock drives forward, and the arm I''m biting pins my head against the wall. If I live through this I might have to find somewhere else to sleep as I have decided I hate the wall near my bed. With his free hand, he unleashes a series of fast punches to my now immobile face. They aren¡¯t anywhere near the hardest blows the houselord can throw. But trapped against the wall as I am, the force has nowhere to go. It''s like being pummelled on the ground all over again.

    I stop biting down after the first bit of his not-blood burns its way down my throat. If I swallow too much of the stuff I won¡¯t need to worry about a beating, I¡¯ll be dead.

    The barrage of punches ends, and he drops me to the ground. My face doesn''t hurt too bad right now. But it will, and soon.

    My lips and much of the inside of my mouth are burned. The tooth that had cracked earlier has graduated to shattered. My face is a mass of bruises and burns, my ribs aren''t much better. It hurts to breathe and I pray nothing is broken.

    Old man BloodRock stands over me panting. His fists are still clenched but he hasn''t hit me again since dropping me like the spice sacks in his delivery yard. " Who owns you?" He hisses. I want to tell him I hate him or to kill himself. Something, anything to show that there is still fight left in me. There isn''t though. All I want is for him to leave me alone, and I''ll say anything right now if it means the beating will stop. "BlughdRolk" I manage to force through swollen lips. "Who do you obey?" He continues. Its like some perverse parody of the house''s pre-fight ritual. "BlughdRock". After a few deep breaths, I whisper again. Eye''s pressing shut as though if I clench them hard enough I won''t notice the shame flowing out from my chest.

    "Who is going to fucking kill you if you ever disobey him in public again?"

    "Blood...Rock" I say the word with care. Getting it out slowly but properly. I want to show the old man I''m still tough. Still the best. I''m not sure why I think saying his name correctly will prove that, but I do. It might have even worked as BloodRock pauses for a moment and some sort of non-rage-based expression crosses his face. My vision is blurry with pain and tears so it''s hard to tell exactly. He crouches down beside me. "You embarrassed me today, and I don''t like being embarrassed North." I can''t help it. I cringe back pulling myself into more of a ball. "But you might have earned yourself a chance to make it up to me."

    ''What is he talking about?'' Hope mingles with the shame in my chest. Even now some part of me is desperate to earn this man''s regard. I try to tell myself it''s all practical. I just don''t want my rations cut or to receive more beatings. But I know in my heart it''s almost the same feelings I have towards Muraab. Though tinged with a lot more hatred. BloodRock is a legend, an icon, and my role model since I was young. I want him to be proud of me. Almost as much as I want to kill him.

    ¡°Your little tantrum somehow got attention from the BlackMists. They want you to fight in the end-of-season duos.¡± I blink a few times, the end of the season is always solos¡­.OH. He means the actual seasons, the weather.

    House BlackMist likes to host their events on magically significant days. They hold a series of mid-tier tournaments just before the weather changes and the storm season begins. It might not be a major but as Youth tournaments go this will be big. Attending is cheaper, so the audiences are huge. It¡¯s also an opportunity to get attention and maybe snag an invite or two for the truly massive tournaments later in the year. Silently I am already thanking Resh. Admittedly I did live up to my end of the bargain. He wanted me to do something memorable, and I had. I''d even waved at his sisters, sort of.

    I meet the old man¡¯s gaze and nod. It hurts too much to keep talking right now, but I want him to know I understand. After a moment he smiles kindly at me. It¡¯s an expression that has no right to look so natural on his face. ¡°Good.¡± He says standing. The motion causes him to wince, and I get a tiny spark of spiteful pleasure. ''Shouldn¡¯t be crouching down with your bad knees old man.'' I make sure to keep my swollen face as neutral as possible. The last thing I want to do is antagonise him into hurting me further.

    Thankfully after another silent moment, he turns to leave, stalking out of the sleeping hall. It''s only after he¡¯s gone I realise I have no idea who my partner will be or how long I have to prepare.

 Chapter 12: Little Kings

    Chapter 12

    Little Kings

    Once I¡¯m sure BloodRock isn''t coming back. Relief and anger flow through me and I start to sob. I hate it here. I hate BloodRock and I hate Muraab and everyone else in this compound. I hate the way the beating made my existing injuries worse. I just want to lay here and sob until the whole world goes black. I can¡¯t though. The sleeping halls are never empty and it''s bad enough some of the boys in my hall would have seen BloodRock beat me half to death. I will not let them see me as weak. Not now. Not ever. This is my hall. Mine! When word spreads about what BloodRock did to me I want them to talk about how I walked it off. There is only one problem with that plan. It requires me to walk it off. It takes three attempts to get off the floor. Even then it''s all I can do to stand there leaning against my cot. Which is hardly walking it off. I do eventually get going even if it''s more of a head hung shuffle than the imperious stride I had envisioned. Still, I¡¯m moving and that''s enough. I can hear the sounds of the other boys getting ready for dinner. We don¡¯t eat inside. Instead both the youths and adult pit slaves will drag a series of long tables from behind the halls into the central path of the compound.

    Once it¡¯s ready domestic slaves will emerge from the manse to feed us whatever garbage it''s decided we will eat today. There will be guards too. Just in case we get a bit too handsy with the domestics. We tend to sit at tables filled with our own hall members. It¡¯s not a hard and fast rule and tonight I''m probably going to ignore it. Not for any social reason. It¡¯s just once I get outside I want to sit down as soon as I can. I don''t even look up from the floor as I make my way. I could walk this hall with my eyes closed, and right now lifting my head seems like an awful lot of effort. No. Can¡¯t think like that. The point of this is to look good. There are real reasons for that. It¡¯s not just my pride. I¡¯m like a little king of this hall. Keeping things that way is often the reason I get dragged into challenge fights. The weaker I seem the more likely someone is to try to fight me. In my current state of injury, with Muraab¡¯s warning and BloodRock¡¯s rage hanging over me, I¡¯d have no choice but to turn it down. To give up my place. From there it would only get worse. Boys from the other two halls would descend on me with challenges every other day. Just like I''ve always feared. The point is to look scary. I''ve never been much good at being friendly or looking good. But I''ve managed to keep at least twenty boys afraid of me. It''s not quite as helpful as them liking me. It is however an effective substitute. If only I could do that to the fans. Make the crowds afraid of me and bully them into spending their money to see me. To bet on me. I snort at the ridiculousness of the idea. No one would want to see a pit slave they hated.

    Despite my rapidly swelling face and blood dribbling from my nose I lift my head. To my surprise I see Gori and the little kid who won today standing in my path. ¡° need some help?¡± Gori asks quietly. He seems a lot more aware of his surroundings than when I last saw him. ¡°No¡± I grunt through split lips. Then I amend myself. What''s the point of being a little king if I don¡¯t get a little help? ¡°Maybe. Just stay nearby in case I look like I''m going to fall over.¡± At least that''s what I try to say. It comes out less garbled than when I was talking to BloodRock and they seem to understand, but it''s far from the clearest I¡¯ve ever expressed myself. Gori rolls his eyes and the little six-year-old beams a smile up at me. The two of them flank me and my instincts scream threat. I try to ignore the feeling. They aren''t boxing me in. Gori doesn''t even like fighting, it''s just so they can help. It does help. Not because they actually do anything physically in any way, it''s the knowledge that they will see me struggle. Can''t have that. So even as my face aches and my ribs scream with every breath. I keep my head high and my breathing steady. My composure does break when it comes to sitting down. The tables are set up. As always there are no chairs. The wooden tables are low to the ground and the boys either sit in the dust or crouch around them. Gori and¡­.his little kid assistant? Help me slump to the ground at the table for my hall. Which was mercifully the closest tonight. I let out something between a snarl and yowl as pain shoots up my side at the motion. After a few sharp breaths through gritted teeth, I manage to thank the pair. Turns out the kid¡¯s name is Tavin. He isn¡¯t even from my hall which I don¡¯t really understand. He must have some connection to Gori but I don¡¯t have any clue what it is. It¡¯s not weird for older pitters to look after new kids now and then. What is weird is that they aren¡¯t from the same hall. I consider demanding an answer from the antlered cursed but It doesn¡¯t seem worth the effort. Instead, I just let them go find their own seats. Seats. I almost laugh at the thought.

    It wouldn¡¯t seem out of place. Every night there is a sort of festival aire to dinner. As though each of the boys is celebrating having survived another day. Or maybe we just imitate the adult pit slaves. I glance across BloodRock¡¯s courtyard to their tables. As always the adult slaves are kept far from us. But otherwise, it''s almost an identical scene. They laugh, joke, and complain about the food always being late. Just like we do. The only real differences are they are bigger and they have alcohol. That stuff is contraband for us. Of course, we still get our hands on it anyway but we can¡¯t exactly bring it out at the evening meal. Even I usually get swept up in the good-natured camaraderie of slaves sharing food. Tonight though I keep myself apart. At best offering the boys from my hall a weak smile or shallow nod. Not long later the domestics start filing out of the manse with our food. I know before I see them. The atmosphere goes from friendly to raucous. Most domestic slaves are women, especially here in BloodRock. They are just about the only women most of us ever really interact with. That doesn¡¯t make it any less embarrassing to watch as most of the boys start hollering or making clumsy attempts to flirt. The domestic women respond the same way they always do. With false good nature. They will tolerate us getting loud as long as we keep our hands to ourselves and tonight none of the boys are stupid enough to try anything. It''s hard to say if the five domestic women remain unassailed as they ferry the food over to us because of the three armed BloodRock guards behind them or the fact that they carry five bowls a piece. If They drop any of the food there will be no replacement and someone will go hungry. Usually, the boy who caused the issue. I can¡¯t speak for any of the other pit slaves but I didn¡¯t eat anything today and the idea of that continuing is more than enough to ensure my good behaviour.

    Not that it is anything worth celebrating. After¡­ what''s her name? Tululah I think. Deposits my bowl in front of me. I see dinner is a common one. The weird gelatinous bean curd BloodRock likes to feed us over rice. I can¡¯t imagine anything blander. And for the briefest moment, I consider dripping some of my own blood onto the meal for flavour. I can¡¯t bring myself to do it though. It would taste better but the idea is just gross. At least the food is hot I console myself. I think I might have hurt someone if tonight turned out to be cold food again.

    I''ve long since finished my bland meal when a cheer comes from one of the other tables. It doesn¡¯t take long to see why. Kalon blonde hair shining gold in the light of the setting sun comes slowly walking to his own hall¡¯s dinner table. I feel a little jealous. No one cheered for me any of the times I returned from the tower. They didn¡¯t ever crowd around me like they are him. Boys offering jokes or congratulations.

    I think I even hear my own name a few times followed by laughter. Muraab¡¯s warning comes back to me and I do my utmost to ignore them. That becomes a challenging proposition when I hear the strange listless accent of the boy I fought today. With a frown, I glance over at the other table. There he is the dark-haired non-slave I had clashed with. Sitting next to Kalon chatting and smiling at the slaves around him. Drop me into the world of sky if that makes any sense. Why would one of BloodRock¡¯s guests eat with us? Especially one that is apparently a champion in another city. A tourist maybe? Come to slum it with the slaves for a night. I can see most of their table fawn over the pair of them. Kalon I get. He faced the beast, the monster from hall three. They always act like fighting me is some right of passage that should be applauded. The dark-haired boy though. Why are they treating him so well? He is an intruder in their midst. Are these boys so stupid as to think he has some influence over their futures? Trying to suck up now so he will remember them fondly later? That has to be it. The boy is obviously rich. You could buy ten of me for the price of the sword he used today, and at least two of Gori for the price of his shirt. With its dark fabric and golden buttons. Even the fact that he is wearing a shirt sets him apart. So I guess I can¡¯t really blame them.

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    Maybe word has spread that he fought me today? No, that doesn''t seem right they are too comfortable with him, like this isn''t the first time he has shared dinner with hall two.

    Catching me staring the boy offers a cheerful smile and wave. Considering I probably look like a bloody monster dredged from a child¡¯s nightmare and am definitely glaring daggers at him. It¡¯s not the reaction I was expecting. It seems like I¡¯m not the only one surprised as the table around him instantly quiets when they realise who he¡¯s waving at. They don¡¯t turn aggressive but it''s clear the playful nature of the conversation has died off. My own table is still having a good time. They don¡¯t care what I do or who I interact with. My boys are smart like that. If any of them are paying me attention at all I don¡¯t notice it.

    It¡¯s just before the domestics return to collect our bowls that a loose alliance of my curiosity and frustration drives me to my feet. The hall two table returned to its former merriment in no time at all. The dark-haired boy made a few jokes and the slaves cursed and human both go back to eating out of the palm of his hand. Even Morean who rules hall two like I do three seems taken in. It''s pretty obvious that I should just mind my own business. It''s what I would tell someone else to do. And yet before I know it I''m looming over hall two''s table. More specifically over Kalon and the foreigner.

    The table has gone silent. Several boys, including Morean, start to get to their feet or at least into a crouch. No one wants to be sitting if things get violent. And for some reason, people assume when I show up things will. Ignoring Kalon I fix my gaze on the foreign boy. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± I demand through swollen lips. Remaining seated he offers me a disarming smile. It doesn¡¯t work. I am still very much armed.

    ¡°Atar is hosting my sister and me while I compete here¡± he replies.

    ¡°Why are you eating with slaves when you aren¡¯t one?¡± comes my clench-jawed clarification.

    ¡°Ohhh,¡± He says with an exaggerated expression of understanding. ¡° all know BloodRock produces the best pitt slaves in Far Mantys. I had thought If I eat the same as all of you I might put on a little muscle.¡± He brings one of his thin arms up as he speaks, flexing his bicep and cupping it with his other hand. This elicits a laugh from the pitters around us. I narrow my eyes. Something about his tone makes me think I¡¯m being mocked. Even though the joke seems to be at his own expense as the clear smallest boy over the age of ten at this table. Maybe I admit to myself I am just looking for reasons not to like him. Not sure how to respond to the joke but unwilling to just stand here awkwardly I push on. ¡°Really?¡± My voice is thick with doubt.

    ¡°No of course not really¡± he says with a snort of what I think is genuine amusement. ¡°Eating with my sister every night gets boring, and I wanted to get to know you all better.¡±

    I narrow my eyes suspiciously. Rich people often have a strange fascination with us. It manifests in lots of different ways and I am suddenly concerned for the boys of hall two. If this boy has demands or desires involving them BloodRock will not only allow it, he will facilitate it.

    I¡¯m about to ask why he wants to know pit slaves better when Morean Interposes himself between me and the Foreign boy. Or maybe between me and Kalon. It¡¯s not exactly a secret that I can¡¯t stand the blonde slave. I had hoped Morean and I would be on relatively good terms after chatting in the Saffron cages. But of course, the blessed boy sees himself as some sort of shield or protector for the slaves in his hall. He almost stabs one of his little stone horns into my eye. Taking an awkward step back I let out a low growl. ¡°You looking for a rematch Morean?¡±

    The dark-skinned boy shakes his head. Face calm as a stone wall. ¡° I just want everyone to relax after a nice meal.¡± That draws a sneer from me. ¡° You have a funny way of showing it. I am just talking. What¡¯s not relaxed about that?¡± His expression doesn''t shift at all.

    ¡°Then there isn¡¯t a problem. I¡¯ll just take my ease here¡± My instincts scream to fly at him. To maul him, challenge him, send him to the tower. I ignore them. It would be a terrible idea. Not only would I be risking BloodRock¡¯s displeasure so soon after I already defied him and ignoring Muraab¡¯s advice. Hurt as I am beating Morean might be beyond me. So I let him be. If the blessed kid wants to play guardsman. What do I care anyway?

    The dark-haired boy gains his feet. Arms spread wide in front of him in what I guess is supposed to be a disarming gesture.

    "Now now sirs. You are putting the women off." He inclines his head at the group of domestic slaves. Who are standing impatiently waiting to finish their tasks "They have been so kind to serve us the least we can do is not get in the way."

    It''s not so much that we are in the way and more that they don''t want to be nearby if a fight breaks out. I grunt in annoyance but he¡¯s right. We are making a scene. I am making a scene.

    I''m about to start calling Morean whatever insults I can think of when Kalon slowly pushes himself to his feet. Brushing some of his stupid golden hair out of his face the human boy speaks up.

    "Xael," he says, addressing the pale foreigner.

    "I''m worn out. Could you help me back to the tower?" The foreigner. Xael looks to me and then to Morean with consideration. If he really is trying to defuse things he should do it. Leaving means I can back down from Morean without losing face. Of course, Xael might not understand the way pit slave politics work or might be worried about not having control of the situation if he goes with Kalon. Thankfully he seems to understand as after a few tense heartbeats the dark-haired boy smiles and offers Kalon his arm to lean on. " Of course". The way he says it is strange. Somehow the listless nature of his accent makes the word really pop.

    The pair leave but Morean and I don''t move. Neither one of us is quite willing to back off just yet. "Why are you putting up with a rich kid in the mix?" I ask eventually. " Who knows what he wants?"

    The stone-blessed is slow to reply but he seems to understand the nature of my concern. He shakes his head. "I don''t think he is going to hurt any of my boys, and he is more than a tourist. You saw that yourself."

    Gods above and below did I ever. Skinny or not Xael was one of the highest-level opponents I had ever faced. That had been obvious almost instantly. Still.

    "He''s not a slave. You can''t trust him." Morean blinks at me.

    " and what exactly do you expect me to do about it? " he asks with minor annoyance showing in his voice though not his face. I''m starting to think he actually can''t make many expressions. Some side effect of his blessing. "BloodRock says he has free reign. Doesn''t matter what I think. He can do what he wants." I spit at that. Sometimes I forget that the blessed are still human. And humans are either all cowards or obsessed with hierarchy. Every single one. Granted I''m on my best behaviour at the moment. But I didn''t get to this point by being an obedient little hound. If there was some weird rich guy hanging around my hall. I would make sure he knew to keep his hands to himself. Even if he hadn''t actually done anything yet.

    ¡°Fine! But don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you.¡± I mutter as I turn away from the dark-skinned boy.

 Chapter 13: The Scent Of Blood

    Chapter 13

    The Scent of Blood

    Back inside Hall Three, I start trying to get my hands on some medicine. Nothing so grand as the surgeries or magic you get in the tower of course. But with how often we get hurt you will often find some slave-made stichline, bandages, or even a poultice if you are lucky. I don''t have much to trade at the moment. But after offering a few favors and a few more threats of violence I manage to put together enough that I can clean and patch myself a little.  There isn''t anything I can do about the pain from my ribs when I breathe but I''m increasingly confident they aren''t broken.

    Sitting on my cot with my little haul of bad-smelling goo that is supposed to help with swelling, some stitchline, and damp rags to clean myself with.

    I shouldn''t have tried so hard to get this stuff. In the end, all I can do is rub the poultice on myself and clean some of the blood out of my fur.  I wish I could have a bath but hall three is at least a week away from that. On the upside, I''ll get to go first when it happens. Assuming I''m still the top slave in this hall when bathing day comes around that is.

    I do not sleep well that night. I¡¯m not sure you could even call it sleeping at all if I¡¯m being honest. More like laying in a haze with my eyes closed. I do drift off once but the pain in my ribs when I roll over soon puts a stop to that. So I just lay there. Doing my best not to think about anything. It¡¯s a losing battle. One I forfeit after several turns of the hourglass.

    Irritated, sore, and stiff. I¡¯m surprised to find I¡¯m not that tired. So I sit up. The hall is dimly lit by a single night Lantern. I can tell by the height of the flame that dawn is still a ways away but I¡¯m not getting back to sleep. Not a chance. So instead I remove my stitches. The damn things have been in me past the point I¡¯m willing to put up with them.

    It¡¯s an uncomfortable process sitting there on my bed in the flickering light of just one Lantern. They don¡¯t let us keep knives or anything, but I dig a sharpened piece of bone I¡¯d found years ago out of my bunk chest. It¡¯s not even contraband. I could never threaten one of the guards with this. It would be laughable. I¡¯d have more luck using my teeth. It does however cut through the stitching in my side with only a little effort.

    Next is the really fun part. Pulling the stitches. It doesn¡¯t hurt exactly but the feeling I can only describe as a sense of wrongness makes me wince every time I pull one of the pieces of line out of my flesh.

    If the odds of me getting back to sleep had been bad before they were now non-existent. So I tuck my bit of bone back into my chest and stand to get some water.  Each hall has a communal barrel the serviles keep filled for us. It¡¯s cool and clean-tasting. BloodRock might be a monster but he¡¯s not stupid. We are his product and he can¡¯t have us getting sick from bad water.  Next is stretches.  Every single day no matter how they hurt, no matter how they annoy me. They¡¯re important. Maybe the only thing that has kept me in fighting shape sometimes. They might even be part of why BloodRock pitters are consistently the best. Every few years he brings in a mountain woman from somewhere up north to teach us how to do it properly.  She¡¯s old and a little insane but I like her. She yells at the humans just as much as she does the rest of us. That done I don¡¯t really know what to do with myself. It will be several turns of the hourglass before morning training and then breakfast. The thought of training makes my heart sink. I¡¯ll be back with the kids again today. It means jostling for respect and competing with the boys around me. The adults are different. They have their own hierarchy and couldn¡¯t care less about me. It meant getting to just train without worrying about some kid tripping you from behind or looking out for opportunities to do the same to them. On the upside unless there has been some huge infusion of talent while I''ve been away. I will be the best of the bunch again. Sparring full-grown Pit slaves had been a great learning experience. It had also been quite a painful and humbling one. It would be nice to be a dragon among griffons again.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    My stretching had revealed several areas of stiffness in my body. A lot of swelling too. Needless to say, I am more purple than skin coloured at the moment. Bruises even showing through my furred spots. ¡°BloodRock¡± I mutter in disgust. The memories of my beating the previous evening rushed back to me. He had made me say his name like a little mantra. The way I feel right now If I knew which of my bones was the forspoken stone I would bite it out this very moment. No matter the consequences. No matter the injury. That isn¡¯t an option though, is it? It could be anywhere in me. Visions of bloody self-surgery and escape quashed. I let out a frustrated yowling noise. It causes several sleeping boys to stir and I make the generous decision to take my annoyance elsewhere.  Stalking out of the hall I see the glittering orbs of boys who are awake. Watching me. Always watching me. Like a dangerous animal, they fear to turn their back on.

    It fires my frustration and I break into a jog. Then a run. Bursting out into the cool darkness that blankets the world for hour turns before dawn.  The pair of guards who have night shift at the youth hall entrance don¡¯t stop me. They have no reason to. I¡¯m allowed into the main area of the compound as much as I want. I  could never escape anyway. Not with my stone. So why waste their own time chasing me down?

    It''s due to my injuries but I''ve felt out of shape the last few days. There is a simple if unpleasant solution to that feeling. Work.

    I can''t access any weapons as those remain locked up until morning training. But I can build up a sweat. Get my chest making that buzzing sensation it does when I''m really sucking down air.

    More than that. Running is a good channel for negative feelings. I don''t know if anyone actually enjoys running. I do however know it has a funny knack of jumbling your thoughts about. Especially the ones where you are mean to yourself.

    It doesn''t solve them exactly. In fact, sometimes it makes them worse. You will work through them to some degree though. I always do.

    So there I am. Running laps of the BloodRock compound. Alone. In the dark.

    I probably look ridiculous but for once I just do not care.

    The burning in my legs. The ache in my lungs. Even the pain that runs up my side with each footfall. It all feels good. Cleansing.

    Things aren''t as dire as I''ve been thinking. I got an invitation to the next BlackMist doubles Minor. Minor is a misleading term. The Storm Herald Invitational as it is officially known is anything but small. BlackMist is one of the bigger investors in youth fights. This series of day-long events will be held in one of the four Primary Arenas. Not a house pit. Anyone and everyone can attend. And attend they will. If I can place highly or better yet win the whole thing. BloodRock will get a larger portion of attendant sales. I think. It''s something like that. Fame equals money somehow. I know that much. However, it works. BloodRock wants me to do well. Which means he will put me with someone good. Which in turn means I don''t need to worry as much as I have been. Sure half the kids here aren''t up to my standard. They''re still BloodRock though. Which doesn''t just mean they can fight. It means they are being watched by people like Muraab and the trainers.

    Well not Muraab at the moment but the point still stands. The adults would be doing their best to put me with someone who complimented my skills. Or me them I suppose. That''s fine. I''m a bit of a glory hound but a win is a win even if I end up playing second fiddle. Win at all costs. That is the attitude that got me to forty-three consecutive wins in only two years. Normally that thought would cheer me. As it has to be some kind of record. This morning though it stops me dead in my tracks. Hits me like a bolt of lightning. My win streak is zero. Zero. Not a single consecutive win.

    I can feel the dust of the compound scrape under my little feet'' claws as I skid to my depressed halt. This is my fourth circuit of the compound so I''m sweating and my breath comes quickly but I''m still pretty far from my limit. If I had been breathing harder I may have missed the quiet ''clangs'' and thumps coming from the training yard. Someone has weapons out? That shouldn¡¯t be right. The sun is still a long way off and morning training with it. Weird. Once I stop and focus I can definitely smell people nearby. It''s obvious from the taste of sweat in the air. Sweat and something else.  I raise my nose. Sniffing hard to catch the lesser scent. I shouldn¡¯t have bothered. I¡¯d known what it was the whole time. As familiar a scent as my own breath.  Blood.

 Chapter 14: Ghosts in the yard

    Chapter 14

    Ghosts in the yard

    It¡¯s annoying to keep my breaths quiet after having just run laps of the compound. I do it anyway. Whatever is going on in the yard I want to be the one catching someone else by surprise for once.

    Moving slowly to stay quiet I pass the tower and creep towards the yard. The sound of metal on metal has stopped. But in its place, I can make out heavy breathing.

    The training yard itself is a large square area dominating the eastern side of the compound.  When you are in the yard it feels like it''s ringed by walls.  With training equipment, big rocks, practice dummies, little roped-off sparring pits, or benches lining them. When you are outside the training yard you realize it isn¡¯t walled off so much as a massively wide hole dug into the dirt of the compound. Then reinforced with pillars of that weird stone that starts out as a thick grey liquid.  The final result is a somewhat haphazard lower deck that represents a surprising chunk of the compound¡¯s total area.

    Getting low I crouch-walk my way to the rail.

    In the yard are two figures. I recognize both instantly. Kalon and that not-slave kid. Xael. The dark-haired foreigner is helping Kalon over to one of the benches opposite where I¡¯m crouched. Both boys are armed with long swords. Real ones Xael with the same blade he used to fight me. Kalon¡¯s weapon I have never seen before. But I assume it belongs to Xael as well.  It has the same sort of look to it. Long and thin but less thoroughly adorned. Still fancy though.

    By the look of things the pair of boys had been drilling something and Kalon overexerted himself. Tearing his wound further.  That is why I can smell blood. The idiot human had been at death¡¯s door not three days ago. No wonder they were out here so early. The pair of boys are being sneaky. There is more chance BloodRock sets me free tomorrow than the surgeons in the tower let Kalon practice this soon after such a bad injury.

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    After helping the slave sit Xael tells the other boy something I can¡¯t hear. Kalon nods and Xael begins a demonstration.  Moments later the blonde boy¡¯s eyes go wide. I can only imagine mine are the same.  Having moved to the center of the yard, Xael is fighting shadows. We all do it. Every person who has ever picked up a weapon or even thrown a punch has practiced against imaginary opposition. It¡¯s practically mandatory. It helps you figure out where your balance and timing is off. It can even help with accuracy if you really focus on aiming at the correct spots on your phantom opponent.

    We all fight shadows, but not like this. This is art made of flesh.  Poetry made of motion. It¡¯s almost like I can see the phantoms he is fighting. Six men. He dances between them. Switching from extended defensive sequences to blistering assaults with miraculous fluidity.  The exercise was clearly developed to drill battlefield situations and techniques, rather than fighting in the pits.  But its value is still abundantly clear. I almost believe he actually could hold his own against six skilled enemies. With a little snort, I remind myself it''s only training. As impressive as the display is and as useful a tool it could be as an exercise. That is all it will ever be, an exercise. Try as you might, no one can truly imagine their enemy perfectly. The phantom is always either a little too accommodating or a little too perfect.  The sequence wraps up with a footwork pattern that takes me a moment to understand. He begins bounding from side to side in a zig-zag pattern whilst still moving forward.

    I¡¯ve never seen anyone do that before. It doesn¡¯t really make sense, there isn¡¯t a weapon or beast that would call for those short uneven dashes.

    I blink a few times as understanding settles on me. This is a drill for a kind of enemy you never see in the arenas. One with a ranged weapon.

    Xael finishes the whole display a mere few feet from where Kalon is sitting.  As he stands there panting the blonde boy stands, and crosses the distance with surprising vitality. Sweeping the skinny foreigner into his arms the pair of boys begin to kiss.

    For my part, I¡¯m shocked and appalled¡­.If this Xael character is going to be among hall two showing them training techniques. The level of the boys I''m fighting for position is going to jump up dramatically! Hanging on to the top spot was already getting harder. On the upside, it doesn''t look like Kalon is there against his will. In fact, he seems like the driving force behind the encounter. So at least I can probably relax a little about the non-slave taking advantage of the boys around him.

 Chapter 15: Two Coins

    Chapter 15

    Two Coins

    Curiosity satiated, I have no interest in continuing to spy on the uhhh tender moment.

    So I turn to leave. Despite my efforts to stay hidden, I don¡¯t make it more than a few steps unnoticed. I¡¯m still not sure what a hyena is, But I am increasingly confident they aren¡¯t famous for their ability to move quietly.

    ¡°North!?¡± I freeze. Even in the pre-dawn light, I¡¯m a recognizable silhouette. So I figure there is no point scurrying away. I will just end up looking like an idiot. Repressing a sigh, I abandon my attempts at stealth.

    Standing at my full height I turn to face the pair of boys.

    Kalon is looking at me like he can will me to drop dead.

    "What in the seven worlds are you doing?!" He snaps. Clearly embarassed. He''s not the only one. I feel like an absolute buffoon for having interrupted them.

    Only Xael doesn''t seem bothered. As a Matter of fact, I''m pretty sure he''s holding back laughter.

    Normally this is where I would start yelling or making threats. There just isn''t anything to say. I''m the intruder.

    " I uhh smelled blood," I reply. Awkwardly gesturing at my nose. "But everything seems fine so I''ll umm just go."

    The two boys reply simultaneously.

    "Good!"

    "No, stay"

    Kalon naturally wants to get rid of me. For some reason, the non-slave doesn''t. Instantly I''m wary. He''s got a pretty blonde boy to kiss. What does he need me for?

    "Come show me how you almost killed Kalon."

    For the second time that morning, Kalon and I shared an almost identical expression. Last time it was awe. This time it''s surprise.

    The blonde boy is staring at Xael in shock but doesn''t object.

    Still, I hesitate. This kid has only been here five or so days unless I miss my guess. While he might have built up some popularity with the slaves in that time. It clearly isn''t long enough for him to understand the details of individual relationships.

    "We don''t like each other very much," I say. Gesturing between myself and Kalon.

    The dark-haired boy cocks his head.

    "Really? Why?" The curiosity in his tone and face is so sincere it can only be mockery.

    I''m trying to find a way to explain that Kalon just annoys me and doesn''t sound petty and stupid. When the blonde slave replies.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "North is jealous." He says dismissively. "He''s too angry to keep any friends, and he''s jealous that even his own hall likes me better."

    I feel my stomach clench and my eyes narrow. Nothing stings quite like the truth.

    "Oh drop dead part-timer!" I snarl. Any and all plans to keep myself composed are utterly abandoned.

    "Everyone knows you are just going to end up in the kitchens with your mother anyway." His eyes go wide. Even I''m not completely deaf to the rumor that circulates the compound. It''s well known that his mother is one of BloodRock¡¯s favorite domestic slaves. Apparently, not even in a creepy way, she just makes good food.

    "At least my mother is-"

    "Enough!" Xael cuts him off with a surprisingly authoritative shout. That''s precisely the moment I remember that this kid can technically tell us what to do. If we don''t comply BloodRock may very well make us wish we had.

    We both go quiet immediately. You don''t live long as a slave if you can''t recognize a dangerous tone of voice.

    The tall skinny foreigner looks between us both with obvious disappointment. It makes me want to roll my eyes at him.

    "I''ll make you two a deal," Xael says looking between the two of us. At this, I do roll my eyes. What is this kid¡¯s deal anyway?

    He fishes a pair of coins out of his belt pouch and holds them up. A coin in each hand, gesturing towards each of us.

    "If you two can behave like human beings around each other, and help me with some training. You will get a halfsack each."

    If either of us were entertaining ideas about disagreeing with Xael that obliterates them. I don''t even know what you can buy with just one of these coins. Probably not much. But my lips still go dry at the thought. Money that belongs to me. It was a very enticing concept. I can''t remember ever even holding such a coin. So to possess one¡­.

    I take a few steps forward, beginning to descend the ramp into the yard. The same hunger is present in Kalon¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°What would we have to do?¡± Asks the other slave uncertainty.  I assume he doesn¡¯t want to get embarrassed in front of his new ¡®friend¡¯. Or maybe he¡¯s just too sore and tired to train properly. Still, neither I nor Kalon will give up the opportunity to get paid easily. Paying a slave. It is such an insane concept I can barely imagine it. They don''t pay us, not ever. That¡¯s the whole point.

    I think the foreign boy realizes he''s got us. A small smile plays across his face and he palms the coins.

    "Nothing serious. Pitters fight in a specific way. I need to get used to it, so I want you boys to run me through how what you do is different from what I do."

    I frown and shoot Kalon a look. He shrugs at me and we both turn to the non-slave.  "Why?" I ask. Honestly confused by the request. Yes, there are lots of fighting styles in the pit. But it''s not like we do anything special or different. Is it? I suppose I''ve never fought outside of Far Mantys. Maybe it is different.

    "Yeah, you already fight like you. Why would you want to fight like us?" Asks Kalon with a shake of his head. I almost snort at Kalon including himself in the ''us''.

    While not new, he is hardly a lifelong part of the BloodRock compound.  Still, he has a point. "Yeah. You''re better than half the city already why do you need us?" I''m still wary and I think it shows.

    The dark-haired boy flashes us both a superior grin.

    "Because I want to beat the other half too."

    For a moment I''m almost impressed with how dynamic a statement it is. The foreigner ruins the effect almost immediately. Scratching the back of his head the smile turns rueful.

    "The truth is it''s not always the best fighter who wins. Even if I''m better I need to get used to the kinds of patterns you all fight in. It will up my chances."

    He''s not wrong. That shouldn''t be my problem though.  But I can''t stop myself staring hungrily at the coin.  Can I even earn the coin? I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever had a single positive interaction with Kalon. I look at the blonde boy again.

    ¡°You going to keep your mouth shut?¡± I grunt.  Slowly his gaze moves from the coins to me. I can see the calculations behind his eyes, they are doubtless very similar to my own thoughts.

    ¡°If you can do the same¡± he snaps back with a glare. I treat it like a genuine question. After a moment that seems to stretch far longer than it has any right to. I nod.

 Art Interlude Three

    As I have mentioned before these are all AI generated, and not really perfect renditions, but I do enjoy seeing how well various AI can capture what is inside my imagination.

    What do you think? Is this how you imagine this stuff?

    Viscarra BlackMist

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    <hr>

    Slave Meal

    <hr>

    The Mantyan Docks

 Chapter 16: Something Of My Own

    Chapter 16

    Something of my own

    The three of us spend the next few turns of the hourglass drilling and discussing the most common types of setups, and combos you are likely to see in Far Mantys. You don''t see longswords like these in the pit much.  But the weapon¡¯s range and techniques are similar enough to a pit-sword that I¡¯m not uncomfortable with it.

    Kalon isn¡¯t much use with his injury. Honestly, I think he learns more than Xael does. Weirdly though I feel like my own skills improve a tiny bit too. Something about teaching helps me examine why we do the things we do. The logic behind certain movements and attacks rather than just the technique itself.

    The foreign boy is relentlessly cheerful the entire time. To my annoyance, his mood is infectious, and not abusing Kalon becomes easier and easier. Somehow that feels like a betrayal of myself, but even that feeling passes when I realize I can¡¯t actually describe to myself why I hate the blonde boy so much. At least not without using words like ¡®envious, jealous, handsome, unfair.¡¯ It''s all so petty. I guess I am petty.  Not that half of these humans don¡¯t deserve it.

    ¡®This kid did bring three boys to help him fight me¡¯. I remind myself, but some of the venom is gone. I can tell from the frequent winces he makes, and the way he stops to catch his breath frequently. Kalon learned his lesson on that front. Leave the beast in hall three alone.

    Not long before the sun comes up we call an end to the training. While I can stay here and await the morning training session. Kalon will find himself chained up in the tower if they catch him doing this. As a guest of Atar BloodRock himself, Xael can probably do whatever he wants. Still, he pays up my coin and helps the exhausted Kalon limp away. To my surprise, the foreign boy calls over his shoulder.

    "Same price for tomorrow morning?"

    I blink snapping my attention from the coin to the boy who had paid me it.

    "Uh. I " I''m practically tripping over my words.

    "Yes!" I finally manage to shake off the strange mesmerizing effect the money has on me. At least until the other two boys are gone. Then I go

    right back to staring at it.

    One side is some important human man I don¡¯t recognize. The other is marked with eleven little icons representing the houses of Far Mantys. It must be an older coin as BloodRock is missing.

    I''m not sure what exactly you can buy for a halfsack. But it''s mine. Mine! I own it.

    I''m still sitting in the yard staring at the coin when the first of the guards arrive to unlock the weapons. Luckily I smell them coming and hide the coin in my fist before anyone sees it.

    Two guards I don¡¯t know by name, and Harrk himself. He must be running the training today. Unhelmed, his unremarkable features are on display. He raises both eyebrows when he sees me.

    ¡°While I appreciate the enthusiasm North the kids are doing conditioning work this morning, we have the yard till this afternoon.¡±

    Climbing to my feet I nod to Harrk.

    ¡°No problem.¡±

    Truth be told, I am disappointed. While I knew there was no chance they would let me stay with the adults. Some part of me must have been holding out hope till this moment. My heart sinks, even if I do my best to hide it.

    I stride out of the yard with a confidence I don''t feel.

    The other youth pitters are already gathering in front of our barracks. From the shouts I hear inside, I know a trio of BloodRock¡¯s guards are making their way through, forcing any stragglers out of bed.

    I¡¯m not sure if I prefer conditioning in the morning or in the evening. It is always awful either way. First, we will run laps of the compound like I was earlier. Of course, I don¡¯t beat myself with sticks if I can¡¯t maintain a certain pace when I¡¯m running alone. Not that it will matter to me. I will be near the front of the pack, just like always. In fact, I haven''t been punished for failing to run fast enough in years. Not since the time my lung collapsed. I still don¡¯t enjoy it though. After we have been run to exhaustion they will send us to the training yard to get carrying stones. At which point we will be run to exhaustion again. This time carrying head-sized rocks.

    After that is breakfast.

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    I¡¯m warmed up already so I don¡¯t join the boys stretching like I normally would.  That little kid whose name I can¡¯t remember is trying to talk to Gori. But the antlered boy gives him a playful smack on the back of the head and sends him back to the hall two boys.

    I nod to my own little hall three clump. It isn¡¯t every boy from my hall. In fact, it''s barely half of them. The little rats would rather be with their friends from the other halls than with us. Normally it would irritate me. Today it doesn''t,  I¡¯m in an oddly good mood. So I just let out a little snort of amusement and move on. ¡°Alright you pack of dead boys walking you are stuck with me again,¡± I say smiling. It is the sort of thing I always say. Yet this too feels different today. Normally I growl and grunt. Normally my words are a curtain hiding my own frustration and fear. Not now.  Maybe it¡¯s because I¡¯m already warmed up. Or maybe it¡¯s the knowledge that youth training is easier than what I''m used to. When the adults run they do it in heavier armour than any pit slave fights in.

    There are a few grunts of greeting from the pit slaves and even a laugh from Gori. He may have already gotten into his Karata herb this morning.  I spot Morean with the hall two boys, but it isn¡¯t hard to ignore him this morning. There is no mystery like there was over dinner. He is just getting ready for our morning training, the same as the rest of us.

    With the guards coming out of the Barracks I¡¯ve missed my opportunity to go hide the coin in my things. So I keep it clutched in my right hand. Rubbing my fingers against the metal disc every now and then, just to make sure it¡¯s still real.

    I keep it hidden in my fist as Qesh yells for us to line up. Qesh doesn¡¯t hold any kind of position of importance among BloodRock¡¯s guards. He was however a successful pitter in his youth. So while he has grey hair, a gut that hangs past his armor, and a temper that makes me look like a paragon of serenity. The old warrior possesses a wealth of knowledge. Not that it will be of much help this morning. While there are strategies and even techniques to run more efficiently. It isn¡¯t the sort of thing they care to teach us.

    Old man BloodRock is a firm believer that anything making our training easier is a bad thing. So that''s how his guards train us.

    Apparently in other houses guard and trainer are separate positions but not here. Our trainers are simply a rotating roster of the more senior guards. It makes sense I suppose. Muraab once told me almost every soldier here is hired based on experience or acumen.

    So Qesh has us line up and makes us run. I clutch the halfsack coin tighter in my fist. The cramping in my legs forces me to admit to myself that the early morning training may have been a bad idea. I would do it again though, I know I would. While I will never be able to buy my own freedom. BloodRock would simply take any money I presented him with off me and send me back to the barracks with a beating.

    Still, there are so many ways the coin and the idea of others like it represent a world of possibility to me. A freedom I never even considered having. ¡®If I get enough of these I can pay people to do things I want.¡¯ For some reason, the idea makes me almost as nervous as it does excited. My snicker wells up a few moments later, but I am too lost in my own imagination to care. It is a good thing too. I need something to take my mind off my aching muscles and burning lungs.

    I start to compile a list of things I could do with money. I could pay someone to read things for me. I have always suspected there is some secret special information just out of reach when I see the books and scrolls the house gets sometimes. I know how to read my name, and also the word ¡®axe¡¯, but that is where my knowledge of the written word ends.

    I could smuggle in better food from out in the city. Sometimes when I cross Far Mantys to some event or another the scents of cooking meats and unfamiliar seasonings almost sends me berzerk.

    My snicker rises higher at my next thought. Making it hard to breathe while I run. It is so unlikely and dangerous that it almost feels perverted to think about.

    ¡®If I could put together a big enough pile of these I could pay a surgeon and sorcerer to secretly find and remove my forspoken stone.¡¯

    Somehow I clutch the coin even tighter. The little metal disc digging painfully into the skin of my palm. I do not loosen it.

    After fifteen laps of the compound, we are allowed a short rest and water. The troughs we drink from are the same ones the beasts of burden use while their wagons get filled or unloaded. There is a pair of hairy cow things drinking from one of them right now in fact. This doesn¡¯t slow a single slave down. If any of us had once possessed reservations about sharing water with animals they are long gone. For their part, the beasts are used to it and simply ignore us.

    Half the boys practically fall to their knees in front of the troughs. Not those of us with Forspoken stones though. There is a sort of silent agreement between the five of us to set an example of stoicism. So I, Morean, Neston; the human who rules hall one, and the pair of seablessed boys Muraab brought back last year. Their horns glisten like ice in the now high morning sun. Stalk over pretending we aren¡¯t just as tired and thirsty as the rest of the boys.

    After that, all of us are herded over to the training yard. Naturally, we all walk as slow as we can get away with. If we dawdle too much Qesh and the other guards have clubs to incentivise speeding up. Fortunately, by now every slave has it down to a science, and none of us get beaten

    As always the training of us youths and the adult pitters has been timed to keep us mostly apart. By the time we get over to the yard, the older slaves are already sparring in the miniature pits. In theory too busy to pay attention to us as we head into the yard and collect the lifting stones.

    I have more to worry about than catching the attention of an irate adult pit slave. I can¡¯t let anyone see the coin I''m holding. Anyone! Even the other slaves will try to take it from me if they get the chance. Forget constant challenge fights, they will jump me in my sleep for actual money.

    More immedaite than that, I¡¯m afraid of my ability to keep a hold of the coin while carrying one of the stones. These rocks aren¡¯t small, even the lightest is as big as my head. Running laps of the compound while carrying one will almost guarantee I lose the coin if it''s still in my hand.

    If I can hang onto the halfsack for this second¡­well third for me, run of the morning. I will get a chance to hide it among my things while the boys prep for breakfast.

    So when I crouch down to pick up one of the lifting stones. I pretend to be scratching my face and slip the coin into my mouth.

    I''m surprised at how much the taste of money reminds me of the taste of blood.

 Chapter 17: Salt And Water

    Chapter 17

    Salt and Water

    The rest of the day passes without incident. At least for me it does. That little kid who is friends with Gori took a misstep while we carried the lifting stones, his ankle snapped like a stomped-on twig.

    A couple of hall-two boys tried to help him to the tower, but Qesh made them leave him. The kid is pretty tough, he limped over there on his own without complaint, even if it took most of an hourglass.

    I manage to hide the coin without anyone seeing it at breakfast time. Fortunately, everyone is used to me keeping to myself, and only responding to things with monosyllabic grunts. It is weird to think of something so small being valuable, even if only a little bit. Small is good though, small means easy to hide.

    Once I get a chance to be unobserved I slide it inside one of the many holes in the hay padding atop my cot. It can hardly get less comfortable, so I plan to cram as many coins as I can reasonably conceal in there.

    If the foreign boy is as good as his word anyway. While I know what he paid is probably nothing to him, I can''t shake the idea that this is a trick of some sort. No one pays slaves. Why on the seven worlds would they?

    Skills training in the afternoon goes well. There are only a few kids who can still push me, but I mostly hold back. Focusing on doing things as perfectly as I can rather than just beating the boys around me.

    The whole day and well past dinner I can''t shake the feeling that I am being set up by the foreign boy.

    Yet when I arrive the next morning Xael and Kalon are there warming up. Thankfully only warming up. I am not looking to interrupt another tender moment. We train, he pays us another of the same coin, and I go hide it before morning sessions begin. Today is morning weapons practice, with afternoon and evening training focussed on building strength. It always rotates around like that on some pattern I have never bothered to learn.

    I do however learn that Xael¡¯s sister is just as weird as him. I think it must be a cultural thing, as though they don¡¯t quite understand what a slave is.

    That afternoon Harrk has us doing some of the most rigorous strength training in our regimen. Divided around the yard depending on what exercises we are doing at the time. Usually, it is some variation of lifting something huge in an explosion of movement, and then holding it there.

    My group is doing squats while holding an iron ingot in each hand. The metal is heavier than it looks, but the real issue is that we have to keep our arms extended out in front of us. If you bend them more than a little and Harrk or one of the other guards notices you will get a few bruises if you are lucky. The whole group will have to start the exercise count from the beginning again if you aren''t.

    I''m bigger than most and considered on the strong side. It doesn¡¯t make a difference. In no time I''m cursing and shaking with weakness. Just the same as the other boys.

    We don¡¯t stop exactly, no one is that stupid. But when Xael¡¯s sister marches into the training yard in her weirdly heavy dress, and hair cover, trailed by at least a dozen domestic slaves we do kind of slow down. I''ve been here eleven years, practically my whole life and I can say with certainty this has never happened before.

    The slaves behind her are carrying bucket after bucket of water.

    Harrk is in his mask, but I am confident the stunned look that every pit slave in the yard wears is mirrored under there. Still, the second master of guards recovers quickly, moving to intercept the girl and her attendants.

    ¡°Lady Ilexa¡­.what can we do for you?¡± the deferent tone in his voice makes me smirk. I don¡¯t mind Harrk for the most part, but after being yelled at by him all day it''s nice to see him act humble. It''s nice to see any of the guards knocked down a peg at any point if I¡¯m honest with myself.

    ¡°The staff and I were watching from the manse, and we thought you and your students looked thirsty.¡±

    I was under the impression a staff was another name for a stave, but from the way she gestures I understand she means the domestics. The other strange thing is the sheer amount of contempt she manages to stuff into the word ¡®students¡¯. Does she have some kind of problem with the way we are being trained? The fact that we get training at all? I don¡¯t know.

    Harrk seems to understand better what she is talking about, as he clears his throat awkwardly before replying.

    ¡°Well, standard BloodRock procedure is we water the pit slaves only once a day outside of meal times.¡±

    The foreign girl stares at him like he is stupid.

    ¡°Atar¡¯s strange desire to waste money by killing these boys aside, we both know you can¡¯t stop me. So I would advise you just enjoy a refreshing drink of water and not make a fuss.¡±

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    The masked man stares at her silently for a moment, before a single harsh laugh echoes from behind the metal.

    ¡°Right you are Lady,¡± he says stepping aside to let her pass.

    ¡°Good¡± she replies with a kind smile. ¡° Oh and make sure you have some salt too, you need salt after a hard day.¡± She looks over her shoulder ¡° Tullulah, the salt please.¡±

    From the back of the domestics, a girl carrying not a bucket, but a sack emerges.

    I wonder if everyone else is as confused as I am, wouldn¡¯t salt just make us more thirsty?

    ¡°Salt?¡± asks Harrk. Confirming he has just as little idea of what she is talking about as I do.

    ¡°Yes, people have salt inside them that comes out when you sweat. It helps if you replace a little of it sometimes.¡± Ilexa¡¯s accent makes it hard to tell if she is condescending to the guard, but her expression is bright, excited to impart knowledge.

    Maybe that''s true. Sweat does taste salty, maybe it is like when they feed us blood stew to help us recover our own lost blood. Yeah alright, that makes sense. Guess I¡¯ll be what? Drinking some salt water?

    Regardless we all owe the girl a debt of thanks as moments later Harrk calls out the four words we are all dying to hear.

    ¡°Take a rest boys!¡± There is a collective sigh from every pit slave in the yard.

    He looks about for a moment before adding.

    ¡° Don¡¯t touch the domestics, any of you start putting hands where they don¡¯t belong and I¡¯ll have you running till sun up.¡±

    I doubt anyone really needs the reminder. If one of the boys costs the rest of us a water break he won''t live long enough for Harrk to punish him.

    Xael¡¯s sister and the domestic carrying the salt make their way to the center of the yard. After which the rich girl clears her throat and calls out instructions to us.

    ¡°Each of you needs to come grab a pinch of salt, drop it on your tongue, and then the House staff will give you a cup of water.¡±

    She keeps using that word ¡®Staff¡¯. Maybe northerners use that word to mean slave. But if thats the case it''s only whatever country she is from, as no other northerner I''ve ever met says it.

    Harrk shouts again.

    ¡°You heard her! Line up!¡± Tossing the ingots aside, I¡¯m one of the first to make my way over. You are supposed to put lifting items down slowly, but I can¡¯t be bothered with it right now. There is some jostling for position as always, but once the line settles I¡¯m only fifth back. Not bad considering there are almost seventy of us.

    I watch the first few boys get their little handfuls of salt and force them down. They get a full cup of water after though. I can already tell the trick will be to not finish the cup in one swallow. The first mouthful will be to wash the taste of salt out of my mouth.

    When It''s my turn I take a moment to look at both the domestic slave portioning out the salt with a wooden spoon and the freewoman running this weird little process.

    ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± I ask before taking my allotment of the white seasoning.

    She smiles at me, it''s pretty but somehow strikes me as disingenuous.

    ¡° You all looked thirsty,¡± Ilexa replies magnanimously. ¡° I wanted to help.¡± I stare at her for a few heartbeats trying to figure out what the angle is. Eventually, I shake my head, clearly not going to get a satisfactory answer. Tulluluh tips the salt into my hand and I do my best to swallow it. Not the most pleasant thing that I¡¯ve ever eaten, but it beats biting someone¡¯s bone in half. As predicted a significant portion of the salt sticks to my mouth, filling it with an overly bitter taste.

    My plan for the water works, though the first mouthful is still awful enough that I consider spitting it out. Of course, I don¡¯t. Water is water, and this drink of mine is still better than sharing warm muddy water with beasts of burden. Handing the clay mug back to the Domestic who gave me my water I stride away from the line and sit on the sand stretching my aching legs out.

    Forget getting water first, this is the true advantage of being near the start of the line. An extended rest while I waited for the other boys to get their gross salty water.

    It isn''t long later when I spot Gori getting his own drink. I''m surprised to see him so close to the front of the line, but I suppose as one of the older boys he is pretty big. Even if he fights worse than a drunk Domestic.

    When he''s done with his water I call the antlered boy over.

    ¡°Hey, Gori. You are pretty smart, figure something out for me.¡±

    He shrugs and pads over to me.

    ¡°I''m better than pretty smart.¡± He says with a grin. ¡° my genius is unparalleled.¡±

    I snort. ¡°Yeah, yeah great use your unparalleledness and answer this. Why does she call the Domestics staff? Isn''t a staff a stave?¡±

    The other cursed boy blinks a few times, causing me to worry he has once again gotten his hands on some Karata. But no he''s not inebriated, he is just amused.

    ¡°Yes a staff is a stave, but it''s also a fancy word for servants.¡±

    ¡°Servants?¡± I frown back at him. ¡° They aren''t servants, they are Domestic slaves.¡±

    Gori nods ¡°She also called us students. If you ask me. I think our pretty water-bearing guest doesn''t like the word slave.¡± my frown only deepens, but Gori goes on. ¡° Perhaps she finds the idea distasteful.¡± He grins the stupid lopsided grin he does when he thinks he is saying something really clever. ¡° I certainly find it that way.¡±

    I''ll admit that draws a laugh from me. I imagine most slaves find the concept fairly distasteful.

    ¡°If she can''t stand even saying the word slave, why on the seven worlds would she come to Far Mantys?¡±

    Gori offers another shrug. ¡°Now that, even my genius cannot answer.¡±

    I glance over at the girl. She''s standing next to Tullulah, just supervising the line of boys, even offering them the occasional kind word.

    When I return to weight training there is a recurring thought bouncing around inside my head, that stays with me for the rest of the time in the yard.

    ¡®What is going on with these foreigners?¡¯

    I''ve met foreigners before of course. These two though are just strange. Really strange. It makes my fur stand on end. I can''t figure out what with such little information, but I am increasingly confident the siblings are up to something.

    It is almost a week later when Qesh stops me from attending afternoon skills training that I get another clue.

 Chapter 18: The Glint Of The Blade

    Chapter 18

    The Glint Of The Blade

    I¡¯m not exactly paying attention to what is happening around me as I make my way back from the midday ¡®break¡¯. I am in fact remembering the previous night, it was Hall-Three¡¯s bath night, and as usual, I got to go first. It only happens once every two months, but I adore bath nights. It may very well be what drove me to fight so hard to take over Hall-Three in the first place.

    The heated water, the burning smell of the delousing potion in the water, the chance to get knots out of my fur without ripping chunks of it off myself. It is those memories I am focused on when I practically walk into Qesh. He doesn¡¯t look impressed, and I curse myself internally. I absolutely have to stop letting my attention wander during these breaks. That''s how I got snuck up on last time after all.

    I don¡¯t say anything and try to move past him. But the old guard blocks my way, his head shaking.

    ¡°Hold on North you aren¡¯t doing afternoon drills today.¡±

    My now relatively clean fur stands on end at his words. I try to remind myself that I haven¡¯t done anything wrong, I''ve been keeping myself out of trouble just like I was supposed to.

    But what If they know about the morning sessions with Xael and Kalon every day?

    Or worse what if they know about the small collection of coins, steadily growing inside my bed? At best they would take my money off of me. But what if they treat it like an escape attempt?! I still have nightmares about how I was punished for my last one. They rented me to House Tariff for three weeks. If I live another forty years I¡¯ll never forget my time there, never forget that room under their manse. Even the memory of that place makes my heart race, and my hands clench.

    I try to keep the panic out of my voice, but my reply comes too quickly, too high-pitched,

    ¡°Why?, Is it a job? I haven''t done anything wrong"

    I should definitely not have added that last part. Declaring I haven¡¯t done anything wrong before any accusations have been leveled at me is asking for trouble.

    The older man rolls his eyes.

    ¡° We are assigning you your partner for the Storm Herald Invitational next month.¡±

    I blink my surprise away as hope rises in me like the tide. They don¡¯t know, they have no reason to care or a good way to find out.

    ¡°Oh. Uhh great, good.¡± I trail off.

    ¡°Honestly North,¡± he says with an exasperated sigh. ¡° You need to calm down a little, not every time I see you, am I out to get you.¡±

    ¡°Just most of the time¡± I reply with a half-hearted grin.

    ¡° Yes, just most of the time now, get your cursed ass over to the manse.¡± I nod my acknowledgment and promptly turn around.

    Of course, I¡¯ve wondered who it will be, but every theory I''ve come up with is discarded as I approach the dark stone of BloodRock¡¯s pretend fortress. I''ve been assigned partners plenty of times before for plenty of events and it''s never like this.

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    Every other time Muraab or whoever has just yelled it at us in the training yard since we will both be there anyway. If the other boy is in the Manse you don¡¯t need Gori¡¯s unparalleled genius to figure out who it will be. The sneaky little non-slave has been testing me with these morning sessions. My first instinct is to be annoyed. He is attaching himself to me for the tournament invite. I had to get attacked by a magic snake to get that invite. It''s mine, I should get to pick who I work with.

    Who would I pick though? Morean is the most obvious choice in terms of ability, but I could all too easily picture us killing each other. He wouldn¡¯t want to listen to me, I wouldn¡¯t want to listen to him. It would be a mess. It would be a bad idea not to choose someone from Hall-Three anyway. Insulting my own boys like that would be stupid.

    Not that me making the choice was ever really an option. Atar or whoever would make some choice based on whatever it was they thought was important. Seeing some of the pairings they send into the pit I think the system may involve dice, or throwing knives at a board.

    I haven¡¯t tried to enter the manse since the morning of my fight at House Saffron. I head in the same way, through the delivery entrance. I¡¯m not banned from the front gate or anything like that, this is the same way everyone who lives in the BloodRock compound enters the manse. Once you get through the larder and then the kitchens this path takes you right into the heart of the little fortress.

    I nod at the guard on duty. I¡¯m fairly sure his name is Toren, but he¡¯s new and I''m not confident enough to risk using it. He lets me pass without a word.

    As always the scent of spices all but makes my nose run, I know it''s weird but I can¡¯t help but enjoy the sensation.

    Things get a little weird as I pass into the larder area. The series of small rooms with haphazardly filled shelves of spices, and foodstuffs covering every wall has domestics and the occasional serviles moving through it. The kitchen domestic slaves keep stopping what they are doing and staring at me. It happens no less than four times. By the third, I¡¯m ready to grab one of them and start demanding answers. It is not a good idea to put your hands on the girls who work in the kitchens for a whole host of reasons, not least of which is that they have the final say in what I eat.

    So I do my best to ignore the stares by not meeting the gazes of the slaves I pass. It works maybe a little too well, as when one of them tries to kill me I don¡¯t notice until I''m practically being stabbed.

    I¡¯m no more than three steps into the kitchen proper when one of the domestics launches herself at me, kitchen knife in hand. All I see is a screeching mop of blonde hair and the glint of the blade. I react without thought, one arm coming up to block the blade, by meeting her forearm, the other lashing out to strike my assailant in the face. I admit it is a pretty hard punch, but it''s made a lot worse by the addition of her own momentum. The blow takes her right off her feet, an audible crack sounds as I break something in her face. The knife never even reaches me, and I¡¯m about to follow up with a series of kicks when I realize what I¡¯m doing. Yes, she attacked me, but I was about to brutalize a domestic slave.

    Taking a deep breath I try to calm myself.

    ¡°What on the seven worlds was that?! What''s going on here?¡±

    Beneath me, the woman is holding a hand to her face, but her fury is undiminished.

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill you, you fucking animal!¡± She screams. That throws a torch back on the pyre of my temper. I do not like being called that word. I am a person. My parents were both human, I remember that much. My teeth go from clenched to bared. I don¡¯t have any weapons, but I can easily rip her throat out, or I can take the knife off her and use that. Yeah, that''s what I¡¯ll do. BloodRock can find a new slave to cook his dinner. The thought makes me pause as I¡¯m crouching over the woman. She¡¯s blonde, middle-aged, and oddly thin for a kitchen slave. I blink as recognition hits me. It¡¯s her cheekbones, just under those eyes so full of hate as she moves her hands away from her broken nose in a pitiful attempt to defend herself from me. They are the same as her son¡¯s.

    This is Kalon¡¯s mother¡­.no wonder she hates me. I let out a little snarl of frustration, smacking her hands aside and standing upright again.

    ¡°North! North! Wait, don''t hurt her.¡±

    With deliberate slowness, I glare across the kitchen. It''s a low-ceilinged room with five different hearths. They are that metal stove kind that is sort of like a barrel with metal pipes leading out the top of them. These pipes go straight up into the ceiling where they curve out to carry the wood smoke of the stoves away from the manse and into the compound. As always the kitchen is hot, and is filled with the tempting scents of cooking¡­I sniff, today it''s fish.

    Standing at the entrance to the manse is that little domestic girl I keep seeing with Xael¡¯s sister, Tullulah. Her eyes pleading, her expression grim.

    ¡°I¡¯m going, I¡¯m going¡± I reply, glaring at her. To my surprise the little domestic holds my gaze, at least until I stomp over to her, and she¡¯s forced to step aside to let me pass.

    For the first time in almost a year, I enter the home of the BloodRock family.

 Chapter 19: The Bet

    Chapter 19

    The Bet

    The pretend fortress hasn''t changed. It never changes really. The only true difference is the people who the houselord is playing host to.

    The kitchens exit directly into what can only be described as a feasting hall. Where most houses try to outdo each other in opulence BloodRock has cultivated an appearance akin to the barbarous folk of the north.

    Rather than marble pillars and over-the-top art. Here are two long tables not dissimilar to the ones we slaves eat at. They sit atop a furred rug from some massive beast.

    The dark stone walls are absolutely covered in various trophies of war, only occasionally broken up by a doorway or one of the four unlit fireplaces.

    There isn''t anyone in the hall yet today which feels oddly unnatural. I used to cut through here as a kid a lot, but in the last few years, the only times I''ve been allowed in the manse proper have been for some event or another. So even though I know nothing is happening today, some part of me still expected it to be full of rich people. Shaking my head at my own thoughts I head for the doorway on the far right side of the hall. That will take me to BloodRock''s personal office. I say office, but it also fits the barbarous aesthetic resembling some centaur lord''s war tent far more than a place of business, or the sanctuary of a Far Mantyian houselord.

    When I was little Atar''s sanctuary had been a much larger room above the dining hall, nowadays however stairs and his knees don''t go together so well. A few months back I overheard a pair of the domestic girls talking about how he hasn''t gone above the first floor in years. Good, fuck Atar BloodRock. I hope the pain in his joints is so bad it keeps him awake at night. That sort of thing will be my future eventually, assuming the pits don''t outright kill me first. So I have very little sympathy for the man inflicting it upon me.

    I had been expecting BloodRock himself, and maybe Xael. I''m partly right, they are there. Atar in his big throne of carved rock, Xael standing a few feet away in the black and white tunic he seems to have a thousand versions of.

    What I''m not expecting is Kalon and his pit-partner Tota, standing on the other side of the houselord''s big chair.

    Instantly my fur stands on end. I was fairly sure I knew what this was about, and while the inclusion of Kalon¡¯s team doesn''t mean I''m wrong, but it does put me on edge. Maybe I''m just still feeling anxious after I was attacked in the kitchen of all places.

    As I enter the room that strange water on hot stone smell fills my nostrils, and my hatred flares. I don¡¯t know the right words to describe the depth of loathing I feel whenever I smell the houselord up close. The feeling goes to war with the finely honed sense of self-preservation every slave develops. The conflict inside makes me a little less cautious than maybe I should be. Instead of greeting Atar I stomp over and glare at Kalon. ¡° Your mother just tried to stab me.¡± I snap at the blonde boy. He blinks a few times, then as the words register he lets out a groan and covers his face with a hand.

    ¡°Oh she didn¡¯t,¡± he says through the hand, clearly embarrassed. ¡°You didn¡¯t hurt her did you?¡±

    I can¡¯t help it, a little grin crosses my face. ¡°I knocked her down, but she¡¯s fine.¡± It isn¡¯t really a lie, broken noses aren¡¯t a serious injury. She won¡¯t even need to go to the tower or anything.

    Kalon is about to say something back when I let out a snarl of pain, and jump backward with my left hand going to my face. It only takes a heartbeat for me to figure out what happened. BloodRock has flicked some of the burning liquid that drips from his hair at me. The scalding fluid catching me on the cheek and quickly searing my flesh.

    Hand still on my face I glare my resentment at the still seated houselord.

    ¡°Ahh glad you have deigned to give me your attention lord North.¡± Sneers the ridiculously blessed crimson-skinned man. His voice drips with sarcasm worse than his hair drips with¡­..I¡¯m going to ask Gori what that burning rock stuff is called. It has a name, there is a big painting in house Tariff of it flowing down a mountain.

    My glare deepens but I don¡¯t say anything. I¡¯m not that stupid. There is a limit to how much disrespect I can get away with. It''s more than none, no matter what BloodRock says when he¡¯s beating me senseless. I still can¡¯t push it much more than this. Atar¡¯s first, last, and favorite solution to any problem is violence. Disrespectful slaves are very much not excluded from that list.

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    So I do my best to ignore the pain, and just stay silent. I probably should have made that decision before I walked in here. BloodRock meets my glare, amusement at my impotent rage shining in his eyes.

    ¡°If you broke my favorite cook you are a dead man North,¡± he says matter of factly.

    ¡°But if you didn''t, I couldn''t care less. All of you shut your mouths till I say I''m done talking.¡±

    All four of us obey. Not even Xael complains. However, I notice his hand tighten on the hilt of his sword a little.

    The lucky jerk gets to just wear his weapons in the open whenever he wants. I wonder if the blade could even hurt Atar. I''ve never had a chance to attack him with something that wasn¡¯t a part of my body, and I imagine myself ripping that sword off Xael¡¯s belt and plunging it right through the neck or chest of the houselord.

    It wouldn¡¯t work. I know that, but it''s a nice fantasy.

    ¡° The four of you will be the two teams representing BloodRock at the Storm Herald invitational, before you ask yes it''s just two teams from us this year. Saffron decided they wanted most of the slots.¡± Well, that answers that. What Saffron wants, they get. At least if the other party wants to keep doing good business in Far Mantys.

    ¡°Plus HighSail had a few teams invited this year.¡± He continues with a dismissive wave of his hand. That was a bit stranger, the explorer house tends to provide all manner of rare and dangerous creatures for the pits. But in terms of producing actual pitters, they don¡¯t tend to do a very good job.

    ¡° The flame witch,¡± I say in surprise, before slamming my mouth shut.

    The houselord looks furious for a moment before a little smile crosses his lips.

    ¡®Shut up North, just fucking listen it''s not hard¡¯ I berate myself.

    ¡° The flame witch.¡± He confirms. ¡°HighSail and his little nephew have been bragging all over the city that their Itti¡¯atti can¡¯t be defeated.¡± He tilts his head in a mannerism I hate to admit I picked up from Atar. ¡° So I bet all four of my Azazellian trade pacts against The Mocking Leviathan that it would be a BloockRock team that eliminated her and her partner.¡±

    My eyebrows raise and my recently shut mouth hangs open. I don¡¯t know much about money or trade, but I do know Azazel is the largest northern city by far, and the pacts must be worth a fortune if HighSail put up The Mocking Leviathan.

    There isn¡¯t a person walking the streets of Far Mantys who doesn¡¯t know the flagship of house HighSail. I of course have never seen it up close, but you don¡¯t have to. The boat is enormous. A traveling town comparable even to the twelve-house compounds. A monstrous lord of the waves with a lot of sails, a lot of oars, and sometimes even a sea monster pulling it.

    Still surprised, I look at Kalon and Tota again, then back to Back to Old Man BloodRock. I try to hold back. I really do, but I find myself talking again.

    ¡°Me and the foreign kid I understand, but them?¡± I ask incredulously. ¡° Where are Morean and Task or Neston and Fugu? That bitch will murder Kalon and Tota.¡± I can¡¯t imagine Kalon and Tota are particularly impressed by my outburst. I guess they are just better at self-control than I am as they don¡¯t say a word. Xael also remains quiet, though he frowns a little at my words.

    Atar once again flicks the burning fluid at me like a slap. I duck under the spray this time. That¡¯s weird. Even though I hadn¡¯t been actively disrespectful I had just disobeyed him in front of two slaves and a guest. That would normally warrant a much harsher reaction from the houselord.

    ¡°I said Shut it.¡± He hisses. Yet the old man does answer my questions. I¡¯ll give him that much, Atar likes to keep us informed about the who¡¯s and why¡¯s of the pit.

    ¡° Fugu and Neston aren¡¯t a team anymore, Fugu is too old, and Neston got hired as a bodyguard companion for one of the Saffron kids.¡± Neston has always been good, he was the last human in BloodRock who could beat me alone, but I didn¡¯t think he had That in him. Companion bodyguard for a Saffron kid is second only to freedom in terms of heights a slave can rise to. Assuming the Saffron¡¯s like him he will have a cushy job that makes both him and BloodRock money for the rest of his life. They might even buy his freedom at some point.

    ¡°Morean and Task are leaving the city for about two months. I''ve already committed them to the Graceless Islands for that big tournament those pirates down there put on. They will be back once one of them wins it.¡±

    There isn''t a hint of doubt in him that Morean or Task will win the tournament down there. I''m inclined to think he''s right. One of them will, probably Morean.Gods above and below! I had forgotten how much old man BloodRock loves the sound of his own voice. ¡®No more questions. It will just make him talk more.¡¯Which is of course when Xael decides to ask a question.

    ¡°The Storm Herald Invitational is in just over three weeks. Not a lot of time. Will you let me take North for specialized training?¡±.

    Almost instantly I transfer my glare to the accented boy. Evidently, he and BloodRock have already decided my fate. I''d come in here knowing I was going to end up with Xael in the pit with me. Honestly, I''m not even disappointed by the choice, he''s exceptionally talented. It just would have been nice if they had run it by me first.

    ¡°Do whatever you want with him.¡± replies the houselord dismissively.

    ¡°Wait. What on the seven worlds does that mean?¡± I demand.

    The two of them fucking ignore me, Just go on talking like I''m not even there.

    ¡°And I can take him out into the city?¡± presses Xael. It causes the old man to snort. ¡° take him wherever you want. North can never escape, no matter where he goes.¡±

 Chapter 20: Tourist

    Chapter 20

    Tourist

    I¡¯m pretty good at being talked about like I¡¯m not there, but I have to admit hearing the Houselord say ¡° North can never escape¡± tests my restraint. He is just referring to the Forspoken stone inside me but honestly, Who says things like that? I bite the inside of my mouth and let them have their conversation, I can¡¯t say anything that will make a difference anyway.

    Apparently, Xael is the student of some old warrior Atar respects deeply. I don¡¯t really see why that matters, but it''s enough that he is happy to let the foreign boy dictate my training and schedule for the next few weeks.

    Seems stupid to me. But hey why would you want to consult the boy who just went on a forty-five-win streak? What would I know?

    So I just stand there while the two of them decide my fate for the near future. Kalon and Tota have no choice but to do the same. They are going to get tutored by Harrk and then Muraab personally. I have to admit I¡¯m more than a little jealous, Muraab was king on the sands, and Harrk¡¯s record in the pit is something like three hundred wins to twenty losses. They are some of the best pitters to have ever fought on the sands, any amount of time learning from them directly will be invaluable.

    None of that stuff really matters. Not compared to the little idea that has been nagging at me ever since Atar mentioned having already committed Morean and Neston.

    ¡®You need me, don¡¯t you? You stupid old fuck. You overcommitted and now I¡¯m your best shot¡¯ I could picture it now. Old Man BloodRock had probably been drunk off his ass. Easy to manipulate into an unfavorable bet. This sort of thing happens from time to time, BloodRock is so used to his slaves dominating the pits, that he has a tendency to accept any bet thrown his way.

    This one is particularly stupid as if anyone else manages to beat the flame witch and her partner Atar still loses. That''s why he has been holding back his rage. He can¡¯t risk hurting me right now. With only two teams representing BloodRock out of potentially dozens, the old man¡¯s only real chance to win his bet was if one of his teams takes the whole thing. I¡¯m absolutely his best shot at that, and I''m certain he knows it.

    The revelation refills my pool of confidence. Xael is in the middle of asking the houselord something. I wasn¡¯t paying attention and don¡¯t know the details. It''s something about equipment, but I don¡¯t care. I step forward and shove the foreign boy aside with one hand. He¡¯s exactly as heavy as I¡¯d anticipated, not at all. He manages to keep his feet, but it''s a close thing. As my shove sends him stumbling across the room.

    I¡¯m not just being a jerk, there is a point to my aggression and I think Atar gets it. He narrows his eyes up at me but remains seated. In return, I shoot him a little grin only he can see. I want him to know I am aware of his mistake, that he has granted me a sort of limited invulnerability to his wrath.

    ¡°Something on your mind North?¡± He asks flatly, those burning eyes of his still narrowed in irritation.

    ¡°Food¡± I exclaim, still ordering my thoughts.

    ¡°Food?¡±

    ¡° Xael is rich, he can do what he wants.¡± I gesture at the other two pit slaves and then myself. ¡° But the three of us are going to need better food if you want us in peak condition.¡± I pause for a second and then clarify. ¡° The sort of thing they feed us in the tower.¡±

    The houselord snorts. ¡° fine, now don¡¯t interrupt again.¡± I blink a few times, surprised he had agreed so readily. Maybe it was just a good idea in general, despite appearances to the contrary I have those sometimes.I step back to allow Xael his spot in front of BloodRock¡¯s throne thing again. Kalon gives me a little nod of appreciation. He must think it was a good idea too.The dark-haired foreign boy on the other hand shoots me what I can only describe as an offended expression. Like my little shove hurt his feelings.

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    In a way, I¡¯m taking a big gamble too. Once this particular tournament is over I will once again be open to whatever abuse Atar wants to throw my way. If I¡¯ve pushed things too far he won¡¯t forget. He will however forgive me if I win his bet for him. Honestly, If at the end of the Storm Herald Invitational the Mocking Leviathan is flying BloodRock¡¯s bleeding stone flag. He will probably do a lot more than forgive. I wouldn¡¯t call Atar generous, but he isn¡¯t stupid either. He rewards us when we make him money. If you want quality work even slaves need to know they have something to work towards. It would only hurt the morale of the whole stable of pit slaves if I did something huge like that and got nothing in return.All I need to do is beat a creature that stands above even the blessed, a being not just descended from an elemental being, but a true denizen of the world of fire. Easy, nothing to it.

    While I¡¯m pondering all this Atar finishes whatever he was talking about and tells me to go with Xael. There was more, things about the schedule and how many teams the other houses were sending that I really should have been paying attention to. It''s hard though, I get so bored standing in silence while the houselord rambles on about the same basic points every time. ¡® rawr me BloodRock, me in charge, you fight for BloodRock and win or me be mad.¡¯ Besides the details don¡¯t really matter, they will tell me where to go and all that when it''s happening. All I need to focus on is spilling blood on the sands. Though hopefully a little less than last time.

    So Xael leaves, and I follow him. The foreign boy takes a moment to say his farewells to the other team when they exit BloodRock¡¯s office behind us. I give them a little nod. I hate to admit it, but Kalon has slowly been turning into a valuable sparring partner since we started training in the mornings. And Tota grudgingly impressed me when we fought together at house Saffron. I doubt I will ever like the pair of boys, but they have grown on me enough that I¡¯m willing to deal with them.

    Like every slave to ever work this compound the pair of boys cut across the hall and into the kitchens to leave. Xael however leads me towards the east wing, the guest wing. I''ve been there before but not since I was little, and frankly I¡¯m glad of it. I don¡¯t have one single memory from the guest wing that doesn¡¯t make me want to rage and scream, or sob and bite something.

    So it''s with some trepidation that I follow the dark-haired boy. I shouldn''t have bothered worrying. The moment Kalon and Tota are out of sight he aborts his path, spinning to face me. His features are furrowed in the same offended manner he had been so quick to disguise back in BloodRock¡¯s office. Did I really offend him so much with a little shove? The idea seems ridiculous, but on the other hand, I barely understand domestic slaves let alone a rich freeperson.

    ¡°What was that in there? Did I do something to you?¡± He asks with a voice full of hurt. Wow, I really did upset him. Who would have guessed he was so fragile? ¡®Pfft humans.¡¯ I think while doing my best to repress a grin.

    ¡°No. It wasn¡¯t about you, I was sending Old Man BloodRock a message.¡± The foreign boy looks like he doesn¡¯t quite believe me.

    ¡°So you don¡¯t have some problem with me that I don¡¯t know about?¡± He presses the question.

    I shrug as I reply. ¡° Other than you are a rich-boy tourist playing at pit slave? No.¡± His face turns a bright scarlet, and he seems to deflate a little. His mouth works, but it''s like he can¡¯t fight the words. ¡°Seriously?!¡± I snap at him, irritation filling me ¡°You are that offended?¡±

    ¡°Well...¡± he replies slowly, composing himself ¡° While I know we aren¡¯t friends I didn¡¯t think you saw me that way. ¡° The dark-haired boy offers his own shrug.

    ¡°You and Kalon both seem to think I¡¯m better than most of the boys here, doesn''t that count for something?¡±

    I stare at him for a moment, trying my best to keep my irritation from making me do something stupid.

    ¡°You are choosing to be here¡± I growl. ¡° How could that ever be the same? You fight for fun, or money, or fame or for some cause. We don¡¯t.¡±

    Xael raises an eyebrow. ¡°I have seen many pitters, yourself included, obviously having fun while fighting or training.¡±

    The pushback makes me want to hit him repeatedly till he sees sense.

    ¡°And what else have you seen me do that might be fun? What else have you seen me do at all?¡±

    That stops him dead. I can see in his stupid human face that he is finally starting to get it.

    ¡°This is why you called me tourist, not because I am a GodsRinger, but because I can stop fighting if I want to.¡± he trails off before suddenly grabbing me by the arms.

    His eyes are shining, and the offended set of his features has been replaced by one of excitement.

    ¡°Change of plans!¡± He declares with all the cheerfulness his weird accent can muster. I wasn''t aware there even was a plan, so I don''t object.

    ¡°I have to go see Ilexa, meet me at the south gate in a full turn of the glass.¡±

    ¡°Uhh¡± I¡¯m off put by the sudden shift this conversation is taking. Xael isn¡¯t a malicious sort, but everyone knows when rich guys get excited slaves get hurt or in trouble. ¡®Ugh, I¡¯m going to regret this.¡¯

    ¡°Okay, just don¡¯t get me in trouble.¡±

    His only reply is a widening smile.

 Chapter 21: Free Time

    Chapter 21

    Free Time

    So I have a full hourglass all to myself which while nice, feels a little strange. I¡¯m so used to everything in my life being part of a regimented schedule that I don¡¯t really know what to do with myself. Free time without being utterly exhausted during it is certainly a novel concept, but how to spend it?

    I briefly consider going to watch the other boys train, before discarding the idea. The risk of getting pulled into a training session is too high. In the end, I spend most of the time hovering around the main hall, alternating between sitting and doing push-ups. I was more right than I realized when I was getting mad at Xael. I am so starved of exposure to fun things that I genuinely can¡¯t think of something better. Maybe I should take up juggling.

    I abandon the pushups, and in fact, flee the manse entirely when a pair of the domestic slave women taking food upstairs share a giggle over me exercising on the ground. The moment they are no longer looking at me I head for the main entrance, face burning, and stomach full of knots.

    After which I go from hovering around in the main hall of the manse to dozing in the sun near the south gate. Sitting on the sand, back against the warm stone wall of the compound. I suppose it is kind of nice, but I¡¯m bored in no time at all. So bored that I fell fully asleep.

    I come awake to Xael doing one of the dumbest things a person in the BloodRock compound can. Shaking my asleep form by the shoulder. I¡¯m on my feet in a blink, shoving whoever it is away. I¡¯m in the midst of launching a bite at the person¡¯s face when I recognize both who it is, and that I am not in any danger. I try to pull up short, but it¡¯s Xael¡¯s own reflexes that save him. The boy dances back on the balls of his feet, eyes full of surprise.

    ¡°Are you insane?!¡± I snap at him. ¡° I could have fucking killed you.¡±

    The rich boy smirks back at me. ¡° Someone has a high opinion of themselves. I am Divine blade of the GodsRing you know.¡±

    I rub my eyes as I reply. ¡° I don¡¯t know what that is.¡± Though in truth I could probably guess.

    ¡° It means I won the biggest tournament in my homeland, one with both adults and kids competing.¡± That gets my attention. Adults are a pain in the ass to fight, they tend to have a ton of tricks each, not to mention they are just big. I¡¯ve fought a few youths bigger than me, but it''s certainly not a common state of affairs. For this scrawny kid to overcome just the reach and power of adult warriors is pretty impressive. I suppose I can picture it. The way he moves when we train together is something special to behold.

    ¡°Let''s just say I¡¯m suitably impressed and move on,¡± I say with a yawn. His look of faux agony as he clutches his chest at my dismissal is so exaggerated I can¡¯t help but laugh.

    Shaking my head I ask ¡° So where are we going?¡± Despite my amusement, I am still cautious of this boy. I don¡¯t trust things or people I don¡¯t understand, and I absolutely do not understand Xael.

    ¡°I conferred with my sister and she suggested I leave that up to you. I¡¯m a tourist after all.¡± I¡¯m not quite sure how he managed to say that while both seeming light-hearted and full of venom. ¡®Wait. Did he say I get to pick where we go? That can¡¯t be right.¡¯

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    ¡°Wha-what?¡± I manage to stammer out.

    ¡°I was talking to Ilexa about what you said, and she suggested you might find it novel to decide your own destination for once.¡± He says in such a casual manner that I¡¯m certain he doesn¡¯t understand the weight of his own words.

    I almost blurt out ¡®the beach¡¯ but manage to stop myself. It was already past noon when I met with the houselord, and getting to the coast through the city will take hours. I could never get there and back in time to get dinner, let alone enjoy the experience.

    If I choose something closer I could take my time watching the performers on the Grand Processional. That would be fun. I usually march alongside a wagon when I see those guys and never get a real chance to watch the shows.

    Where to go? I''ve lived in this city my whole life, but I don¡¯t go places. Where do free people my age go to hang out? I have no idea.

    But there is one place on this side of the city I would like to visit if I can figure out exactly where it is.

    ¡°Well?¡± Xael asks, making a little prompting motion. It''s at that point I realize that I have just been standing here open-mouthed staring at him.

    ¡°Oh umm.¡± I start to snicker a little, drawing a look from the foreign boy that suggests he thinks I¡¯ve lost my mind.

    With an effort of will and clenching of my neck and jaw, I manage to push the laughter back down for long enough to explain where I want to go. His eyes go wide, and honestly the apparent ¡®divine blade¡¯ seems even more excited about the idea than I am.

    He bids me to lead the way and we walk out of the compound unchallenged. I leave the place for fights and events sometimes, this is something different and feels very alien like BloodRock is going to burst out of the manse screaming that I''ve misunderstood and to get back to training. Of course, nothing happens, but the compound is well out of sight before I can shake the feeling. Making our way through the twisting streets is a lot easier with just the two of us. In theory, this is a dangerous area to traverse in such small numbers. I¡¯m not worried, Xael is armed and I¡¯m always dangerous.

    We see a few of the people who live around the BloodRock compound doing whatever it is they do, but none of them try anything. I¡¯m almost disappointed.

    The Grand Processional on the other hand is never a disappointment. With just the two of us we can¡¯t bully our way through the crowds like a group from BloodRock normally would. Xael seems prepared for it, more prepared than I am anyway. He weaves through the people with the same grace he does everything. I try to emulate him, but it doesn¡¯t really work. More than once I exchange insults with someone I''ve bumped into.

    It¡¯s still fun. There is always a festival aire to the enormous street, and we stop to watch a firebreather live up to his name. The man is just a regular human which makes the feat far more impressive. A Blessed could do the same easily, but there would be no trick to it.

    While I¡¯m gawking at a lady who can bend herself in all sorts of crazy ways Xael purchases some kind of oily meat on a stick for each of us. It is the best thing I have ever eaten, and after a moment of hesitation, I crunch up the wood in my mouth and eat that too, savoring even the grease that had soaked into the stick. It is evidently the funniest thing Xael has ever seen and he is still exclaiming over the action when I lead us off the Processional and into the manufacturing district near one of the smaller markets.

    The locals have some name for this place like ¡®Robe Town¡¯ or something stupid like that, but I don¡¯t remember it. To me and I imagine most of the city it''s just the place where they handle making clothes. Or at least it used to be in the last few years all manner of cafes and restaurants have sprung up between the various seamstresses and weaving houses.

    I¡¯m not really sure where to go from here, but it isn¡¯t hard to figure out. There is a huge group of kids with parents, or adults alone conspicuously carrying uneven pairs of short swords clambering around outside one of the double-story seamstress shops. If I wasn¡¯t already sure this was the place I was looking for the occasional chants of ¡° Resh! Resh! Resh!¡± Or ¡° You can¡¯t stop the Rush!¡± From the crowd are dead giveaways.

 Chapter 22: The Rush Army

    Chapter 22

    The Rush Army

    I don¡¯t stop and count them, but at a glance, the crowd of fans is about thirty strong. I¡¯m always impressed by Resh¡¯s drawing power. Wherever he goes, whatever he does they swarm him and cheer his name. Thirty might not seem like a lot compared to the thousands that pack into the primary arenas. It is a lot when you consider that today is just a random day, and this is just the store his sisters own. Resh could easily be off doing something else, I¡¯m not even sure he still sleeps here most nights.

    Between the crowd of fans and the store is a line of six soldiers in BlackMIst colors. These guys are armed and armored in a big way. Neck to toe in thick metal armor, the plated kind complete with fancy carvings of the house¡¯s spiral icon. They cut imposing figures, and are doing a good job of keeping people away from the store.

    Is it still a store? I¡¯m no expert on the matter, but when I imagine how a place of business operates it doesn¡¯t involve a line of heavily armed guards stopping anyone from entering the premises.

    ¡°Don¡¯t these idiots have anything better to do?¡± I grumble to Xael. He laughs and doesn¡¯t seem bothered by the crowd, something I¡¯m struggling to understand. It isn¡¯t just that I''m jealous, though I absolutely am. Resh deserves all the love he gets. I¡¯ve just never had to deal with his fans face-to-face before, and seeing them there in my way just bothers me. He¡¯s my friend, I shouldn¡¯t have to push through a fucking crowd just to ask one of his sisters if Resh is home.

    Yet that is exactly what I do. Xael¡¯s ability to maneuver through packed streets doesn¡¯t help here, fortunately, as a BloodRock pit slave I am an old hand at forcing people to move. Growling and yelling I drive like a one-man wedge into the crowd with the foreign boy behind me. Getting to the front isn¡¯t what you would call an incident-free experience, I snap my jaws at one man who tried to object to my rough passage. another flatly refuses to move so I grab him by the robe and smash my fist into his face until he falls down. The rest of the crowd is a lot more pliable after that, the BlackMist guards not so much.

    The closest one is a bald and bearded man in his mid-twenties who sizes us up as we approach. He¡¯s pretty big, I still loom over him even in the armor.

    ¡°No fans today,¡± he grunts and I instantly hate him.

    ¡°Fan?!¡± I snap cutting off Xael¡¯s budding reply. ¡°I¡¯m not a fan. I practically killed him.¡± That may have not been the best thing to say if I wanted an easy passage, but the words are out of my mouth before my brain has quite caught up.

    The guard stares at me in disbelief. ¡° Well you still can¡¯t come in, the store isn¡¯t open today.¡± It might be how much his tone reminds me of Charick; the young guard from the BloodRock compound, but every word out of this man¡¯s mouth makes me want to hit him as well. As satisfying as that would be, I don''t attack the guy. Even if I was armed the six of them would rip me apart in no time at all.

    Through the annoyance, I remind myself I knew there was going to be something like this. I have a plan, it involves talking not violence¡­additional violence. That idiot wearing knockoffs of Resh¡¯s swords deserved to get his face beaten in, and I won¡¯t be convinced otherwise.

    ¡°There is some sort of list, right? Well, I¡¯m on it, so go find Adaline or Adalena and tell them North is here and wants to come in.¡± I wish I could remember the name of Resh¡¯s youngest sister, but I don¡¯t think it hurts my declaration too much.

    The guard looks me up and down before turning to his compatriots who haven¡¯t moved but clearly are paying attention to the exchange. The look he gives the next BlackMist soldier in line is equal parts amusement and annoyance, as if to say ¡®Can you believe what I have to put up with?¡¯

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    ¡°If you are on the list I won¡¯t need to speak to one of the Ladies BoltSmith.¡± He says with blatant condescension.

    ¡°Then go get the list.¡± Chimes in Xael, his flat accent making him sound bored even though he was holding back laughter moments ago.

    The guard turns and walks inside the store, presumably to check if I¡¯m allowed in.

    ¡°This may have gone smoother if you were wearing a shirt.¡± Says the foreigner, his face splitting back into a grin.

    At his words I shoot a glance down at myself, I hadn¡¯t really thought about my lack of upper body clothing in years, like most of the BloodRock pit slaves, I don¡¯t even own a shirt.

    ¡°You think so?¡± I ask squinting in the afternoon sun.

    ¡°Yes, Yes I do.¡± His reply is full of that same infectious mirth that reminds me of Resh. I am about to argue that none of the people around us are shirtless and it didn¡¯t help them get inside the store when I notice part of the small crowd has closed in on us. This is not the natural flow of the crowd refilling the gap I left in my wake.

    A group of four rush fans, all teenage boys my age or older. Barge their way to us and stand uncomfortably close.

    I think they are trying to give off the same energy as when Kalon and his friends came to challenge me. Looking at them with their clean hair, unscarred skin, nice clothes, and stupid short swords I can¡¯t help but laugh. It is a true laugh, not my compulsive snicker. The idea of these boys trying to threaten anyone is just too funny.

    ¡°I heard what you said.¡± Declares the tallest of the boys, pointing an accusing finger at my chest. He¡¯s taller than me, though I definitely outweigh him. The kid looks like he has never lifted something heavy in his entire life.

    I shoot a questioning glance at Xael who only offers a bewildered shrug in return.

    ¡°Huh?¡± I grunt at the boy.

    His next words are practically a hiss. ¡°You think you can come here and threaten Resh and just get away with it? Not with the Rush Army around you can¡¯t.¡±

    The laugh that bursts from my lips at those is slightly hysterical. I genuinely can¡¯t believe what I¡¯m hearing right now. ¡°The Rush Army?¡± Even saying the words is a struggle, I''m laughing so hard. After the annoying guard, the annoying man I hit, and the annoying foreigner I''m spending all day with. I really needed a laugh like this. Maybe I should be thanking the guy.

    I compose myself quickly when one of the other Rush Army members pulls his swords. They are shockingly close recreations of Needle and Thread, right down to the stupid little charms hanging from the hilts. Getting them made must have cost a lot, yet it seems like all four of the boys have them at their hips.

    ¡°Now, gentlemen there is no need for blades.¡± Interjects Xael with a disarming smile. ¡° This has been a simple matter of miscommunication.¡±

    The tall boy who had first spoken puts his hand on his own still sheathed swords and continues to hiss. ¡° I know what I heard, and we all saw you attack Korim.¡± I guess that is the name of the guy whose face I beat in.

    I let out a little sigh. While the fact that one of these fans drew weapons on me is a little funny in its own right I¡¯m not laughing anymore. Once blades are out something changes inside my mind. I¡¯m suddenly planning out the easiest way to kill the four of them whilst losing the least amount of my own blood I can manage.

    It doesn¡¯t get anywhere near that far. Having turned to face the group of boys, I don¡¯t notice the shop door behind me open. I do notice the crowd suddenly going dead silent and stock still, the ¡®Rush Army¡¯ included. A heartbeat later they go berzerk.

    I risk a glance over my shoulder to see the guard I had spoken to returning with Resh behind him. Talking has become impossible over the sudden cacophony but the little rat-boy gestures wildly at me.

    The BlackMist guards start earning their pay. The one who has just returned strides past me, and the six of them form up to keep the crowd back.

    Grabbing Xael by the arm I hurry into the store behind the still-animated Resh.

    The entrance area of the store is a little room stacked almost to the ceiling with boxes of cloth and sewing supplies on either side of the door. It reminds me of the haphazard way BloodRock¡¯s spices are stored. At the far end is another closed thick wooden door.

    The moment we are inside my friend slams the entrance shut and turns to me wide-eyed.

    ¡°Godsaboveandbelow¡± says Resh in the hard-to-understand way he gets when he is excited. ¡° It''s finally happened, you escaped. I hope you didn¡¯t kill too many on your way out.¡± I¡¯m trying to respond but the rat-boy won¡¯t let me get a word in. ¡°Is this guy your surgeon?¡±

    ¡°Resh,¡± I say, trying to interrupt.

    ¡°Do you know where your forspoken stone is?¡± He continues, words pouring forth in a jumble.

    ¡°Resh!¡± He still doesn¡¯t seem to notice that I''m trying to talk to him.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get my sisters to clear a space upstairs and he can remove it.¡±

    There is nothing for it. I lash out with a fist trying to catch him with a wide looping punch. If hitting him was my actual goal I would have tried a straight jab, I¡¯m just trying to get his attention.

    It works, Resh casually ducks under the punch, but it shuts him up.

    ¡°I¡¯m not escaping you fuckhead, we came to.¡± I¡¯m suddenly embarrassed by what I¡¯m saying. This whole idea seems a little stupid. ¡°You know, came to visit.¡±

 Chapter 23: Invitation

    Chapter 23

    Invitation

    We make introductions once we are in the store proper. I''ve never been here before but the place looks and smells just how I''ve always imagined.

    A high-ceilinged room dominated by a large work table. Against the walls are dozens of those big tubes of cloth and wooden people to test clothes on.  Above that, a series of small slits sit high in the wall to let in natural light. The whole place smells of dye and something I don''t recognize. Fabric I guess, just in large enough quantities to actually have a strong scent.

    All three of the Adas are seated around the table chatting and working, standing off to the side is another heavily armored BlackMist guard. Whatever the deal Resh struck with the warlock house is they are trying to protect their investment.

    Resh¡¯s sisters aren¡¯t exactly what you would call pretty, but nor would you say they are ugly. All three of them just look like normal women of Far Mantys with olive skin and dark curly hair. From the way Xael saunters over and greets them after I have introduced him to Resh you could be forgiven for thinking they were famed beauties.

    Resh snorts at the display but politely introduces his ¡®sisters¡¯, and even the guard.

    ¡°This is Adalie, Adaline, and Adalena, oh and that''s Guyo.¡±

    ¡®Adalie. that''s her gods damned name!¡¯

    The three women offer nods, as does the BlackMist soldier. Afterward, the women turn to me and say ¡°Hello North¡± in perfect unison.

    ¡° uhh hi, girls¡± I reply repressing a shudder. I swear they do that just to creep me out, and It works without fail. They aren¡¯t triplets, there are almost ten years of age between Adaline and Adalie yet all three of them are so similar in mannerisms and tone that I struggle to tell them apart.  Resh says they are afraid of me but I think they are just kind of bitchy. Still, the three of them love my friend and dote on him so they can¡¯t be all bad.

    We spend a few hourglasses there in that cool store simply sitting and chatting while the sisters, and to my surprise Resh sew. It is oddly pleasant even if the Adas keep staring at me in ¡®fear¡¯. At one point the middle sister produces a huge wooden plate from somewhere and they break for food. The not-quite meal is made up of different kinds of thinly sliced meats, bread, and little black squishy things with seeds inside. It''s called a platter and I''ve never eaten anything better in my entire life.

    Is this what it means to have a family? For the hundredth time in the last two years, I cram down my feelings of jealousy. Resh is a good person, an amazing fighter, and he has never held the things I do and say when I''m angry against me. He doesn¡¯t deserve my resentment. If only telling myself that was enough to make the feelings go away.

    It catches me off guard but every other person here has heard of this GodsRing place Xael is from. Resh knows all about the divine blade tournament the foreign boy apparently won, and it doesn¡¯t take long for the three of us to start talking shop. If Ada¡­.line? Yeah, Adaline. If she didn¡¯t scold her little former slave we would have ended up showing each other techniques there in the shop.

    Just as he did with the slaves at BloodRock Xael wins everyone over in no time at all. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever understand it. The dark-haired boy doesn¡¯t strike me as effortlessly charming, he strikes me as kind but annoying. Not long after we have arrived he has the Adas giggling and Resh chattering away cheerfully. I¡¯m awful at all this social stuff and mostly stay quiet. It''s still nice here though, especially the food.

    By the time we leave, I am more than happy to go. Resh¡¯s house makes me feel weird, it''s a nice feeling but also a stressful one. Like a pressure that I should be doing something more than sitting around a craft table listening to people chat.

    We say our farewells, thank the Adas for having us, and head for the little room that houses the front door, only to find Resh waiting for us at the doorway.

    ¡°Hold a moment, I forgot to give you two something.¡±

    He didn''t forget anything, he purposely held back whatever he was planning to say because he wanted to show off his inhuman speed to someone new.

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    To his credit Xael doesn¡¯t overreact, his only real concession to surprise is a little half-step backward when the rat boy appears on the other side of the room to where he had been sitting.

    ¡°Give us something?¡± I ask with a raised eyebrow. ¡°This might come as a surprise to you but I¡¯m not allowed to own things.¡± Xael lets out a little snort of amusement and Resh rolls his eyes.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be a moron North. I¡¯m getting you an invite to a party.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± I hiss, my blood having been instantly replaced with ice water. ¡° I don¡¯t want to go to any parties.¡±

    The rat boy¡¯s features soften. ¡°It''s not like the festivals of debauchery BloodRock sends you into, this is a proper meet and greet for the competitors. Since you are mostly up-and-comers it is a chance to get you all some exposure.¡±

    I don¡¯t care what he says. I have been to dozens of rich people''s parties, and they almost always end in some disgusting or horrific display of opulence, too often with me forced to take part.

    ¡°Oh that is a good idea.¡± nods Xael.

    ¡°House BlackMist will be sending out messages about it in the next day or so. I just wanted to give you two a little warning because North doesn''t like-¡±

    ¡°SHUT UP! SHUT UP!¡± I scream, getting the words out just before my snicker starts up. ¡°I hehehe don¡¯t want to go to any fucking hehehe party!¡± My face heats up with embarrassment.  I know I seem crazy but I can¡¯t help myself. The laughter and the shouting both feel like compulsions right now.

    Behind me, I hear the scrape of metal as the guard moves into what I assume is a protective position. I need to get out of here before I do something stupid. It is getting hard to breathe and even harder to think. The memory of that party a year ago, what they made me do to that little girl after they were finished with her is welling up. As it does my snicker increases.

    ¡°HEHEHE get out of my way Resh! HEHEHE.¡±

    He nods solemnly as he steps aside. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I will try to make sure you don¡¯t have to go.¡±

    ¡®Fuck you, Resh. Why do you always have to be so reasonable about everything?¡¯

    I nod once and storm past him. Xael says something in parting but I can¡¯t hear him over the buzzing sound of my own heartbeat.

    Outside the scene doesn¡¯t seem to have changed. Apparently having no responsibilities and nothing better to do most of the crowd is still there including the four boys who had confronted me. When I fling the door open the crowd goes quiet for a moment like they had with Resh. Where things differ is they don¡¯t then break into cheers. They are perfectly happy to boo and hiss at me after they realize I¡¯m not anyone they care about.

    ¡®Saffron¡¯s golden balls! do they think booing Resh¡¯s friends will somehow ingratiate them to him?¡¯

    I am absolutely not in the mood to deal with these people right now. So naturally I stalk directly toward the four armed boys. The tall one says something but I can''t hear that either, just the booing crowd and my own gross snickering.

    The one who pulled his swords on me is the closest boy to me.

    ¡¯Good.¡¯

    I grab ahold of him by the ear and hair, yanking the boy¡¯s head downward into my rising knee. The boy is surprised and doesn¡¯t resist. It catches the boy on the jaw and hopefully breaks his face. As my foot hits the ground I pull one of his short swords free from its sheath with my free hand. It''s the replica of the straight one; Needle.

    The other boys have drawn their own swords but they are too late, I¡¯m already moving behind the boy I grabbed, sliding the arm I held his hair with around his neck, and jabbing the straight blade roughly against his chest.

    He squirms and shouts something garbed. It doesn¡¯t matter, he¡¯s shockingly weak and easier to drag along than I had anticipated. I¡¯m not sure if he¡¯s half-conscious from the blow or just smart enough not to test my patience right now.

    Still holding onto the teenager I drag him back through the crowd which mostly parts at the display of violence. The rush army follows me but doesn''t make any aggressive moves with the life of their friend on the line.

    Once I¡¯m on the other side of Resh¡¯s swarm of fans I shove the boy stumbling back towards his friends. Then with a long snarl, I slam the flat of the sword into the paved road over and over until the weapon snaps. It makes me feel a little better.

    I don¡¯t know what the boy or his compatriots do from there as I very stupidly turn and stomp away without a thought of them running me down. I¡¯m almost back at the Grand Tradeway when Xael catches up with me. I wish he hadn¡¯t but it''s probably for the best as I can hardly show back up at the compound without him.

    ¡°Do you want to talk about any of that?¡± He asks after several blocks of awkward silence.

    ¡°No.¡±

    It''s the last thing we say to each other for the rest of the trip home.

 Chapter 24: Fear and Fury

    Chapter 24: Fear and Fury

    To my surprise, Xael is still happy to see me at morning training with Kalon over the next few days. In fact, he doesn¡¯t bring up my little outburst at all which I am thankful for. Since my agreement with Atar, I¡¯m allowed to skip the morning conditioning exercises. I go to them anyway, part of what makes me a dangerous opponent is my physicality. If I want to keep my end of the bargain and defeat the Itti¡¯atti girl I¡¯m going to need to be as athletic as I have ever been, maybe more so. It is not an easy conviction to maintain.

    In the afternoon and evenings, I train with Xael. He is a little monster and still reminds me of fighting someone with decades more experience than he should have. I win more of the sparring matches than I lose, but often it is only because I am so much bigger than him. Skill for skill he is the better fighter. I hate to admit it, and I hate that I¡¯m improving thanks to my time with him even more.

    The houselord meets my demand for better food in an unexpected way. He just feeds everyone better. The first night I realize it I¡¯m a little annoyed that the other slaves are benefitting from my hard work. It quickly dawns on me that this is to keep those of us entering the Storm Herald Invitational safe. If there was a group of three boys getting better food that didn¡¯t include me I have a pretty good idea how I would react and it wouldn¡¯t be positive.

    The weird part is that the other boys keep coming up and thanking me for the meals, clapping me on the shoulder, giving me little nods, or raising their bowls in salute as I walk to my own seat. I didn¡¯t mention this to anyone, so one of the other boys who attended the meeting with BloodRock must have loose lips. What I don¡¯t understand is why they gave me the credit. Yes, the idea was mine, but Kalon and Tota aren¡¯t my friends and could easily have kept the praise for themselves. Who would believe me if I claimed it was my doing anyway?

    My whole life I¡¯ve wanted the other boys to treat me the way they have been the last few days. Now that they are, it is so alien that I just feel nervous about the whole thing. Like Harrk or someone is going to walk up to me at any moment and explain that there has been a mistake. That the other slaves need to hate me extra hard now to make up for the error. I know it¡¯s a stupid thought, things like that don¡¯t happen in real life.

    My discomfort never quite goes away but it does fade after a few days. Feeling like an impostor is well worth it for the improved food. It is still mostly rice and curd, but green vegetables and meats I don¡¯t recognize are mixed through it. Not only do the meals taste better, I swear I wake up less sore in the mornings.

    Morean and Task only get to enjoy better eating for a day before they have to leave for the Island tournament they are competing in. It makes sense, we are getting close to the season of storms which unsurprisingly is not a period of the year people want to sail during. Neston from Hall One doesn¡¯t get to experience it at all, but I¡¯m sure he doesn¡¯t care. House Saffron are feeding him now.

    While the pre-dawn training I, Kalon, and Xael are doing still takes place in the practice pit. When we practice in the evening It is in a little area behind the in-compound carpentry shop. I¡¯m not sure what it costs the foreign boy to rent the space, but the owners of the workshop are extremely accommodating.

    By the time I see the place, it includes a fenced-off wood sparring platform, an open-topped water barrel they refill every day, and a little rack housing several freshly oiled weapons, my beloved type-two medium axe among them. I¡¯m shocked that this has all been set up in mere days, especially since the whole thing is ringed with large standing torches so that we can train in the dark. Money truly is the most powerful magic out there.

    While I still think Kalon and Tota get a better deal than we do, I don¡¯t resent them over it like I thought I would. In fact, I feel a weird sense of pride seeing the rate he is improving each morning. He might only have another two and a half weeks before the Storm Herald invitational, but if Kalon can keep getting better at the speed he has been he might actually resemble a threat when the tournament comes around.

    Two and a half weeks is not a long time for any of us. I never have the best grasp on the passing of days, but even so, I¡¯m shocked by how fast the event is creeping up on me.

    One afternoon while the sun is still high enough to be hot I am doing some light sparring with Xael. We chat while trading slower versions of our techniques about the idea of bringing in some of the other boys to spar against when the ambush comes.

    The little expectant glances Xael keeps shooting over my shoulder should be a dead giveaway that he is setting me up. Because I am apparently an idiot who has started to let his guard down, the first I notice of it is the smell of warm soap wafting from behind me.

    The little foreigner lowers his sword and raises a hand. ¡° I know you aren¡¯t going to like this, but I want you to trust me okay?¡±

    Lowering the short spear I have been using I slowly turn around. The sight that greets me is perplexing at best. Ilexa marches towards us at the head of a small train of slaves and no less than four guards. That girl Tallulah who seems to be her shadow is with her, but she is the only domestic. Four of the big serviles carry a huge wooden tub that is already full of steaming water. My first thought is how impressed I am that the serviles can move the thing without sloshing water everywhere. Those boys are <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">strong. My second thought is really more of a sense of rising panic. I enjoy baths, quite a lot actually but there is only one reason I have ever gotten to bathe outside of bath night.

    ¡°Please tell me you just think I smell bad.¡±

    ¡° You do, but that isn¡¯t what this is. ¡° He takes a deep breath as though to steady himself before continuing. ¡° I went and spoke to the BlackMist family, and they assured me there would be no violence or debauchery just pure marketing, so I really think it would help your brand a lot if we attended the party they are putting on for this ev-¡±

    ¡°I¡¯LL KILL YOU!¡±

    Some part of me wonders about what he is saying. I¡¯m not sure what my brand is or why it needs help. These thoughts are tiny and quiet things, minuscule compared to the roaring rage pumping out of my chest.

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    Before I know it I¡¯m throwing myself at Xael. The techniques and strategies I drill so diligently flee my mind before the tidal wave of my fear and fury. I drop the spear, the weapon completely forgotten as I try to get my hands on him.

    ¡°Listen North.¡± He ducks out of the way, circling to my left. I snarl and try to grab him again.

    He dances straight back, staying just out of my reach. I keep the pressure on trying to trap him against the wooden fence of the sparring ring. Without even looking he executes a little backflip landing perfectly outside the little arena. At any other time, I would be overwhelmingly impressed at both his acrobatics and his understanding of distance. Right now I just speed up so I can leap the wooden slats myself.

    ¡°North I know this isn¡¯t something you like, but that girl with the neck tattoo promised me nothing gross would happen.¡±

    I jump the fence and charge him again, which is when two of the BloodRock guards collide with me from either side. Thankfully neither pulls weapons but the two guards tackle me to the ground with relative ease. I try to bite at one but his chainmail catches my teeth. Before long the other two guards are involved and I¡¯m pinned immobile under a mountain of men and armour.

    I¡¯m not sure how long I lay there for. It''s hard to breathe and impossible to move. Eventually, I manage to croak out.

    ¡°I¡¯m calm, I''m calm¡±  several times before they move off me. Even then they form a little wall between me and Xael who has both hands raised in front of him in a disarming pose.

    ¡°Does BloodRock already know?¡± I hiss at him.

    He glances at the guards and the slaves then back to me. ¡°Uhh yeah, yeah he knows.¡±

    That means I¡¯m trapped. If the Houselord has said I¡¯m going to be somewhere he will drag me there in chains if I resist and it wouldn¡¯t be the first time either. The urge to throw myself at Xael hasn¡¯t gone anywhere. It is however a shadow of its former self, something I can control enough to actually hold a conversation.

    The slaves and Ilexa have gotten close enough that I can feel the steam coming off the tub. I bite my lip for a few moments and finally let out a long sigh.

    ¡°When is this?¡±

    Xael offers his sheepish smile and scratches the back of his head. ¡°Well¡­ it''s tonight.¡±

    I make a little jerking motion, the first part of attempting to throw myself at the collection of guards in a vain attempt to get at Xael. I catch myself taking a step back and closing my eyes in frustration.

    ¡°But I get a bath out of it?¡±

    ¡°More than that, you get clothes selected and purchased by my sister.¡±

    I glance at the girl dressed as always in her chaste unfashionable dress and head garment.

    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±

    I shouldn¡¯t complain. Any clothes she has selected have to be better than my present wardrobe, which consists of two pairs of infrequently cleaned linen pants and the ghost that may or may not have once been leather armor.

    ¡° Trust, my friend. Ilexa dresses like a midwife because she is faithful to our gods, not because she doesn¡¯t know what she is doing.¡±

    I nod and apologize.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, thank you, and thank you uhh Ilexa¡± I finish lamely as I''m unsure what I¡¯m supposed to call her.

    Now that my anger is fading a surge of embarrassment is rising up to meet it. ¡°And sorry that I tried to grab you so I could bite your face off.¡±

    The two foreigners share a look I can¡¯t quite decipher but probably isn¡¯t positive.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®Why did I say that? I¡¯m a fucking idiot.¡¯

    They follow it up by yammering back and forth in their own language while I stand there awkwardly. I don¡¯t think I''ve ever heard anyone speak Godsringer before, it is an airy-sounding language, strangely at odds with the flat accent the two of them have while speaking Mantian.

    After a few moments of the airy gibberish Xael lets out a sigh and nods to her. Turning back to me he smiles kindly ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. We will give you some privacy. Get scrubbed up, then the ladies will try to make you look presentable.¡± His smile turns mischievous.

    ¡°Though they are only human, you may need a sorcerer.¡±

 Chapter 25: Parental Figures

    Chapter 25

    Parental Figures

    Once they are gone I eye the portable tub suspiciously. It smells like soap¡­but I don''t really know how to describe it, lime soap? If I get in this thing will my fur smell like lime? Is that a good thing? Logically, unless this is some sort of elaborate prank it must be a desirable smell right?

    With one last glance around to confirm that the two girls have indeed gone inside the carpentry shop, I strip off and slip into the bath the serviles have left on the ground near our sparring arena.

    The water is warmer than I am used to which is initially uncomfortable but quickly becomes far more relaxing than any bath I''ve ever had. I¡¯m still a little off-put by the lime smell even if it burns my nose and eyes less than the cleaning tinctures I usually bathe in. I wonder if that means the soapy water won¡¯t do as good of a job cleaning my fur. I¡¯m not in the tub long enough to find out.

    After I¡¯ve grown accustomed to the heat, I sink low allowing the water to cover my head for a few heartbeats. The sight I surface to is one that takes me back to the few kind childhood memories I have. Above the carpenter¡¯s place, I can see a dark banner held aloft on spindly white wood that almost looks like bone. Held together with rope and huge knots.

    A true smile crosses my face as I track the banner¡¯s swaying motion, increasingly sure I know who this is. I crane my neck to get a look at the image on the material and confirm my suspicions. My heart speeds up when I see it. A roughly painted shuttered lantern on a dark background, with a beam of light streaming out of it in a huge slash of yellow.

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Laren and Tarnen. Thats Laren and Tarnen!¡¯

    I leap out of the water faster than I lept at Xael, clearing the tub in a smooth motion. There is a towel hanging off the weapons rack and several neatly folded piles of clothes on the sparring platform. I ignore the towel and yank a pair of pants from the bottom of the closest pile. This sends the rest of the pile tumbling about onto the dusty ground. I ignore that too, pulling on the pants and sprinting out of our little practice area.

    The pants are a cream color and made of¡­ Some kind of material. Cotton maybe? I don¡¯t know, it feels both more durable and more comfortable than the linen scrapware I usually get around in. The garment does not however appreciate my headlong pace, and I find myself using one hand to hold them up as I run towards to intercept the banner¡¯s passage.

    Bursting out from behind a line of three stores, I skid to a halt in the center of the tiny street leading from the BloodRock compound¡¯s northern gate and there they are.

    Laren and Tarnen the ettin. Twelve feet of muscle covered in a shaggy hide of deep green, armored in enormous pates of bronze, topped by two hideous ogre-like heads sporting fangs that make mine look tiny. Two vicious women, one monstrous body, the closest thing I¡¯ve ever known to a mother.

    There is a caravan or something behind them but I only have eyes for the giant. Still holding my now completely soaked pants I jog forward and call up at the two-headed monster accusingly. ¡°You two said you would see me soon! Four years is not soon¡±

    The green-furred creature pauses in its tracks. One head is conversing over its shoulder, Laren I think. The other narrows its eyes down at me before a horrifying smile splits its face.

    ¡°Anklebiter!¡± she cries with excitement. Only one head calls me that, so I know I was right. The head looking at me is Tarnen, the sweeter, more lackadaisical half of the ettin.

    ¡°Look, Look its North¡±

    Laren turns to face me as I launch myself at the two-headed giant. Both heads laugh as they catch me mid-air pulling me into a hug just like they did when I was little. I bury my face in the shaggy hide of the women. They smell awful, like some combination of rotting meat and overheated cattle. I breathe it in deep, feeling a warmth spread from my chest.

    I could have probably stayed like that for a while, but they quickly put me down.

    ¡°Eww North, you are drenched,¡± says Laren. ¡°You got our fur wet.¡±

    One of the massive hands rubs her abdomen where I had been trying to get the water out. It works though not well.

    ¡°Sorry ladies,¡± I say, still smiling from ear to ear. ¡°I got excited.

    ¡±

    The ettin shakes both its heads in mock dismay. The two heads aren¡¯t quite in unison and the motion looks a little odd.

    ¡° Muraab says that has been happening a lot lately, and I said North needs a girlfriend, didn''t I say that?¡± tutters Tarnen.

    ¡°You did say that¡± confirms the other head.

    ¡°Girlfriend?¡± I splutter with embarrassment. ¡°How would I get a girlfriend, why are you talking about this with¡­wait Muraab.¡±

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    The giant gestures to the caravan behind it and I take a few steps to get a look past them. The caravan Laren and Tarnen are at the head of is made up of three Ox pulled wagons. Each is filled with about five children and two BloodRock soldiers. I can see him now. The master of BloodRock¡¯s warriors and pit-slaves alike, the former King on The Sands, <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Red Muraab.

    ¡° We ran into him on the way here and figured we would do the rest of the journey together¡± elaborates Larnen.

    ¡° Looking for work or have something booked already?¡± Both ladies look aghast at the question, a giant shaggy hand clutching at their armored chest.

    ¡° How dare you!?¡± They both cry playfully. I recognize it as playful at least, the sound is like rocks falling on a herd of cattle.

    ¡° Do you think we are some inbred hill giant wandering into the city looking for gold? <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">We are professionals, we never go anywhere without a prior booking.

    I hadn¡¯t intended to offend them, I was just making conversation. I should consider myself lucky the women took it as playful teasing.

    I¡¯m in the midst of apologizing for my insensitive question when Muraab calls out to us.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure this reunion is very touching, but I and these kids have things we need to do before the sun sets, and the three of you probably do too.¡±

    I glance back to the caravan we are blocking the passage of. Most of the children are boys, more bodies for BloodRock to toss into the pit and keep his pockets lined. There are a few girls as well of course. No doubt destined to work around the manse or be resold to one of the many businesses or houses within Far Mantys that might have less wholesome uses for them.

    ¡°I missed you too,¡± I call back sarcastically.

    ¡°Missed? Saffron¡¯s golden balls boy! Get out of the way before I crack your skull open.¡±

    I move of course. With Larnen and Tarnen starting to march forward at Muraab¡¯s urging I don¡¯t have a lot of choice.

    ¡°I¡¯m going, but you better check with old man BloodRock before you go sending me to the tower any time soon.¡±

    That shuts him up, though as the wagons roll by I notice the Master of the guards has a funny little smile on his face. Promising to speak more later I bid the ettin farewell and am

    on my way back to Xael¡¯s training spot when I run into him and his sister. The pair of them appear to be frantically looking for me and practically run over when they see me.

    ¡°Where did you go?¡± Asks a tense-seeming Xael. ¡° We have to be at the-oh!¡± He places a hand over his mouth and begins to quietly laugh. His sister and I both look at the little fighter quizzically. After a few moments of this, he lets out a stream of that same airy Godsring language gesturing at me. Ilexa glances from her brother to me, her eyes going wide, then her face going red. She seems almost frozen in place, unable to blink, breathe, or move. Suddenly in an explosion of motion, she claps both of her hands over her mouth in a similar motion to her brother and spinning to face away from me. The moment she is no longer looking at me the girl bursts into giggles.

    ¡°What!? What is wrong with you two?¡± I demand.

    Rather than respond to me Ilexa shoots her brother a raised eyebrow and says maybe two words in their language. The laughter from both of them redoubles.

    Getting annoyed I march towards Xael exuding as much threat as I can while holding my pants up with one hand. The little dark-haired boy gets the message. Holding up the same hand he had been covering his mouth with, he replies through an irritatingly wide grin.

    ¡° Wait, it''s just well¡± he represses another laugh, his sister just lets it happen.

    ¡° Your uhh, you did not dry yourself before putting on pants of that particular err shade. So I can see, well that is we can see <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">everything.¡±

    I look down at my legs in horror as I understand what he is saying. I didn¡¯t dry my fur off, and the pants I''m wearing have become saturated and translucent.

    I think my face turns pinker than Ilexa¡¯s did.

    ¡° I..uhh¡± There are no words for the sheer hysterical embarrassment I feel right now. With a snarl, I shove Xael out of my way and tear off back towards the little training area. Despite using one hand to hold my pants up and the other to cover my crotch I don¡¯t think I have ever moved faster in my entire life.

 The Contenders

    Interlude

    The Contenders

    Kalon winced as the rock hit him in the chest a few inches left of his scar. He¡¯d managed to dodge the other four in the air, but that wasn¡¯t good enough. He needed to dodge them all and manage to return at least one accurate attack. So far it had been impossible to do both while using the strange weapon Harrk had equipped him with but he was getting closer and closer.

    The training regime devised for him and Tota by the houseguards was a brutally challenging affair, far more so than the BloodRock slaves were normally put through. It did however lack the savage cruelty that was normally present when they trained as Harrk and company couldn¡¯t risk hurting the boys before the tournament.

    This resulted in a situation where Kalon was allowed to actually fail and try things again. He thrived in it, improving by leaps and bounds every single day. He was even beginning to give North problems in their morning sessions.

    This particular exercise intended to simulate fighting the flame witch, or ones similar to it, took up a significant portion of his evening training which made Kalon even more grateful for the session with his boyfriend and the Hyena-kid. Yes, he needed to be prepared for the Itti¡¯atti girl, but unless he drew her in the first round Kalon would need to be ready to fight a host of opponent types before he battled her.

    Once more recoiling his weapon he glanced up at Harrk and the four other guards armed with slings standing loosely around the main hall of the BloodRock manse.

    How close he had come to completing the exercise made him excited, this event; the Storm Herald Invitational was his chance to prove himself to the rest of the boys in the compound. Being friends with Morean had plenty of advantages but he cast a long shadow. That had been the point of challenging North in the first place. It hadn¡¯t worked, everyone knew his mother was one of the houselord¡¯s favorite slaves and they thought he was just hiding behind his stone-blessed friend until he got saved from the adult pits by being sent to the kitchens with his mum.

    Kalon wasn¡¯t hiding behind anyone. Not his friends, not his mother, not old man BloodRock and he was going to prove it.

    ¡°Are you guys ready to start again or what?¡±

    Corlin grinned, brushing a strand of his bright green hair back behind the pair of wavy bone horns sticking out of his head. He had easily won again, despite their best efforts none of the Tariff youth-pitters had quite managed to adapt to fighting against Corlin¡¯s sky-blessed abilities and they had been sparring him for weeks.

    The pitters he and his partner Ariun the hog-cursed would be fighting in the upcoming tournament would have no such practice time. They would need to figure out how to counter his powers during the tournament. Something no one had ever managed to do in a doubles match before. Corlin had lost a couple of singles fights here and there in his sixteen years but when he had someone backing him up his abilities made him practically invincible.

    He had proven it beyond any reasonable doubt too. Three years ago House Tariff had sent him and Ariun out into the grasslands to dominate the various centaur own pits along with a couple other regional tournaments and events. The pair of them had little issue tearing their way through the horse-men or the inbred caravan folk who lived out there winning every last double¡¯s event the grasslands had to offer. Now utterly covered in glory and minor accolades Corlin was back in the city, back training in the oddly dry and well-lit training pits underneath the House Tariff compound, back in civilization with all its comforts and debaucheries.

    Corlin and Ariun might be slaves but the house of the lawkeepers was more than generous with pitters who won. The pair had been plied with whores, drink, and drugs for each of the regional events they had won. All of these things were of a much higher quality in Far Mantys and Corlin wasn¡¯t about to give them up so he could spend every night sleeping in tents beside the road again. If that meant killing half the youth pitters in this Storm Herald event, well that was a problem for the other teams.

    Velorn moved through a series of practiced movements, scimitar in his right hand a ball of fire generated by his own body in the left. The drill was one of his own design that he had slowly changed and improved over the decade he had been a pit-slave.

    Of course, slave was a relative term. Velorn had happily agreed to be sold to House Saffron when he was seven.

    Here he woke up when he felt like, he ate better than lords in lesser cities and had all the companionship both platonic and otherwise he could ever want. All it cost him was a few hours a day of training, and once or twice a month he had to go incinerate some kid.

    He still remembered his life before, and while he hadn¡¯t had an enchanted stone inside him tracking his movements <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">that life had been the one of true slavery. Velorn had been forced to wake with the sun and work his fingers to the bone on the square block of infertile dust his parents insisted was a farm.

    He occasionally missed his family, but he never missed that life. Having only ever lost to that little rat bitch Resh, Velorn was near the top of the Saffron youth pitters. Technically he was considered the fifth best among them, but the fire-blessed boy disputed that raking. He was definitely top three, and absolutely number one when it came to looks.

    Three obsidian horns, blonde hair that burst into flame when he activated his abilities, and of course eyes that always flickered with trapped fire. With his fine cheekbones and inflated sense of charm, Velorn considered being talked back to his apartment a danger for any woman who set foot in the massive compound.

    That apartment was a big part of why he wanted to win this quaint little BlackMist event, a win there would likely put him into the number four spot which came with a bigger apartment, one on the top floor of this particular slave block. He needed a bigger apartment, the rug he had been gifted last month didn¡¯t quite fit his main room, and the edges were forced to curl up at the walls, a sight that annoyed the flame-blessed boy to no end.

    So he had thrown himself into training for the Storm Herald Invitational.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Legs, legs, parry, flame spray, thrust into an overhead chop, refill the fire, thrust thrust, throw the flame ball, retreat pivot, more fire, parry parry.

    He didn¡¯t know or care who his partner would be. With how hard he had been preparing, and with no Rush competing, that new apartment was his for the taking regardless of who they put him with or against.

    Xael made a few minor adjustments to how his shirt sat as he inspected himself in the mirror. The garment was one of his favourites and he had gone to great lengths to keep it safe on the journey to Far Mantys. In theory that effort paid off tonight at this party House BlackMist was throwing. These sorts of events were the real reason he was here¡­.okay that was a lie he admitted to himself.

    Xael loved to fight, loved to compete, loved to <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">win. So while technically they had chosen this city as the site of his banishment as a part of Ilexa¡¯s plan. He had pushed for the great slave city when they discussed it since it gave him a chance to compete against some of the best arena fighters in the world.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    A lot of them were actually kind of terrible compared to the knights of his homeland. The good ones though, wow! They lived and breathed combat, their skills and abilities made Xael¡¯s blood sing and his hands tingle and that was just the ones he had seen so far. This tournament would pit him against all manner of new foes and he couldn¡¯t wait.

    Deciding to undo the top two buttons of his shirt to give himself a more casual appearance. The GodsRinger reminded himself tonight wasn¡¯t about that, tonight was about building a foundation for their plan. It was about making the world a better place for people like his new lover Kalon, and as many other slaves as they could manage.

    Fortunately, as the eldest son of a noble house, he had been trained in social navigation almost as hard as he had been trained in warfare.

    ¡°Charming, not obnoxious,¡± Xael said to himself with an admonishing point to the mirror.

    Now he just had to go make sure North hadn¡¯t run off again, and that he had actually managed to wash off that horrible fertilizer smell the Hyena-boy had somehow picked up in the brief time he was missing.

    If the two of them could win this tournament he and eventually Illexa would get the chance to go to a lot more events like this one. Then their plan could truly get going.

    Embella sat on the wall of House highSail¡¯s practice pit idly dangling her legs over the fifteen-foot drop. Below her, the slaves of house HighSail had broken off into pairs and groups for sparring. She wasn¡¯t allowed to join them anymore. That was fine ¡®sparring¡¯ with these fighters was a waste of her time anyway. She had tried to tell the HighSails that when they first brought her to this city of stinking barbarians. Of course, the Far Mantyan traders had ignored her protests, insisting they knew how to make her even more dangerous.

    Humans thinking they could teach an Itti¡¯atti anything would be a truly hilarious joke if the punchline wasn¡¯t her enslavement by these inferior beings.

    The Itti¡¯atti were conquerors on a hereditary level, that was the simple violent truth of the matter. Embella''s most ancient ancestor the goddess Ignisia had made them that way to appease the bloodthirsty demands of her husband Magyar for whom every being on the world of flames was a mere servant.

    Even the so-called ¡®blessed¡¯ were lesser creatures, half-breeds without even enough control to manipulate elements outside of their own bodies. Also, their horns struck Embella as a little profane. Among true beings of the elemental worlds horns were rare, usually only possessed by ancient beings of great power. Some strange side effect of breeding with a human meant that every single offspring produced and even some of the descendants would have them.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®Breeding with a human.¡¯ The idea made her feel queasy, what would possess someone to do that with a human? Water could quite literally pour out of them from every opening and even their skin, disgusting. She had no idea how anyone went through having that pushed up against them without retching, let alone enjoy the process.

    After she had killed her tenth ¡®opponent¡¯ the owners finally agreed to see sense and stopped forcing her to spar with the other slaves. Now stuck watching the others, Embella had to admit to herself that she was bored out of her mind.

    So she sat and watched her partner Klash batter the three boys assigned to fight him. That drew a small smile from the Itti¡¯atti girl, she had chosen well with him and victory in this ¡®minor¡¯ event coming up was all but assured. It was with her alone anyway, but Embella wasn¡¯t taking any chances.

    When she had first been brought here by the servants of the HighSail houselord the dark-skinned man had been smart enough to make a deal with her. It was hard to keep one of her kind a slave, even if they put a Forspoken stone in her she could cause a monstrous amount of damage to the house¡¯s compound at any moment. Especially this house with its many, many wooden ships.

    Not wanting to die, even in a blaze of destruction Embella had come to a simple agreement. Win eight ¡®Major¡¯ tournaments and they would let her go. It didn¡¯t sound too hard but every daughter of Ignisia was taught to control themselves and whenever possible their surroundings at every turn.

    That is where Klash had come in, refusing to risk teaming up with a lesser warrior she had turned down every candidate to be her doubles partner the HighSail¡¯s had provided. She honestly wasn¡¯t trying to be difficult, she simply wasn¡¯t willing to leave things like this to chance. Embella needed to win this tournament as quickly as possible so she could garner more interest and make her way to the ¡®majors¡¯ she needed in order to get free.

    Eventually, the Houselord¡¯s middle son Daring HighSail had brought her a pitter worth actually fighting alongside. A huge ¡®Cursed¡¯ the house had previously sent out to compete somewhere called the Graceless Isles where he had apparently gone undefeated and won every tournament they held. Embella could believe it, the boy was monstrously strong and durable. A bi-producer of being a fusion of human and what she was reasonably sure was an elephant.

    The true surprise wasn¡¯t his physical power but that he was fairly skilled too, not quite up to Itti¡¯atti standard of course but greater than any of the other boys in the compound or that she had fought during her time in Far Mantys.

    Below her, the sparring finished so Embella cleared her face of expression and dropped down to the practice pit. She landed lightly on the sand and moved to rejoin the other slaves. There was <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">some value in the exercises that the Far Mantian pitters did and it was a lot better than sitting around doing nothing.

 Chapter 26: Are You Even A Person Anymore?

    Part 3

    The Colossus

    Chapter 26

    Are You Even A Person Anymore?

    When I get out of the bath for a second time I find both Xael and his sister waiting for me with their backs to my direction. While I appreciate the effort toward my modesty it feels a little pointless after the fiasco with the cream-coloured pants.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m done,¡± I say a little hesitantly.

    ¡°You don¡¯t smell like fertilizer anymore?¡± Asks Xael without turning around.

    I don¡¯t even know what fertilizer is, but his tone makes it sound bad.

    ¡°I smell like limes,¡± I say with a shrug that neither of them can see.

    Ilexa also doesn¡¯t turn but she does point over at the weapons rack which now only holds a towel and one outfit instead of several.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have time now to have you try a few different sets of clothes, but I think that blue combination will work well with the tan color of your fur.¡±

    I¡¯m not really sure how to respond to that either honestly. So I pause for a moment to consider it. These two have gone out of their way to help me, and while I don¡¯t know why. Anyone can see my life has improved since they arrived.

    ¡°Thank you, both of you. I mean it. I can¡¯t remember the last time I got new clothes.¡±

    ¡°Think nothing of it¡± replies the girl ¡°But please thoroughly dry yourself off this time.¡±

    Xael offers a little chuckle and I repress the urge to get mad at the little jab. I¡¯m pretty confident it was meant in good spirits anyway.

    ¡°Yep,¡± I grunt. ¡° I will.¡±

    Once I am dry and clothed I present myself to the pair of rich kids. After a little bit of fussing over my fur with a comb, they step back to examine me. I can see Xael has also bathed and changed clothes, though I don¡¯t know where or how he did it so quickly, but he is in a fancy black tunic over a white long-sleeved shirt thing. There are silver figures and religious symbols I don¡¯t recognize stitched into his tunic.

    Ilexa makes a little rolling motion with her arm and gestures at me.

    ¡°Behold! Blue sleeveless doublet, over dark blue pants, with a little BloodRock icon on the breast I sewed myself I might add. I told you I would make him look good, my genius truly is unparalleled.¡± Beams Ilexa, though that last bit of phrasing makes me frown.

    Xael inclines his head to his sister.

    ¡° I must concede you have done well, and congratulations North you now look like a cursed human, not something hiding under a child¡¯s bed.¡±

    ¡°So I didn¡¯t need a sorcerer?¡± I shoot back with an awkward smile. I¡¯m not very good at being funny but I try to joke anyway. It seems like the thing to do, and my mood is good after the rejuvenating effects of the hot water.

    I had spent some of my time in the tub weighing things up. I¡¯ve never been to House BlackMist before, though, I¡¯ve seen it. Everyone has seen the massive tower rising high over the eastern edge of the city.

    If Resh has wilfully chosen to work for them surely they aren¡¯t doing the sort of things that happen at House Tariff parties, or the rare occasions when BloodRock himself plays host. He had promised me it wouldn¡¯t be like that, so had Xael for that matter after he had apparently gone to visit the BlackMists.

    Still, just the word ¡®party¡¯ makes me want to panic. Despite the hundreds of days since, despite my best efforts, I have never quite been able to get the taste of bone marrow out of my mouth or the screams that exhausted, ruined child had managed to summon when¡­¡¯ NO! Tonight isn¡¯t going to be like that. Resh promised, he promised.¡¯

    That was what prompted me to get out of the bathtub. Things had gotten too quiet, my thoughts had gotten too loud. So I focus instead on my new clothes and my new friends? That has to be a bit of a stretch, but the concept is nice to consider. A lot nicer than my memories of what happened after my last escape attempt.

    ¡°No sorcerer required, simple fashion sense and soap create wonders,¡± says Ilexa while practically preening. She is apparently quite pleased with how I look, or her efforts toward it at least. Lacking a mirror I can¡¯t really tell my own appearance but I¡¯ve never had anyone suggest I look good before, let alone a pretty, urbane girl who is older than me. It makes me feel both good and nervous at the same time.

    I thank Ilexa again and the two foreigners share some sort of parting words in their native language, before Xael and I head for the compound¡¯s east gate. There is a little group including Kalon and Tota waiting for us with one of the more fancy wagons BloodRock owns, an enclosed one with a roof and everything.

    The back doors of the vehicle are open and I can see Harrk and another BloodRock guard inside it already. I¡¯m a little disappointed Muraab isn¡¯t escorting us as I am looking forward to catching up with the former king on the sands. It isn¡¯t a surprise though, he will be busy processing the new slaves and giving reports to the houselord. Muraab probably doesn¡¯t even know this party is happening.

    With a casualness, I don¡¯t I do a little hop over the stairs into the wagon and take a seat on one of the two parallel benches that run the length of the vehicle''s walls.

    I¡¯m trying to maintain a kind of swagger, a sense of bravado. So I can use it as a kind of shield against my rising panic. It¡¯s similar to how I tap into my rage to keep my fear at bay before a fight. Seeing as this will be a social event, anger is probably not where I want to find my refuge tonight. Sure would be a lot easier though.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    My confidence becomes an even more precarious thing when I notice the contraption of leather and iron Harrk is holding. I recognize the thing immediately, and my heart sinks. I should have known that despite all the promises some things are always going to be the same.

    ¡°You going to give me trouble North?¡± Harrk asks from behind his fancy mask.

    I stare at the muzzle in his hands silently for a few heartbeats and finally shake my head.

    ¡°No trouble.¡±

    It isn¡¯t a lie, I stay as still as I can while he straps the thing in place around my mouth before attaching a little lock so I can¡¯t get it off on my own. The device isn¡¯t exactly uncomfortable, but it moves a little with each breath I take meaning I am never not intensely aware of it.

    I¡¯m proud of myself for not struggling, the only sign I give of the utter shame and disgust that fills me at being treated like an animal is a whitening of my knuckles as I grip the bench tight enough that my fingernails leave marks in the wood. As always the muzzle is tight and locks onto my teeth so that I can¡¯t open my mouth at all. No idle chatting or delicious party foods for North. The contraption will only come off if the rich people want me to show off my bite.

    The trip to the BlackMist compound is shorter than I imagined it would be, the dark ominous tower of their manse getting larger and larger in my vision out the front of the cart. Is a covered one called a cart? Is that what makes it a wagon? These thoughts are a vain attempt to keep calm. I wouldn¡¯t say it works well exactly, but between these random observances, my focused attempt at a casual aire, and Xael repeatedly reassuring me it will be a fun time. I manage not to kick up a stink the entire trip there.

    As we draw close I see the famed twin dragon statues that wind their way around the huge tower. From the mouths of the sculptures spews a constant stream of black smoke that doesn¡¯t seem to go anywhere, rather forming a sort of shadowy disk that swirls near the top of the tower.

    It''s a strong reminder we are entering the compound of warlocks, where literally anyone I encounter could possess some strange, dark magic. Even if I¡¯m not about to witness all manner of depravity as promised, the sheer amount of power I am going to be surrounded by is anxiety-inducing.

    The compound itself isn¡¯t actually much bigger than BloodRock¡¯s, not like the miniature city House Saffron calls home. It has a few little buildings clustered in a circle around the base of the monstrous tower. I assume they are stores and workshops like we have. That is where any resemblance to my home compound ends.

    The sun is setting across the city, but here in the shadow of BlackMist tower darkness has already fallen. The singular massive tower of dark stone is dotted with windows and torches, with smaller less obvious sculptures carved alongside the huge dragon statues. I don¡¯t expect any less from the second or third-richest house in the city, especially as they can employ magical labor at a far lower cost than anyone else in Far Mantys.

    I expect to disembark the wagon as we get close to the base of the tower but no one moves, instead the vehicle makes its way through a fancy gate of dark metal leading into a passage. The end of which appears to be a dead end until we get to it. At which point the fucking ground starts to rise! My eyes go wide as we lurch upwards, and I once again turn my knuckles white gripping the bench.

    ¡°It''s alright, just an elevator,¡± Says Xael softly trying to comfort me.

    Unable to respond I glare at him with annoyance before nodding. ¡®I know that I know what an elevator is. It''s just I have never been on one before. The ground moved! How am I supposed to be prepared for that?¡¯

    ¡°It won¡¯t be long, don¡¯t worry.¡±

    I nod again trying to keep myself calm by breathing through my nose. Not that I have much choice in the matter.

    Xael is right, the elevator ride isn¡¯t long, even if I keep imagining the thing dropping out from below me, leaving us to plummet into the darkness and break upon the ground.

    Once we are off the elevator things fall into a more familiar pattern. We are escorted by heavily armored BackMist soldiers up some stairs and down a curved hallway to a massive pair of double doors carved with the swirl icon of the house. Before we even reach them I can hear the sounds of merriment and smell the rich aromas of food and the stink of grouped humans.

    When the doors open I have to admit Resh was right, this is not like any party I¡¯ve ever been to. The room beyond is huge and seven-tiered, lit by black iron braziers that float in circular patterns high above near the ceiling. The tier we have entered is the highest and the largest, sporting numerous little stands with various ovens and cooking devices offering all manner of foreign food and drinks I am not going to get to try.

    There must be hundreds of guests scattered between the various tiers, be they getting food at the top, dancing at the central floor at the bottom, or enjoying some of the many delights between. I can see tiers with little art galleries set up, others with performers or people on little speaking podiums, cushion circles with Karata smoke hanging over them, and even little alcoves covered by cloth that pairs or groups can retreat to for privacy. I try not to focus on those as they make my hair stand on end, and my annoyance rise.

    ¡®Never that different. Fucking humans.¡¯

    I look at Xael like ¡®Now what?¡¯ In return, he shoots me his sheepish smile.

    ¡°Wander around, let the fans see you. Resh is here somewhere, maybe you can find him.¡± He says with a shrug. ¡°I have a few people I need to find and speak to, so Just try to have some fun, maybe try dancing.¡±

    I raise an eyebrow at the dark-haired boy. I cannot believe this. He is practically abandoning me while my best natural weapon is locked up, and I¡¯m surrounded by strangers who may very well be warlocks.

    ¡®It''s fine, it''s fine. This isn¡¯t a sex party as long as I stay away from those alcoves it will be fine, I don¡¯t need to bite anyone anyway. If I need to get violent I will do it with my fists like a person.¡¯

    Xael spots someone and makes for the stairs to another tier with purpose. Not having much choice in the matter, I let out a sigh through my nose and try to follow the foreign boy¡¯s advice. With a last regretful look at the food stands I start meandering down the tiers.

    I pause to watch a two-man juggling act on the next tier and watch an old man read people¡¯s shadows to tell their futures on the next. The crowd is thinner on the fourth tier so I choose that one to walk a circle around. There isn¡¯t much of note here, just fancy paintings and sculptures lining the circular walkway. I don¡¯t pay much attention to that stuff, there is an unoccupied soft pillow couch calling my name from the other side of the tier. I figure I can sit comfortably and watch the dancers below. The whole layout of the room reminds me of the stands around one of the larger pits. I have to imagine the twirling and laughing people crowding the dance floor are having a better time than we slaves do in the pit, admittedly they are almost as much of a spectacle.

    I¡¯m almost at the couch I had singled out when a girl I vaguely recognize comes marching right at me.

    ¡°You!¡± She calls pointing at me. ¡°Resh¡¯s friend.¡±

    As she approaches I realise it''s the girl from the Saffron event where my win streak was stolen from me. The one with the spiral tattoo who together with her mother had summoned a shadowy snake creature that had ended my little rampage before it could even really get going.

    I can¡¯t really respond so I just straighten up and meet her gaze. She narrows her eyes and looks away from me with a pained expression.

    ¡°Lords of the shadow! All that stone makes you hard to look at.¡±

    ¡®What?¡¯

    ¡°Honestly¡± she goes on. ¡°With so much of you replaced, are you even a person anymore?¡±

 Chapter 27: One Tap

    Chapter 27

    One Tap

    Who the fuck starts a conversation like that?! I raise both eyebrows and go to step around the girl. My first instinct is to shove her out of the way but I manage to resist the urge. She is part of the main BlackMist family, either a daughter or a niece and that''s on top of being a warlock in her own right. Not someone to get aggressive with if I can help it.

    My curiosity makes me pause. She had specifically said ¡® All that stone.¡¯¡¯

    I¡¯m not wearing or carrying any stone, so unless she is raving mad the BlackMist girl must mean my Forspoken Stone but I only have the one.

    ¡°Sorry, that came out really rude. I don¡¯t mean it offensively. I just¡­¡± She trails off as she notices I¡¯m just staring at her. It wasn¡¯t my intent to give her the silent treatment, but I am, and she doesn''t seem to be taking it well.

    She looks at me dead on for the briefest of moments before letting out a little frustrated noise.

    ¡°Let me try this again please?¡± This girl is a lot more awkward than I remember from the last time we met. I shrug my indifference at her but she takes it as an ascent.

    ¡°I am Viscarra BlackMist, we met a few weeks ago at house Saffron.¡± I nod.

    ¡°Right, and you are Resh¡¯s friend The beast of BloodRock.¡± I¡¯m still not sure how I feel about that name. It has been floating around for a year or two and while it does make me feel pretty intimidating I don¡¯t like suggestions that I¡¯m not a human.

    ¡°Umm Sou-North, North.¡± I nod again, already regretting not having left right away when I had the chance to storm off in a huff. Hopefully, there is some other easy or polite way out of this conversation.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you are here tonight, as I had some questions for you after the last time we met. If it isn¡¯t too rude do you mind If we sit down and talk I am dying to know about the process that created you.¡±

    I recoil a little.

    ¡®Gods above and below! Does she not know that cursed are made the old-fashioned way like everyone else?¡¯

    ¡°Sorry, sorry I¡¯m being rude. I have never met a constructed person before. I don''t know what is taboo to ask and what isn¡¯t.¡±

    I feel my eyes bulge and my brow furrow. I have no idea what she is talking about, but I do not like the sound of it. Numbly I point at the muzzle, feeling grateful for the device for perhaps the first time in my life. It can be my way out of this insanity.

    ¡°Oh right. We will need to get that thing off your face, come sit down and we will figure it out.¡±

    I once again sigh through my nose but follow the sorceress. She is moving towards the couch I had been eyeing, which is something at least.

    Maybe in some attempt to fill the silence, I am leaving Viscarra chatters away as we circle around the tier.

    ¡° You probably think I am strange or a bitch. It isn¡¯t that I promise¡± she gestures at her face. ¡° I have Craftsman Eyes you see.¡± Having no idea what that means I shrug again and shake my head, though I¡¯m not convinced she sees the movement.

    ¡° I can¡¯t see magic in the air or anything like that, but items that have been enchanted or created by magic like the Forspoken Stones light up like dragon¡¯s breath for me.¡± She glances at me sideways.

    ¡°Being a Golem or whatever you are makes looking at you like staring at the sun ... that was rude too. My cousin forced me to smoke a Karata pipe earlier¡± She makes an airy gesture" and I am all over the place.¡±

    ¡®What''s a Golem?¡¯

    I remember thinking this girl had a witchy sort of scariness about her, and at face value, it might even be true. Those bones she is wearing could easily be the real thing dipped in metal. However, after only this brief time speaking to her individually, It''s clear to me that is simply an effect of being a BlackMist. Dark magic or not, this girl is neither unknowable nor scary. When we reach the couch she sits down and gestures next to her.

    ¡°You can¡¯t talk, and I don¡¯t want to look right at you, simple solution I ask you a question, and then you tap my arm. One tap for yes, two taps for no. Understand?¡±

    I blink a few times but sit down. I don¡¯t really have anything better to do, and this is Resh¡¯s friend, or boss, or girlfriend, or something. If that wasn¡¯t reason enough to play along I remember that Viscarra apparently has some influence over House BlackMist¡¯s activities in the pit.

    Repressing yet another sigh I tap her once on the arm indicating yes I understand, the bare skin of her arm is warm and surprisingly thin. I think I feel bone with just that light poke.

    ¡°Excellent,¡± She says excitedly. ¡°If a servant passes by I will send them to find a way to get that thing off you, but this will do for now.¡±

    I hate to admit it but I feel a little surge of hope at her words. If I can get my muzzle off this party might actually hold some enjoyment for me. The scents of those little food stands as I walked past them were so good it was almost maddening.

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    ¡°Alright so first, is it weird or rude to ask about how you were created?¡±

    I pause for a moment, beginning to think she has gotten the wrong idea about me somewhere and eventually tap her once.

    ¡°That''s fair. I don¡¯t want to upset you or anything. So next question: do you age normally.¡±

    ¡®Exactly how much Karata did this girl smoke?¡¯

    Again I tap her bony arm once.

    ¡°I wish I had some parchment,¡± she says with a shake of her head and a silly grin.

    ¡°It''s stupid to start a research project without taking proper notes.¡±

    ¡®This is a party why is she trying to research things anyway?¡¯

    I tap her arm twice causing her to look at me sharply then clench her eyes closed.

    ¡° You think I¡¯m being ridiculous?¡±

    One tap.

    ¡°Ugh I know, I know but just hear me out,¡± Viscarra replies, eyes still closed. ¡°I grew up in Mordrun, I only came here about a year ago. Mordrun is called the city of warlocks for a reason, we have magic coming out of our ears up there. Every house or organization is like House BlackMist.¡± She takes a deep breath as if steadying herself and opens her eyes inspecting me closely until they start to water and she looks away.

    ¡°Despite all of that magic, in my whole life, I have only ever seen five other beings that glow like you do.¡±

    ¡®Is this flirting maybe?¡¯

    ¡°The first three are huge mindless constructs.¡±

    ¡®Probably not flirting¡¯

    ¡° service golems that aid the city in grand building works. They don¡¯t feel pain, and always do what they are told so, not like you I suppose.¡±

    ¡®Not like me at all.¡¯

    ¡°Then there is the city¡¯s executioner. He was changed at birth, his limbs and some of his organs replaced with the stone so that he could be enchanted with all sorts of magical abilities.¡±

    ¡®Is she still talking about Forspoken stone? No, you can¡¯t replace whole organs with the stuff can you?¡¯

    ¡°Last is an old general who has been practically killed dozens and dozens of times¡­gods below that''s what it is, isn¡¯t it? You are just full of Forspoken stone for your injuries.¡±

    I am unsure how to reply, this has gone well beyond what I can respond to with a simple yes or no. So I sit and wait for her to go on, a strange sense of dread I can¡¯t quite explain starts to slowly build up in my stomach, and then my chest. Before I know It I¡¯m fighting not to start snickering, and I don¡¯t even really know why.

    ¡°North?¡± Viscarra asks at my lack of reply. ¡°Have you had a lot of bad injuries?¡±

    One tap.

    She turns and looks at me once more. I¡¯m surprised by the look of scandalized horror on her pale features.

    ¡°You are just some kid who has been carved up a bunch of times.¡±

    One tap.

    She shields her eyes but doesn¡¯t look away. ¡°This city is insane.¡±

    One tap.

    The BlackMist girl goes silent for a while after that. Even when I can¡¯t speak back I¡¯m no fun to talk to. Well, I never wanted to come to this stupid party anyway.

    ¡°Ugh this is ridiculous do the servants just not come to this tier? It¡¯s not like we are in one of the little sex rooms.¡± She goes a little pink at her own words.

    ¡°Not that I want to go to one of those, but that isn¡¯t because you are ugly, I have lots of cursed friends. ¡° Her blush deepens as the words tumble out of her, clearly no longer under the control of their creator.

    ¡°And I actually think you are handsome in a weird way, but I don¡¯t know you, and I know the reputation BlackMist girls have.¡± She is talking with her hands now. ¡° But I am not that sort of girl, and..and¡±

    At that moment I come to a conclusion. There is something oddly compelling about a pretty girl making a fool of themselves. It is just that little bit extra funny, like a reminder that the gods didn¡¯t give them every advantage, and they are idiots like the rest of us.

    My laughter is muffled but genuine, and loud enough to interrupt Viscarra¡¯s burted words.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t we go find someone to get that muzzle off you?¡±

    ¡®Nice subject change.¡¯ I think sarcastically but tap her once on the arm.

    Weirdly this time she leans into it, just a little but I still notice.

    I¡¯m not really sure why she is suddenly acting weird, or why she called me handsome. None of that makes any sense. I put it down to the strange mind of a rich person combined with the even stranger mind of a sorcerer, meeting the equally unusual thoughts of a woman. In short, I don¡¯t try very hard to decipher Viscarra¡¯s behavior, I just follow her in hopes of getting the muzzle off.

    She might actually be right that there is some sort of rule stopping the servants staying on this tier as we don¡¯t encounter a single one. Quite the opposite in fact.

    ¡°Ahh there¡¯s my uncle, he can help.¡± She says gesturing at a clean shaven bald man of above middle years. While I¡¯ve never spoken to him, I recognize the man as the BackMist houselord. It¡¯s hard not to recognize a tall thin man covered neck to feet in silver hand bones.

    Viscarra¡¯s uncle is chatting with a seated artist who is working in an uncovered version of one of the little alcoves. On the walls around him are dozens of canvases featuring figures I don¡¯t recognize at the top of each, and writing I can¡¯t read at the bottom.

    Viscarra approaches the pair of men and shares a few words with them. I¡¯m planning to follow and introduce myself but I get distracted spotting Xael out of the corner of my eye. He is on the lowest tier leading a woman with vibrant red hair by the hand away from one of those little private alcoves onto the dancefloor.

    I¡¯m surprised the dark haired foreigner is being unfaithful, but I''m even more shocked that I feel bad for Kalon. When did that start? The blonde slave has gotten on my nerves since the first day he arrived in the BloodRock compound. Yet at some point in the last few weeks I have started to think of him as almost a friend, weird.

    The BlackMist girl is waving me over and judging from her expectant look she has been for an awkward amount of time. One of these days drifting off into my imagination like that is going to get me killed. Thankfully today I just look like an idiot in front of one of the most powerful men in the city.

    I try to apologise but of course my mouth doesn¡¯t open. So I repress a growl and hurry over.

    The houselord gives me a little nod and turns to the strange paintings adorning the little alcove.

    ¡®North, North, North¡± He repeats my name to himself a few times as he turns among the canvases inspecting them in turn. I shoot Viscarra a confused look but she doesn¡¯t see it.

    ¡°Ahh here we are¡± he says with a triumphant grin. Following the man¡¯s pointing finger to one of the paintings and my confusion only grows. The figure on the top half is me. Well, almost me. He is more animalistic than I am, more muscular, with bigger fangs protruding from a mouth that is open in a defiant scream.

    Directly beneath the cursed on the canvas is one of two words I know how to read.

    ''North''

 Chapter 28: Lord of The BlackMist

    Chapter 28

    Lord of The BlackMist

    My own name stares at me from below the painted figure of a much scarier me.

    ¡®Saffron¡¯s Golden balls what is this?¡¯

    I glance around rapidly looking from painting to painting till I spot another person I recognize. Tota stands on a canvas holding a halberd over one shoulder. Like me the painting isn¡¯t quite accurate to real life, the painted version is more handsome, the spines jutting from his skin more jagged. Yet the artist has done a good enough job capturing the essence of his face that anyone who has seen him would recognize the boy from Hall Two.

    ¡®These are the pit-slaves who are competing. If I look I bet I can find Kalon too.¡¯

    The metallic hands adorning the houselord¡¯s outfit rattle as he leans forward to read the words on my canvas.

    ¡°The beast of BloodRock. So violent and savage that even the legendary mercenary Atar BloodRock cannot control him.¡± He makes a little ¡®hmm¡¯ noise. ¡° This rabid cursed has killed almost twenty pitters, a number he promises to surpass during the Storm Herald invitational. Will your favorite be next to fall under his axe?¡±

    Even if I could talk I think I would be silent at that declaration. It isn¡¯t true, I never said anything like that and I¡¯ve killed¡­well counting that last boy which absolutely was not my fault I think I¡¯m up to eleven.

    ¡°What do you think of that? Pretty scary right? It would make me want to go watch you fight!¡± He playfully punches the arm of the artist who I can now see is a human man in his twenties with mousy brown hair.  ¡°Good job.¡±

    The artist stops mid-brushstroke to glare up from his work at the houselord but says nothing.

    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ll let you work.¡±

    Beside me Viscarra stifles a giggle behind one of her hands, clearly amused at her uncle¡¯s eccentric manner and light-hearted tone.

    ¡°Yes they are very nice Uncle Reon, I look forward to seeing them all over the city but can you help-¡±

    The BlackMist houselord whirls around and settles his gaze on me.

    ¡°What do you think of that eh? In just a few days copies of these will be all over the city advertising the entrants to my invitational. This is already known as an event that the masses can afford to attend, but this year I plan to fill every seat in Prime Arena two.¡±

    I nod and the bald man claps me on the shoulder.

    ¡°That''s what I thought, you are about to be famous who wouldn¡¯t want that?¡±

    ¡°Uncle!¡± Snaps Viscarra ¡° His muzzle please.¡±

    The houselord makes some umming and ahhing noises and I feel my heart sink. The bald man might be affable and odd, but he is still a lord of Far Mantys, and they are cruel greedy bastards one and all.

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m sure BloodRock put that on him for our safety. It says here he has killed almost twenty people.¡±

    ¡°You made that all up. You can¡¯t hold it against him.¡± The tattooed girl¡¯s voice has grown high-pitched pitched and she keeps shooting me little glances like I¡¯m going to be offended by this exchange.

    ¡° Not made up¡± He replies, tutting. ¡° Embellished. You¡¯re friend here really does have more kills in the pit than almost any other youth in the city. I''m not sure I should let him out so you two can go make out.

    Viscarra makes a little squeak and claps a hand over her mouth. At the same time, I managed a rumbled growl from between my teeth.

    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t like that, I must have gotten the wrong impression. How silly of me. You two are using this rare interaction to broker a long-lasting trade agreement between our two houses.¡±

    How is a person supposed to respond to that? My face turns increasingly scarlet as I realize I have no defense that will hold water. Even if I could speak I have no explanations that don''t sound like the awkward lies of a lusty teenager.

    Next to me, Viscarra makes a series of weird little noises that seem to increase with indignity the more of them she makes, before eventually exploding out a rush of angry words.

    ¡°He is friends with Resh, this stupid muzzle is rude, we just wanted to talk, and you aren¡¯t making any of the other cursed competing wear this sort of thing.¡± By the end of her little tirade, she is practically poking her uncle in the chest.

    I don¡¯t remember the last time someone stood up for me so directly. Yes, Muraab, Resh, and Xael have been known to help me out from time to time. But I am all but certain no one has ever yelled at a houselord on my behalf before. He does not take it well.

    The bald man¡¯s friendly demeanor vanishes so quickly it almost seems like he has been replaced by an entirely different person. His eyes suddenly glow a strange black that seems to suck in the light from around it, and the spiral tattoo on Viscarra¡¯s neck shines the same shade.

    She makes a tiny scared noise not too dissimilar to the sounds she made out of flustered embarrassment. The similarity ends very quickly as she goes completely stiff. From the girl¡¯s hands, a stream of the dark smoke that accompanies her magic flows into the air and begins to circle her throat. It reminds me of the swirling disc that flows around the tower. While I¡¯m not sure what is going on exactly tears start to well in the BlackMist girl¡¯s eyes. I don¡¯t know if pain or fear is the cause, but she doesn¡¯t move an inch or make any further sounds.

    ¡° I appreciate your passion on behalf of your friend, but It doesn¡¯t excuse forgetting who you are talking to. Does it?¡± His tone is one I have heard from Atar more times than I can count. The one that lets you know you have pushed things too far.

    ¡°No Uncle Reon.¡± Viscarra agrees, her voice surprisingly clear despite all of this.

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    ¡° It won¡¯t happen again, Uncle Reon.¡±

    As quickly as he vanished the affable middle-aged man returns, the houselord¡¯s eyes retake their more natural brown hue, and whatever magic that has been affecting Viscarra dissipates.

    ¡°Wonderful. Now let us get this stupid BloodRock contraption of your friend.¡± He shoots his niece a sly wink as though none of that exchange had ever happened and they had been chatting idly the whole time.

    ¡°I was going to say no, but you are lucky I have questions about this one¡¯s fight with Resh.¡±

    Perhaps even stranger than the sudden shifts in the houselord¡¯s demeanor is the lack of change in Viscarra. With quick strokes, she wipes her eyes and replies to her uncle also as though they had been just joking around before.

    ¡°That''s why I came over¡± she smiles. ¡°I knew the fan in you wouldn''t be able to pass up asking a million questions about that.¡±

    ¡®If this is like The Rush army I¡¯m going to have a really bad night.¡¯

    Fortunately, it isn¡¯t. The houselord once again displays how unfair magic is to the rest of us when he waves a casual hand. I swear we are plunged into absolute darkness for two heartbeats before everything returns to normal, almost normal.

    A short eyeless goblin-creature wearing a tabard bearing the BlackMist spiral has appeared and nothing else has appeared directly in front of me. Out of sheer shock, I throw a punch at the thing, which it deftly dances away from.  The being which can only be from the World of Shadow is hairless and pale-skinned in a most unappealing way.

    ¡°Po,¡± Says the houselord, causing the eyeless creature to turn to Reon.

    ¡°How may I serve the master of BlackMist?¡± Despite the shadow denizen¡¯s small stature, its voice is deep and penetrating. Oddly similar to the way Old Man BloodRock sounds.

    ¡°The boy there has a contraption on his face preventing him from speaking, get it off without hurting him, please. Afterwards, go find my sister. I believe she has some use for you in mind.¡±

    The Goblin thing¡­Po I guess inclines its head.

    ¡°I serve the will of the shadow swimmer.¡±

    With no other warning, Po turns and hurls himself at my face. The little thing is fast, faster than a creature with its stubby little legs has any right to be. Fortunately, I¡¯ve also been described that way before. People as big as me aren¡¯t supposed to be quite so quick.

    Without thought I snatch the shadow creature out of the air and am about to dash him against the stone floor when I stop myself. This thing was told to get the muzzle off of my face.

    Despite its pathetic appearance Po neither squirms nor begs, but makes a demand in the tone of one who fully expects to be obeyed.

    ¡°Release me, idiot child, I am trying to help you.¡±

    ¡®Then fucking say that before you launch yourself at someone.¡¯

    Holding Po for a moment longer I glare at its eyeless visage. The idea of roughing it up a little for calling me an idiot is appealing but I want the muzzle off more than I want to hurt yet another being. I¡¯m not going soft or anything there is just only so many times you can leave someone in a pool of their own blood before the thrill of it turns kinda mundane.

    So I gently release the shadow-being and lean down so it has access to the device on my face. Displaying no gratitude whatsoever it simply says.

    ¡°Good.¡± Before reaching up to grasp the muzzle with one long-fingered hand.

    The creature¡¯s strength surprises me as turn my head one way and then the other as though inspecting the device. I¡¯m not sure how it does so without the use of eyes but after a few moments of ¡®hmm¡¯  noises it grabs the lock on the muzzle and crushes it one-handed.

    I¡¯m not sure what I had been expecting but it certainly wasn¡¯t that. The little metal lock keeping the device in place shatters in Po¡¯s palm.

    ¡°Your first demand is complete.¡± Declares the shadow creature. ¡° I will find the lady Raska.¡±

    The houselord inclines his head.¡±Thank you, Po.¡±

    Without a further word, the creature leaps ridiculously high into the air, easily clearing the distance to the tier above us, and landing on it with a light slap of its large feet. I don¡¯t see the direction Po scurries off in as I am far too concerned with getting the now unlocked muzzle off of my face.

    Once the device is off I rub my jaw and tongue where the thing had been locked into my teeth. As always it has cut into my gum and left scratches on my teeth. I hate the device more than I can put into words.

    ¡°Thanks, both of you,¡±  I grunt out realizing I should probably say something.

    The words are barely out of my mouth when the houselord starts to bombard me with questions.

    The bald man it turns out is a massive fan of the pits, in particular, he loves Resh. Loves my friend so much that I was right to be worried that this might turn into a Rush Army situation. I suppose the BlackMist is a bit more mature than that group of fanatical boys as he is less offended and more fascinated by the fact that I nearly killed The Rush.

    ¡°It is one of the great regrets of my life that I did not attend the HighSail trials that year.¡± He informs me, referring to the event where I and Resh fought.

    ¡°I assure you I have not made such a mistake since, those HighSails are quite good at identifying the next generation of talented pit slaves.¡±

    I don¡¯t really know how to reply to that, but it doesn¡¯t matter. Reon doesn¡¯t pause bounding into a series of questions about how I countered Resh¡¯s speed, what I thought of two single-handed swords versus other weapon combinations, and all sorts of other little details about the match.

    Viscarra has vanished and the houselord¡¯s questions are becoming slightly unhinged when we are thankfully interrupted by Po¡¯s return. He had wanted to know if I recalled who had spent more time with the sun behind him during the match. I am saved from grappling with such an inane question by the goblin thing calling from the tier above.

    ¡°Great Master of the BlackMist, your sister has need of you.¡±

    The middle-aged man considers for a moment and then nods. ¡°Tell her I am on my way.¡±

    ¡®Gods above and below thank you all.¡¯

    Reon claps me on the shoulder, and thanks me for my time¡­which is weird. Generally, you don¡¯t thank slaves, informs me that many of the other competitors are here tonight, and finally, finally leaves me be.

    ¡°At least you get to leave. He talks to me every day.¡± Says the seated artist, shooting me a knowing glance. I let out a single laugh and make to leave. Reon BlackMist is headed for one of the higher tiers, I plan to do the same as now free and unmuzzled. I can try some rich people''s food. I don¡¯t want to get sucked into waking alongside the houselord so I head for one of the stairways off this tier.

    I make it a massive two steps before the sight of Xael now leading an entirely different woman away from the dance floor towards one of the private alcoves.

    ¡°That foreign boy has some appetites,¡± I mutter to myself.

    ¡°Appetites and stamina.¡± I don¡¯t know if I could bounce between human partners like he seemingly is. Not because I have less stamina than the dark-haired boy, but because the idea strikes me as kind of gross.  Then again I have never even kissed a girl so I¡¯m hardly in a position to judge anyone on that stuff.

    Next time I talk to Xael I need to thank him or distracting me as the pause lets me spot the returning Viscarra. The tattooed girl is carrying two plates stacked high with steaming foods I don¡¯t know the name of but my nose tells me are various kinds of spiced meats.

    I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ve ever seen anything more beautiful in my whole life.

    ¡°Oh Uncle Reon is gone, thank the lords of shadow.¡± She beams a smile at me before shooting her gaze back to her feet.

    ¡°I brought you something to make up for him wasting all your time.¡±

 Chapter 29: The HighSail Colossus

    Chapter 29

    The HighSail Colossus

    We sit on the little bench near the artist and Viscarra reads the other canvasses to me as we eat. At first, I am a little tentative, but quickly realize what is looking up at me from the plate is a small roasted game bird of some kind. I grab the thing and tear a wing off, popping the appendage into my mouth. When the flesh hits my tongue I gasp in surprise. Nothing should taste this good. Crispy yet moist, spicy yet rich.

    I¡¯m so overwhelmed that I almost start crying. It leads to an awkward little while where Viscarra and I sit in silence avoiding looking at each other, but once I am back in control of myself I ask her to tell me about each of the competitors displayed here.

    There are more than thirty different canvases displaying paintings of youth pitters. Most I have never heard of and am dubious of the glowing descriptions underneath the paintings. Like my own, they are probably ¡®Embellished.¡¯

    Every now and then there is a name or description I recognize, and I can feel myself growing both nervous and excited at the prospect of fighting some of these people.

    ¡°Corlin; The Grassland whirlwind, so light and agile he-¡±

    Mmmmm¡± I interrupt with a mouth still half full of food. ¡°I Know Corlin, his Partner Ariun throws him into the air and then he doesn''t come back down. I heard they have been doing well north of the city.¡±

    Viscarra nods. ¡°Undefeated as a duo, they are the current doubles champions for every event the centaurs hold.¡±

    She looks about for a few moments before pointing to a lower tier at a green-haired boy holding court with a mixed group of teenagers who seem to be hanging on his every word.

    ¡°I think that is Corlin there.¡±

    I let out a little impressed noise at her ability to identify pit-slaves at a glance. Even with the painted canvases for reference, I wouldn¡¯t have been able to do it. She has been proving Resh right the entire time we have sat talking, Viscarra knows a lot about who is who in the pits.

    I had intended to devour the plate of food with gusto and then go get another one, but the meats are so flavourful and rich that I find myself struggling to finish even this one serving.

    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± I ask pointing at one of the paintings which the artist informed me are called pamphlets. The figure in this image is a huge cursed of some kind with clipped tusks protruding from his upper jaw and wild dreaded hair.

    ¡°Ohh that¡¯s Klash,¡± she says stepping closer to the pamphlet in question.

    ¡°The HighSail Colossus, oh this description is silly. He is teamed up with an Itti¡¯atti flame witch and it says the strongest youth pitter in all Far Mantys meets the steamiest.¡±

    I snort in reply. ¡° That is stupid, they make fire, not steam, they hate steam.¡±

    Still, there is something about the picture, about the description that tickles my memory.

    ¡°Does it say what kind of cursed he is?¡±

    ¡° No, but it¡¯s a lot easier to tell in person.¡± She points to the center of the dancefloor where a massive and I mean massive figure is roving around with a dark-haired girl sitting atop just one of his shoulders. I see the white flash of the cut tusks, the thick grey of his skin, and the fact that I recognize the girl he is carrying from having incinerated her competition at the Saffron personal arena.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°He¡¯s an elephant,¡± I say as my heart sinks. I knew winning BloodRock¡¯s bet was always going to be a challenge any time a flame witch enters the pit they are a dominant force, but I now realize it is going to be even harder than I imagined.

    ¡°HighSail have brought their elephant-boy back from the Graceless Isles.¡± Wow, they must really want to win this bet, maybe even more than Atar does. The BloodRock houselord may have brought in his own ringer in the form of Xael but Klash is special in ways a human can never be, no matter how skilled.

    ¡°You know him too?¡± She asks with what has to be false interest. I am not nearly as interesting as you would think watching the two of us. Maybe she is trying to make up for the fact that she struggles to look at me?

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say putting aside my plate. To my surprise, there is almost a quarter of the food I started with left, but the idea of eating more is making me feel ill right now.

    ¡°I beat him a couple of years ago, he was part of my old win streak before Resh broke it.¡±

    Viscarra looks from me to the almost seven-foot wall of muscle acting as a one-man wedge on the dancefloor then back to me for a heartbeat.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be offended but you aren¡¯t lying to impress me or something? Everyone knows you are really good but you beat him?¡±

    Despite myself, I am offended and more than a little confused.

    ¡®That¡¯s dumb, why would I lie to impress her?¡¯

    I try and fail to hide how unimpressed I am, my response coming out clipped and flat.

    ¡°You can go ask him if you don¡¯t believe me. I left him face down on the sands trying to breathe his own blood.¡± I don¡¯t add that he had been a fair bit shorter back then, and kind of chubby. I¡¯m still proud of that win, the elephant-boy was one of the toughest opponents I have ever faced. Strong in a way that defies belief and durable to the point of self-harm. I remember that fight well, not only had I been unable to meet the force of his attacks head-on, but his flat refusal to lose was something nightmare-inducing. I hit that boy with every trick, trap, and bite I could think of. But he hadn¡¯t gone down until finally after almost an entire hourglass I had rammed his own spear through his ribs and into both lungs.

    ¡°Sorry. I do believe you, it''s just my mother and I watched him defend his championship in the Graceless Isles last year.¡± She shakes her head at the memory ¡°It was supposed to be a free-for-all, but the rest turned on Klash and worked together as soon as it started.¡±

    I nod. ¡° That''s smart.¡±

    ¡°No, North listen, he destroyed them. Five against one and he went through them like a whale eating a school of fish.¡±

    My only experience with these animals is seeing carved-up versions on stands along The Grand TradeWay but the way she says it makes her meaning clear.

    I shrug in response. ¡° We will see. I remember him being dangerous but the fighters out of The Graceless Isles are mediocre, if he can do it against Mantyian pit-slaves then I will be impressed.¡±

    She lets out a little giggle and looks at me through a raised hand.

    ¡°So patriotic.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what Patriotic means. '''' I grunt in response. Which naturally causes her to giggle again. I would expect being laughed at to make me angry and it does, just not in quite the way I¡¯m used to. I think maybe I¡¯m embarrassed. Which is weird, there are lots of words I don¡¯t know and it''s never made me feel this way before.

    ¡°It means you think the place you live is the best.¡±

    ¡°Well, ¡° I say slowly ¡° It''s not the best best, but for pitters, It has to be here or Azazel right?¡±

    Viscarra informs me it is certainly not Mordrun where she is from. The city of warlocks has pits, but they aren¡¯t the economic staple they are here. In fact, most of the people who are sent into it are done so as a form of execution for some crime. That has been known to happen here as well if only occasionally.

    The BlackMist girl has insights into lots of the cities of the world. As a sorceress from a rich family with connections and business partners far and wide she has been to a lot of places for someone her age. Which turns out to be sixteen and three-quarters. A detail she seemed embarrassed to have said as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

    It isn¡¯t until I see a sweaty but exuberant Xael making his way toward me that I realize just how long I have been chatting with this girl. It was fun, too fun. I had spent virtually the entire evening talking to her. That wasn¡¯t a bad thing, quite the opposite in fact but the way I had lost track of time was strange and surprising.

    Initially, I assume there is some task we are supposed to do tonight on behalf of BloodRock. Thankfully the foreign boy just wants to sit and rest in what he describes as good company. I suppose I can¡¯t really blame him, in his shoes I suspect I would be sweaty and more than a little exhausted.

 North Drawing

    Much to my chargrin I have never quite been able to get AI to capture how I wanted North to look. Fortunately the same cannot be said of my wife who drew this totally dope rendition of my nasty little hyena-man. I hope you all like it, and let me know if this is how you envisaged him.

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 Chapter 30: The Bulwark

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Chapter 30

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">The Bulwark

    While lacking the brutal debauchery I am accustomed to at parties the houselords throw there is still a sort of bladed nature to the edges of the social gathering. Be it domestic slaves getting shoved up against walls by drunks, to be groped, or more. The way the performers slowly become more and more explicit in their acts as the night goes on. Or even the occasional fight between rich jerks backed up by their slaves.

    Normally BloodRock or one of his rich friends would force me to get involved. As muscle if I¡¯m lucky or <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">entertainment if I''m not. Tonight though, not only is Atar himself not in attendance but I have Xael and Viscarra. The two of them don¡¯t even realize the way they form a bulwark for me against the predations of Mantyian nobility.

    Eventually the weird shadow creature Po returns and takes Viscarra off to perform some duty or another as the host¡¯s niece. A fact that bothers me more than I would have imagined. For reasons I can imagine but don¡¯t want to admit I am sad to see her go.

    ¡°I have to say I¡¯m surprised at you.¡± Says Xael leaning his head back against the side of the stone tier.

    ¡°What does that mean?¡± I grunt, closing my eyes and leaning back the same way he did.

    ¡°That girl Viscarra. You were nice to her.¡±

    My face heats up and I feel myself becoming defensive. Why is he bringing that up? I¡¯m nice to plenty of people, especially ones with influence over my career who also happens to be close with one of my few friends. Besides she was the one who sought me out, and umm and she brought me food so of course I was at least polite to her. I open my mouth to relay these extremely reasonable points when he continues.

    ¡°You know it was her and her mother that set that shadowy serpent on you, yes?¡±

    Alright, that is a fair point. I have to admit it''s the sort of thing one might expect me to hold a grudge over.

    ¡°I know, but she probably saved my life. After I killed you and the judge, BloodRock would have had to execute me.¡±

    The GodsRinger boy lets out a little laugh and we devolve into a friendly debate over who would have won had we not been interrupted the first time we fought. Neither of us is willing to admit that the other may have had the edge. In truth, I¡¯m putting off what I really want to talk to him about. Waiting won¡¯t help make it any less awkward but we are still almost home by the time I gather myself enough to broach the topic.

    ¡°Did you betray Kalon?¡± I say with sudden seriousness. It had been my intent to explain that I just wouldn¡¯t feel right if I didn¡¯t say something. Instead, I simply blurt the question out.

    Xael frowns at me.

    ¡°What on the seven worlds are you talking about?¡±

    That is almost the exact opposite response to what I am hoping for. Torturously I manage to elaborate.

    ¡° You know. Those little alcoves off from the dancefloor, the umm private ones?¡±

    I expect an immediate reply, some denial, or at least for him to answer the question but there is only silence. Eventually, I lean my head forward again and turn to look at the dark-haired boy. I¡¯m more

    than a little surprised to see him desperately holding back laughter.

    ¡°Well?!¡± I demand, emphasizing the words with a little snarl.

    The laughter explodes out of him. It makes me want to get violent but I manage to hold back, reminding myself if Xael finds my question funny he probably hasn¡¯t done something he feels guilty over.

    ¡°You saw me take women into those little privacy rooms. Is that it?¡± He asks, still smiling.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say uncertainly. ¡°It was weird cause I thought you didn¡¯t like girls.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like girls, I also didn¡¯t do anything but talk in there. ¡°

    To that, I make a sort of ¡®pssfft¡¯ noise causing the dark-haired boy to tilt his head and narrow his eyes at me for a moment. ¡° You have a superior sense of smell to humans right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I repeat in much the same uncertain tone.

    ¡°Do I smell like sex North?¡±

    Rather than admit I have no idea what sex smells like I flare my nostrils and take an obvious inhale. The most obvious smell is the scraps of the food left on my plate which I placed on the ground beside the bench we are sitting on. I do my best to ignore the rich spices and focus on the scents coming specifically from the other boy.

    This isn¡¯t the sort of thing I do often, living among a pack of all-male slaves who don¡¯t get to bathe often. Ignoring my sense of smell is usually the safer option.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    I also ignore the lime scent that is still coming from my own fur.

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Okay he smells like sweat, food, and the weird pine scent that comes from his perfume or whatever it is he does to always smell like that.¡¯

    He doesn¡¯t have traces of the floral scent a lot of the girls adorn themselves with or anything else I don¡¯t recognize.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± I say slowly. ¡° But if you were just talking then, then why go in there at all.¡±

    He leans back scratching his chin. ¡°How do I explain? Hmmm, you see my pamphlet there?¡±

    I glance over where he is gesturing. There is a fairly accurate rendition of the GodsRing boy brushing his hair out of his face on one of the canvases.

    ¡°Viscarra read it to me. What about it?¡± I ask, absolutely bewildered as to where he is going with this.

    ¡°Well, you might recall it mostly talks about how handsome, charming, and exotic I am, with barely a mention of my skills.¡±

    I do remember that, It had struck me as stupid and nothing has really changed about my opinion.

    ¡° I felt kind of insulted on your behalf,¡± I grunt.

    He laughs and nods. ¡°You aren¡¯t wrong. It is insulting, but the reason they do it is because they want women to pay attention to me.¡±

    I frown a little but it makes a sort of sense. I¡¯ve never really thought about it before but women probably like to look at handsome men the same way men¡­most men like to look at pretty women.

    ¡°So¡­It''s because most women care more about a man being handsome and charming than they do about him being a good fighter?¡± I ask and then push on before he has a chance to reply. ¡°But what does that have to do with taking women into the curtained alcoves?¡±

    Xael lets out a long sigh from his nose in a manner similar to my own expressions of disappointment.

    ¡°The short version is if we win a lot, women are going to want to have sex with me, and I want them to think that they have a chance to.¡±

    I feel my jaw work as I try to respond but no words come out. I simply have no idea what one can say to a statement like that. He laughs again but goes on to explain that our job isn¡¯t to win fights. It''s to make people want to come watch us fight, winning might be the most effective way to do that but it is far from the only one.

    We chat a little more before I drag him up to the first tier where the food stands are located. I could have gone alone but I¡¯m not willing to give up the second half of my social bulwark. Fortunately, Xael doesn¡¯t seem to mind and I¡¯m able to indulge my curiosity for more rich people food. My stomach resents me for it, but I don¡¯t get many opportunities like this so I push through the discomfort and weird sense of sleepiness that comes with an overly full stomach.

    I¡¯m stuffing my face with crispy little triangles full of meat when I notice Harrk is making his way up the tiers with Kalon and Tota following behind him. I don¡¯t have to be Gori to know what that means. It''s time for us members of the BloodRock contingent to go home. This is without a doubt the first time I have ever been reluctant to leave one of these parties but I don¡¯t resist or complain. Especially as Harrk says nothing about my missing muzzle.

    My stomach¡¯s rebellion intensifies when we ride the elevator back down. It makes me regret the sheer amount of food I had recently devoured, but I do manage to keep everything down and not embarrass myself and climb into the covered cart.

    Unreasonably tired considering I haven¡¯t done anything physical I doze the entire wagon ride home.

    The final week before the Storm Herald invitational passes in fits and starts. In some moments it feels like every hourglass takes an eternity, whilst others feel like the event is rushing up to me.

    One day I hope to have a fight coming up and not feel like a nervous wreck, but for now, I channel that fear into anger, and that anger into training. It might be a little stupid to practice so hard right before what will be a series of fights since you want to avoid exhaustion and injury with so little time to recover. I know that, but I do it anyway.

    I hurl myself into every training session I can manage, and I spar anyone who will put up with it. Including the ettin Laren and Tarnen who are still staying within the BloodRock compound. All while still taking part in the clandestine morning sessions with Kalon and Xael.

    I guess it must be obvious what I¡¯m doing as Muraab seeks me out and refuses to let me train at all beyond stretching the day before the tournament is supposed to begin. I suppose I should be grateful but I find myself just idly wandering the compound for most of the day. The master of the guards is unaware of my early morning sessions so at least I get that in.

    It¡¯s during the hour of ¡®free time¡¯ that the most pleasant ambush I¡¯ve ever experienced catches me. That might not be a heavy stone to lift but I¡¯m still left speechless.

 Chapter 31: Crowning Day

    Chapter 31

    Crowning Day

    I have too much time to think. This day of ¡®relaxation¡¯ that I would have fought so hard to win if it had been presented to me as an option is turning into a weird sort of prison. Not only is my body taking this chance to make me extra aware of just how little it appreciates my recent training regime. But without something to occupy me my mind enters a state of near open rebellion.

    It kind of just washed over me at the time, swept aside by everything going on at the party. Now left to my own devices the thought that has been jabbing at me like a splinter I can¡¯t dig out since I spoke to the BlackMist girl is dominating my thoughts.

    She had been quite sure that I was full to the brim with Forspoken stone. I don¡¯t know much about magic but I absolutely saw her summon a shadow monster which while not exactly proof she knows what she is talking about is about as close to it as I¡¯m going to get.

    What had she called me? A gelem or something to that effect, but then had said that was wrong and that I was like a general who defended the city of warlocks. A man who had been injured countless times and the healers of Mordrun had used the Forspoken stone to heal him.

    I¡¯ve always been told Forspoken stone can only replace bone, but what if that isn¡¯t true? What would it mean for me if Viscarra is right and the times I have been healed magically wasn''t healing at all, but a replacement of the damaged parts of me with shiny black pearls? If the Forspoken stone transforms into flesh the same way it does bone I would never be able to tell which parts of me were real and which had been replaced.

    ¡®Are you even a person anymore?¡¯ That''s what she had asked me, blurting it out before considering how I might react to such a question. At the time I¡¯d been offended reasonably assuming she was referring to my state as a cursed. Now the idea that she was right is digging a black little hole in my stomach. It¡¯s a feeling I struggle to describe. Dread, but somehow different, emptier, slower, but longer lasting.

    Making my way to the railing near the training pit I try to recall every time I¡¯ve been healed with magic. It¡¯s a struggle as there have just been so many. I know for sure when my right ear was mangled it had been mended with magic, and more recently my left shoulder when I¡¯d fought the boys backing up Kalon for his challenge.

    Where Resh stabbed me maybe? The time half of me was burned by a demi-hydra? Definitely. Every time I went into the tower I might have had a part of me taken out and replaced with mystic rock. It could be any of dozens of injuries over the years.

    ¡®Are you even a person anymore?¡¯

    I shudder and try to focus on the boys below me in the training pit. It''s ¡®free time¡¯ so there are only four slaves down there. Two off on their own drilling with weapons or techniques they are less familiar with. I ignore them, my eyes drawn to the center of the put where a boy from my own hall is squaring up with a boy from hall one. I don¡¯t know the nature of their dispute, but it doesn¡¯t take long for the hall-three boy to demand a challenge.

    The pair of boys are both armed with pit-swords and they battle back and forth fairly evenly. Neither of them is particularly good with the half-bladed weapons and it creates an amusing stalemate as the pair of boys flail back and forth, too good defensively to get hit, yet so awful on the attack they can¡¯t land anything. I shouldn''t be too critical. I''m not exactly a savant with the stupid fake swords either.

    The wind changes and a medley of scents hits my nostrils, each smell as familiar as it is out of place near the training pit. First and most potent is the scent of rotting flesh, the next is sharp and reminiscent of pine trees, and underlying the other two is the sour tang of dry alcohol.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    More curious than worried I turn my attention from the fight below me to the road that leads here from the center of the compound. I knew who I was going to see but it still makes me raise both eyebrows. Muraab leads a group towards me consisting of Laren and Tarnen, Xael, and lurking in the back is Gori.

    I¡¯m not sure what is stranger. The fact that they aren¡¯t heading to me and not the pit entrance, or that they are a group at all. Turning fully away from the pit I take a few steps in the group¡¯s direction and greet them with the eloquence for which I am so well known.

    ¡°What?¡± I say projecting a lot more suspicion than I feel.

    Muraab shoots a knowing look up at the pair of ettin heads.

    ¡°I told you he was going to be an ingrate.¡±

    ¡®Ingrate?¡¯

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter¡± rumbles back Larnen. ¡°We paid for it, so we can do what we want with it.¡±

    I glance to Gori and then Xael for some sort of help or explanation. All I get back are friendly smiles. While I trust these people and even if I didn¡¯t I¡¯m protected by the houselord until after this tournament ends. Still, I would really like to know what is going on here.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah¡± mutters Muraab. But he looks at me and offers a kind smile.

    ¡°Happy Crowning Day boy.¡± My mouth hangs open as the rest of the group repeat the words of the old Pitter.

    ¡°It¡¯s my Crowning Day?¡± I ask still stunned.

    ¡°More or less¡± replies Muraab. ¡°We don¡¯t know exactly when you were born, but this is pretty close to when you first arrived here.¡±

    I¡¯m not really sure how to feel about that. I¡¯m fairly confident I was four when they bought me, which means I have been here for about twelve years. Twelve long bloody years. That thought makes me frown for a moment but I¡¯m quick to force my expression into a happy one. This is obviously meant to be something nice, the least I can do in return is not act like I hate everyone for a little while.

    Laren and Tarnen step forward, covering the distance between us with surprising speed. The two-headed monster might be a little bit lumbering in its movements but their long limbs more than make up for it. Speaking of long limbs the ettin thrusts an arm towards my face. They are holding a fancy leather belt with a circular metal buckle and an attached loin cloth.

    ¡°Happy Crowning Day Anklebiter.¡± Tarnen all but shouts down at me. ¡° This is for you.¡±

    The accessory is thick and wide enough to cover my hips and some of the important bits in my lower back. It might not be much, but it''s a piece of genuine armor and it''s mine. I remember celebrating my Crowning day a few times as a young boy, just not enough times to have learned when it is.

    Even back then I was always a slave so I was never given a gift. A feeling that is both pleasantly warm and acridly painful wells up inside me. I bite my lip and manage to force back the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

    ¡°Thank you¡± I manage to squeak out, my voice cracking with emotions I don¡¯t know the name of.

    ¡°Thank you so much, and whoever¡¯s idea this was I owe you a beating.¡± This time I manage to force out a laugh at my own joke. Weirdly it quickly becomes more and more genuine. The strange feeling building in my chest doesn¡¯t go away, but with each laugh, I feel it leaning more toward the pleasant side. The group of them offer what I can only assume are polite chuckles before grouping around me.

    I have never liked being surrounded. Even here and now in my home compound with people, I have no reason not to trust. It makes my fur stand on end and my palms start to sweat. My instincts are wrong of course, all that happens is a series of hugs and quick congratulations for turning sixteen.

    I manage to get through it without saying or doing anything embarrassing even if my movements are a little stiff. This leads to Gori calling for me to put the belt on, and the others agreeing. For once this is a demand I¡¯m more than happy to meet.

 Chapter 32: Welcome To The Killing Fields

    Chapter 32

    Welcome To The Killing Fields

    The Storm Herald Invitational is considered a minor tournament. This refers to things like prize money, prestige, the rules, and the cost of attendance for the audience. It does not reflect the popularity of the event or the number of entrants. In fact seeing the size of Prime Arena Two, known among slaves as ¡°The Killing Fields¡± for its disproportionately high mortality rate, I am reminded how deceptive the term Minor really is.

    The word pit falls so far short of encapsulating The killing fields that it''s almost hilarious. This place is an Arena. The massive circular structure consumes more ground than the entire BloodRock compound, and it stands almost half as tall as the BlackMist tower. The fact that it is a single-stone building defies comprehension. It sports dozens of entrances, seating for tens of thousands of people, viewing boxes, a prison, a bestiary, apartments for rent, a retractable canvas roof, and of course in the center a wide pit of hard-packed sand hundreds of feet across.

    Generations of slaves were worked to death in order to make this place a reality, and generations more died screaming on its sands. The fear that tightens my stomach as the arena gets closer is a firm reminder that I am going to have to work hard not to join them.

    No covered wagon for me today, that is filled by BloodRock himself, his adopted family, and a few guards including Muraab and Harrk. Those of us competing today are on foot walking alongside the group of chained menial slaves pulling the cart. I¡¯m not actually resentful of making the trip this way. After doing pretty much nothing my entire Crowning Day I am stiff all over and the movement of my walking body and the warmth of the late afternoon sun is loosening me up.

    A part of me is annoyed at how close to evening each step of this tournament takes place. Most of the more heavily attended events are held late in the day or even at night time so that people¡¯s various commitments won''t get in the way of watching the spectacle. Understanding that doesn¡¯t make it any less irritating.

    ¡®Don¡¯t these people know I won¡¯t be able to keep any food down till after my fight?¡±

    So near sundown, my appetite has become aggressive enough to make me feel ill. Lacking a better option I lean into the irritation becoming less and less vocal as the journey to the heart of the city passes.

    It might not be the thing smart fighters do, but as always I purposely rile myself up. Getting my teeth and focusing on all the injustices big and small that permeate my life. I don¡¯t want to be afraid,  I fight badly when I¡¯m afraid. What I want to be is angry. Angry enough to ignore pain, angry enough not to freeze up when I¡¯m greeted with some act of brutality or horror, angry enough to kill another boy who doesn¡¯t have any more choice in being here than I do. Fortunately getting frustrated is one of the few things I¡¯m extremely skilled at.

    I¡¯m more than a little grateful that Xael is also behaving introspectively on the walk over to the arena. Last night before he and Kalon disappeared into the manse the foreigner had seemed like a storm-type skyblessed he was so full of excitable energy. If he had kept behaving that way now I don¡¯t know how I might have reacted. Well, it wouldn¡¯t have been a positive response. I know that much.

    Upon our arrival, BlackMist soldiers escort us through a heavily guarded entrance reserved for competitors and their owners. Atar, his family, and every BloodRock guard bar Muraab are quickly separated from the rest of us, the houselord¡¯s group vanishing up a spiraling staircase that no doubt leads to a private viewing box where the BloodRocks can watch and make more frivolous bets. I wonder how many of me you can buy for the cost of renting one of those boxes? Probably a lot.

    I don¡¯t know where the kids pulling the cart are left, but the four of us competing are taken to holding pens beneath the stands. I might be able to count the number of times I''ve been to a prime arena on one hand but I don¡¯t think traversing the tunnels and paths the public can¡¯t see will ever not be surreal.

    The public entrances are wide airy things leading to enormous hallways large enough to house food stalls, street entertainers, slave markets, and stores selling various memorabilia, while still acting as a path for the attendees. It''s a lot like the tiers in the BlackMist party I went to but dirtier and on a vastly grander scale.

    The path the five of us are taken couldn¡¯t be more different. It is a series of thin twisting hallways that honeycomb their way through the structure beneath the stands. If we weren¡¯t directed by the BlackMIst warriors I think I could wander this place all day without ever finding my way. I suppose in that case I would at least have Xael who can actually read the signs attached to the dark stone walls at each intersection.

    Even down here in the dark with layers of stone between us I can feel the thrum of the crowd above. While the divided first round of the Storm Herald Invitational is taking place here, the two melees only represent the very end of today¡¯s spectacle. Even starting later in the afternoon doesn¡¯t mean there won¡¯t be other matches, demonstrations, and entertainment. I of course have no idea what those have been today, but if I had to guess from the noises above they were well received.

    After the dark claustrophobic service halls, I am almost blinded when the slave pens open up in front of me. A wide low ceilinged room lit not only by a dozen or so torches but by the late afternoon sun spilling in from a large latticed iron gate that opens directly onto the arena floor.

    The pens themselves are a series of twelve metal barred cells large enough to hold about ten slaves in relative comfort. Each cage is reserved for a specific house as denoted by the wooden icons bolted into the stone above them. Naturally, the cells are bare of any adornment except the one marked with the ruby pyramid of house Saffron, they get benches.

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    The BloodRock cell is closest to the arena gate making it the furthest from our group. A fact Muraab decides to take advantage of as he begins our house¡¯s pre-fight ritual. Ripping his side arm shortsword from its sheath at his side the master of BloodRock guards gets a strange look from our escorts but they don¡¯t stop him.

    With a grin, Muraab disrespectfully slams his blade against the bars of a cell marked with the bloody whip of house BreakWill three times.

    Bam, Bam, Bam.

    ¡°Who rules the pit?¡± he cries as we stride past.

    ¡°BloodRock!¡± Comes the shouted reply from the three of us slaves followed quickly by a slightly out-of-time Xael. They don¡¯t teach us to be a subtle bunch and we gleefully repeat the process as we pass each cage, jeering and making faces at the other slaves as our screams get louder and louder. By the time we reach the cell set aside for us, practically every slave in the pens is shouting back some sort of insult.

    It probably isn¡¯t a good idea to antagonize everyone so close to stepping onto the sands with them. There are more than thirty slaves in these pens ready to be unleashed into a melee. Even if divided up between two matches if half of them decide to go after us first we will be dead in heartbeats. It doesn¡¯t matter, we are House BloodRock and we always remind our enemies that wherever we go that little patch of sand out there belongs to us, not them. We rule the pit.

    The four of us share a moment of camaraderie laughing at the reaction we get from the other houses as we file into the cell. He said he would but I¡¯m still a little surprised Xael joins us behind the bars. It may be the first time in its existence this cage has played host to a non-slave.

    Once we are locked in there is nothing to do but wait and pretend I¡¯m paying attention to Muraab as he explains how the event is going to play out. It¡¯s the same as the first round of these kinds of tournaments always are. Blah blah two separate melees making up the last and second-to-last matches of today''s festivities. Blah blah, there will be some monster they have pulled out of the dark corners of the earth running rampant during the combat. All of this will go on until there are less than half the starting fighters or the creature in question is defeated.

    Honestly, I don¡¯t know what kind of deep Grasslands simpleton you have to be to still get entertainment out of watching this sort of contest. ¡®Oh look a hydra, oh a giant, oh four lions.¡¯ Who hasn¡¯t witnessed this kind of melee dozens of times? Let alone has the patience to sit through it twice in a row.

    I shouldn¡¯t be wasting my time thinking about this stuff. It isn¡¯t my problem if the tournament is following a stale formula. My job is just to win the stupid thing and make my houselord¡¯s gambling addiction seem like savvy calculation.

    From the gate, I hear the crowd make a collective ¡®ooooo¡¯ sound. I¡¯ve been doing this long enough to know the sounds of a crowd pretty well, and I¡¯d say there is a good chance someone just narrowly avoided getting killed out there.

    ¡°North, North! Are you listening to me, boy?¡± Says Muraab causing me to glance up at him from where I am stretching on the stone floor.

    I wasn¡¯t listening to him but it doesn¡¯t matter. I know what he has to say.

    ¡°Yeah yeah, we will file out one team at a time, our chosen weapons will be handed to us and we acknowledge the crowd somehow just after we step onto the sands.¡±

    The glare from the older man tells me both that I¡¯m right and that he knows I wasn¡¯t listening. I shoot him an impudent little smile in return.

    Once the old guard is done telling us things I already know the four of us chat quietly for a little while, trading guesses about what kind of monster or monsters we will have to deal with. I¡¯m more curious about the future rounds of the tournament and if we will be allowed to watch the other matches during the next step of the event but I keep the question to myself. Even Xael or Muraab are going to have no idea what the BlackMists intend.

    You never quite know how the last few hourglasses before a fight are going to feel. Sure a pitter might feel confident, scared, angry, or whatever it is with consistency, but that''s not what I mean. It''s the proverbial falling of the sands, sometimes the fight comes surging at you like Resh at top speed, other times like today for example it is a painfully slow process.

    Xael and Kalon go off into a corner and have some sort of private boyfriend chat, my hearing is good enough to eavesdrop if I want to, but who cares? That''s their business, not mine. So I alternate between stretching and sitting on the ground watching the yellow light spilling through the gate slowly slowly turn orange. If I pay attention I can catch the occasional flash of the action outside, but never enough to actually tell what''s going on.

    With so little to keep my attention, I only become more and more aware of the sick hunger building in my guts. To make matters worse every single team gets sent out separately. I understand the sense behind it, this prevents fights from breaking out before we get to the pit and allows for each team to be given its own little introduction.

    Normally I¡¯d be happy to get introduced to the crowd like that. Today though I find every step of the process excruciatingly slow.

    The BlackMist soldiers make their way to each cage in turn calling the names of the pitters from a list they carry, the slaves in question are then escorted out the now open iron gate to fanfare and a high-pitched woman shouting the introductions I can¡¯t quite make out from the cell.

    When the black and purple-dressed guards finally approach us they call for Kalon and Tota drawing a groan of frustration from me. It is always better to fight in the main event match, I know that. If this feeling of hunger sickness keeps getting worse I will either throw up with an empty stomach or be noticeably weaker going into the melee.

    It''s bad luck to wish a pit slave farewell or some variation of good tidings before a match so I give both the blonde human and his cursed partner a soft punch on the arm as they shuffle out of the cell. I can¡¯t say for sure what Tota is thinking but there is a definite fire in Kalon¡¯s eyes. That boy has something to prove today.

    In spite of everything I hope he gets the chance. Over the past few weeks, I have seen how hard he has been working and I feel a sort of reflected pride at the way he has been improving. I won¡¯t say anything about it out loud but I think I¡¯m starting to become friends with the blonde boy. Plus some mornings he sneaks us samples of what his mother is cooking for the day. Continuing to hate someone after that is a surprisingly challenging endeavor.

    ¡°Do you think they will make it through the first round okay?¡± Asks Xael with a wistful little sigh.

    I look at the foreign boy and scoff as I counter his question with one of my own.  It might sound like a query but every man, woman, child, cursed, blessed, slave, or free person who has ever set foot in a Mantyian arena knows the answer to it. Xael knows the answer too.

    ¡°Who rules the pit?¡±

 Chapter 33: Introductions

    Chapter 33

    Introductions

    Nine two-man teams went out onto the sands yet when the gate opens again only six boys return. Two full teams, and two individuals whose partners have been killed or otherwise too badly hurt to continue. There is a sort of triumphant air around the group of boys, though they have been robbed of their vibrancy and nervous energy.

    The BlackMist soldiers don¡¯t even bother to escort the slaves separately this time, they are too tired, too sore, and too few to cause any trouble on the way back to their cells.

    I recognize all of the survivors either from past encounters of my own or from those pamphlet things which as promised have been showing up everywhere.

    Striding in first is a flame-blessed in the fancy armor and colors of House Saffron. His name is Vel¡­something. Behind him comes the pig-boy and wind-blessed of House Tariff; Ariun and Corlin.

    Next is another red-armored Saffron slave named Torrigen. A year and a half ago I ended his fifteen-match win streak by utter destruction. Finally bringing up the rear is a team with no colors or icons, barely any armor at all really. A proud little grin crosses my face and I give Tota and Kalon an approving nod.

    Beside me Xael mutters something in his native tongue that I can¡¯t understand but am pretty sure is a prayer of thanks when he realizes the pair have emerged relatively unscathed.

    I might have been acting and taking all nonchalant to Xael but I¡¯m relieved too. Moments after the gate had closed the smell of acid-burned flesh and screaming had filled the air. Surviving any melee requires at least a little luck. Adding some berzerk creature in the mix often takes skill out of the equation entirely.

    ¡°Demi-Hydra?¡± I ask the two boys as they get close.

    ¡°Mhmmm¡± replies Tota with a heavy sigh. Kalon offers a tired nod and the pair slump to the floor of the cell. I can¡¯t blame them for their exhaustion. A demi-hydra might be smaller, have fewer heads, and lack the regenerative abilities of a true Hydra. It is still a two-headed lizard the size of a large horse that can spit acid in either streams or as a pervasive mist. It would have been a horror show out there.

    ¡°Good fucking job boys,¡± I say with a genuine smile. The last time I fought one of those things I had lost a lot of skin and almost my life. The victorious boys grin up at me from the floor and we start to chat about how exactly the melee had gone for them. When he thinks no one outside the cell can see Xael slips over and gives Kalon a quick but hungry-looking kiss.

    After the awkwardly tender moment, my pit partner turns to me with a kind of stupid question.

    ¡° So are we going to maybe run through a strategy for surviving this?¡± Asks the foreign boy. His face reveals his concern even if his accent makes every word out of his mouth seem somehow flat or unemotional.

    I look at Xael like he¡¯s stupid for a few heartbeats before reminding myself that he isn¡¯t really a pitter. He got famous in his homeland for winning a lot of one-versus-one fights, not competing in the chaos of Far Mantyian entertainment.

    I snort and shake my head. ¡° There is only one strategy for this kind of melee.¡±

    ¡° What? Stay away from the monster?¡±

    ¡°Almost¡± I reply with a grim smile. ¡° Stay away from it and force the other teams into the thing¡¯s path.¡±

    When the BlackMist guards call our names the hunger that has almost reached debilitating levels inside me vanishes like it was never there at all. I don¡¯t know how this stuff works but something about the excitement of entering a life-or-death situation makes you stop noticing things like that.

    As the closest cell to the gate, we are last called. It¡¯s just a result of chance yet I still feel a little swell of pride. Last to walk out in the final match of the day. For a pit slave, it doesn¡¯t get much more prestigious than that.

    The gate opens directly onto the sands of the pit, there is a walled-off staircase on either side leading to a pair of waiting areas for the guards that also double as armories for those of us competing. The stairs are only large enough for them to be traversed single file but even if you managed to get up there, that''s where your path would end. It might only be a single stone wall between the armories and the closest rungs of the crowd but the wall in question is huge. Probably twice as tall and as thick as the ten-foot barrier that surrounds the pit.

    There is nothing quite like walking out onto the sands in one of the primary arenas. The sheer scale of the architecture around the pit, the energy in the air, the sounds of a crowd the size of an army.

    Then there is the way the ring of covered lanterns built into the pit wall casts everything in a flickering orange glow that almost seems like magic with how it illuminates the sands whilst not blinding the crowd. All of It together creates an experience that is simultaneously the most thrilling and most terrifying thing a person can experience.

    These feelings only intensify when the high-pitched lady introduces us. I¡¯m not sure if it''s magic or some trick of arena construction but now that I¡¯m out here her words are clear as day even over the cheers of the crowd. A BlackMist guard hands me my requested type two medium axe before retreating back up the stairs.

    ¡°And our last pair of rising young talents come to you from House BloodRock.¡±

    The gate slams down behind us with a somewhat anticlimactic thud and we stride forward. I raise my axe, and Xael draws his thin-bladed sword to do the same.

    ¡°From the distant GodsRing, The consensus most handsome youth pitter in aaaaaaallllllllllllll Far Mantys!¡±

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Who decides that?¡¯

    ¡°The prodigy of prodigies! The two-time and current reigning champion of his homeland.¡±

    There is enough space in the enormous pit that none of the nine teams present can claim their own little bit of space without anyone being unfairly close to the iron gate opposite the one we came through. The one the monster will enter the pit from.

    ¡°Xaaaaaeeeeeeeelllllllll Deboooooordaaaaaaant!¡±

    I look around at the sixteen boys and one Itti¡¯Atti who will be opposing me. Everyone here is professional enough that no one is making a move to fight before the match starts. Even I am interested enough in glory not to try something like that. They are looking to the opposing gate, all except the Itti¡¯Atti girl. She¡¯s facing that way, but her gaze is leveled firmly upward like she is examining something.

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    I take a moment to trace her line of view up to the circular walkway that houses and supports the undeployed canvas covering. There is nothing and no one up there so I sink my own gaze back to the still-closed iron gate.

    ¡°Joining the boy with a face from your dreams is a monster of nightmare!¡±

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®Well, that''s not very fair.¡¯

    We find our own little spot near the eastern edge of the pit and I resist the urge to crane my head around looking for the high-pitched woman.

    ¡°Known among pit slaves as The Beast of BloodRock and ¡®Oh please gods it''s eating me!¡¯ This pitter has more kills on the sands than any youth walking the city!¡±

    I still don¡¯t think that¡¯s true, but once she has said it that ceases to matter. The hisses and roars of the crowd mean it''s true to them and that''s all that will ever count.

    ¡° But he simply calls himself Noooorrrrrttttthhhhh!¡±

    When she screams my name I lift my axe and look up into the shadowed mass of the crowd.

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Remember it. Remember me.¡¯ I silently will towards the people I can only sort of see.

    Once I feel like I''ve posed for long enough I drop the weapon to my side and paw my left foot across the sands. The feeling of the granules under my claws has its usual calming effect though the enormity of the moment steals more than a little of the effectiveness.

    ¡°Finally playing the role of the divine judge! You know them from their win at The Saffron Beast Brawl and as the second guardian in The Flame King Invitational Trials!¡±

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Wait.¡¯

    ¡°Known to some as the Walking fortress!¡±

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">No. They would have told me.¡¯

    ¡°Feared and respected the world over. The Lantern Bearer!¡±

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®That pair of fucking bitches! I¡¯m going to kill them¡¯

    ¡°The Ettin Laaaaareeeeeen and Taaaaaaarneeeeen!¡±

    The crowd goes berserk chanting the word ¡®Lantern¡¯ over and over again.

    The gate starts to rise before a green-furred hand impatiently appears under it and shoves the ironwork portal up into its fitting.

    A familiar figure ducks underneath the lip of the gateway and out into the arena. Laren and Tarnen, my supposed mother figures who only yesterday made my Crowning Day special are here standing in between me and victory. They won''t hesitate to kill me on these sands. I know they won¡¯t, The Lantern Bearer is a professional.

    They are in their full battle gear. Huge metal plates chained to the ettin backed up by a makeshift shield that until a few hours ago would have been spending its existence as a door somewhere in the arena. Their other hand wields a spear that looks like it has aspirations of becoming a log.

    The pair stand almost thirteen feet tall. A fact they take advantage of to entertain the crowd. With a surprisingly dexterous twirl, the ettin plunges the head of their spear into the sands and of all things <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">reaches over the pit wall. Plucking an unlucky man from his seat with one hand the monster lifts his screaming struggling form to the head that I am certain is Tarnen and practically inhales the man''s face in a sloppy kiss. He is returned to his seat, wet and disorientated but unharmed.

    This naturally causes all sorts of hooting, laughing, and a few two-finger whistles from the onlookers. Having been in his position many times as a child I¡¯d feel for the man if I wasn¡¯t so consumed with my frustration at the pair of women.

    I always lean into my anger when I fight. It helps me not think about how scared I am of the life I live, or I guess how scared I am of losing it. Seeing the ettin arrive without having even warned me they would be here has tilted the balance. The fear, the hunger for glory, and my ability to think logically, all is being eclipsed by my desire to hurt things. And if possible beat an explanation out of Laren and Tarnen.

    On some level, I know that this isn¡¯t really something to get angry about. The ettin is just doing their job no different from me, and knowing about their presence in advance wouldn''t have actually changed anything. It¡¯s just that the level in question doesn¡¯t have a lot of access to my mind at the moment.

    I wouldn¡¯t say time slows down when the judge lady screams for us to begin. It is more like it freezes for a single heartbeat and in that moment I can see all my options and exactly how to make them a reality. The world unfreezes and I start jogging towards Laren and Tarnen. Someone is trying to get my attention by calling my name. Xael If I had to guess. I ignore him.

    Around me, the teams are moving. They are all too well trained to just scatter, but they spread out into a loose semi-circle around the monster. It is the last moment that resembles something orderly before the pit descends into madness.

 Chapter 34: Melee

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Chapter 34

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Melee

    Fighting this sort of melee quickly turns into a stilted kind of race as the teams skirmish with each other, trying to hang onto the better positions closer to the walls.  Other than the monster of all things no one here is equipped with a shield. That''s normal they never let pit slaves have shields but it means we can¡¯t really slam into each other while we jockey for position. The teams kind of dance in and out of range waiting for someone to make a mistake. With so many fighters and a two-headed giant in the pit, those mistakes start coming thick and fast.

    This tournament is fought under standard rules thank all the gods above and below. This means I and none of the other boys have to hold back. Not being little kids it apparently doesn''t offend the sensibilities of our owners to watch us bleed out.

    Pit-sword meets halberd and spear meets flesh around them Laren and Tarnen observe the melee from above like a curious god. The two-headed monster is moving but at a calm measured pace, heads slowly rotating back and forth as they look for the best opportunities to use the ridiculous reach their height and spear grant them.

    I¡¯ve seen The Lantern bearer fight plenty of times and sparred with the pair of them even more. I¡¯m still left in awe when they finally burst into action. Something that big shouldn¡¯t be this fast, shouldn¡¯t be this skilled.

    To my right a pair of boys dressed in BreakWill blue and both armed with a short sword and hatchet each. They pulled the arrow so to speak and forced their way into close range with a pair of human HighSails armed with short spears. Sound tactics against the longer-ranged weapons but a mistake. The two groups now find themselves unable to disengage from each other.

    Something it seems Laren and Tarnen have noticed before I did.

    The giant surges towards the entangled group. I see the ettin thrust at one boy who slips to the side only to be caught by an enemy hatchet to the side of the head. The BreakWill boy who put him down is in turn smashed into the ground by the makeshift shield of the ettin. I doubt either boy will ever get up again.

    I briefly lose track of the giant as a pair from House Tariff try to catch me unawares and rush my left side. I spin to face them and immediately find myself on the back foot. I put myself in a situation to be outnumbered by abandoning Xael, what''s worse is I¡¯m kind of bad at fighting while moving backward.  The Tariff boys are armor made of boiled leather. It isn¡¯t like the leather ¡®protecting me¡¯. These two have proper grieves and cuirasses. One is holding a pit-sword two-handed, and the other is wielding two short swords one straight and one slightly curved. Of course, he is.

    The boy with the pit-sword comes in first, swinging big at my chest while his companion follows a half-step behind. I have to admit these guys seem pretty smart. Going after someone alone is always a good proposition. On top of that staggering their engagement of me means the boy with the longer weapon can lock up my axe while his dual-wielding teammate moves past my weapon¡¯s threat range and puts me into his.

    Having a good plan and putting it into motion are two very different things. A lesson I have had beaten into me more times than I can count, and knowledge I am more than happy to impart to this pair of Tariff losers.

    While I am being pushed the way I want to go; towards the giant. I am not willing to fight moving backward or a moment more than I have to. Digging my claws into the sand I stop on the balls of my feet. Staying loose I bring the axe head up into the path of the pit-sword. It isn¡¯t a true block as I pivot and feed the momentum of his strike into swinging the but of the axe upward toward the boy armed with twin swords.

    The momentum of his forward motion, the momentum of his partner¡¯s attack, the momentum of my body as I half-turn. All three combine as wood meets face with a crunch that reverberates through my weapon. To his credit, the Tariff boy manages to stay upright through the force of the blow, though he collapses into a senseless heap before he completes another step. They should really start giving us helmets.

    I don¡¯t have time to admire my handiwork, and I wouldn¡¯t anyway. I am from House BloodRock, we celebrate when the fight is done and not a moment before.

    My little maneuver to put down the two swords boy wouldn''t have been worth attempting except that now I am facing the sole boy head-on, and he has to turn if he wants to attack me or defend himself. I don''t give him the opportunity.

    With a savage jerk of my upper body that hurts my back a little, I drive the head of my axe into the boy''s stomach. His armour holds but he is still forced back by the blow.

    I had hoped he would at least double over but I couldn¡¯t get quite enough force into my attack. He manages to face me fully as I follow up. Switching to a single-handed grip on my axe I fling my now freehand out to snatch at the wood lower half of the pit-sword.

    No matter how it is shaped a pit-sword is still functionally a small glaive, it might have a larger cutting edge than my axe but there is plenty to grab. Yanking him towards me with his own weapon it''s a simple matter to pendulum my axe downward on an angle to dig it into his calf where the armor of his grieve doesn¡¯t extend. There is a spurt of blood and he falls shouting abuse to one knee. With a snarl I lash out with my left foot, stomping into his chest as I yank my axe back out of his leg. The boy will probably be okay if he doesn¡¯t get trampled, but his ability to fight me is gone so I resume my drive towards the ettin.

    In the time it took me to plow through the pair of Tariff boys Laren and Tarnen have converted the four they were engaged with into a circle of mutilated gore. I am trying to organize my thoughts at least enough to figure out what I plan to scream at the two-headed woman when I realize I¡¯m not the only one surging for the giant.

    Ahead of me the massive bulk of Klash and the lithe form of whatever the Flame witch¡¯s name is behind him are sprinting directly at the women who gave me the belt I¡¯m currently wearing.

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Good¡¯ I think with a little sneer. If they are stupid enough to get trapped between the ettin and myself. Itti¡¯atti fire magic or not I can win BloodRock his wager right here in the first round. Not to mention remove a tough fight down the line.

    I need to be quick though If Larnen and Tarnen kill the pair of them I won¡¯t get credit and that will be another bet lost to some ridiculous technicality.  Dodging around a running fight between two teams I try to pick up speed but the HighSail team has already engaged the ettin.

    Whichever head controls the spear arm thrusts the massive weapon out at Klash. The elephant cursed is armed with a spear or his own that under any other circumstances would look like a huge unwieldy thing. With the giant¡¯s spear surging towards him, it seems like a twig.

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    An enchanted twig maybe. The grey-skinned boy brings the haft of his spear across his body, slamming it into the head of the tree-sized weapon. It doesn¡¯t stop the thrust, of course, you would need a castle wall for that. He is however able to knock the attack off course, sending it harmlessly past him and the Itti¡¯atti both.

    Were Laren and Tarnen just some dumb monster that may have been the end of it. This particular ettin does not fight like that however, they fight like a career pitter who just happens to be gigantic. Following up their attack the ettin pivots on their front foot, sliding their

    back one behind to shift position and momentum without breaking stance. It¡¯s remarkably similar to a follow-up movement I favor to get quickly around the side of an enemy. Lacking only the additional step I take.

    The ettin isn¡¯t trying to get <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">around anything. No, the giant employed the movement as a means to quickly bring the metal door they are pretending is a shield down onto Klash. This isn¡¯t good, after the grey-skinned boy is crushed between shield and sand I absolutely have to be the one to bring down the itti¡¯atti. At least that way I can claim the bet was only to beat her.

    I skid to a halt as I witness the impossible. Rather than be crushed like a child under a wagon in the manner of the unfortunate BreakWill slave earlier. Klash isn¡¯t crushed in any manner at all. The huge slave drops his spear and in an insane display of both strength and timing catches the descending door. I expect him to only arrest its motion a little, maybe stall the ettin for a few heartbeats before collapsing under the pressure.

    None of that happens. He is initially forced down but the huge slave sets his feet and with a roar of effort that can be heard halfway across the pit floor. stops the shield dead with his bare fucking hands. I genuinely cannot believe what I am seeing and I don¡¯t think I¡¯m the only one. Gasps ring out from the crowd in such numbers that they are audible even from here. One person watching isn¡¯t taken off guard; the Itti¡¯atti girl and this is the moment she decides to remind us that Klash isn¡¯t the only one who can do the impossible.

    She cuts a striking figure, her dark hair trailing behind her, her metal fire stick still on her back as she dashes out from behind the elephant boy. She covers the distance between herself and the ettin before Laren and Tarned have any idea what''s happening.

    A strange detachment emanates from my chest at the sight. I know what''s happening. I know exactly, and it should fill me with anger and fear. Instead, it robs me of both sending my mind spiraling away as though I was watching myself and what is about to unfold from the stands.

    The flame witch places both hands on one of the giant¡¯s tree trunk legs.

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">At least I made it through the melee unharmed.¡¯

    Laren and Taren burst into flames. It doesn¡¯t start at the Itti¡¯atti¡¯s hands but across the ettin¡¯s entire body simultaneously. One moment the pair is a mountain of green fur and muscle, the next they are a pillar of fire bathing half the crowd in light.  Screaming from both heads the giant drops their spear and desperately tries to beat at the flames. It¡¯s pointless, not only does the thrashing accomplish nothing more than shamefully hitting themselves with their shield but it was too late the moment the flames ignited.

    The heat of the living bonfire is so intense It stings my skin from dozens of feet away and even forces the thick-skinned Klash back shielding his face. Not the flame witch though. She stays right there touching the ettin even as the monster collapses to the sands. Laren and Tarnen are so hidden by the flames that if I couldn¡¯t smell their fur and flesh in the smoke I might think I was looking at a strangely arrayed woodpile.

    The flame witch offers a little bow to the ettin before turning to walk away with a casual swagger.

    The sight snaps me back to my body as anger fills me. She didn¡¯t even put the fire out, just leaving the ettin to be consumed by the white-hot flames.

    ¡°Put them out,¡± I whisper starting to sprint toward the girl

    ¡°Put them out.¡± Louder this time.

    ¡°PUT IT THE FUCK OUT!¡±

    At the last second the flame witch turns towards me. I see her eyes go wide as I, axe forgotten tackle her midsection. This little thing would never be able to stop me from tossing her around at the best of times. Caught utterly off guard she is brutally driven to the ground with me atop her.

    Logically I should know this is a terrible idea unless I want to get incinerated. Logic can go fuck itself. I manage to slam my fist into her face twice before a hand like a vice closes on my main and pulls me back off the girl. With just one hand Klash flings me at least ten feet across the pit floor.

    I land on all fours skidding backward. When I arrest myself I¡¯m next to the charred form of Laren and Tarnen. With their fur gone most of the fires on the two-headed woman have sputtered out. Somehow the ettin is still alive, I can see their massive chest rising and falling in a shallow unsteady rhythm. It isn¡¯t a mercy, what little skin they have left is a blackened mess. I can see scorched flesh and revealed muscle¡­.everywhere. Even with magic the amount of damage inflicted on the giant in such a short time is horrific.

    ¡°Ankle¡­biter?¡±

    My breath catches in my throat at the words and I look to the heads of the ettin. Both have been stripped of their flesh and forced into a rictus grin by the revealed bone. One is lying slack and limp, her eyes and tongue taken by the flames. No breath is being drawn by this head. A fact made all the more evident by the wheezing pant of the remaining head. Tarnen I think from the nickname she called me. She is still missing almost all the skin from her face, but it''s clear this head got the better of it. Her tongue and one of her eyes have survived the inferno. Though there will be no saving her. Even now the remaining head is struggling to provide enough air for her giant form, and even if she could the injuries are too great, and the magical healing required is too expensive.

    The one remaining looks about wildly before eventually refocusing on me if only for a moment. In that moment she tries to reach out towards me in a motion to ruffle my hair. The arm doesn¡¯t make it to me, falling limp at the giant¡¯s side.

    ¡°What¡­ are you doing here?¡±

    I don¡¯t know if she was unware that I was competing today, or if the pain has robbed her wits and she thinks me with her in some far-off place. Either way, they are the last words the ettin ever speaks.

    ¡°E-End! END!¡± comes the call from the announcer lady. She should have called it as soon as the monster in question fell but I think she was just as shocked by the fiery display as the rest of us. It doesn¡¯t really matter why she called it late. I don''t intend to listen to her anyway.

 Chapter 35: One Twenty-Seven And Three

    Chapter 35

    One-Twenty-Seven and Three

    ¡°END!¡± Comes the call for a third time and I ignore it just like I had the first two. Where most teams are stopping in place like they are supposed to. They raise weapons in celebration of surviving another round in the pit, or they lay on the sands and bleed. Over it all the adulation of the crowd breaks like a storm.

    None of it means anything to me. My eyes are firmly fixed on the retreating form of the Itti¡¯atti girl as she all but skips her way off the pit floor, not even waiting for the command or the close of ceremonies. None of the pitters or guards make a single move to stop her.

    A tirade of emotions decides to have their own melee in my head. Part of me, a big part wants to chase the flame witch down and demand an explanation. It would be pointless I know that. She was well within her rights to kill the monster that was unleashed among us in fact she likely saved a bunch of our lives.

    I bear Laren and Tarnen a strange sort of resentment about their death, as though if they had told me beforehand I could have somehow prevented this. That¡¯s a stupid thought too, but it seems like all my thoughts are stupid right now. I want to lash out at someone, hurt something. All the violence of the melee may as well never have happened the way my bloodlust is surging.

    Helpfully a target for my ire is more than happy to present himself. The elephant boy Klash who so unceremoniously threw me a few moments ago isn¡¯t moving with his flame witch partner, but nor is he celebrating or otherwise playing for the crowd like the rest of the pitters. The huge grey-skinned boy is standing clearly still combat-ready, face contorted in resentment as he glares daggers at me?

    ¡®Saffron¡¯s golden balls! What''s his problem?¡¯

    I almost feel like I should thank him. Nothing cuts through the noise of my own mind faster than an outside threat, and the perceived challenge of the improbably strong cursed is just the thing. Instantly my whirling thoughts cease their wild brawl and unify into a singular ¡®Fuck that guy.¡¯

    With one last glance at the smoldering body, I start marching towards him. Klash tilts his head and mirrors the motion. As we approach each other I feel my snicker force its way up my throat and burst out of my mouth. By the time we are face to face, it must seem like I¡¯m mocking him. Good I guess, it''s better than him realizing that it comes from the tiny core of fear and embarrassment I keep buried deep inside.

    Klash juts his jaw out and leans forward to loom over me, the very image of threat. I

    accompany my snicker with a false grin and meet his eyes. The moment seems to stretch as my bright brown eyes meet the tiny pupils of his darker ones.

    ¡°Match is over,¡± I say making sure not to blink or look away. My tone is impudent and antagonistic. ¡°Get out of my way.¡±

    ¡°No¡± comes the reply in a voice deeper than I remember. ¡° I don''t think that I will.¡±

    He has no idea how happy I am to hear him say that. The only real downside is that I dropped my axe like an idiot and now it''s well out of reach behind the elephant boy. At least he doesn¡¯t have his spear in hand. Thinking logically I probably shouldn¡¯t try to fist fight someone who can block attacks from an ettin, but Logic and I still aren¡¯t on speaking terms.

    ¡°North!¡± comes my name shouted in a familiar foreign accent. ¡°What on the seven worlds do you think you are doing?¡± My gaze doesn¡¯t shift even as I hear Xael get closer accompanied by a stream of GodsRing gibberish words that I suspect are curses.

    The foreign boy doesn¡¯t take my ignoring him well. Instead, he offers an apology to Klash and jabs his sword lightly into my chest. I try to ignore the blade still snickering in the elephant cursed¡¯s furious face. I can¡¯t maintain it for long as Xael steadfastly puts increasing pressure on the weapon until I have no choice but to move. In moments he is walking me backward at the edge of the weapon. The elephant boy doesn¡¯t move to follow but neither does he break my gaze.

    I should just turn and walk normally but there is something in Klash¡¯s eyes that keeps my attention focussed on him. We couldn¡¯t be more different in terms of the curses we bear, and yet the emotions on his face remind me so strongly of myself. It isn¡¯t until he speaks again that it all clicks into place and I understand what I¡¯m looking at.

    ¡°Eighty-nine and One,¡± He says, emphasizing the last word with disgust. There isn¡¯t a pitter alive who wouldn¡¯t understand what he meant. He is telling me his match record and so much else besides. Apparently, no one else has ever beaten the HighSail pitter.

    ¡®That''s a win that aged well.¡¯

    Wins and losses aren¡¯t created equal. The crowd might cheer when you win, and your owner might even reward you. However, if you don¡¯t follow it up with another win soon both will start to forget your victory the moment it''s over.

    A loss though will not only follow you longer but its immediate effects are far more impactful for those of us who have never fought in a major It is frankly a devastating blow.

    Unless you are lucky like I was and get the attention of a tournament organiser, or have some other sort of way into the large events a loss all but erases every victory you had that year. Sending you straight to the bottom of the selection lists or the minor tournaments like this one.

    Do well in a couple of minors that year and you can get invited to a major. Winning it nets even a slave fabulous prizes, more importantly, it guarantees your participation in the next major tournament. Keep the streak going long enough to win the Saffron Major and they set you free. Win five majors in one year and they call you King on The Sands.

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    The road to freedom is a single file and a little over two years ago I knocked his ass not just back to the start of it, but off to the Graceless Isles where he had to become champion in multiple events just to win a single invite to a minor tournament.

    My loss to Resh put me through something similar though not nearly as severe.

    How much closer to free would I be if I¡¯d beaten him? How much closer to free would Klash be if he¡¯d beaten me? It might be impossible for either of us to truly know but the answer in both cases is a lot.

    It makes a lot of sense that seeing me here has riled Klash up. I know I would give anything, anything if it could somehow erase my loss to the rat-boy. Winning a rematch isn¡¯t quite the same but it feels awfully close.

    If I found myself in Klash¡¯s position with maybe a fight or two away from that rematch who knows how confrontational I would get. Honestly I kind of respect the HighSail slave¡¯s self-control. It''s better than mine would be.

    ¡°One twenty-seven and three¡± I call back. In spite of everything it''s the polite thing to do. Plus I mostly think about this stuff in terms of win streaks, it''s nice to remind everyone including myself that I have a mountain of wins at my back. After that, I step aside from Xael¡¯s blade. For a moment he follows me with the weapon but I¡¯m just turning around to walk forward.

    Once we are inside the gate the foreigner taps me on the shoulder. When I turn he punches me right on the jaw. I¡¯ve been hit by Atar BloodRock himself many¡­times. So a punch from a regular human being is always going to seem a bit on the light side. Despite that I have to admit it was a pretty good strike and well placed, snapping my head back and stealing a little of my wits. What''s more, he ducks under the straight right punch I instinctively hurl back at him and slips out of my range.

    ¡®Damn, that boy is slick when he wants to be.¡¯

    ¡°What the fuck!?¡± I snarl at the skinny Godsringer. I expect some snide remark or him to scratch his head and sheepishly smile while he explains the cultural significance or whatever. None of that happens. Instead, Xael glares at me and responds in a voice more full of emotion than I thought his accent could allow.

    ¡°I am sorry about what happened to Larnen and Tarnen, but don¡¯t you ever fucking abandon me in a fight like that again!¡±

    I want to argue, to shout in his face, or even throw more punches of my own. Instead, I blink a few times with my jaw hanging open because he¡¯s right.

    ¡°I¡­sorry you¡¯re right.¡± I manage to mumble out. ¡° That was amateurish of me.¡±

    The dark-haired boy nods and very slowly places a hand on my shoulder.

    ¡°I know that was like an ambush, but we are both going to die if we can''t rely on each other.¡±

    Gods above and below I hope he drops this soon. There is nothing more annoying than getting a lecture for something you already know you did wrong, and already intend to fix.

    The trip back to the BloodRock compound feels as agonizingly slow as the wait before we fought the melee. With each heartbeat removed from the fight, my hunger wakes up a little more until it is rampaging around my stomach again.

    As though the gods want to starve me to death, the houselord decides to make a big spectacle when we get back so dinner is delayed while his family is rounded up and a chair he can actually sit in is brought down from the manse.

    It isn¡¯t all bad, when dinner finally begins Atar presents the four of us to the other slaves like conquering heroes. Not just the youths but the adult pitters as well. Congratulating us on both teams making it through the first round unscathed, BloodRock declares every slave in the compound will be rewarded with spices in their food tonight. The cheer this brings is so intense I feel like I¡¯m back in the arena.

    When the jubilant roar dies down he goes on making a little victory speech while we absolutely tear into spiced lamb bone stew.

    I don¡¯t really pay attention and even if I was the sound of bones crunching between my teeth deafens me to most of it. I do learn that Xael and I fight again in two days, with more matches the day after that. We will be the second to last fight of the day, though the first match from the tournament. Before that will be a series of matches with animals and large group conflict between pit-slaves not competing in the Storm Herald. Things to get the crowd all excited before the fights that actually matter start.

    I preen at praise, strut a little, and even laugh during dinner but it becomes increasingly an act as the meal progresses. No one does anything to piss me off but my irritation grows anyway. I find myself resenting the slaves around me just for having the audacity to exist. What a stupid thought. I should be happy they are even comfortable talking to me. Most of the saves in the compound haven¡¯t done that in years, but every word is like a little pinprick in the back of my mind. Not even what they are saying, just the noise of it.

    Probably the only genuine smile I offer the entire meal is when Gori does a neat trick with his drink. Quickly downing the earthenware cup of water with his meal he throws his head back and launches that same water out of his mouth. It doesn''t shoot out like I would have thought, but sprays upwards as a fine mist.

    Pretending I don¡¯t hate every second of this doesn¡¯t end up being a waste. After I finish inhaling the spiced stew I¡¯m shocked to see not one but five different boys spoon a little portion of their food into my bowl. I¡¯m so shocked I almost attacked the first one. With how ravenous I¡¯ve been I am more than a little grateful once I understand what''s happening.

    Tota gets the same treatment, a little extra for the boys who won this bounty. I assume It is happening for Kalon as well but when I look around for him he isn¡¯t at any of the three tables. Neither I note with a little snort is Xael. If I had to guess the pair of them are off having their own private celebration.

    After dinner, I retreat to my little corner at the back of hall three. Everything feels wrong with the world. Yes, I am glad to have come out of the pit one more time, I¡¯m always happy not to get hurt when I fight. I¡¯m even more excited to have done it in front of such a massive crowd. That doesn¡¯t mean I feel any better about Larnen and Tarnen. I saw them twice in the last four years and now I¡¯m never going to speak to them again.

    On top of that, no one else seems to care. Atar BloodRock fought actual wars at the side of that giant. Not fights in a controlled arena with judges and guards. Actual wars with sieges, battle lines, logistics, and all of that stuff. And what was his reaction to the death of maybe his oldest ally? Happiness that he has moved closer to winning his bet.

    I try to comfort myself by running a hand over the small pile of coins hidden inside my cot. Normally finding the coins undisturbed fills me with hope. Tonight though it all seems so pathetic. Even growing as the pile has day after day It''s nothing. I probably can¡¯t even buy a nice meal with the money Xael has paid me. It will never be enough to bribe my way to freedom or even help me take steps towards it.

    I feel angry and sad, but excited? And so resentful towards Larnen and Tarnen, towards the HighSail team that killed them, towards BloodRock, towards Xael, towards everyone. It¡¯s so overwhelming I start to feel tears prick at the sides of my eyes, and once I notice them my fate is sealed and the gates break open. I start to sob like a pathetic child and don¡¯t stop until I¡¯ve fallen asleep.

 Chapter 36: The Mill Of My GrandFather

    Chapter 36

    The Mill Of My Grandfather

    I wake up sore and stiff of course, when don¡¯t I? But my head feels clearer than it has in weeks¡­.In an emotional sense, my face is practically stuck to the cot with dried snot, tears, and drool.

    I don¡¯t know much about the mind beyond easy ways to insert sharpened metal into it. But I think you need to cry occasionally to get your emotions back in balance. I hope it isn''t just me, that would be really embarrassing.

    I get myself some water from the metallic-tasting hall-three barrel, stretch, and make my way past the still-stirring boys of my hall. Ever since I started my morning routines with Xael and Kalon I Maybe it¡¯s just me? I tend to be the earliest riser in my hall. Well except for the youngest boys. Both of them have this weird habit where they wake up well before the sun rises and then just lying there in silence. I see the glint of their eyes watching me in the gloom some mornings. Little kids are creepy.

    Nodding to the pair of guards out the front of the youth barracks I start my morning run. When I pass the practice pit I¡¯m unsurprised to see Xael and Kalon absent. Even BloodRock makes us stick to light work the day after a match. If the boys push too hard they will end up in bad shape or worse injured. I know that goes for me too, but after twelve years of slavery, I¡¯m not very good at doing nothing.

    Ending my run at the animal pens I greet the trio of servile slaves who are already up and working. Two bovine cursed, and a dog-man are busy moving the cow things from one place to another? I don¡¯t know, they are doing whatever it is they do.

    I help myself to some of the dusty brown water in the animal troughs as the sun rises. It doesn¡¯t taste any worse than the water in my hall¡¯s barrel, and a lot better than the weird salt combination Ilexa plies us with.

    I''ve been grappling with the issue of what to do with myself today and I think I¡¯ve found at least a partial solution. With my mind feeling refreshed the way it is, the seeds of other ideas feel like they are getting some water too, but those will have to wait until I get a better look at my opposition in the tournament.

    Today however my only real plan involves enduring what is definitely going to be a weird and awkward conversation. At least this time the awkward one won¡¯t be me.

    I give it an hourglass or so for the sun to rise a little before I make my way over to the tower. I haven¡¯t been there in months, not since I fought Kalon and Morean¡¯s teams at once. I think that might be some sort of record for me, a record that I personally consider to still be going as I¡¯m not here for treatment but for information.

    The bottom floor of the tower is laid out the same as every other floor in BloodRock¡¯s hospital, a circular room with four doors and a stairwell.

    It functions very differently, however. Whereas the rooms on the other levels are used as both operating rooms and cells for injured slaves. The rooms down here are where the surgeon-slaves live. I had thought there were four of the surgeons, but as the first two rooms I open turn out to be purely for storing medicinal supplies and equipment I guess we are down to two.

    I knock twice on the third door and open it without waiting for a response. Inside I find Coil; the old surgeon-slave whose hand I mangled. He is crouched in front of a little altar featuring a larger version of the weird triangular religious icon he wears. There is annoyance on his face, but it quickly turns to fear when he realizes who he is looking at. I might think it''s stupid but if the old man is still holding onto his fear of me, he will probably answer my questions without argument.

    The rest of the room is nice. He might be a slave but surgeons are rare and valuable regardless. Red cloth hangs on the walls, and even over the windows. It bathes the room in a warm sort of shadow that puts me at ease.  There is a large table in the center of the room. Half of which is devoted to large bound tomes of what I assume is knowledge, the other half is all but covered in various little metal tools that mostly look like they cut things. Surgical equipment I assume. Coil¡¯s bed is more than twice the size of my own cot, and you could easily fit me, Gorri, and that little kid he¡¯s friends with inside the cupboard opposite the bed. Having only ever seen Coil in the robes he¡¯s wearing now, I have no idea what he does with so much storage space.

    The wild-haired old man leaps to his feet sputtering.

    ¡°N-North! Are you hurt?¡±

    I don¡¯t think it would be nice to have everyone react to me the way Coil does but the old man''s unreasonable fear does fill me with a giddy sort of confidence. Humans tend to act so superior, even though we cursed are human. So it¡¯s just nice to see one who understands I could kill him if I wanted to.

    ¡°Nah,¡± I say. Keeping my distance from the old man so he doesn¡¯t get too intimidated.

    ¡°I have some questions you can answer.¡±

    He looks at me suspiciously for a moment before slowly replying.

    ¡°Alright. What did you want to know?¡±

    This is where if Viscarra is right things are going to get tricky.

    ¡°Magic healing. How is it done?¡±

    Instantly the suspicious look evaporates. Replaced by a very obvious nervousness. He even looks past me out into the first-floor landing as though someone might be there to help him. This early in the day there isn¡¯t much chance of that.

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    ¡°Well¡­ there are many kinds of mystical healing, for example, the LighTouched of the Isen Plateau channel energy through their connection to the World of Light. Which stimulates and accelerates the body''s natural healing, legend has it they can even resurrect the newly-¡±

    He¡¯s obviously stalling so I cut him off. ¡°You aren¡¯t them though, and you do magical healing.¡±

    The old surgeon stiffens a little. ¡°I¡¯m not a mage North I can¡¯t do any sort of magic.¡±

    I stare at him for a few heartbeats trying to figure out why he is being so evasive about this when I realise the answer is obvious. The old man is worried that I am going to snap and attack him once he tells me about it.

    ¡°You aren¡¯t a mage, but you can stick things that are already magical inside us. BloodRock doesn¡¯t keep a mage in the compound, but we get healed from horrific injuries all the time. Tell me how.¡± Before he can answer I add ¡° I promise I wont get angry.¡±

    I don¡¯t think he believes me but the old surgeon does eventually start to answer the question.

    ¡°Alright alright, you are correct. We purchase an enchanted substance in fairly large quantities that does the magical healing on our behalf. It-¡±

    Deciding I¡¯m sick of sneaking about the issue I cut him off again.

    ¡°It''s Forspoken stone isn¡¯t it? When we get hurt too badly for your skills you don¡¯t heal us at all, you just replace the damaged parts with Forspoken stone.¡±

    I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s conscious or not but while I''ve been talking Coil has been inching backwards. It has reached the point where now he is pushed right up against the wooden shrine to his weird eastern god.

    He lets out a long breath and nods. ¡°Yes. It is Forspoken stone, and before you ask we tell you it only works on bone so you don¡¯t dig it out. By the time most slaves find out, it doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    I can feel that strange hollow fear well up in me but with an edge of panic.

    ¡°Does that mean every single piece of me that has been replaced can be tracked by BloodRock?¡± I ask, trying to keep any emotion out of my voice.

    ¡°Oh North listen to me if you ever get free it won''t be from escaping, this isn¡¯t the way.¡±

    My response is almost a growl. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to escape, so just.¡± I Ball my fists. ¡° Just answer the question.

    ¡°No, it is what¡¯s called unaligned stone. Each of the houses¡­well basically every rich person in the city has a large piece of specially enhanced Forspoken stone that can be linked to smaller pieces inside a slave.¡± He moistens his lips before continuing.  ¡°You need a mage to do the linking and they like to charge a lot for it so only the one piece of stone inside you can be tracked or..you know blown up.¡±

    A large part of me is relieved to know half my body isn¡¯t subject to detonation at a whim from the houselord. The confirmation that my wounded organs have been eaten and then replaced by little black pearls still leaves my head spinning.

    ¡°A-am I even me?¡± My voice sounds small and weak to my own ears and I hate it. Something resembling sympathy flashes in the old man¡¯s eyes and he bids me to take a seat at his cluttered work table.  I do and to my annoyance, the old man doesn¡¯t immediately join me. Instead, he potters around for a little bit pouring us both a drink of cold tea into clay mugs.

    The drink is initially kind of nice, tasting of rosewater, sugars, and something else. The aftertaste though leaves much to be desired. Still, I don¡¯t complain, and in fact find myself grateful for something to focus on that isn¡¯t my own grim thoughts.

    ¡°That''s a difficult question to answer.¡± He eventually says with a sigh.

    ¡°Wise men and women have been arguing about what it means to have part of you replaced ever since the magic was discovered. I suppose if you don¡¯t feel any different it doesn¡¯t matter. Do you feel different?¡±

    I look at him flatly.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I think I feel the same but what if I¡¯m already different and, and¡±

    ¡°And you can¡¯t tell?¡± he finishes for me. I nod and take a long sip of the tea.

    ¡°It¡¯s a scary thought¡± Admits the older man ¡° But there isn¡¯t anything you can do about it, and if you don¡¯t notice a difference does it really matter?¡±

    I stare at him for a long time as I grapple with that question. He might be right I guess. I can¡¯t do anything so why let it bother me? Because if it''s true at some point I might stop being me entirely. I can imagine turning into one of those gelem things Viscarra talked about and not even thinking for myself anymore.

    ¡°It feels like it matters,¡± I say finally.

    The surgeon nods again and takes a sip of his own tea. ¡°While there might not be a correct answer there are some ideas on this subject that might help you figure yourself out.¡±

    It sounds like I¡¯m not going to get anything better than that out of the surgeon. Which honestly is better than I expected when I walked in here so I nod.

    ¡°What sort of ideas?¡± I ask tentatively.

    ¡°Probably the most pertinent is a thought experiment called The Mill of My Grandfather.¡± I don¡¯t know what pertinent means, or what a thought experiment is. So I do my best not to let my face go blank and hope that he will elaborate in a way that makes sense.

    I think he can tell I have no idea what he¡¯s talking about as Coil sighs and starts again.

    ¡° So you know what a mill is, yes?¡± He asks. I tongue the side of my mouth and glare at him.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Right, so let''s say my grandfather builds a mill. Inside it are great wheels and gears, and stones that grind grain.¡± He says before taking another sip.

    ¡°I know what a mill is,¡± I growl back. This causes the old man to flinch back like I¡¯m about to leap over the table at him.

    It takes a moment for him to continue but when he does I start to understand what he¡¯s getting at.

    ¡°By the time my father inherits the mill he has to replace some of the gears and repaint it several times. By the time the mill gets to me I need to replace even more inside it, the wheels, the stones, the blades. So the question becomes is it still the mill my grandfather built?¡±

    I furrow my brow as I genuinely don¡¯t know the answer. It¡¯s a complicated idea to chew on. If you replace everything it isn¡¯t right? Or is it? The mill still does the same things, still belongs to the same people, and it even still looks the same.

    ¡°So are the new parts absorbed into the whole and it continues as the same mill? Or do they replace the mill with something that simply looks the same? Personally, I like to think it''s the former.¡± He says all this while I drain the last of my tea. The drink still isn¡¯t exactly amazing but it certainly grew on me by the time I finished the cup.

    ¡°Which one is the former again?¡±

 Chapter 37: Get Back In The Box

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Chapter 37

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Get Back In The Box

    The next day we return to The Killing Fields hours in advance of my match. I honestly don¡¯t mind the early departure especially since Muraab informs me we will be held in viewing cages today. That means I will be able to see the matches before and after my own. As the viewing cages are held in a guarded area amongst the lower stands.  It comes at the cost of being close to the crowd and having idiot fans, gambling-obsessed weirdos, and strange rich people come and gawk at us.

    The price is worth it. I will not only be able to learn more about my future potential opponents, but I¡¯ll also have something to distract from the sharp little thoughts about my own artificial nature that barge their way to the front of my brain now and then. As this is a fight day I¡¯m still stupid hungry, and the scents of food from the stands around me are maddening.

    Kalon and Tota aren¡¯t fighting today, but they are still in the BloodRock cage with me. These sorts of events, at least according to Gori are all about the combination of pageantry and anticipation. As such every pitter who made it past the melee round will be here on display in the cages during each remaining leg of the event.

    Much to my amusement that includes Xael, but as a free man, he isn¡¯t held captive. Instead, next to the cage, they set him up on a little cushioned stool and an awning only big enough for one person. He looks ridiculous, but he can also get up and walk around the arena whenever he wants. So not <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">that ridiculous I suppose. No more than the three of us sitting alone in a cage that has a capacity for more than thirty.

    Despite the massive space Tota still manages to jab me with one of his spines when he steps past to piss in the corner. The sheer ineptitude of it annoys me and I would normally yell something at him, but a pair of middle-aged women TwoFinger whistle at Tota when he undoes his pants and I can¡¯t help but join in the laughter from Kalon and Xael.

    If anything the crowd for the first round of doubles matches is bigger and louder than it was for the melee. That makes sense to me. Propper matches without so much influence from luck are far more fascinating to watch. Though I suppose it could also be that our fame has grown in the last two days. Certainly, that''s the case for the HighSail pair. The cage holding the flame witch and the elephant boy is surrounded by a constantly replenishing crowd of fans.

    As with the melee, the first several fights of the day have nothing to do with The Storm Herald Invitational. They are just there to get the crowd excited and give people something to bet on before us apparently special fighters take the stage.

    Match one actually keeps me pretty entertained. It¡¯s a monster-only affair with two teams of four demi-hydras wearing blue or red sashes respectively released into the arena from opposite sides. I don¡¯t know how¡­well yes I do its magic obviously, but the two-headed lizards seem to understand which are and aren¡¯t their teammates. What ensues is a hectic scramble as the demis try to jostle, and bite for position before unleashing various torrents of acid at their enemies.

    The first creature to fall is a blue team demi-hydra with a colorful crest on one head, but not the other. A pair of the red team monsters manage to latch onto each of its heads with their massive teeth and in a series of savage jerking motions decapitate the blue lizard¡­twice. As the heads tear away a thick spray of acid launches like diagonal rain up into the first few rows of the crowd.

    The screaming and acrid stench prompts uproarious laughter and enthusiastic knee-slapping from the sections of the fans that are safe from the acid. Those of us in the cage are no exception, laughing at the free people who get so much pleasure out of watching us die. Tota even does an impersonation of the man who got sprayed the worst. His exaggerated staggering and pitiful moaning about how his face is gone are so stupid but genuinely hilarious that even I laugh.

    Eventually, the Blue team retreats back through their gate with the red-sashed Demi-Hydras hissing and snapping at them. The winning team is declared by the Arena judge, after which a glow appears around the remaining lizards prompting them to suddenly become docile.  A few moments later a team of serville slaves lead the Demis away.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®Get back in the box till we want to see you bleed again.¡¯

    Some of the slaves remain to give the pit floor a quick clean in preparation for the next match. This mostly involves dumping little sacks of extra sand onto any patch that is overly bloody.

    About a tenth of an hourglass later that match begins. It''s two big teams of kids. I don¡¯t pay it much attention as none of them are from BloodRock but I do have to admit there is something fun about the way the little kids throw themselves at each other. This lot hasn¡¯t learned how to be afraid yet. I¡¯m more than a little envious.

    ¡°Hey Xael,¡± I say, glancing over to the rich boy. He is whispering something in the ear of a wealthy looking woman I don¡¯t recognize. After she leaves he looks to me.

    ¡°Hmm? What?¡± He asks. The foreign boy is hard to read sometimes, from anyone else I would think they were trying to annoy me on purpose.

    ¡°After our match can you get me something to eat from one of the stands?¡± He nods his reply.

    ¡°You don¡¯t want something now?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡° I don¡¯t eat before a fight.¡±  He makes a little ¡®ahh¡¯ sound but doesn¡¯t question it. Xael might not really be a pitter but he is a tournament fighter. I imagine even where he¡¯s from young men have stomach issues when they are about to face death.

    As the day progresses, pit slaves and animals bleed, and idiot fans come to stare at us or call out stupid questions. Thankfully when it comes to the BloodRock cage they are mostly interested in Xael who actually seems to enjoy this nonsense.

    With nothing better to do, the three of us slaves chat a little about the fights we are watching and about who we think Xael and I are likely to draw into today. The last match before my own is already underway when I get around to asking Kalon something I¡¯ve been wondering about.

    ¡°Why did you challenge me?¡± I ask him only slightly out of the blue. ¡°You have Morean in Hall Two, so even if you won it¡¯s not like you would have ended up in charge.¡±

    The blonde slave lets out a little laugh before he replies.

    ¡° Other than you intentionally hurting me during practice all the time?¡±

    A little smile crosses my face and I quickly stuff it away. I definitely had done that at least twice that I can remember. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m the only one though. Someone gets sent to the tower that way every week.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    I¡¯m pretty sure he saw my little grin but Kalon doesn¡¯t mention it. Instead, he goes on.

    ¡°Everyone knows my mother is old man BoodRock¡¯s favorite cook. You all think I am going to end up in the kitchens with her when I turn eighteen.¡± He says staring at me with challenge in his eyes.

    ¡°Why not?¡± I ask with a shrug. ¡°Everyone knows adult pit-slaves die a lot, and domestics well they don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Domestics also don¡¯t go free before they are broken down old people, and they certainly never make enough coin to free other slaves.¡± The reply catches me off guard, but I suppose it shouldn¡¯t. Every pit-slave has their own dreams and goals but they all involve themselves and their loved ones going free.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say with a little nod. ¡°If you want a chance at a life this is probably it.¡±

    He makes a weird little gesture with his hands as if to say ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Tell me about it.¡¯

    ¡°So I asked Morean how I could get everyone to stop calling me part-timer, and kitchen boy. He said if I fight you win or lose it should stop.¡±

    I glance out at the pit when the roaring crowd signals something significant has happened.

    ¡°Did It work?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Kind of,¡± Kalon says as the last few heartbeats of the match below thud to a close. ¡°I think getting invited to this probably helped more.¡±

    I can see Muraab approaching to collect myself and Xael for our shortly starting match. So I clap Kalon on the shoulder and stand up.

    ¡°Well kitchen boy, pay close attention to how a real pitter does it.¡±

    This prompts a little snort from Kalon and I head for the door of the cell.

    ¡°Oh just get killed already,¡± he says good-naturedly.

    Xael and I make the walk to the pit floor first which is frankly a little insulting. Everyone knows the bigger fan favorite enters second. Once I have done my little left foot dig at the sand we pose for the crowd as the same high-pitched lady gives us a similar introduction to last time. I¡¯m starting to think she is the main judge for this arena as the little viewing box she makes her magically enhanced introductions from is identical to the ones occupied by the other two judges. That doesn¡¯t make the way we are described any less offensive.

    Following advice from Xael I continue to pose and make scary faces for the crowd while the other team gets introduced. I had argued we would look ridiculous and indeed I feel like an idiot. The crowd doesn¡¯t laugh though, in fact, they seem to like it.

    I have never heard of the pair we are fighting. Two cursed called Locke and Shahim. So I pay some attention to their introduction trying to get some sort of clue what I¡¯m up against here. Judging from how the shrieking judge introduces me and Xael, I am probably wasting my time.

    ¡°And their opponents! Representing House Saffron.¡±

    ¡° The Scaled scourge himself! Considered by many to be the best prospect out of DockSide in years.¡±

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®DockSide has prospects?

    ¡° With only one loss to his name, I give you Shaaahiiiiiiimmmm!!¡±

    A significant portion of the crowd erupts at the screamed name. Now is the time for Xael and I to cease our capering for the crowd and actually get a look at our opposition. Meeting my partner in the middle of the pit floor I eye the other team aggressively.

    I¡¯m guessing from the title of the scaled scourge Shahim is the big-eyed, bald fish cursed in front of me. He isn¡¯t entirely covered in scales but they extend further than my own fur does on me. He is armed with a flat-headed type two medium axe. The kid has good taste I guess.

    ¡°Stepping in Shahim¡¯s partner Taysin is a newcomer from far to the north. A beast that crippled four guards on his way to Far Mantys. I give you Looooooccccckke!!!!¡±

    Since Shahim¡¯s partner fell during the first round melee he is technically supposed to be alone. However, the owner of the pit-slaves in question can pay a fee to substitute someone when their fighters are hurt. As far as I know House Saffron has never turned down the option when it¡¯s available.

    The apparent newcomer to the pits looks like a sorcerer used magic to double Gori in size. Same brown hair, same doe eyes, same hoofed feet, same antlers just bigger, a lot bigger. And <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">a lot more heavily scarred. His weapon is a classic bronze-headed Far Mantyian club.

    The crowd doesn¡¯t react to the antlered boy at all but he makes a rude gesture with his free hand at them. I hate to admit it but I am starting to like these two. That doesn¡¯t change that I¡¯m about to leave them both bloody and screaming.

    Leaning into Xael I don¡¯t whisper exactly, the arena is far too loud for that. My voice is however lowered enough that he should be the only one that can hear me.

    ¡°You take the antlered one, those hooves make turning hard, and he won¡¯t keep up with you well. ¡°

    He nods ¡° And you will be fine with this Shahim?¡±

    It''s a fair question, the fish-boy looks strong and moves like someone who can fight pretty good. Even if he is, I should be fine. I¡¯m the fucking Beast of BloodRock.

    ¡°Yeah, I think I can out-muscle him if it really comes down to it,¡± I say quickly as the call to begin can only be moments away.

    I¡¯m right. The high-pitched lady screams for us to start and we fan out trying to find favorable angles or positions.

    I¡¯m slightly ahead of Xael as he¡¯s faster than I am, whereas my range of threat is larger. This means I can protect him, while he remains in position to quickly react once an enemy engages me. This pseudo-formation doesn¡¯t last. The pair of Saffron boys simply stand side by side and charge me as one.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> I have just enough time to think <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®I hate it when they are coordinated.¡¯ Before the four of us clash I don¡¯t have time to consider anything at all.

 Chapter 38: The Long Forty-Nine

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Chapter 38

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">The Long Forty-Nine

    I¡¯ve seen the benefit of teamwork plenty of times. Two or more pitters will come together to create a unit stronger than the sum of its parts. There is an elegance to the synchronicity of it. A beauty in the way the very best at it will adapt to all manner of threats, and overcome enemies that all logic says should crush them.

    We don¡¯t really do things that way in House BloodRock. Yes of course there are teamwork exercises we do, and there are a few partners like Morean and Task that work together extremely well. I am not and have never been someone in a team with that kind of synergy. When it comes to me the trainers in my house have always stressed individual excellence and that suits me just fine.

    Apparently, it suits Shahim and Locke pretty well too as it takes almost no effort to shatter their formation and break the fight into a pair of individual duels. I don¡¯t have to recklessly break their charge, or fake them out or anything. I step forward and swing my axe at Shahim and the fish boy meets me head on. It occurs to me that the two of them haven''t had much time to develop

    synergy. Not to mention the big antlered boy needs a lot of room to fight effectively. Room the extremely nimble Xael is happy to give him.

    Where the two of them begin an elaborate dance making use of the huge pit floor. My world shrinks down to myself, my axe, the fish boy, his axe, and almost no space in between.

    Fighting shahim is like fighting a mirror. The way he moves, the axe he is armed with, even his height and reach are all nearly identical to my own. The result is the two of us slamming our axes together, blade head to blade head once, twice, three times in a row. I think even the crowd instantly realizes they are seeing something special as their roar seems to increase every time our weapons meet.

    If this was the kind of tale we got told as kids I think we would separate, and take a tiny moment to acknowledge the skill and strength of the other and the unlikeliness of what just took place.

    This isn¡¯t a story and even if it was I¡¯m terrible at that sort of thing anyway. Instead, we both drive forward testing the strength of the other, hafts and axe heads locking together. I¡¯m stronger, though not by much. Still, it''s enough of an advantage that I risk letting go of my weapon with one hand, to slam a fist into his face.

    He slips his head to one side, too slow to avoid the punch entirely but he moves enough that the blow skims across his cheek rather than smashing into him. The scales on his face slice open my knuckles. A wound that hurts more than such a small cut has any right to.

    The fish-boy twists his axe, separating the two weapons and attempting to crack the side of my head with the end of his axe''s handle. I duck under it, but Shahim tucks his elbow a little as he swings the weapon. An elbow I dip my head right into.

    The blow lacks the force of a true elbow strike, but with my own momentum added to it has no problem at all splitting open the skin above and below my right eye. The torn skin instantly begins leaking blood, but my fur matts around it and keeps the liquid from dripping into my eye.

    During all this Shahim is trying to pivot off to get a favorable angle where he can attack me but I can¡¯t really do the same back. Ignoring the pain in my face and hand I lash out one-handed with my axe. It might look like a wild artless swing, and it is but it meets the fish boy in the side as he turns.

    He makes a little wince but being from house Saffron he is equipped with one of those red-painted cuirasses. Which sadly stops the blow from introducing his ribs to sunlight. Matter of fact it doesn¡¯t even slow him down.

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    Weird scaled features locked in a mask of concentration Shahim unleashes a modified version of the classic ¡® high, high, low high¡¯ combination. I like the way he shifts his weight to set up the next attack each time. Something I neither have time to admire nor desire to tell him I''m impressed by.

    I knock the first two attacks aside, silently thanking whatever god is listening that my axe didn¡¯t break from the continued abuse. Before forcing him to end the combination early by bringing my axe forward in a tight overhead strike that both guards most of my body and threatens to end the fish boy.

    Technically if Shahim commits he can easily drive the head of his axe under my combined guard and right into my knee or calf. The only issue is it requires a willingness to endure my own axe coming down on the crown of his skull.

    The fish boy makes the choice that doesn¡¯t result in me ramming sharpened metal through his brain.

    Pulling a combination up short is almost never free. It puts him off balance and he does an awkward little semi-hop away from my attack.

    I don''t waste the opportunity, surging forward with a series of heavy two-handed attacks intended to either hack him apart or keep him reeling. Fully aware of what I¡¯m doing he desperately parries while trying to get his feet set properly again. Panic lends him speed and while I batter his own axe into him, I can¡¯t quite break his guard.

    Managing to reset his stance Shahim instantly goes back on the offensive. He thrusts the head of his axe at my chest, twisting the weapon mid-attack so that the blade goes from vertical to horizontal as it moves.

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Saffron¡¯s golden Balls! This kid is good.¡¯

    I think as the flat top of the weapon slips past my guard and slams into my chest. I grunt as something cracks in my sternum. I double over a little and now it''s my turn to stagger off balance. I can tell he senses the kill by the way his eyes light up and he surges forward with two-handed swings just like I did.

    We may have switched roles but there is one key difference between when he was off balance before, and my own broken posture now. I¡¯m pretending.

    The fish boy brings his axe into a diagonal slice aimed at my collar.

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Got him.¡¯

    Twisting out of the way I whip my own axe one-handed upwards, hooking the head of my blade behind his I yank him forward. Shahim is pulled stumbling into me, with my free hand I grab the lip of his cuirass just below his neck ensuring he can¡¯t escape. Given a few heartbeats, the fish boy will disentangle his axe or drop it and this will turn into a grappling match.

    I don¡¯t give him even one. Lunging my head forward I bring the pit of spears that is my mouth closed on his face. My teeth rip through flesh and scales, catching on the soft bone of his nose. The appendage cracks between my jaws, as the boy starts to scream. Everyone always screams when I bite them. It doesn¡¯t matter how tough you are, there is just something about getting part of you eaten that just feels wrong on a level beyond pain.

    I give a little jerk of my neck and our duel is over. His nose and a significant chunk of the flesh around tear from his face. I don¡¯t think anyone can stand up to that. The fish boy takes an unsteady step back as I let him go. His knees buckle and while he doesn¡¯t collapse exactly, he does slowly fall into a sitting position, all the fight gone from him. I recognize the slow movements and the blank look on the fish boy¡¯s face. He¡¯s gone into shock.

    Spitting out the wad of flesh I use the little breath the blow to my chest hasn¡¯t stolen to let out a roar of exaltation.

    Forty-nine heartbeats. That was how long our fight lasted. Maybe the longest forty-nine heartbeats of my entire life.

 Chapter 39: The Fan

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Chapter 39

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">The Fan

    I¡¯d love to take a few moments to catch my breath, I really would. My chest hurts, my face hurts, my hand hurts. None of that changes the fact that Xael is still fighting and might very well need my help. Even if he doesn¡¯t, after the hourglass of complaints and punch to the face I endured for abandoning him last time Xael is absolutely getting my help.

    I¡¯m almost certain Shahim won¡¯t be re-entering the fight, but I take a few long steps away from the sitting fish boy just in case. My safety a little more assured. I do a quick turn about seeking the other two.

    I catch sight of them near the edge of the pit floor. The big cursed is doing the smart thing and trying to trap Xael in place. It isn¡¯t working, and Locke is paying the price for his attempts in blood. The tall cursed is sporting cuts on his face and abdomen, a lot of cuts.

    No one knows better than I do that fighting Xael is like fighting an intrusive thought. You strike at him and he falls back, only to instantly surge at you from an angle that favors him. It genuinely starts to feel like your own attempts to hit him are all part of the dark-haired boy¡¯s plan for the fight.

    While it doesn¡¯t look like Xael needs any help I can¡¯t rely on that. If Locke can land even a glancing blow or get ahold of my partner there is a good chance I¡¯ll need a new one. With a little sigh, I take off running towards the still dueling pair.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®How did they even get so far away in such a short time?¡¯

    Crossing the distance at speed leaves me breathing heavier than it should, an aching souvenir of the duel I just won. I do my best to ignore the pain, a task that is fairly easy now but will only get more difficult as my excitement fades.

    I have to admit I¡¯m filled with the urge to unleash a battle cry as I close in on the big antlered boy. Not being amateur trash I ignore the desire and just swing at the boy¡¯s lower half. I¡¯m not sure what but something still gives me away. It might be the sound of my claws as I skid to a stop behind Locke, or maybe he saw my shadow or something in Xael¡¯s eyes. It doesn¡¯t really matter what it was, the huge Saffron pit-slave spins to intercept me at the last moment. As his mace deflects my axe not away but upwards, I sincerely wish he hadn¡¯t.

    I¡¯m not known for tight control of my axe. I¡¯m perfectly capable of fighting that way, I simply prefer to use the weapon like a dance partner or counterweight. I and it throwing each other around as I fuse attack and defence with the savagery of my swings. There are a lot of benefits to this style. It increases the power and speed of my attacks, whilst costing me less energy than one might think. It makes me harder to block head-on, and extremely intimidating to launch attacks against. It doesn¡¯t however lend itself to pulling blows very well.

    As mace meets axe my momentum collides with that of the turning antlered boy. As I told Xael his ability to spin on the spot isn¡¯t great and he has to take a big side step to make it work. Locke¡¯s upper body strength is so great that the awkwardness of the movement almost doesn¡¯t matter. I lose any semblance of control I had over the weapon as it flings upwards bouncing off the cuirass¡¯ collar guard to embed perfectly just below where the neck meets the jaw. A guaranteed kill.

    If I had planned the manoeuvre I¡¯d be extremely proud of myself. Instead, as I let go of the axe, all I get is a feeling like I¡¯m going to throw up.

    This is one more kid who didn¡¯t want to be here bleeding to death in front of me. One more piece of evidence that I¡¯m really the monster the pamphlets and announcer lady say I am.

    ¡°Fuck!¡± I scream. Locke has begun to uselessly scrabble at the weapon I left behind in him. Even if he gets it out he will just die faster.  Soon he collapses weakly to the ground, his great strength fleeing with his blood.

    All he had to do was nothing. Nothing! Sure he would have lost but that happened anyway, and he¡¯d be alive. The fish boy might be a lot uglier than when he stepped onto the pit floor but barring some bad luck the arena surgeons will save him. This big idiot got himself killed on his first time out.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®He didn¡¯t get himself killed. You killed him.¡¯

    The thought is as sudden as it is unwelcome. Sweeping in like a bandit to rob my victory of joy, leaving only pain and the sudden exhaustion that comes with the end of a fight. Remembering the conversations I¡¯ve had about being more entertaining I raise one arm in celebration when the judge declares us the winners. My heart is even less in it than usual.

    Or at least it starts that way. The dark cloud building over my mood is suddenly banished, annihilated by a spear of wonder that strikes right to my core. A spear made of just one word repeated again and again.

    ¡°NORTH, NORTH, NORTH!¡± Come the disjointed chants of the crowd. They cheer Xael¡¯s name too, probably more of them in fact and that''s along with the jeers and boos, from the Saffron fans. I care so little about the other noises they may as well not exist. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of people chanting <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">my name. I¡¯ve been cheered before but not like this. Nothing I¡¯ve ever felt is like this.

    The transcendent feeling of exhilaration is already fading by the time I get back to the viewing cell. Sitting down causes something to shift a tiny bit inside me. The pain accompanying the movement however is not tiny. It happens to be intense enough that I have to stifle myself from crying out by sitting and just breathing for a little bit.

    Once I¡¯m a little recovered Xael and I trade a couple of words with Kalon and Tota. The other pair of BloodRock slaves have all sorts of thoughts on the fight but are at least smart enough not to clap me on the shoulder or something. Their criticisms and praises are annoying, but not nearly so much as whatever is stuck between my teeth. Digging it out with a fingernail I grimace as it turns out to be one of Shahim¡¯s scales. As gross as that is it reminds my body just how hungry I am.

    Evidently, I¡¯m not the only one. When I mention food to the completely uninjured Xael, Tota and Kalon practically teleport over to make their own requests. The dark-haired human throws his hands up in exasperation.

    ¡°You know I just sat down. Why did you three not say this while I was still standing?¡± He seems more amused than irritated. Offering the world''s most exaggerated groan he gets up off the little covered seat and strides off into the stands.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    None of us have any idea what the foreigner is going to bring back but we are all excited. Somehow the conversation turns to a series of dumb jokes about how if Tota ever goes free he should become a meat or jerky vendor so he can hang the drying or already cooked food on his spines as a sort of moving advertisement. The spiky cursed laughs but genuinely seems to consider it. Apparently, his spines grow back pretty quick, and they don¡¯t hurt when broken off. So while it wouldn¡¯t really work it isn''t that crazy either.

    There is a little bit of time until the main event of the day, despite being annoyed that there is a match that supposedly warrants a better position than mine and Xael¡¯s. I¡¯m both excited to see a fight between skilled pitters, and professionally curious about my potential opposition.

    That curiosity lasts right up until Xael returns. The scent of spices roasted into the skin of game birds precedes him and utterly crushes any thoughts not related to food as it does.

    The dark-haired foreigner hands three sticks through the cage bars. Each has an entire small cooked bird impaled on it. The three of us in the cell are wide-eyed like we are looking at a legendary treasure. Biting into the bird I am struck with a strong desire to attack the other two and take their sticks from them. I don¡¯t of course, it just tastes really good.

    What doesn¡¯t taste good is the blood that spurts into my mouth when I accidentally bite the side of my mouth. I make a noise of pain and put my hand to my face. Everyone bites their cheek while eating on occasion, when it happens to me I lose whole chunks of flesh.

    I¡¯m still dealing with the surprisingly intense pain when Xael calls me over to the side of the cage. The foreigner is leaning against the bars talking to a dog boy who couldn¡¯t be older than ten. What''s weird is the kid is dressed in a fine sleeveless tunic similar to Xael¡¯s, but it utterly lacks any house colors or symbols.

    I repress a groan as I stand and pad over to the bars. Getting to my feet hurts my sternum less than sitting did, but it''s still unpleasant in the extreme. I don¡¯t know what Xael wants or who this kid is. I do know I¡¯ve never seen someone so heavily cursed who wasn¡¯t a slave before.

    ¡°What?¡± I hiss through gritted teeth, prompting Xael to weirdly reassure the boy that I¡¯m not angry, just sore. Obviously, he¡¯s wrong, I¡¯m sore and angry.

    ¡°This is Muaritzo Verus, of the famed Verus trading clan. He tells me he is dying to meet you.¡± Says my partner with an easy smile. I¡¯ve never heard of the Verus clan, but I¡¯ve never been more than fifteen miles from the BloodRock compound either. They could be renowned the world over for all I know.

    As the boy beams up at me I notice his feet are the same as mine, small, clawed, and out of proportion with the rest of his body. It turns out if you have enough money they do make shoes for feet like mine, well sandals at least.

    We stare at each other in silence for a few heartbeats before the kid finally speaks. When he does the words come out in an excited flood.

    ¡°I-I Hello. I¡¯m Muari and I can¡¯t believe you won like that. My dad and brothers all said the moose guy was too big for you, but you just.¡± He makes a little attacking motion. ¡° Executed him like he was nothing, and that fight you had with the fish guy, that was amazing!¡± He goes on to describe the contest I just lived through back at me and I think I hate this kid a little.

    It isn¡¯t just that his chattering at me is annoying, though it definitely is. I¡¯m also not overly bothered by the fact that he clearly chose to support me because we are both dog people, sort of. It''s the clothes and the grooming I realize. The obvious signs of wealth and freedom whilst still bearing signs of a heavy curse.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®What makes him so special?¡¯ I wonder resentfully. Is it the money? Do his parents just love him more than mine loved me? Why is this weak-looking dog-boy not only free but getting to watch and enjoy as I risk my life.

    While I¡¯m having these thoughts Xael hands a book and charcoal pencil to the kid. Muaritzo takes it reverently looking down at some rune I don¡¯t recognize. Then in a sudden explosion of movement, he thrusts the book and pencil through the bars of the cage.

    ¡°I know most pitters don¡¯t write,¡± he says with obvious nerves. ¡° But if you have a mark please let me add it to my collection.¡± I¡¯ve heard about this occasionally, some pit slaves like to make a little drawing or rune as a sort of declaration or sign of ownership.

    I don¡¯t have anything like that. In fact, if I reach out and take the pencil it will be the second time I¡¯ve held one in my entire life. Looking down at the blank page opposite what I assume is Xael¡¯s mark a nasty idea occurs to me.

    ¡°Fine,¡± I say leaning forward as if to take the leatherbound book and pencil. Instead, I gather some saliva in my mouth and spit on the page. To my surprise what comes out is only partly spit. Instead, I spray the bank page with drops of my blood. What''s even more surprising is that Muaritzo seems ecstatic. His yellow eyes go unbelievably wide as he inspects my handiwork.

    ¡°Gods above and below thank you!¡± His voice cracks as if with emotions as he says it. Before very gingerly holding the book flat and open so as to what. Avoid smudging my bloodstain?

    Even I don''t have the heart to tell him I''d meant to disrespect or even damage the book. Not with those big eyes staring up at me with unbearable earnestness.

    ¡°Yeah. No problem¡± I say, fighting down my irritation. It isn''t this kid''s fault he has better parents than me.

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Be nice. You want fans remember?¡¯

    I glance up at Xael who gives me an encouraging nod from behind the boy.

    ¡°So where are you from Mauri?¡± I ask in my best impersonation of someone who actually wants to be here.

 Chapter 40: The Whirlwind

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Chapter 40

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">The Whirlwind

    The ten-year-old kid more than overstays his welcome but I manage to keep calm and talk to him in a friendly manner. His family has come south from Near Mantys to oversee some longer-term investments he knows very little about. Not actually caring why his family are here I don¡¯t press and we mostly talk about the fights. He tells me his family and their various attendants will be watching every leg of the Storm Herald Invitational. At that, I force a smile and playfully insist he cheers for me the whole time. Mauri promises vehemently that he will.

    I¡¯ve basically run out of things I think are appropriate to say to a ten-year-old when finally a bodyguard working for his family collects the boy. The man in question is a massive cursed bearing the main and fanged maw of a big cat. He seems nice enough, but something about the way the big man smells makes my fur stand on end.

    Xael and I bid the kid farewell, and I slump back onto one of the benches in the cage. It¡¯s a good thing that the bodyguard guy came when he did. I can see the huge hourglass hanging above the pit floor, which shows roughly how long until the next match. It has less than a tenth to go.

    Once the boy and his protector are out of earshot Xael shoots a mischievous smile my way.

    ¡°They should change your name to the babysitter of BloodRock. Much more appropriate no?¡± At the foreign boy¡¯s words, I glare daggers his way but Kalon and Tota burst out laughing.

    ¡°You, You can¡¯t,¡± Says Tota through his laughter. ¡°You can¡¯t say something like that without warning us while we are trapped in a cage with him.¡±

    Kalon snorts and replies to his pit partner. ¡°Why are you worried? North has clearly gone soft.¡± He proceeds to impersonate me asking insultingly stupid versions of the things I had said.

    ¡°That is so interesting kid, was the thousand-mile trek here long?¡±

    I don¡¯t want to admit that I¡¯m almost as amused by the display as I am irritated. So I offer a half-hearted glower from one side of the cage to the other. ¡°When this tournament is over I¡¯m putting all three of you in the tower.¡±

    When the hourglass hits the end I watch the shouting announcer lady make her way out onto the balcony of the judge viewing box she occupies. She is richly adorned in a fancy purple dress of classic Far Mantyian design. That is to say no sleeves and a plunging neckline.

    The crowd quiets a little in anticipation as she takes a drink of something and waits for the first team of youth pitters to make their appearance.

    It isn¡¯t a long wait as a pair in BreakWill blue-painted armor emerge onto the sand. One is a human boy about my age, and the other is some sort of cursed with a tail and thick plates of flat scales over most of his visible skin.

    From the opposing gate comes a team I recognize. Corlin the SkyBlessed and his long-term fighting partner Arium the pig cursed. They are clad in light but well-made armor sporting the noose icon of House Tariff on their chests. They have been out of the city for a while but I remember both watching them fight and speaking to them a few times when I was sent to the Tariff compound. Nice kids but more importantly a very dangerous team.

    ¡°Fighting on behalf of House BreakWill,¡± comes the high-pitched voice of the announcer.

    ¡°Son of the famed killer known as the Atash street butcher, searching for his fifteenth straight win. ¡° She takes a sharp inhale that I can see but is for whatever not enhanced like her speech. ¡°THE MONSTEEEERRRRRRR¡¯SSSSSS SHAADOOOOW!! DATUUUUNNNNNN VEERRRRRROOOOOOO!!!!¡± She has a way of rolling her ¡®r¡¯s that I don¡¯t think I could replicate with a lifetime of practice.

    ¡°Joining Datun is a boy who needs no introduction!¡± Having never seen this guy before I¡¯m inclined to disagree.

    ¡°The Youth pitter who has faced more animals, and been fed to more monsters than anyone else still breathing!¡±

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®Fed to?¡¯

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°TOLEEEEEEEEEEEEBBBBB THE BLOOOODDDLLESSSSS!!!!¡±

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">''Ah''

    it''s Toleb, that makes sense. I''ve never seen the Armadillo boy before, but I do know of him. If there is a youth in all Far Mantys with more stone inside him than me. It has to be Toleb, supposedly he even survived having his stomach tube things ripped out by a pair of lions.

    The crowd¡¯s cheering for the BreakWill team has only just begun to die back down when the announcer lady starts up again.

    ¡°Freshly returned to Far Mantys after their utter domination of the Upper GrassLands are their opponents. Fighting on behalf of House Tariff is a pair that has never lost together! With over forty doubles matches under their belts, Known to the centaurs as ¡®The Rock and The Storm¡¯. ¡° She takes a deep inhale.

    ¡° I GIVE YOU ARRRRRRRRIIIIIUUUUMMMM THE BREAKER AND THE WHIRLWIND CORRRRRRRLLLIIINNNNNN VAAAASSSSSSPPPPPPPAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!!!!¡±

    I almost feel bad for Toleb and Datun. They are good fighters, they really are. If Xael and I fought a match with them it would likely become an absolute war of a contest. They aren¡¯t fighting us though they are fighting Corlin and Arium. Which as it turns out is not quite so furiously contested.

    I¡¯ve been nursing a sneaking suspicion that the local boys might be a little out of their depths and when the shout to begin comes I am proven more than a little right. Of the four combatants three are armed with spears of some kind. Corlin has a long spear more than twice his own height in length, Toleb is armed similarly, while Datun has a short spear and another two on his back looped through a piece of rope wrapped around his torso. Only Arium is armed entirely differently; the tusked and heavily muscled pig boy carries a pair of war hammers.

    The crowd lets out a series of gasps and ¡®ooo¡¯s as the reason these two are undefeated together is revealed. Arium bursts into an immediate sprint at his opponents, with the green-haired Corlin only a half-step behind. Things don¡¯t stay that way for long though. Well before the two teams collide The SkyBlessed boy slams the but of his long spear into the ground, there is a rush of air toward him and he uses the weapon as a lever to vault upwards.

    This is a little different from what I remember. When they were younger Arium would make a sort of step out of his hands and throw Corlin, launching himself this way is a lot faster and gets him a lot more height. What is the same is the result.

    I have never claimed to have a good understanding of the blessed or their abilities. Still, this one in particular has always struck me as unusual. The SkyBlessed boy doesn¡¯t come back down. It¡¯s like he deftly lands on a platform in the air that only he can see or touch. He does slowly descend but most matches are long over by the time he''s anywhere near the ground.

    This one isn¡¯t any different. Simply walking across the empty space Corlin begins his assault on the BreakWill pair. Attacking from high above with his long spear it looks just like how I imagine someone would spearfish. Toleb and Datun try to use the range of their own weapons to fight back against the SkyBlessed but Arium comes charging into them. The pig boy¡¯s little hammers a blur as he attacks with abandon and surprising speed.

    Once Arium closed that distance the fight is all but over. The pair of BreakWill boys are clearly skilled as they attempt a solid fighting retreat. It isn¡¯t enough, being forced to fight on so many angles at once is simply too much. Any attempt to focus on one threat results in the other instantly taking a punishing toll.

    Datun dodges well, and Toleb more than lives up to his reputation for durability but in no time at all their wounds are piling up while the boys from House Tariff remain virtually untouched. Bleeding all over the place and clearly outmatched the BreakWills eventually make the smart choice and surrender.

    There are always a lot of boos from the crowd when we ¡®take the easy way out¡¯, but fuck them, they aren¡¯t the ones down here losing blood. Better to be a loser than dead, even if being one too long will get you killed anyway. I would rather be neither, and watching this near execution masquerading as a fight has sent my mind tumbling down all sorts of paths as I try to think of a solution to what I just saw.

    For some reason I¡¯m nervous about it, but after a few moments reminding myself I know what I¡¯m talking about I broach my thoughts to the other three boys in and near the cage. We bounce a few ideas on how to potentially defeat the Tariff pair. By the time the event is we are back in the wagon all three of us are almost certain we have the answer.

 Chapter 41: Ice

    Chapter 41

    Ice

    The festival nature of a minor tournament means the schedule for the competitors is fairly punishing. There are two fights every two days until only two teams are left battling to claim victory over the entire thing. They¡­I will fight in a special championship match with lots of pomp and fanfare.

    This early into the Storm Herald Invitational there are still enough competitors that I won¡¯t have to fight again on the next event day which is both a blessing and a curse. My body can always use more time between matches, especially with the painful nature of my cracked sternum. My mind however is a different story.

    It isn¡¯t like I can stop thinking about my upcoming fights, playing out all the ways things could go in my mind again and again. Winning, losing, getting hurt, killing my opponents. Every moment I¡¯m not training, these scenarios dominate my thoughts. And that''s on top of the budding fear I always feel before a match, which is itself exacerbated by the knowledge that the level of my opposition can only go up as I win tournament matches.

    These rampant thoughts assaulting me make my rest time less than restful. The morning after my match against the moose guy and the fish guy I head to the practice pits whilst the weapons drills and sparring are taking place. Not being forced to I obviously don¡¯t join in. I didn¡¯t even go on my run, training with the other kids today can go right to the world of shadows.

    I do however approach Harrk, who is running the training to get my hands on a type one light axe. The difference between a type one and my beloved type two is the top of the axehead. The type one curves up into a point, where the type two is flat like a big hatchet. Being a light axe rather than a medium it''s also a lot smaller than I prefer, and not long enough to be wielded two-handed the way I like. These traits which usually make me avoid the weapon are exactly why I want it now.

    Harrk is happy to let me grab one from the unlocked weapon racks, though obviously he and the other guards will stop me from taking it out of the training pits.  Finding a free practice dummy doesn¡¯t take long and I get to work making myself look like an idiot with my unpracticed, unorthodox technique.

    Practicing something new is basically never fun. In particular a specialist skill like the one I''m practising. You have to sort of fight your instincts and relearn things. It creates a period where you are a worse fighter than usual. In theory, you come out the other side a superior warrior to how you started like how those crawly bugs come out of their shell things as moths.

    I have at least four days to get this right, which should be plenty of time since it''s hardly the first time I¡¯ve picked up a type one light axe.  It might be even longer before I am matched up against Corlin and Arium, if at all.  Now if only I had a similar scheme to work on for the flame witch and her pet colossus.

    That night I take it fairly easy, and we focus on making sure Kalon is sharp. He and Tota will be fighting the second to last remaining team from House Saffron. Considering how many spots the richest house held within the tourney I¡¯m a little surprised they have almost all been eliminated. Good, those red-armoured losers always look down on the rest of us anyway.

    No spices for our food tonight, that only happens the day of a victory, not the days after. On the upside, it means we don¡¯t have to listen to yet another night of BloodRock waxing poetic about how great the house is. We are still mid-tournament which means we are fed and watered a little better than usual at least. After the food at the BlackMist party and then the fatty little gamebird at the arena it tastes especially bland.

    Sleep that night is a weird experience, and by weird I mostly mean bad. I¡¯m practically asleep before my head meets my cot. Yet I find myself waking up frequently throughout the night, my chest aching from the lack of movement. It''s frankly annoying how long you can find yourself in pain from just a single injury that should be fairly minor.

    Annoying enough in fact that once the sun <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">finally rises I resolve to go find Coil again. The nervous old surgeon was surprisingly helpful when I had been seeking information about the nature of magical healing. The thought of how much of me has been replaced is still horrifying, but It doesn¡¯t dominate my mind as much as it did before I spoke to him last time.

    It is my hope that after our shared tea and words, Coil might not be quite so afraid of me, but when I stride into his room at the bottom of the tower it''s the same surprised stuttering as always.

    Once the surgeon calms down a little I explain about the pain in my sternum, and ask what I can do about it. Coil informs me that the only real cure is time, an answer that would bother me a lot less if I wasn¡¯t halfway through a tournament.

    This always fucking happens when I¡¯m in a multi-legged event. Injuries big and small build up with shocking speed. It''s enough to make me wish I could move like Resh or even Xael. Neither of them can break through a guard the way I do, or bite someone¡¯s face off like I can. But when it comes to avoiding injury they both leave me in the dust.

    Since time and rest are out of my reach at the moment and pain herbs will make me fight like shit, all he can really offer is a few minor ways to mitigate the pain.

    ¡°Your best option is going to be Ice,¡± he says thoughtfully. ¡°Put that up against the injured area and the cold will act as a sort of salve.¡±

    I stare at him as though the old man has taken leave of his wits. Maybe he has, it all sounds like slightly insane gibberish to me.

    ¡°Ice?¡± I ask dubiously. ¡° like the hard kind of snow?¡± He nods and my confusion doesn¡¯t lessen. ¡° I have never ever seen regular snow. How on the seven worlds would I get Ice?¡±

    The old man chuckles and I hold back a glare.

    ¡°Ice and snow can be made out of water¡± explains the surgeon as though it''s the most obvious thing in the world.  I press him on the details and he informs me there are ways to make water so cold it transforms into ice. That doesn¡¯t sound right to me, things don¡¯t take on new forms just because they get cold. Having never touched, seen, or smelled the stuff I can¡¯t exactly argue.

    The wild-haired old man claims there are alchemists in the city who can make the stuff for me, without even having to use magic. Unfortunately, he doesn¡¯t have any, nor possess the apparatus to make it.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®Well so much for that.¡¯

    I¡¯m a little disappointed by being left with stretches and breathing exercises to manage my pain, but I hadn¡¯t really expected much anyway. Besides, while this makes inhaling hurt it''s far from debilitating. Resh left a sword hilt deep in my chest and I still almost beat him. Compared to that, fighting with this will be like fighting with a bug bite. At least that''s what I tell myself.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Despite my doubts, I still bring up the hard snow to Xael when we are training in his temporary practice pit.  He assures me that yes Ice is made from very cold water, and yes It can stop aches and pains for a little while. As for creating it, he has no idea. In the GodsRing where the dark-haired boy is from, Ice and snow are carved into huge blocks and slid down from mountain tops. No one up there is using specialty equipment to make water get really really cold.

    The foreign boy promises to speak to his sister about it and we get down to practice. I¡¯m still working on the type one light axe. I don¡¯t think that highly of the weapon, but I¡¯m increasingly confident it will serve my purposes when the time comes.

    We are maybe two hourglasses into the practice session when I become certain something is wrong with Xael today. At first, I assume it is the post-fight malaise many pitters experience, though he isn¡¯t lethargic like you normally see when that happens. Quite the opposite. There is a nervous energy about the GodsRinger boy that I haven¡¯t seen before. His techniques are sloppier than usual, he gets frustrated easily, and he keeps running his hands through his hair. I try to ignore it but to my utter shock, I find I actually care.

    When did I stop considering Xael just my partner and start considering this a friendship? I¡¯m a little concerned that I hadn¡¯t noticed before but this feels like a good thing. Admittedly he might have just worked his tourist magic on me like he did everyone else, an idea that should bother me but somehow doesn¡¯t.

    I shake my thoughts clear and refocus on my¡­friend. ¡°What on the seven worlds is wrong with you?¡± I stop my practice swings to ask.

    ¡°Why would something be wrong?¡±

    Fully turning to face Xael I tongue the side of my mouth and raise both eyebrows.

    ¡°Don¡¯t dodge the question.¡±

    He offers a tired version of his sheepish smile. ¡°Am I really so obvious?¡± He asks ruefully.

    ¡°I must be getting too used to this city, back home there would be a minor scandal if it was clear I was losing control of my emotions.¡±

    Budding friendship or not if he keeps avoiding answering me I''m going to hit him. So I narrow my eyes and glare in silence for a few heartbeats. Apparently, that isn''t enough encouragement so I go on.

    ¡°Answer. The fucking. Question¡±

    The foreign boy rolls his eyes and finally but finally begins to elaborate.

    ¡°I love to fight, I love everything about it, I love testing myself, I love being so close to death and avoiding it, I love the thrill that only comes from putting your blade into someone using everything they have to prevent it.¡± Something ignites in his eyes as he speaks.

    ¡°alright?¡± I reply unsure where Xael is going with this.

    ¡°I am now discovering I cannot add watching someone I care about fighting to that list.¡±

    It takes me a moment to figure out what he¡¯s talking about. <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡°You are worried about Kalon,¡± I say slowly. It honestly should have been obvious, and I feel stupid for not seeing it immediately. The pair of them sneak off to be alone every chance they get, Of course, he is going to be nervous about his boyfriend fighting. Especially without a match of our own to distract him.

    ¡° I can¡¯t stop thinking about it¡± concedes Xael. ¡° Both Kalon and Tota are getting better quickly, but there are some true monsters in this event. If they draw into the wrong team I fear they will not survive it.¡±

    I shrug at him. ¡°Sometimes we die.¡±

    ¡°Great. Thank you, that is wonderfully comforting.¡±

    I run a hand through my main, a sort of mimicry of Xael''s own anxious movements. I''m not trying to be callous. I just don''t really know what to tell him. It''s enough to make my snicker start working its way up my throat.

    ¡°What am I supposed to say?¡± I ask trying to hold back the laughter.

    ¡°You want me to tell you Kalon will be fine tonight? He probably will, he''s fighting one of the last two Saffron teams and not the one with Velorn. He will be fine.¡±

    ¡°Well, that is a bit closer to what I''d hoped you would sa-¡± I cut him off, my frustration having crept up on me. ¡°Do you still not know where the fuck you are? That doesn''t mean a thing.¡± He looks taken aback, especially since I start laughing.

    I try to rush out my explanation, but the boy''s face continues to darken. it must seem as though each word out of my mouth strikes me as more hilarious than the last. Interposed as they increasingly are by my giggling snicker.

    ¡°This is House BloodRock, even if Kalon and Tota win, they will fight again in a couple days, then once more a couple days later.¡±

    I try to reel in the laughing I really do, but It''s something I''ve only ever been able to delay.  Never something I can stop.

    ¡°And after the storm herald is over it will only be a matter of weeks till they fight again, maybe a month at the most, and that''s only if they keep winning! They lose a single one of those matches and they will get beaten half to death and still be expected to fight.¡±

    Ever since I met Xael and Illexa I''ve thought their accent gave them a sort of flat listless tone to their words. That doesn''t mean they actually lack emotion though. The look he gives me is full of contempt so cold he could make ice without a special device right now.

    ¡°And this is funny, is it? The impending death of my lover, <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">your impending death.¡±

    I try to tell him that isn''t it, but my snicker only intensifies. He makes a disgusted noise and turns away.

    ¡°Wait!¡± I manage to croak out but he ignores me.

    I stand there watching him walk away from me¡­

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®Nah. Fuck that.¡¯

    I¡¯m pretty big, but I¡¯m also faster than I look, especially when it comes to bursts of explosive movements. After only a few heartbeats of hesitation, I chase that boy down and tackle him.

 Chapter 42: Pyramidion

    Chapter 42

    Pyramidion

    Xael¡¯s reflexes are fairly spectacular, he also has this weird sense of timing that makes it feel like he knows what you are going to do before you do. None of that helps him now, the dark-haired boy manages to spin around just as I crash into him. I¡¯ve already ducked down into a tackle and he goes down hard as shoulder meets midsection.

    Xael is already struggling to get free before we hit the ground, but it''s less than pointless. The moment my hands lock around him there is no escape. I¡¯m too much bigger, too much stronger, and honestly, I¡¯ve noticed he isn¡¯t so good at the grappling side of combat.

    ¡°I¡¯m not laughing!¡± I yell down into his face between very obvious laughs.

    ¡°It¡¯s hehe, it''s the hehe the curse! The curse makes me laugh I can¡¯t¡±

    He¡¯s stopped struggling and perhaps more important the look of disgust on his face has been replaced with a quizzical look I can¡¯t quite decipher.

    ¡° I can¡¯t help it.¡± I finish lamely and go right back to snickering. Not really sure what else to do I push myself off him, and sit in the warm dust that always litters the compound. He lays there for a moment before sitting up.

    ¡°You cannot control your laughter?¡± He asks slowly while dusting himself off. Something I don¡¯t bother to do.

    ¡°When something is funny I can. It''s when I get nervous, or angry, or I think things are going to get violent. It just kind of happens. ¡° I answer without meeting his gaze. I can¡¯t quite put it into words but admitting this feels embarrassing and vulnerable.

    ¡°I can feel it coming but I can''t stop it.¡± Weirdly after we separated the snicker almost immediately went away and my words come out easily if a little quiet now.

    He seems to mull over my words for a few heartbeats.

    ¡°So the times you laugh in a fight, or at the HouseLord, this is because of the curse?¡±

    I put my face in my hands ¡° I know how it looks, but yes.¡± I reply with a little noise of frustration.

    It''s then that the strangest thing happens. The GodsRing boy starts to laugh, pure and loud.

    Dropping my hands I look at him with a raised eyebrow.

    ¡°You should tell more people this North, everyone thinks you are quite mad.¡± He says still laughing. ¡° Also I feel I owe you an apology.¡±

    I snort at that ¡° It''s fine¡± I say unsure how to really respond. ¡°Can we just-¡± The crack in my sternum decides now is the moment to inform me that tackling someone was a terrible idea.

    ¡°Ngnnhh get back training.¡±

    He looks me up and down, his laughter dying away.

    ¡°No. Let''s go find my sister and organize some ice for you.¡±

    My first instinct is to protest and insist I¡¯m fine. I am a pit-slave after all looking weak is a big no-no. I glance around just to make sure no one else is going to magically appear just as I admit to my soreness. Seeing that we are alone, except for a few carpenter apprentices well out of earshot. I quietly agree to find Illexa.

    Locating the GodsRing girl turns out to be a little tricky. Both of the siblings have free reign of the compound and the city beyond, and unlike Xael Illexa¡¯s schedule isn¡¯t based around preparing for fights. It makes finding her on a whim virtually impossible. Especially since the kitchens are very much hostile territory for me right now, and there really isn¡¯t another quick way to come and go into the manse.

    We don¡¯t actually find her and probably never had time to before Muraab rounds us up to attend the fights this afternoon. I suppose it doesn¡¯t really matter, the foreign siblings have previously mentioned that they converse each night before retiring. My request will get passed along.

    As we march beside the wagon in our assigned pit pairs, heads down against the glare of the afternoon sun. I strike up a conversation with Kalon and Tota. It isn¡¯t exactly subtle but I do my best to drive the talk towards how easy their opposition will be today. Xael clearly knows I¡¯m trying to reassure him, but doesn¡¯t intervene. The general consensus from the other pair is the same as my assessment. They will be fine as of the Saffron pitters left in the Storm Herald invitational only Velorn is actually any good.

    Granted He¡¯s really good. I remember the flame blessed made it to the finals of the HighSail tournament I lost to Resh in. Obviously, The Rush destroyed him in that fight, but up until that point, the combination of his blessing and extremely sound fundamentals had been more than a little impressive.

    By the time we arrive at Prime Arena Two the screeching pain of my abdomen has shrunk to a dull ache I can push to the back of my mind, with the rest of my constant bruises and nicks. There is no such thing as a pit-slave who fights completely healthy and I''m not even fighting today, so It¡¯s pretty easy to make myself ignore the pain.

    It gets even easier when I notice several homemade banners sporting the bleeding stone of BloodRock in the crowds nearest the entrance we take. And one that I am all but certain features crude drawings of myself, Xael, Kalon, and Tota.

    The sight fills me with a pleasant sensation that is reminiscent of how it felt to stand on the pit floor with hundreds of people chanting my name. It doesn''t quite compare, I don¡¯t think anything can compare to that feeling but this is born from the same parents. It''s like the way a smell can remind you of a memory.

    Maybe it''s because of the fans supporting us but Muraab starts our pre-match chanting early, whilst we are still within the walkways that host food and stores. The former King on the sands evidently knows what he is doing, as when he shouts ¡°Who rules the pit?!¡± It isn''t just us slaves who scream ¡°BloodRock!¡± back at him. I¡¯m honestly a little awed, they don¡¯t really understand what it means or why we are so enthusiastic. I don¡¯t care, a lot of fans support us and it feels good.

    It¡¯s weird but the trend continues all the way through the stands to the platform that hosts the viewing cages. Most of the love is clearly directed at Xael and Kalon, perks of being human and handsome I guess.

    We yell a few insults at some of the other cages we pass before settling into the one marked for House BloodRock. As with every other day at the Storm Herald, there are BlackMist guards patrolling around the cages to make sure we don¡¯t attack the crowd, or vice versa. They once again set Xael up a little shaded throne thing since he can come and go as he pleases.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Muraab exchanges a few words with an important-looking guard and is about to rejoin the BloodRock family members when I call him over. The head BloodRock guard raises an eyebrow yet does saunter over.

    ¡°I¡¯m not getting you food.¡± He teases. So I make a rude gesture at him but there isn¡¯t any venom from either of us, not really.

    ¡°I just have a question,¡± I say looking around at the crowds beginning to drift towards us.

    ¡°Mmm?¡±

    ¡°It''s just,¡± I gesture at the fans ¡° What the fuck is going on? Since when do we get this kind of support?¡±

    The old former pit-save laughs at my ignorance which I don¡¯t appreciate. I do however manage to hold my tongue. Muraab likes to rib me a little, but as long as I don¡¯t start showing him real disrespect he¡¯s usually happy to tell me what I want to know.

    ¡°The fans are like that, they only care what you have done lately, and BloodRock is the only house that didn''t lose anyone in the melee.¡± The mockery leaves his grin as it turns into something genuine. Pride maybe? That can''t be right, why would he feel pride right now? I''m bad at reading people anyway so I give up the analysis and just let him continue.

    ¡°Plus the BlackMisters have been covering the city with new versions of those pamphlet things, keeping everyone up to date with how the event is going.¡± He says with a tiny shake of his head. ¡° Which is a genius way to get people to watch I might add, the most recent one mentioned how you and Xael beat that DockSide pair in less time than it takes to saddle a horse.¡±

    I can''t help but return the old pitter''s smile at that.

    ¡° I guess they liked the sound of that huh?¡± I beam at him. This prompts a snort from Muraab and a glance at the line forming to see us BloodRock slaves. It''s still small compared to the number of fans who swarm around the flame witch, but it''s a lot more than a single curious dog boy, and the occasional problem gambler.

    ¡°Yeah, I guess they did.¡±

    I appreciate the support, I really do. It¡¯s just the common people say the exact same stupid shit and ask the same stupid questions that we get when It''s a smaller show for the entertainment of just rich people. Also, there are a lot more of them.

    I do my best to be friendly, smiling and waving, and trying to keep my tone from showing how annoyed I get at the repetitive nature of the questions.

    It doesn¡¯t work very well. Almost everyone who speaks to me keeps a noticeable distance compared to the way they push against the bars to harangue Kalon, or crowd in close around Xael. It almost feels like these people want to be afraid of me. I know it¡¯s a stupid idea, but I can¡¯t shake it.

    ¡®Why would someone want to go see a thing they are scared of?¡¯

    My knuckles are turning white from the balling of my fists and I am genuinely considering spitting at someone again when the day¡¯s festivities finally begin to kick off, prompting a mass return of the crowds around us to their seats.

    Down on the pit floor, a secondary lesser tournament is beginning. The men and women competing aren¡¯t pit-slaves, In fact, they aren¡¯t pitters at all. What they are is condemned prisoners facing a drawn-out execution to rile the crowds up. They would have been told if one of their five-man teams can make it to the end of the event they will go free. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s even the truth.

    I and everyone else watching have seen this before. We all know it doesn¡¯t matter, none of the criminals in this thing will survive it. Even the team that defeats all of their opposition will end up facing some utterly insurmountable challenge in the final match before their freedom.

    I do have to admit watching two teams of five rip into each other with the desperation of people grasping at their last shot at life is pretty entertaining.

    We have all heard Muraab say that you never want your match to be the first physical task of the day as you will be too sluggish. So the four of us in and around the BloodRock cage spend the time alternating between relaxing and keeping Tota and Kalon warmed up.

    Of course, we eventually bully Xael into buying us more food as well. I am more than a little jealous that the other two slaves don¡¯t have problems eating before a fight.

    ¡®Jerks¡¯

    Not long before the first Storm Herald match of the day; the one Kalon and Tota will be fighting in. Something changes in the air around the cages. Both in the way the crowds and slaves are acting and the literal air. I can smell something, no someone nearby makes my fur stand on end, and my snicker begins to well up.

    I frown and look around seeking the source of the disturbance. I can tell whoever they are, they are close. Even with my excellent sense of smell, I can¡¯t pick out one unique scent among the undulating mass of thousands that fill the stands.

    ¡®There¡¯

    Two cages down is a figure leaning up against the outside of the Saffron bars. They are in a pose that somehow exudes both contemptuous calm and the threat of intense violence. He is dressed in a tunic of Saffron red with golden torques around his bare arms and his neck.

    If the dress alone didn¡¯t clue me in, his midnight dark skin, huge golden main, and tail ending in a little poof of fur are a dead giveaway.

    ¡°Cuirass,¡± I say aloud to no one in particular. It''s the slave¡¯s name, and despite his freedom of movement and fancy dress, he is a slave. Though maybe monster might be a more accurate description. The Lion cursed is the other potential SPAT among youth pitters.

    I¡¯ve never had a chance to fight him but Saffron¡¯s Golden Balls I want that shot. As a general rule, I prefer easy fights to hard ones. I think every pitter secretly feels the same about that, but If I could beat him It would go a long way to getting me my rematch with The Rush and proving what I¡¯ve always said. I am the best, not just in BloodRock but all Far Mantys.

    Beside me, Tota jumps to his feet striding over to the cage bars.

    ¡°Oh shit.¡± He says, shaking his head. ¡°North¡¯s right that''s fucking Cuirass over there.¡±

    Xael lets out a low whistle while Kalon looks bewildered.

    ¡°Is that a person?¡± asks the blonde boy.

    ¡°It¡¯s a champion.¡± Replies his partner. Tota looks between me and Xael nervously. ¡° You don¡¯t think they substituted him in do you?¡±

    I think about it for a few heartbeats. ¡°No way¡± I reassure him ¡°Cuirass is like Resh, he only fights in special matches and majors. He¡¯s probably just here to motivate the last two Saffron teams.¡±

    I hope for their sake I¡¯m right the Lion Cursed is famous for being ranked the most dangerous of all the hundreds of youth slaves owned by House Saffron. He would tear through Kalon and Tota all by himself, let alone if he¡¯s backed up by another pitter.

    Fortunately, I am right. By the time the prisoners are done dying for the day Cuirass has already done or said whatever he is here for and headed back to what I assume is the Saffron viewing box. I try to yell out something insulting to get the Lion Boy¡¯s attention but he either doesn¡¯t hear me or doesn¡¯t care. I suppose my plan didn¡¯t extend past annoying the richly adorned cursed anyway.

    Insolence and violence, the two tools that I have relied on my whole life seem to be proving more and more impotent of late. Well, not the violence part, that has been holding up its side of things quite well. But my attitude is either not affecting people the way it once did, or much more scary to consider, I¡¯m changing.

    ¡®Why am I thinking about this shit¡¯?¡¯ I chide myself and refocus on reality. Muraab and his Saffron equivalent are approaching their respective cages while the pit slaves do some final stretches. The Saffron pitters seem like a pair of Dog boys, one of the more common types of cursed. They look like me, but smaller, less boxy in shape, and while the occasional dog has a nasty bite most of them are a joke compared to mine.

    More importantly, they aren¡¯t from BloodRock. Some of the other houses have special pitters, blessed, rare cursed, a fucking flame witch, but none of them produce high-quality pitters that don¡¯t rely on special powers like ours does. In a match-up of regular cursed and a human, even this pair of losers should crush the Saffrons.

    ¡°Alright kitchen boy¡± I grin at Kalon. Who is trying to have a tender moment with Xael without touching each other, or giving away their relationship to the crowds around us. ¡°If anyone is going to win us another fancy dinner it ought to be you right?¡±

    Neither the blonde boy nor my partner are amused by the interruption, but Tota thinks it''s funny at least.

 Chapter 43 The Other Flame

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Chapter 43

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">The Other Flame

    Xael really didn¡¯t need to worry about Kalon today. The pair of dog boys from Saffron are honestly terrible, I think either of our pitters could probably beat them solo. That little kid Gori is friends with might be able to beat them solo.

    I let out a genuine laugh as I lean back and watch the team from BloodRock basically bully their opposition. Raising a hand to shade my face from the setting sun  I shoot another look over at the Saffron cage. No monstrous lion cursed anymore. I do see Velorn though, the blonde flame blessed is pacing back and forth as he waits for his own match to begin. Whoever pulled that match tonight is probably going to have a rough time. I can''t imagine the cocky jerk can stomach losing in front of Cuirass, especially with the beating the other Saffron team is presently taking.

    Once the frankly hilarious farce is over, the high-pitched lady declares the untouched Kalon and Tota winners. A group of servile slaves dash out to light the torches built into the arena wall around the pit floor.  I still don¡¯t understand how it''s done but the torches do an amazing job of lighting up the area we fight in without blinding the people in the stands.

    ¡°Good job¡± I call to the returning pair. Prompting a sort of helpless shrug from the two of them. It almost feels like it''s not worth saying anything, but a win is a win and as requested they ensured we will have spices for our food tonight.

    Right from the start the next match is a lot more interesting to watch. Since Velorn¡¯s partner didn¡¯t make it through the melee Saffron has of course paid the fee and substituted in a new pitter to fight with him. I¡¯m not the only one surprised to see that it''s a girl. Women fighting in the pits is far from unheard of, but they are pretty rare and utterly absent from the BloodRock roster.

    Both Tota and I sit up and lean forward to get a better view. Xael and Kalon are uhh less interested I suppose. She has long brown hair tied back in braids and is armored in that same metal cuirass basically every Saffron pitter wears. Her weapon of choice is.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®Of course.¡¯

    A pair of short swords, one curved and one straight. Velorn on the other hand is armed with a scimitar. Like a proper fully metal scimitar, with fancy golden writing along the blade. I really do hate Saffron pitters, it''s impossible not to with how good they have it.

    Their opposition is a pair of cursed. One is covered in multicolored scales, the other is a hairy clawed thing that reminds me of Morean¡¯s partner Task.

    What¡¯s interesting is that while the announcer lady goes on about how great the four pitters are, how Kawloc spits venom, Velorn can make balls of fire in his hands, and how Sorsha is the unbeaten daughter of some warlord. The two Saffron pit slaves are arguing? Obviously, I can¡¯t hear them but you don¡¯t need to be some expert on body language to tell they are getting into it. The brown-haired girl is right up in Velorn¡¯s face, her surprisingly broad shoulders tensed up and ready for violence.

    Not ready enough apparently as after a few moments she sulkily turns and storms off back towards the viewing cells, leaving the grinning flame blessed to face the two BreakWill pitters alone.

    He clearly wanted this outcome so I guess it doesn¡¯t matter. I might think I can beat just about every youth that fights in the whole city, but gods above and below you have to be a cocky fucker to actively seek being outnumbered.  Obviously, I could if I wanted to. I forced Morean to run from me, I have no reason to be impressed or intimidated by this display.

    ¡°Convincing,¡± I mutter to myself.

    ¡°Huh?¡± Asks Kalon.

    ¡°Nothing. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±

    Below us the match starts, and Velorn¡¯s blonde hair ignites around his horns as he dashes towards the pair of cursed. The snake boy is armed with a mace and the¡­mole? I¡¯m going to say Mole is backing him up with a long spear.

    The flame-blessed ducks under a spray of venom without missing a beat and launches into a blitz intended to overwhelm the snake boy. It works pretty well, the scimitar slipping past mace with contemptuous ease more than once. At least till the spear gets involved, coming in from behind the snake boy and over his shoulder. That manages to drive Velorn back for a moment.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Unfortunately for the mole cursed Velorn baits a thrust from the spear, twists aside from it, and throws a ball of flame right into the spear wielder''s chest. When it hits him the magic ball explodes spraying the mole boy with fire that drips like a liquid. He is covered in fur, or at least had been prior to the little blast. Now he¡¯s covered in fire and screaming.

    ¡°Fuck I hate magic so much,¡± I say with a little snort.

    No one disagrees with me as we watch Velorn proceed to torture the snake boy, blinding him with quick flashes of fire before dashing in to slice at him from all sorts of non-lethal angles like a malicious version of Xael.

    Eventually, Kawloc, or whatever his name is grows desperate enough to attempt a sort of berzerk rush. He tries the venom spit again but not to cover the rush as I would have expected. No, it''s a part of the combination of mace swings he launches at Velorn. That is honestly pretty smart, covering the wide spray with regular attacks first makes it a tricky proposition to counter.

    None of it matters, the snake cursed hits nothing but air, unable even to force the flame blessed into blocking.  The poison spray comes pretty close but sizzles away in Velorn¡¯s hair as he ducks his face away from the attack.

    I¡¯m not sure if the flame blessed notices a specific opening, or if it had always been there and he is just bored of playing with his food. Either way, he steps back and to the left of a swing at his head and slices his scimitar up one-handed, hacking into the snake boy¡¯s face with the heaviest part of the curved blade.

    I¡¯m pretty sure the entire crowd, present company, and myself included wince at that. He might survive but I doubt it, either way, that would have hurt like nobody''s business. But I guess that¡¯s the price you have to pay when they send you onto the sands against someone you can¡¯t beat. It''s a position I swear to myself every day I will not end up in again.

    There is blood and screaming, and a few more pointless half-blind swings, but anyone can see the fight is over. The flame-headed boy offers a series of bows to the various directions of the crowd and then hacks the snake boy¡¯s legs out from under him.

    Surprisingly Velorn lets out a celebratory scream as if he had just won a difficult match and points his sword at someone in the Saffron viewing box that I can¡¯t see.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®No. Not intimidating at all.¡¯  I tell myself one more time

    It''s when we are leaving the arena that the question I have been expecting comes. Anyone who knows I fought Resh almost to a standstill eventually asks any time Cuirass rears his main covered head.

    ¡°Who would win if Resh and Cuirass fought?¡± I give the same answer I always do, which is The Rush would take him. It''s honestly more out of solidarity than anything, I might be right but It''s impossible to say. As good as Resh is, the Lion boy is <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">right up there. We might find out for sure one day. In the meantime though both Saffron and BlackMist are going well out of their ways to make sure the fight doesn¡¯t happen.

    As much as it goes against what the fans want I understand why the Houses would go to such lengths to keep the two boys apart. I didn¡¯t used to, in fact, it used to annoy me to no end.

    Looking at it from the HouseLord perspective  It''s obvious why they don¡¯t want Cuirass and Resh to fight, if they did one of them would lose, the mystery ends and someone¡¯s ability to pull a crowd would drop. Probably either one of the undefeated prodigies would still have large fan followings after a defeat, but they risk the other taking a huge chunk of those numbers. Considering each boy is already worth more than their combined weight in gold, what would be the point?

    The next day of the tournament will be the last two fights of this round, I¡¯m once again obligated to return to the arena for fan interaction and so bettors can inspect me and all of that other annoying shit that is apparently the real way they make money off of us. I had hoped to avoid it this time as no one from BloodRock was fighting, and my sternum hurt exactly as much as it did two days before.

    I had been hopeful that Illexa could get me some of this ice stuff from the city and apparently, she can. Just not before the next time I have to march through the city and spend all day in a fucking cage. Granted the BloodRock compound is just a larger cage, but I earned the right to move around it. Also when I¡¯m at the compound I don¡¯t have to piss in front of literally thousands of people.

    I spend most of this day napping in the sun and ignoring the continued prisoner tournament on the pit floor. I already know they are all going to die so the novelty has quickly worn thin. Several times, I overhear Xael and the two other slaves interacting with the fans, but I don¡¯t bother stirring, continuing to doze and enjoy the sun. Actual sleep inside an arena filled with screaming fans is of course impossible but it''s still kind of nice to try.

    It is one of the times that I get up to piss in the jug set aside in the far corner of the cage that I notice that dog kid¡­Mor something? Is leading a small group of kids his own age over to us. I finish my business, repress a groan, and make ready to greet my first and most annoying fan.

 Chapter 44: One Directioners

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Chapter 44

    One Directioners

    ¡°Mauritzo¡± calls Xael cheerfully at the boy''s approach. I¡¯m glad he does because there is absolutely no chance I was going to remember that kid''s name. As they get closer I realise the two boys and one girl with him are all cursed as well. At first, I assume they are his slaves or servants but their clothes are too nice. I mean really nice, Xael nice. These kids are fucking rich. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it, Yes technically not all cursed are sold into slavery but I don¡¯t think there is a single place on the world of mortals where we aren¡¯t treated as second class.

    ¡°See ¡° crows the dog boy to one of his friends. ¡° I told you they know me.¡± He then beams up at the seated human. ¡° It is nice to see you again sir Deborant¡±

    I repress a little snort as I stalk over to the cage bars. I don¡¯t blame the kid really, if I were him I would probably act the same to impress my friends.

    Apparently, I¡¯m supposed to nurture these relationships and build up a fanbase. I have had countless conversations with Xael and Kalon about this. Obviously, I would rather not engage in this sort of nonsense, but the protections and exposure I have right now will only last until the end of the Storm Herald Invitational. It is in my best interest to become as ¡®valuable¡¯ as I can while it''s on. If I have lots of fans to go with my lots of wins I¡¯m told I will make BloodRock more money, which means more favorable fights, and a more forgiving schedule. It might even get me some leeway when it comes to challenges. This is the longest I have ever gone without fighting someone in the BloodRock compound and I know it can¡¯t last. It would be really nice if I didn¡¯t get in trouble every time I needed to smack some loser or defend myself from a pack of humans trying to prove something.

    ¡°Who have you brought with you today¡­.Mauri?¡±

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®That''s what he called himself¡¯ I am pleased I managed to recall the dog boy¡¯s nickname in time, if only just.  Up close now I get a better look at the two boys and one girl Mauri has brought with him. They are so well groomed I can barely tell what kind of curses they bear.

    The girl might be a rat? Her ears are rounded enough, and her face has whiskers. One of the other boys has tusks, while the other¡¯s mouth is a ferocious pit of spikes, kinda like my own. Other than that they all just look like little rich humans with the pale skin that comes from basically never working.

    ¡°We,¡± Says Mauri proudly gesturing at his friends ¡°are the One Directioners!¡± I have no idea what that means or why the kid is looking at me expectantly.  Something he seems to pick up on after a few moments of awkward silence.

    ¡°You know, like the direction is North.¡± I blink once, twice, three times, four.

    ¡°Wait¡±¡± I say with more than a little disbelief.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®Like the Rush Army or the Red Bearers.¡¯

    I feel like I can¡¯t breathe. ¡°You..you mean the four of you are my fans?¡± I ask, weirdly touched.

    A little chorus of yeses comes back at me from the kids. There might only be the four of them but I have a fan club. <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">I have a fan club.

    From that moment on I have to admit my demeanour changes a little. I don¡¯t have to fake it quite so much when it comes to acting interested in what the pack of kids have to say. Most of it is still inane garbage but somehow that doesn''t bother me the same way. Their chattering is excited because they are getting to speak to <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">me. It fills me with a weird wonderful feeling I don¡¯t have the words to describe.

    It isn¡¯t all pleasant, some of it is just plain weird. The little mouse girl keeps pointing at my or one of the other slave¡¯s stomachs before giggling and whispering something to one of the boys. Eventually, they start asking me about today¡¯s final fight. The flame witch and Klash against Norrik and Selpus. I visibly exhale at that and pick my words with a little more care than I usually would. Mauri is a dog cursed and has a child¡¯s bias for others like him. Others like Norrik and Selpus are actually wolves but its close enough. The wolf boys are good pitters, they really are. They do this thing where they split up and use specially practiced footwork patterns to manipulate who clashes with who and when. Against the HighSail pair, it won''t help them, in fact, the disparity between the two teams is so great that a part of me wonders if the Itti¡¯atti and her partner have been given an intentionally easy path to the finals.

    ¡°Uhh well, this is going to be a real uphill struggle for Selpus and Norrik. ¡° I say scratching the back of my head.

    ¡°Uphill struggle?¡± replies the tusked boy incredulously. ¡°It¡¯s going to be an execution.¡±  I let out a little laugh.

    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± I agree, giving Mauri a sympathetic look, as he poorly tries to hide the fact that he¡¯s starting to sulk.

    ¡°I saw what they did to that Ettin I don¡¯t even think you can beat those two from HighSail.¡± Goes on the tusked boy before suddenly realizing what he¡¯s saying and to who. My only response is to stare at him flatly. It makes things awkward for the kids very quickly and the group decides now is probably the best time to return to their seats. Bidding us hasty farewells while I continue to glare at the kid.

    Once they are gone I burst out laughing. I can¡¯t help it, the expressions on their faces were like the kids thought I was going to somehow break through the bars and attack them. I¡¯m not proud of successfully intimidating children or anything. It¡¯s just funny.

    ¡°That may have been too far in the other direction.¡± Comments Xael dryly.

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°You know.¡± He elaborates while grinning cheekily at me. ¡°You went from Babysitter to scaring the children off like you are The Reveller chasing redheads.¡±

    I snort but don¡¯t argue. The conversation with the pack of kids; the ¡®One Directioners¡¯ has left me feeling sort of light-hearted, except for one minor annoyance they have inadvertently reminded me of.

    The Itti¡¯atti girl and Klash are in the final and thus the most prestigious match of the whole round. Conversely, I was in the first. It doesn¡¯t seem particularly fair since I have a win over Klash already. It also means I will be stuck in that spot for the remainder of the tournament. In the interests of everyone getting roughly the same amount of rest, they try to keep the match order as unaltered as possible as the event progresses.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    That means I''m the opening act. ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Me¡¯ It is honestly galling in the extreme. Especially since the second to last match today, the one that is involved in the Storm Herald after the prisoners are done murdering each other.

    That match is populated by four humans. Fucking humans! Most of them are slower, weaker, or lacking some sort of special ability like my bite or Resh¡¯s speed. Yet they are the ones in the second-best possible match time. It''s enough to remind me why I used to hate Kalon¡­.I¡¯m still not quite used to not getting an intense surge of rage through my veins when I look at him.

    ¡°What?¡± Asks the blonde boy frowning. I blink realizing I''m staring at him.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± I grunt bashfully redirecting my gaze to the prisoner on prisoner violence taking place below.

    ¡°Just thinking about how awful the matches are today, one fight between humans I¡¯ve never heard of and one pointless execution.¡°

    I¡¯m not looking at him but I get the impression Kalon rolls his eyes at me. ¡°There are plenty of humans who can fight good.¡±

    At that, I make a dismissive noise ¡°Sure. Xael, Neston, some of the boys out of Saffron, hell even you aren¡¯t that terrible.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡± His reply is flat and sarcastic but I ignore it.

    ¡°But are <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">these four any good? I don¡¯t even remember their names.¡±

    Kalon laughs. ¡° Come on North, they showed us their pamphlets this morning, they are uhhh..¡± He pauses for a moment. ¡° Tota, what are the names of the human kids fighting tonight?¡±

    The spike-covered boy offers a shrug. ¡° Who cares?¡±

    ¡°See,¡± I say with a slightly forced laugh.

    It¡¯s at that point that Xael chimes in, apparently he knows who they are but Tota is right. I don¡¯t care to know the answer. In fact, I slump back down onto the bench and go back to napping as a form of minuscule protest. I won¡¯t even watch the fights if I can help it.

    I wouldn''t call it a success but neither is it entirely a failure. The screams of the high-pitched announcer lady bring me to, which is more than a little annoying since the whole point of going back to sleep was to not watch the matches.

    Her shrill voice fills the arena and she goes on about the two human teams. I don¡¯t pay any attention to her or the match. There is a decent chance I will be fighting one of the winners of that fight so I really should have been watching.  Not that it really matters, most opponents I have faced in my career have been unknown quantities prior to fighting them. It didn¡¯t help all those losers and it won¡¯t help the humans down there if I¡¯m lucky enough to draw into them next round.

    Despite my complaints, I do sit up and watch when the introductions for the final match begin. I like everyone else packing out the tens of thousands of seats around the pit am a little mesmerized by the spectacle of an Itti¡¯atti. She can do genuine battle magic and while I resent her and Klash for what they did to Larnen and Tarnen. I have never seen anything quite like the Flame Witch in action. Backed up by the impossibly strong and durable elephant boy I know my earlier description was right, this will be an execution.

    ¡°Fighting on behalf of House FarStride are a pair you know and love, using their unorthodox teamwork skills they have more monster kills than any other youths in the city!¡±

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">I did not know that.¡¯

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡° It is my pleasure to introduce The PAAAAaaaaaAAAACCCKKKK!!! Norrrrrriiiiiiiiikkkkkkkkkkk and Sellllllpuuuuussssss.¡±

    There is a smattering of uneasy cheers. The pack has fans I know they do, but it must be a little awkward to summon that energy when everyone <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">knows that the two cursed can¡¯t possibly win.

    To their credit, Norrik and Selpus still stride out waving their pit-swords at the crowd and jumping up and down on the spot while they are introduced.

    That awkward cheering dies entirely when the pair from HighSail appear on the other side of the pit floor. Klash steps out onto the sands first while the Itti¡¯atti girl spends a moment staring up at the sky. She did this last time I saw her fight too, and once again beyond maintenance walkways and a deployable canvass, there is nothing up there. It might be a prayer or something, I¡¯m really not sure.

    Seemingly satisfied she follows the huge elephant boy out onto the pit floor and the second introduction begins.

    ¡°And their opposition, with a combined one loss ever!¡±

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®Heh, that was me.¡¯

    ¡°The strongest youth pitter meets the steamiest!¡±

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">So dumb.¡¯

    ¡°Fighting on behalf of House HighSail, I present for your viewing pleasure KLLLLAAAAAASSSSSSHHHHHHHHH ANNND EMMMMMMMMBEEEEEEEELLLLLLLAAAAAAAA!!!¡±

    I¡¯m not surprised about Klash lacking a last name, lots of slaves don¡¯t have them. But the Flame witch? I don¡¯t really know anything about Itti¡¯atti culture but I assume they have last names. Maybe HighSail just doesn¡¯t know what her second name is?

    I don¡¯t have time for further consideration before the crowd explodes into a roar so loud I can¡¯t hear myself think.

 Chapter 45: Burn Marks

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Chapter 45

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Burn Marks

    Men, women, children, rich, poor, monsters, and even creatures from other worlds leap to their feet celebrating the mere existence of Klash and Embella. If I didn¡¯t already resent the ¡®special¡¯ pair from house HighSail the sheer amount of love they receive is more than enough to ignite it.

    I know the pamphlets have been littering the city talking about the exploits of the various pit-slaves within the Storm Herald Invitational. It still feels disproportionate to me. Obvious favorites to win the entire tournament or not.

    The match itself isn''t exactly what I would call a fight, though it''s better than the straight-up execution I have been expecting.

    The two wolf boys have a plan that much is clear. The moment Klash starts to move they fake a charge at him, then with impressive agility the two fur-covered wolf cursed break it off at the last second.

    The elephant boy is baited into swinging preemptively with his massive spear but finds himself hitting nothing as the pair dash past him. The two from HighSail probably aren¡¯t idiots; they obviously expected this to be the strategy everyone would employ against them. Klash is a bit too slow to stop the short spear and pit-sword-wielding duo getting past him, so he just doesn¡¯t try to stop them.

    It¡¯s more than that I realize as Klash spins around and starts cleaveing the air with wide swings of his spear. Simultaneously the flame witch unleashes two cord-like streams of fire from each end of her FlameStick. The pair of wolf boys have lunged themselves right into a trap.

    The plan from The Pack is obvious: close the distance with the Itti¡¯atti as fast as possible and then come at her from two directions at once. It¡¯s probably what I would do in their shoes, especially with Klash doing his utmost to cut off retreat. After all the trap only works if you can¡¯t break through one side of it.

    Even facing the fire with surprising enthusiasm doesn¡¯t really help them; the FlameStick itself is still a whirling metal staff, and the girl wielding it moves like a warrior born. Stepping forward she manages to avoid being skewered or hacked in half. Knocking the spear aside and ducking under the sword swing. Where a normal pitter would spin around as fast as they could, Embella simply presents her back and sprints towards her partner. That is a very weird thing to do, but I suppose for her it doesn¡¯t matter.

    Sure enough, the two ropes of fire spewing from the FlameStick trail behind the running girl, and then split into numerous thin lines that come together into what I can only describe as a net made of flames. It engulfs the boys from House FarStride with shocking speed. To their credit the pair of wolf boys do their best to charge right through it, unfortunately for them, the fire is subject to the girl¡¯s will and sticks to them like a second skin as they try to storm toward her.

    In almost no time at all The Pack is dead. Their desperate charge is blinded by fire and halted by pain and destruction. It was a good try but when a Flame Witch is involved even surviving usually means doing a lot better than <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®good¡¯.

    Embella tilts her head to inspect the still-burning pile that had once been two teenagers.  She nods to herself and turns to do her little skip-walk away. The moment she does the fire goes out revealing a pair of skinless corpses.

    Klash raises his spear to the crowd who offer a stunned half-cheer in return which quickly returns to the rapturous roar from when the pair from HighSail had first been introduced. As strange and horrifying as it had been to witness, the crowd had come to see an execution in the main event and that is exactly what they got.

    I let out a long sigh and look around for the BloodRock viewing box. I can see it, but not Atar or his family who I know are present. The old man may have bitten off more than I can chew with this bet of his. It isn¡¯t often that I go into a fight expecting not to win it but beating <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">that.  It¡¯s a tall order for anyone.

    Usually after an impressive performance the four of us begin chattering away, discussing the match in question or ways to fight against what we saw. That doesn¡¯t happen when the Itti¡¯atti fights. We, like every other cage not full of HighSailers, fall into silence when we see the destruction she is capable of. Even Muraab is oddly demure when he collects us. I think the old pitter is worried we are all going to end up as dead as The Pack did.

    Naturally, things start to pick up on the way back to the BloodRock compound. After all, we just spent most of a day shirking our usual duties as slaves and are considered obedient for doing so. Even knowing we will have to face the Flame Witch sooner or later It¡¯s hard to keep our moods down for long.

    Something is underway when we get home. Despite it being well into the evening both slaves of all types and the guards BloodRock employs are out in force all over the compound. They are looking for something. No that isn¡¯t right, they are looking for <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">someone. The only thing that makes sense of the swarming activity is an escape attempt.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    While I wish whoever is making a break for it well in a general sense I kind of hate them. I¡¯ve lived through the lockdown of countless escape attempts and even made a few myself. It always goes the same way.

    Whether the escapee makes it or not every pit-slave in the compound will be confined to their respective halls for the rest of the night. Anyone caught outside will be treated like they helped with the escape and <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">interrogated. For us, that means being escorted into the halls and missing dinner tonight.

    Hall Three is alive with chatter as the locked-down slaves gossip back and forth about who might be making the run. I¡¯m not the kind of top slave to actually police his hall, but neither do I get involved in the discussion in spite of my own curiosity. No one here will know anything for certain, and if they do they had better keep it to themselves lest we all end up facing interrogation.

    I don¡¯t keep an exact count of the boys in my hall something I¡¯m starting to regret as I scan the kids sitting on or around their various cots. The numbers are off I don¡¯t know who, or by how many but someone is definitely missing. I¡¯m doing an awful job trying to match names to faces when at least one of the missing people is made abundantly clear.

    Head down, antlers forward, and screaming for everyone to get out of his way. Gori comes barrelling into the hall at a dead sprint towards his own cot. I don¡¯t consider the anterled boy on the dangerous side but he is pretty big and moving fast enough to hurt anyone he collides with. It is more than enough motivation for the boys on the floor to scamper onto their cots and out of his way.

    Without pausing Gori charges over to his cot, stopping himself by simply colliding with it. Ducking down he fishes out a pair of jugs from under the cot. The first one he opens seemingly drinks the entire contents without a break. The second he holds to his nose and starts basically hyperventilating whatever substance is held in the jug.

    He is still breathing in the jug fumes when Harrk and two other BloodRock guards storm into the hall.

    ¡°Cots!¡± comes the demand from the masked soldier, to which the few not on them already retreat to their sleeping spots. Usually, the mask Harrk wears just seems like a face, his face basically considering how often he wears it. Tonight it¡¯s different, the adornment doing its job of granting him a strange merciless visage.

    It''s something about the way he is holding himself combined with the strange shadows cast by the torches around the room. I don¡¯t know that I¡¯ve ever been afraid of Harrk but now seems like an excellent time to start.

    The trio of guards close on Gori who makes no effort to defend himself, instead just trying to get as many huffs in as he can before they can drag him off. None of us try to intervene, or even say anything as the boy is taken away. What can we possibly do that would make a difference? He¡¯s my friend, and I hope for his sake BloodRock is feeling kind. Whether he knows anything or not Gori is in for a long night. Believe me, I know.

    They return what''s left of him just before dawn. I¡¯m doing my stretches when a different pair of BloodRock guards casually dump the limp and bloody form of Gori on the floor just inside the hall. They don¡¯t say a word, just drop him before turning around and leaving.

    Dashing over to the prone form of the antlered cursed I¡¯m shouting the other boys awake before I even know if he¡¯s alive or not. It¡¯s softer than a Saffron pitter on his first day but Gori is breathing.

    They won¡¯t let us take him to the tower for injuries earned resisting an interrogation. We however <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">are allowed to help him. As I get to Gori and flip him onto his back the full extent of his injuries becomes apparent. It¡¯s bad, like really bad, like he probably needs Forspoken stone bad.

    His antlers have been snapped off and stabbed through both his hands. Looking at the rest of his wounds I¡¯d say they were used to cut him up badly beforehand. His chest and stomach are a mess of jagged slices, while his face is various shades of red and blue. With at least several teeth he used to have missing, and one poking right through his upper lip. That''s before the burns, his skin is littered with them from top to bottom, proof Atar himself was involved.

    This was not a fast process, and likely got worse and worse as it went on.

    I shout again finally getting several groggy boys to bring what little makeshift medical supplies they have over. <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®Gods above and below I hope it will be enough.¡¯

    There isn¡¯t anything resembling a surgeon among us but we all know how to stitch a wound or two. The real work of surviving will be up to Gori.  A few heartbeats before the other boys arrive and crowd around him the ¡­kind of antlered boy¡¯s eyes snap open and he grabs me by the belt with a weak scrabbling hand.

    ¡°You tell him.¡± He mumbles barely audible over the sounds of the waking hall. ¡° You tell Xael I didn¡¯t say anything to them.¡±

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Oh, what the fuck?¡¯

 Chapter 46: Confusion and Drive

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Chapter 46

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Confusion And Drive

    The moment I¡¯m sure Gori is being looked after by some of the smarter boys in hall three I storm off looking for answers. I¡¯m practically out in the compound by the time I remember this might be a terrible idea.  If the lockdown is still in effect my attempt to leave the halls will not be met with appreciation.

    I guess it is over as the pair of guards don¡¯t object as I stride past them, the same as I do every other morning.

    This early I don¡¯t think Xael will be at morning practice with Kalon yet. So the smart thing to do is to post up near the practice pits and wait for the boys to arrive. From there I could drag Xael off and interrogate him at my leisure. So naturally I don¡¯t do any of that, I head straight for the manse like I¡¯m leading an army to storm it.

    The kitchen entrance is open as always. I see the young guard Charik standing near the stacked spice sacks out the front. Neither of us says anything as I stalk past but I glare daggers at him, silently daring the man to try and bar my way this time. He doesn¡¯t, which is definitely for the best. The mood I¡¯m in right now I think I would throw myself at BloodRock himself if he tried to stop me.

    I don¡¯t wait for my eyes to adjust to the gloom of the pantry, trusting my memory of the place to guide me for the few heartbeats of darkness and my size to keep any domestics out of my way while I do it.

    I will admit I slow down a little when I cross into the kitchen. Confused and driven or not the last time I was in here the head cook came extremely close to stabbing me. That is enough to give anyone pause, and I don¡¯t even do that. I just kind of slow down a bit.

    She is here; Kalon¡¯s mother. I¡¯ve never bothered to learn her name, though I¡¯m sure it''s been said to me before.

    It isn¡¯t really a surprise to see the middle-aged blonde lady. The kitchen doesn¡¯t ever really stop and as BloodRock¡¯s favorite cook, it stands to reason she would handle the early morning prep.

    What is surprising is seeing her son assisting with the kitchen tasks as well. Everyone knows he does occasional work in the kitchens, but for Kalon to help with the breakfast prep and then attend our morning practices he would need to be getting up even earlier than I am.

    I lock eyes with the woman practically daring her to try something. I¡¯ll break her nose again and more if she does.

    She grabs a knife off a counter nearby and clutches it tightly, but for the second time this morning, Kalon surprises me. Stepping in front of his mother and putting a calming hand on her.

    ¡°Mom don¡¯t,¡± he says softly and I slow even further.

    ¡°He¡¯s my friend.¡± That brings me to a dead stop. I may have been thinking about how I see the blonde boy lately but to actually declare aloud that we are friends. I don¡¯t know how to feel, or what to say.

    I sort of go quiet for a second then mumble my thanks to him. The blonde kid laughs like I''m being ridiculous and assures me it''s no problem.

    ¡°Oh,¡± I say when I¡¯m about to leave the kitchen. ¡° Have you seen Xael yet this morning?¡±

    Kalon tells me he hasn¡¯t and his mother continues to watch me warily until I¡¯m out into the manse proper. I didn¡¯t really think the foreign boy would be up and about yet. Even with our morning training sessions, he is likely at most doing some stretches or breathing exercises in his room.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®His room..¡¯

    Right, I don¡¯t actually know which of the upstairs guest rooms belongs to Xael. Kalon probably does but asking him would mean doubling back into the kitchens. Not only would it be awkward in the extreme, but I¡¯d have to find some way to either get Kalon away from his mother or ask without revealing too much within her earshot. I opt to just try and figure it out on my own. Maybe I''ll get lucky and find a domestic who can show me where to go.

    In the meantime I stalk through the main hall, vaguely enjoying the feeling of cold stone under my padded feet. There isn¡¯t really anything for it but to head up the main staircase to the upper levels. The idea makes my fur stand on end. I have a lot of memories from inside BloodRock¡¯s stupid fake fortress, very few are recent even fewer are positive.

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®It''s fine I¡¯m not a little kid anymore.¡¯ I tell myself more than once as I make my way up the grandiose stairway.

    The upper levels of the BloodRock manse are almost exclusively devoted to housing. I have vague memories of a ballroom as well maybe? Definitely some sort of space other than the main hall where Atar used to host parties. Well, he still might. I don''t spend time in here usually and I¡¯m certainly not part of the entertainment anymore.

    This is all a problem for me as I can hardly just go around knocking on doors. There are at least two dozen rooms that could be acting as Xael¡¯s quarters. If I start trying them at random the odds of encountering someone other than the lanky foreigner are just too high. What I need is a plan, some sort of strategy, or a way to narrow my options down.

    Pausing on the second floor of the manse I take a moment to run through my options. While I don¡¯t know who is staying at the compound at the moment or how many of them there are, it stands to reason that if it was more than a few people I would have seen someone coming and going. Right? So I can probably assume there are a lot more empty rooms than full ones. Sort of helpful I guess.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    I¡¯m almost certain Xael and Illexa¡¯s quarters are right next to each other. They have told me they share dinner most nights which would definitely get annoying if they didn¡¯t. That is probably somehow helpful I guess? I can maybe look for signs of people coming and going.

    I¡¯m still trying to figure this out when the problem solves itself for me.

    The little domestic girl who is basically Illexa¡¯s shadow is making her way down the stairs. Is up there where the domestics sleep? I realize I¡¯ve been here eleven years and never once thought about where the other kinds of slaves sleep. That doesn¡¯t matter right now, she definitely knows where the GodsRinger siblings make their quarters.

    ¡°Tullulah,¡± I say stepping into her path.

    She eyes me suspiciously but doesn¡¯t try to push past or anything.

    ¡°What?¡±

    I don¡¯t really understand this girl, she is a tiny thing and younger than me by at least a few years. Yet she will stare you down like she¡¯s the head of an ettin. Maybe that''s how she ended up with the cut on her arm. She has the wound covered by a long-sleeved dress, but I can smell it.

    ¡°I need to find Xael¡¯s room, it''s important.¡±

    After an awkward free heartbeats where we just kind of glare at each other the little domestic obviously comes to the conclusion that I¡¯m not here to cause trouble and directs me to a room on the third floor.

    Letting the girl pass I head up the stairs and knock on the second door on the left as per Tullulah¡¯s instructions. As much as I want to I don¡¯t just smash my fist against the door as hard as I can. While I¡¯ve never been actively banned from the upper floors of the manse I would have a very hard time explaining why I¡¯m here more than an hourglass before sunrise waking up the houselord¡¯s guests.

    So I knock softly a few times and nothing happens. I wait and I do it again. Nothing happens.

    I¡¯m starting to wonder if I¡¯ve been given bad directions, or if I maybe need to knock harder to wake Xael up inside. Since abandoning this door would leave me right where I started I opt to knock louder. Maybe a little louder than I should have if I¡¯m honest but it works. A shirtless Xael groggily opens the door.

    ¡°Nor-¡± I shove into the room before he even finishes getting my name out.

    The windowless room beyond is well-appointed but far from ostentatious. There is a pair of small tables. One covered in books, the other holding two of the thin straight swords Xael favors along with little pots of what I¡¯m guessing is weapon oil.

    Behind the pair of tables and single stool between them is a large bed at least five times the size of my cot. A surprisingly large number of outfits hang around the room on little hanger things designed for them and there is another doorway that I assume leads to a bathing area.

    I have enough of my wits about me to slam the door shut behind me.

    ¡° BloodRock practically killed Gori last night and I want to know why.¡±

    ¡°What? Who?¡±

    I drop my voice low as I loom over the human boy sounding out each word slowly.

    ¡°The antlered boy from hall three, My friend Gori. He got taken during the lockdown.¡± His eyes go wide but he lets me continue.

    ¡°When they dumped him back in hall three this morning he was all but dead, in fact, he might still die. And you know what he said to me before he passed out? What might be his last words ever?¡±

    What?¡± Asks Xael his voice barely above a whisper.

    ¡°He begged me to tell <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">you that he didn¡¯t say anything to them.¡±

    The foreign boy lets out a long breath and seems to relax just a little. Which if anything frustrates me even further.

    ¡°You are the one always talking about how we need to trust each other. So tell me what the fuck is going on!¡± I demand.

    ¡°Look,¡± He says.

    ¡°Tell me!¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t! I would If it was safe but I can¡¯t and I won''t.¡± Some iron has entered his voice and I''m not really sure how to continue. I can hardly try to beat the answers out of my partner. I will need him to fight beside me tomorrow evening.

    ¡°Besides if you pay attention you might figure it out.¡± He mutters, shaking his head. ¡° Now who saw you come here?¡±

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®Huh. Pay attention?¡¯

    I glare at the dark-haired boy but tell him. ¡° Uhh Kalon, his mother, and your sister¡¯s little slave girl Tullulah.¡± He chews his lip for a few heartbeats.

    ¡°That''s all?¡± He asks seriously

    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡± I hiss back with a shrug. ¡° I think that was everyone.¡±

    The GodsRinger pinches the bridge of his nose. ¡° I guess that could be worse but you have to get out of here. I¡¯m sorry about your friend but just go. We will talk later I promise but you must go and now. ¡±

 Chapter 47: Conspiracy

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Chapter 47

    <strong style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Conspiracy

    I try to bully more out of him, I really really do. Sadly Xael remains stoic in the face of my attempts to interrogate him. All he does is repeat that I have to leave until I¡¯m gone. Frustrated at being stymied by the foreign boy I make my way out of the manse the same way I came in, Just you know faster. I still don¡¯t have a good explanation about what I¡¯m doing here after a night in lockdown. So I really need to get back out into the compound before people start waking up.

    Kalon is gone from the kitchens when I head back through them. Thankfully so is his mother and the domestics pottering around in there are smart enough to just stay out of my way and not make eye contact. I suppose beating up their leader might have had that effect. Charik too ignores my passage but I doubt that¡¯s because he finds me intimidating.

    I still want to go on my morning run if I get the chance. I haven¡¯t been working as hard as I feel like I should have since my chest injury, and it actually feels sort of normal this morning. So I¡¯m hoping to work up a proper sweat a few times before my match tomorrow evening. The mystery of what happened to Gori feels more pressing however and if I don¡¯t get some sort of answers soon I¡¯m confident it will be distracting me all day. Fortunately, however, I have a plan.

    I make my way back into the youth barracks which is properly coming awake now. I doubt there is a single boy asleep in hall three after Gori got brought in, but the other two halls are stirring now too.

    First I stalk back into my own hall and check on Gori. He¡¯s breathing but that¡¯s about it. The amateur efforts my hallmates have made to patch him back together aren¡¯t great, but I think he¡¯s still breathing. For a few heartbeats, I consider slapping the Antlered boy awake and just getting the information out of him. Obviously, I dismiss the idea and let him sleep, even if I can wake him up I don¡¯t know how lucid Gori will be, and that''s if he doesn¡¯t just die.

    Instead, I look around for some of the younger kids in my hall. I¡¯m hoping to ask them for the name of the kid I¡¯ve seen Gori with from time to time. If I can find that kid I might be able to get some information about Gori¡¯s movements of late and hopefully piece things together from there.

    I instantly encounter a hitch, however. The four or so kids in my hall who are ten or younger aren¡¯t here. It isn¡¯t like them to rush out and start the day of training, maybe they have some prank planned? Or are you going to try and beg for extra food from a sympathetic domestic?

    It¡¯s a little annoying but they didn¡¯t know I was going to need them. I might rule hall three but it''s a loose sort of rule. I do my thing, everyone else does theirs and I shout when something important happens.

    Well, there isn¡¯t really much for it. I¡¯m going to need to head into hall two and find him myself. That thought makes my heart quicken a little. I¡¯m not banned from the other halls exactly, but you don¡¯t just wander into the other halls without invitation. A grin flashes across my mouth as a thought that is equal parts comforting and amusing hits me. Morean isn¡¯t here, they won¡¯t do a fucking thing.

    Buoyed by that I square my shoulders and head into hall two. It isn¡¯t far, just a little walk down the hallway outside my own room. Yet when I cross that threshold into the other hall the boys react like mine did to Gori charging in last night. There is shouting as they scatter, or climb up onto cots to stay out of my way. Before long some of the older boys have made a sort of defensive semi-circle in front of me with Tota at its center.

    ¡°Uhh hey North,¡± he says awkwardly glancing about at the commotion I¡¯ve caused. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    I offer a little chuckle at the absurdity of it all. ¡° I need to talk to one of the little kids from here¡± I reply, whilst turning my head to glare at a boy who is trying to flank me.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°I challen-¡± A dark-haired human boy starts to say before Tota smacks him mid-sentence and shoves the boy back behind the semi-circle.

    ¡°Idiot¡± he snaps before turning back to me. ¡°Sorry about that, now you want to talk to one of the little kids? What for?¡±

    Obviously, I¡¯m not planning on telling him or anyone else the truth, so I took a moment to prepare for this question before I came in here.

    ¡°I think he saw a fight between a pair of my boys.¡± While I¡¯m not exactly known for micromanaging my hall it is a believable excuse. If two of my boys are telling conflicting stories about something that happened between them it isn¡¯t uncommon for someone in my position to do a little investigation. If nothing else so that we can keep track of who beat who and maintain the loose hierarchy that forms in the halls.

    ¡°Right,¡± says Tota nodding. ¡° sorry to say I don¡¯t think we can help you .¡±

    I frown a little at that. ¡°And why not?¡±

    He runs a hand through the spikes on his head the same way Xael does it with his hair.

    ¡°We don¡¯t know why,¡± he says with another look around. ¡° But all of the kids aged eleven or younger are just kind of ..¡± he shrugs. ¡° gone.¡±

    <em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">¡®What?¡¯

    ¡°Gone?¡± I ask slowly.

    ¡°Yeah since last night, before the lockdown I think.¡±

    I feel my eyes go wide and actively force my face into a mask of neutrality.

    ¡°Weird,¡± I say in perhaps the most suspicious tone of all time. My voice even cracks a little, drawing a quizzical look from Tota and some of the other boys.

    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± says Tota indicating with his eyes towards the door behind me. I might not be some sort of social genius but I¡¯m pretty sure I get that message loud and clear.

    ¡®<em style="color: rgba(14, 16, 26, 1); background-image: initial; background-position: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">Take the information you got, and get out.¡¯

    It isn¡¯t unfriendly of him, just good sense. So I grunt my thanks and bid a hasty retreat. I wanted to anyway as I can feel my snicker welling up. A fit of it bursts out when I¡¯m in between halls, prompting me to stop and try to collect myself.

    It doesn¡¯t really work. In fact, the more I think about what I just heard the more nervous I get. I¡¯m not willing to try my luck in hall one as well, but I¡¯ll wager every coin I have stuffed under my cot they will say the same thing. Somehow every one of the smallest youth pit-slaves have been whisked away out of the compound. I doubt a single one of them has a Forspoken stone now that I think about it. Unless they are training or in one of the halls most of the youngest pitters are chained together or to railings around the compound. I¡¯m not sure why BloodRock holds off on putting Forspoken stone in all of us, knowing what the substance truly is now. Maybe there is a limit to how many of us he can track at once? Whatever the reason whoever stole the kids has made a clean getaway.

    Well almost clean. It seems that Xael and Gori know something about what happened. Probably Illexa too, I imagine. Still, they are playing that information close to their chests. So close in fact that Gori who I personally have never considered particularly tough stood up to a whole night of torture rather than reveal it.

    Even the implication that they might somehow be involved getting back to the houselord could easily be worth their lives. Maybe even the lives of any slaves closely associated with them. Slaves like that girl Talullah, slaves like me.

    After a little thought, I decide my only real option is to leave it that. I can¡¯t risk the guards getting suspicious after every last kid from the halls has vanished. I¡¯ve already taken more than enough risk today. It is absolutely the time to act normal, and not ask any more questions.

    So I go for a run. It is a decision I quickly regret, and now I¡¯m truly left alone with my thoughts. A mass breakout from a Far Mantyian compound isn¡¯t something I¡¯ve never heard of happening but it is rare, really rare. I¡¯m not sure when the last one happened, but I recall the escapees were all reported found and killed within a week.

    See it isn¡¯t enough to escape the compound, you need to escape the city. Despite their rivalries, and even occasional skirmishes the trade houses of Far Mantys come together with shocking solidarity whenever something like that happens.

    Each and every one of them will have soldiers and informants out looking for the runaways. Not to mention the specialized SlaveRunner hunters from House Tariff that are always chomping at the bit for a chance like this. Whatever it is that Xael and his fellow conspirators have done I hope for their sake and mine they planned it out well.

 Chapter 48: The First Main Event

    Chapter 48

    The First Main Event

    When fight day rolls around the next morning I find myself oddly excited. It works like a charm to get my thoughts off the vanished children when you are mere hours away from stepping out into that place under the torches to risk everything on the sands. Little things like your friend¡¯s conspiracy that might get you killed have a tendency to seem very far away indeed.

    The only thing I care about from the moment I wake up is finding out who I¡¯m fighting this evening. Despite my better-than-usual mood, I''m still not willing to risk eating today. Not a chance this far into the tournament.

    I do some of my normal stuff, I stretch, I go for a run and I train with Xael and Kalon before the sun is up. That is where today and my usual schedule diverge. I want to talk to Muraab and as soon as possible. Yes, I resolved to myself not to do anything unusual until I think the sun has set on the recent escape but seeking out master of guards is something I¡¯m known to do from time to time.

    It takes me a while to find the man which is no surprise. His work takes him all over the compound, all over the city sometimes. I eventually catch him speaking to a pair of men dressed in red with the little pyramid made of real rubes sewn into the breast of their tunics. If I had to guess they are coordinating efforts to find the missing pit-slaves so I keep a wide berth till they are not only done but long gone.

    ¡°Hey!¡± I call to the master of the guards once he is free. ¡° Can we talk?¡±

    Nervous about the more important parts of this interaction I stall for a little while, asking the older man questions about the remainder of the tournament I am in. For one thing, the number of teams left doesn¡¯t make sense for a bracket.

    The former king on the sands thinks it is an effort by the BlackMists to seem more local. They are using an older Far Mantyian tournament setup where there are no brackets. Just randomly selected matchups until there is one House left. I have to say it is a pretty stupid system, but at least I won¡¯t have to fight Kalon and Tota. The rest of what I want to know isn¡¯t nearly so simple to explain.

    That evening I¡¯m pacing around the viewing cage in Prime Arena Two which is starting to feel like my second home. My feeling of anxious excitement did not fade once I found out who I''m was fighting. In fact, it only grows and I think I know why. I want this fight.

    It isn¡¯t something I¡¯ve really been thinking about until now but I cannot wait to get my hands on these two. If our plan works this match will do wonders for my reputation. It will also mean I can finally stop drilling the type one light axe so hard. There is nothing wrong with the weapon but I miss the weight of my type two medium.

    Maybe more important than any of that I am finally finally fighting in the main event. Now granted this late into the Storm Herald there is only one match per evening but it still feels nice to know I¡¯m closing the show.

    Below the tournament of prisoner teams is heating up. There are still a lot more of them than there are of us but it''s been whittled down to the real fighters. The prisoners who in their lives before had been soldiers, or I guess are just good at it for whatever reason. I¡¯m not going to have to fight them and they will all be dead before this tournament is over. So it isn¡¯t like I pay the matches all that much attention.

    While I pace and convicts die Xael and I go over the plan for what feels like a hundred times. We have been preparing for this fight since we became aware of the possibility. Somehow having a plan and having drilled it dozens of times with Xael fills me with a weird sort of confidence. Not the momentum-based surety I sometimes feel after I¡¯ve won a few fights in quick succession. I don¡¯t feel unstoppable, I feel prepared.

    Truth be told I¡¯m expecting the One Directioners to make an appearance before the match but if the pack of kids are here today they leave me be. I wonder if maybe I scared them too much last time.

    ¡®Ehh who cares?¡¯ They will either get over it or they won¡¯t. I¡¯m not going to go out of my way to act nice every time I have to interact with these people. It is just too much to ask.

    I give the pit floor a bit more attention when I hear the roar of the crowd intensify. While I may be a little bit of a stranger to the Prime Arenas like this one. It doesn¡¯t change that I have spent my entire life in one pit or another. I know what a crowd sounds like when a fight ends.

    Glancing down I can¡¯t hide the surprise on my face. One side is all dead or down, the other hasn¡¯t taken a single casualty.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    ¡°Now that is dominance,¡± I mutter to myself.

    It won¡¯t be long before Xael and I descend to the pit floor so we both begin what will be our final stretches and warm-ups for the day. I¡¯ve been walking around and jogging on the spot to keep my muscles loose but one last one hurt. Besides, it''s a part of my pre-fight ritual and everyone knows you don¡¯t mess with those.

    Of course, I¡¯m hungry to the point of nausea but otherwise, I feel really good. Xael, despite claiming he would has not offered an explanation for the missing children. Now seeing the utterly insane risk for everyone involved I can¡¯t blame him, and don¡¯t bring it up.

    When Muraab lets me out I confirm with him that the arena is arming me the way I want. Reassured that it isn¡¯t my type two medium axe waiting for me I make my way down to the place beneath the torches. I¡¯m in such a good mood I don¡¯t even mind roaring and capering for the crowd as I do it.

    Feeling the still-warm sand under my feet snaps my mind into focus. I might feel good and even have a plan but these two are still dangerous opponents by any measure. I paw at the sands and internally go over the plan one final time. Like most good tactics it¡¯s fairly simple while still coming from an unexpected angle. At least I hope they won¡¯t be expecting it.

    ¡°Intro-ducing first, the pair that reminds us you don¡¯t need magic to be scary!¡±

    I think I¡¯m going to miss the high-pitched announcer lady when I go back to fighting elsewhere. Not that I really have time to appreciate the energy pouring from her voice into the crowd. I¡¯m far too busy trying to look as intimidating as I can to the pair across the pit floor from us.

    ¡°from House BloodRock, The Monster of monsters who can¡¯t seem to go a single match without taking a life!¡±

    ¡®These people really do think I enjoy killing don''t they?¡¯

    ¡°THE BEAST OF BLOODROCK!!! NOOoooOOOORTH!!!!!¡±

    There are cheers, even more than last time. I almost wish there weren''t as the goofy smile that crosses my face completely ruins my attempts to look scary.

    ¡°Standing with the beast is the one boy who can control him, brought all the way from the GodsRing for just that purpose.¡±

    ¡®Maybe I won¡¯t miss the announcer that much after all.¡¯

    ¡°The boy as beautiful as he is devout, the Divine blade XAAAAEEEEEELLLLLL DEEBBBBOOOORRRAAAANT.¡±

    Even when the cheers for Xael utterly eclipse the ones I got I can¡¯t help but feel happy. He deserves the love he gets, and more importantly, I have never been more popular than I am partnered with the foreign boy.

    ¡°And their opposition, fighting on behalf of House Tariff, The Stone and The Storm! The master of the duel hammer, with the master of the air¡±

    I sort of assume they get a more combined introduction because they are famous as a pair, more than they are individually. Maybe it just hurts the lady¡¯s throat less, I don¡¯t know. I do know that master is far too strong of a term for either of them.

    ¡°Arium The Breeeeaaaaakkkkkkkkkeeeeerrrr, and Corlin THE WHIIIIIRRRRRrrrrrrLLLLLLWIIINNNDD!¡±

    Across the pit, the other duo are set up like they usually are. The bulky pig-cursed armed with a pair of war hammers and standing a few steps in front, the green-haired sky-blessed with horns that look like feathers well behind with his long spear.

    Xael and I talked about mirroring their formation but ended up deciding to simply stand side by side which we do. So long as I can keep a clear path to the sky-blessed boy this will work better.

    The call to begin comes and all four of us burst into action. The pair from Tariff predictably start the same as they did last time. I can¡¯t really blame them, everyone knows predicting your enemy and using that information to defeat them are very different things. So if it works it works and you work it.

    I feel the air around me begin to rush towards the other pair as Arium charges forward hammer-wielding arms pumping. I can see the pig-boy though I¡¯m not really paying him attention. My eyes are locked on the green-haired sky-blessed. I¡¯ve always had a good sense of timing but this¡­This is going to require it to be perfect.

    As Corlin slams the but of his spear into the ground I let fly with my type one light axe. He leaps forward attempting to vault upwards like he did last time I saw them fight. The difference is my axe flies right at his head. My aim is true, and my timing is immaculate. So naturally it''s the back of the axe that hits him, not the blade.

    I might not be lucky enough to take Corlin out of the fight immediately. The plan still works pretty well, cracking the boy''s skull open and sending him tumbling to the ground instead of soaring into the air.

    He¡¯s tough enough that the sky-blessed is trying to get to his feet almost as soon as he hits the sand. Here¡¯s the thing though, without his air-walk ability Corlin is just a long spear-wielding pitter who is kind of fast. Xael on the other hand is a lot faster than ¡®kind of¡¯.

    The dark-haired boy surges forward with the kind of speed that makes me question his human heritage. Just as we have planned he is all over Corlin immediately not giving the sky-blessed a chance to recover and try and his leap again.

    That just leaves me dealing with a charging pig-boy after having just thrown my axe a dozen feet across the pit. On the sands unarmed is usually synonymous with dead, which is precisely why I made sure they armed me with two of the smaller axes.

 Chapter 49: Rage Vs Fury

    Chapter 49

    Rage Vs Fury

    It isn¡¯t that Arium is strong, though he is. I¡¯m strong too. The same can be said for his size. He is a little bigger than I am but not enough to matter. It¡¯s not even the unnatural durability his curse gives him, I have fought plenty of people who take a real killing to put down.

    No, none of that stuff really puts me off as Arium crashes into range with me. It''s the sheer ferocity. The pig cursed¡¯s hammers never stop moving as he looks to overwhelm. There are plenty of gaps in his defence but taking advantage of them without somehow avoiding a counter blow is a weak proposition at best.

    It would be a different story if I had my type two medium axe; in that case, I could do what I call the Iron Wall. Stand my ground and use the added weight of the axe to batter the attacks aside to make his openings massive. With the lighter type one in hand, I find his blows a lot harder to stop.

    Arium¡¯s war hammers and my stupid little axe seem to weigh about the same, which I could deal with easily enough if the fucking things weren¡¯t such a risk of breaking my blade every time we clash.

    You never really want to slam your weapon directly into the other fighter''s unless you have a significant weight advantage so I¡¯m used to dodging when I have to, but it would be nice to have the option. This back-foot fighting shit does not suit me at all.

    Not that I have a whole lot of choice in the matter. The way one hammer strike follows relentlessly after the other no matter how I dealt with the last blow quickly forces me to give ground across the sands with frightening immediacy.

    The pig boy doesn¡¯t get it all his own way of course. I am the Beast of BloodRock, one of the best in the whole city and I¡¯ve been planning for this for days. Every few steps I stop moving backward and pivot to the side changing the direction of my retreat.

    It is in these moments that the weakness of Arium¡¯s ceaseless aggression presents itself. He can¡¯t take the time to cut my movement off since he¡¯s swinging all the time and that means I¡¯m given a clean path to send my axe toward his side without the pig-cursed having a real chance to stop it.

    It''s after the second time I pull the trick that Arium is finally forced to fight like a sane person. My lighter axe finding its way beneath his elbow and biting deep into the muscle around his ribs. The pig boy lets out a high-pitched squeal and disengages for the first time since the fight started.

    It¡¯s a good thing too. I¡¯m not sure how long I could have kept his hammers at bay with the fight progressing the way it has been. I¡¯ve already been forced to endure a taste of the bashing weapons once so far. Unable to get out of the way I stepped forward to meet the strike with my tensed and armoured upper arm. It robbed the blow of some of the force but I can¡¯t actually feel my free arm anymore.

    None of that matters now. The moment Arium takes a backwards step I¡¯m on him like ants on a dropped meal. Biting at him from all angles with my axe and my jaw as I shift angles around the boy. He shells up pretty well, knocking aside most attacks or catching them on his forearms when he can¡¯t.

    What he isn¡¯t good at is avoiding my strikes entirely, where I did my best Xael impersonation to dance and circle away from his relentless assault. He seems to have even less experience fighting on the backfoot than I do.

    It makes sense I suppose. When was the last time Arium had fought without Corlin¡¯s long spear backing him up? It couldn¡¯t have been recently and their unique brand of teamwork would make putting the pig boy on the defensive all but impossible.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    He has no such support now. Just my snarling breath and blurring axe. I might not pack the punch I usually do with my type two axe, but even the Arium¡¯s bulk can¡¯t keep him safe from a bladed edge for long. Soon he¡¯s starting to react to my feints and retreat entirely almost every time I raise my axe. Can¡¯t say I blame the boy for the last forty heartbeats or so I¡¯ve been aggressively turning his upper half into a bloody mass of shredded flesh.

    He¡¯s breathing hard and bleeding worse but Arium isn¡¯t done yet. I can see it in his squinty little eyes, even as I¡¯m storming my way around his defenses with blows that alternate side, angle, and height to keep him off balance. The pig cursed still thinks he can find a way to win.

    I pivot again, taking a slice out of his inner forearm as Arium tries a desperate swing with both hammers at once. It doesn¡¯t come close to catching me and my confidence that victory is only a matter of time soars.

    Well, that is if Xael has been able to keep Corlin on the ground. If the human boy can¡¯t live up to his end of the plan things are going to get complicated very quickly, and by complicated I mean awful. I assume the foreigner has things in. If he didn¡¯t I likely would have been stabbed from above by now.

    It is still a concern though as I can¡¯t risk looking over at the other pair. On the backfoot or not Arium is too good, and too willing to go right back on the offensive for me to even spare a glance away from him.

    It would be nice if my opponent was as stupid as he looked. He¡¯s a little slower than I am physically, but he isn¡¯t dumb. It¡¯s one thing to know you are losing, it''s another altogether to understand what you should do about it. Much to my irritation Arium knows.

    The methods are different of course, yet just like I did the pig boy keeps looking for ways to change the flow of the fight. He leaves false openings or tries to bait me into attacks he can counter. None of it works until he throws one of the hammers at me.

    Even having just done the same at the start of this match I didn¡¯t even consider that he might try it. I guess it really is the kind of technique no one ever sees coming. I manage to bring my axe up in time to stop the weapon from hitting me, causing it to bounce harmlessly off onto the sand.

    That doesn¡¯t stop Arium from slamming into my midsection immediately after it though. Off guard and off balance the attempt to tackle me works quite well, sending me stumbling to the ground with the pig cursed atop me. He¡¯s as strong as he looks, under normal circumstances I actually think he would even be more powerful than I am.

    Thankfully I¡¯ve been ripping his flesh to chunks for the better part of the fight at this point. It doesn¡¯t matter who you are as wounded as Arium is, his strength is leaking away with each heartbeat. He knows it too and goes to work immediately trying to finish the fight from his favourable position.

    I fake moving in one direction before exploding the opposite way sending us into a hectic roll as we struggle for both position and to keep a hold of our own weapons. Even with him practically bleeding to death there is no quit in the pig boy. He fights me for every moment, with everything he has left.

    It doesn¡¯t save him. Just like when we were on our feet he seems to struggle if I keep alternating directions. He can predict it I think, but he hasn¡¯t seemed to be able to time my movements properly the whole fight. Even with good technique and ferocity backed by strength. You need to be able to time the other guy at least occasionally or you are going to lose. Just like Arium is going to lose right now.

    It costs me a long gash from one of his tusks across my chest, and a few awkward hammer blows to the side but I manage to get firmly on top of the pig boy. With a final twist, I manage to ram the blade of my axe down into his cheek between his tusk and his nose.

    ¡°Fucking yield.¡± I hiss down at him.

    When he doesn¡¯t I slam my forearm into the back of the axe driving it into the flesh of his face.

    ¡°Yield!¡± I repeat ferociously.

    I smash that axe head further into the meat and bone of his face twice more before Arium finally gets the message and stops fighting me. He can¡¯t exactly get the words out properly with an axe in his face but he tries.

    I¡¯m pretty sure I get the message and he doesn¡¯t try anything when I climb off of the boy. Panting furiously I glance around looking for the other two combatants. My spit tastes like metal, my lungs can¡¯t decide if they ache too much to breathe or desperately need air, my chest is bleeding freely and I have at least half a dozen bruises I didn¡¯t step onto the sands with.

    ¡°Saffron¡¯s golden balls! I feel good!¡±

 Chapter 50: Sore Hands

    Chapter 50: Sore Hands

    When I do lay my eyes on Xael I¡¯m surprised to find both he and the Sky Blessed are still in the fight. Though calling it a fight was a little generous. Does a mouse fight a cat when it''s being battered back and forth between the predator¡¯s paws?

    I don¡¯t think it''s out of cruelty so much that if Xael feels like he has someone overmatched he tries to give them plenty of opportunity to surrender.

    That isn¡¯t how it looks though and I¡¯m confident all the crowd sees is an arrogant human systematically tearing his enemy apart from the extremities inward. It isn¡¯t just how much faster Xael is than the Sky Blessed. I can see now that he really is only a little bit quicker than Corlin. It isn¡¯t even his sense of timing which while good is worse than mine. What truly gives Xael the edge is his sheer vocabulary of attacks. If you make a move, he has some perfectly tailored answer to it. On the rare occasion, he doesn¡¯t the human boy will dance back out of the way, before surging right back into range.

    I am a little hesitant to come charging over to the boy¡¯s aid after what happened last time. I don¡¯t need to worry about it, the Sky Blessed tries to pull his airwalk trick one last time and Xael doesn¡¯t so much attack him as places his sword in the right spot and lets the boy disembowel himself.

    I snort as I stroll over to celebrate with the dark-haired boy. Corlin is a valuable slave and I figure they will put him back together again, but really made a mess of the kid. The foreign boy waves to the crowd and offers me a wide grin as the serviles stretcher the other two off to be treated¡­or let die depending on how cheap their owners are feeling.

    Leaning in close, Xael speaks. ¡° This is where you should have asked me, idiot. Yeah, It was me, my sister and I got the kids out, don¡¯t ask where I won''t say. ¡° I gape at the skinny boy for a few heartbeats then nod. Gods above and below he''s a genius! Literally, not one person can hear us over the roar of the crowd, and that is with him practically screaming in my ear.

    ¡°But you are selling them to someone kind right?¡± I¡¯ve heard rumors about other cities where slaves are treated a lot better, so I¡¯m hoping it is someone sorta famous for that.

    He manages to keep the grin on his face, but the sheer darkness that enters Xael¡¯s eyes has me convinced for a moment that he is going to hit me.

    ¡°They aren¡¯t being sold!¡± He lets out a string of what are probably curses in his native language.

    ¡°We are freeing them. They are on their way to a city-state where slavery is illegal.¡±

    For a moment my heart soars as I consider the potential for my own freedom. Faster than it rose that elation comes crashing back down as I remember I can¡¯t ever escape. There is only one path to freedom for me, and it will never be a daring breakout. Not while there is a Forspoken stone inside me.

    Still, it is nice to know that if they can make it, and that remains a big if I¡¯m sure. The kids will be free¡­free. The word makes my mind buzz in a strange way. One part longing, one part utter terror.

    I¡¯m not sure exactly how long I stand there stunned, but it¡¯s long enough that he reminds me we need to leave the pit floor.

    ¡°Oh uhh, right,¡± I grunt. ¡° Just next time, if there is a next time I want to help.¡±

    I can only see the human boy out of the corner of my eye as we walk towards the stairs that will take us back to the viewing cage area. Yet I am certain that his smile changes my words into something more genuine.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±

    To my surprise, Gori not only survives the night but manages to regain consciousness not long after I finish my morning run the next day. I think he might be ruined for the pits though. The antlered boy has always been big, but he lacks a killing instinct; That ability to leave your consciouss outside the pit and inflict potentially lethal harm without hesitation.

    I think it¡¯s already too late to undo the damage done to the boy, not that It seems very likely that BloodRock will pay to repair the very damage he inflicted. Not for a pitter who loses almost as much as he wins.

    Over the last couple of days, some of the boys have been taking care of the comatose Gori, forcing water and broth down his throat. They gather around him chattering now that he¡¯s awake. I give them a little bit of time with him, only enough for me to slowly walk over to the water barrel and drink a little. Then drink a little more, then a little more then my patience cracks and I stomp over to scatter the group with a roar.

    ¡°Subtle as always.¡± Jokes Gori weakly.

    I shrug and ask him how he¡¯s feeling. Apparently, his hands hurt, which I suppose isn¡¯t really much of a surprise.

    ¡°You look kinda dangerous with the broken antlers at least,¡± I say with a forced smile.

    He laughs but it is just as forced as my smile, and I can see the question in his eyes. Growling at one boy he wondered a little too close I eventually lean in and whisper to him.

    ¡°Xael got your message, kids got out.¡±

    ¡°Thank you¡± He whispers back. After that we fake a little bit of small talk before I let him get his rest, stalking off to meet Kalon and Xael for our morning drills.

    The blonde is twitchy and excitable the entire session, to the point where I get annoyed enough to ask him what on the seven worlds is going on? Kalon grins at both of us when he answers.

    ¡°My match tonight. It''s her.¡±

    Instantly both Xael and I are giving him our full attention. There is no question who he means, there are only two girls left in the tournament and I know he doesn¡¯t mean the barbarian girl that Velorn doesn¡¯t let fight.

    We have questions for him, how could we not? Though the truth is they all boil down to just one. ¡®Are you prepared?¡¯ The human boy assures us that he and Tota have been working on a plan for this match since the tournament began, yes he¡¯s scared but more than that he is excited to see if their scheme can actually beat her. Not that he will tell us what that plan actually is no matter how bad we try to cajole him.

    I hate to admit it, so I don¡¯t to anyone but myself. I am worried about Kalon and Tota. When you lose to a flame witch it isn¡¯t like you just get hurt. She is going to be sending intense fire that obeys her every whim at them. With a little bit of bad luck, either of the boys could end up hurt so bad no one even tries to save them.

    Still, Kalon¡¯s smile is infectious and I find my worries receding as we train. He has graduated from someone who needed three others including my only real rival in the compound to face me. To a legitimate challenge, who can switch between a version of Xael¡¯s in-and-out dance to a copy of my own preferred defense as attack strategy. He isn¡¯t anywhere near as good as either of us at it, but the flexibility makes him dangerous.

    Maybe that''s what they plan to do? Overwhelm the Itti¡¯atti girl and her huge partner with sheer versatility? I¡¯ve heard of worse plans¡­I¡¯ve used worse plans. Whatever it is Tota and Kalon are planning to do, it had better be a fast-acting plan. Both that girl and Klash have the potential to end any fight at any moment. Against that kind of destructive force, you do not have the luxury of a plan that drags out. It is kind of unintuitive honestly, with a foe that dangerous you need to be less conservative as time is absolutely on their side over yours.

    These are the thoughts that plague me almost the entire day as my anxiety on behalf of my friends ebbs and flows.

    I throw myself into training with intense fervor to keep the intrusive thoughts away and I manage to consume my day with accuracy drills and strength training. I end up so focused on everything but Kalon and Tota¡¯s match that I¡¯m actually surprised when the afternoon rolls around and Muraab collects the group headed for the arena.

 Chapter 51: Crucible

    Chapter 51

    Crucible

    Today is one of the weirdest days I can remember experiencing. Not the things that happen, those are pretty normal. It is the way I feel that is weird. It''s similar to the feelings I get before I''m going to fight but way worse. How strange is that? I am not even fighting and this is maybe the most nervous I have ever felt.

    At least I can eat arena food again today. It feels like it has been forever since I had one of those tiny fried birds, and I have developed a real taste for them. Yet when Xael comes back with the things I can barely keep it down. Where normally tearing the wings off and crunching down on them is usually the highlight of my day I just feel queasy.

    Kalon and Tota have a nervous energy about them but I think it¡¯s trending towards excitement. I know the look in the blonde boy¡¯s eyes. There is an assurance there that only comes from intense preparation. Still, I¡¯ve heard Muraab say plans never last more than a couple of exchanges in the pit. He¡¯s probably right, most of my fights don¡¯t really last that long¡­or have a specific plan.  The one for Corlin went pretty well, so there''s that I guess.

    As always I find the preliminary matches of the day to be a waste of time. There are only a few convict teams left in their own secondary tournament so adult pitters are brought in for matches against each other or various monsters.

    When they do bring out the last couple of convict teams for their matches the idiots down there are starting to feel themselves, starting to enjoy the roar of the crowd. I get it, in their own way they are building fanbases just like we are. The difference is the pit slaves competing aren¡¯t all but guaranteed to die at the end of the event.

    ¡°Idiots¡± I mutter to myself as one team celebrates their victory like they are already free.

    I might be a little self-centered as I honestly don¡¯t notice how nervous Xael is until just before Kalon and Tota leave the cage. The dark-haired foreigner leaves and comes back a weird number of times. It¡¯s the smell that clues me in, despite doing a really good job cleaning himself I know he¡¯s been throwing up.

    ¡°Hey ¡° I call after Kalon and Tota are gone. ¡°It''s going to be fine, you''re boyfriend is going to be fine.¡±

    Xael pinches the bridge of his nose in dismay.

    ¡°First of all don¡¯t call him that in public, I¡¯ve explained this to you. Secondly I just, I just wish I could actually do something to help.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I reply knowingly. ¡° It would almost be easier if it was us down there.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I know!¡± He says, shaking his head. ¡° so annoying.¡±

    On the pit floor, I can see Muraab arming our boys. Tota is given his halberd as per usual, but Kalon is handed something weird along with the pit-sword he straps to his waist. It looks like a loop for a few heartbeats until the boy flicks it out.

    ¡°Is that a whip?!¡± I exclaim, shooting a glance at Xael who is standing in front of his little chair set up.

    ¡°It is¡± He answers with a little smile.

    The high-pitched announcer lady interrupts any further conversation.

    ¡°From House BloodRock, you know them, you Love them. The pair of dark horses who have made it further than any gambling house in the whole city predicted!¡±

    I wonder if that¡¯s true. I could believe it given there is just nothing special about them.  Yes, Tota has spikes but as abilities granted by the curse go, it''s worse even than my bite. And Kalon is only human after all.

    ¡°Seeking to upset the odds ONE. MORE. TIME. I give you KAAAAAYYYYYLLLOOOOONNN aaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnddddd TOOOOTTTTTAAAAAA¡±

    Across the sands from them, the elephant boy and the flame witch look the same as usual. Klash is making some effort to play to the crowd but Embella is clearly just bored to be here.

    ¡°And from House HighSail a pair that gives new meaning to the word monster! Everyone¡¯s pick to win the whole tournament and perhaps the scariest youth team ever created!¡±

    That draws a sneer from me. They are pretty scary, but ever created? Not a chance.

    ¡°KUUUHHHHHLLLLAAAAASSSSSSHHHH aaaaaannnnnnnnndddddddddd EEEEMMMMBEEEELLLLLLAAAAAAAAAA!!!¡±

    I was proud a few moments ago when the crowd cheered for Kalon and Tota: The reception they had received was more than a little boisterous but it is utterly eclipsed by the roar for Embella and Klash. What can I say people love a dominant force and they have been extremely dominant in this tournament.

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    The moment she calls ¡°BEGIN!¡± I¡¯m holding my breath despite my words to Xael there is an anxious part of me that thinks the flame witch is going to incinerate them instantly.

    To my surprise, Tota rushes forward to engage the elephant boy. The range and leverage granted by his halberd is a quality counter to the monstrous size and strength of Klash. There is a little problem though, Embella.

    Twirling her metal flamestick the Itti¡¯atti sends a stream of living fire around her partner right towards Tota.

    ¡®CRACK¡¯

    The fire sputters out and the girl lets out a little shriek as the whip lashes out and slices her along the jaw. The girl takes a moment to glare at Kalon unleashing a torrent of flame from both ends of the staff-like weapon. It isn¡¯t thin this time but waves of fire that quickly expand.

    She shouldn¡¯t have taken the time to look at him as the whip snakes out again driving the girl back with a lash against her chest and sending the gouts of fire shooting off randomly.

    ¡°YES!¡±

    I¡¯m on my feet screaming then, and I¡¯m not the only one. All around the stunned crowd is letting out excited screams or cheers of encouragement. No one expected Kalon and Tota to even put up a fight. Seeing the human boy hurt the Itti¡¯atti not once but twice is more than enough to make the fans lose their collective minds.

    I understand now what the pair from BloodRock are trying to do. Tota is armed almost perfectly to keep Klash busy. I doubt he can threaten the huge cursed but neither can Klash break away from him to help his partner. The long reach of the Halberd means Tota can both keep the elephant boy at a distance and punish any attempt to disengage.

    All the while Kalon is actively moving his ranged duel away from Klash and Tota. The Itti¡¯atti girl has recovered enough from the shock of actually getting hurt for once to put up a fight, but it¡¯s clear she is getting the worst of it. The blonde boy doesn¡¯t stop moving, spinning and twisting away from the girl¡¯s guided flame all while sending lash after lash at the girl.

    Using the whip whilst avoiding streams of fire that are actively chasing him is no mean feat. It¡¯s obvious he has been drilling these movements to an insane degree.

    She is bleeding from half a dozen red lines now, while Kalon is barely touched. There is one point where things get a little scary; One of streams of fire suddenly changing direction into a zig-zag motion to cut him off.  He deals with the attempt to trap him by dive-rolling under it.

    Throwing yourself into a roll when you haven''t been knocked over or tossed usually strikes me as stupid. A quick or clever enemy will almost always close the distance and take advantage of the dozens of ways it leaves you open.  Not this time, this time I cheer like a maniac.

    ¡°FUCKING KILL HER!!¡±

    At some point, I made my way to the bars of the viewing cage. I don¡¯t remember walking over here but now that I have I¡¯m craning my head forward to watch the match and gripping the bars hard enough I could break a human¡¯s hand in my grip.

    Kalon has Embella flinching now, the whip has stung her too many times and is only picking up momentum. Even when he misses she jumps back and it''s utterly ruining her ability to control the fire.

    The whip has lost a little length to the streams of fire but there is still enough that Kalon can stay well out of range of her wider magics, like the cone she incinerated her last opponents with.

    I can feel myself grinning as what has to be the final sequence begins. Embella is mouth open, panting and bleeding, her movements more than a little sluggish, her fire just as pathetic as Kalon unloads a horrific barrage.

    Crack goes the whip again, sheering yet more skin from her.

    Crack.

    Crack.

    Crack.

    Crack?

    With a sudden surge of fear, I look over to Tota and Klash. The elephant boy is unarmed for some reason, I think he threw it maybe? It doesn¡¯t matter since he has managed to close the distance and fucking shatter Tota¡¯s Halberd. The boy they call The HighSail Colossus is strong in a very unfair way.

    Utterly ignoring the boy¡¯s spikes he grabs ahold of Tota. To his credit Tota not only struggles in the powerful grip he tears a handful of spikes out of his flesh and starts desperately stabbing them at the grey-skinned monster.

    Lifting Tota like he¡¯s nothing, Klash turns and yells something to Kalon. I can¡¯t hear them over the berzerk crowd but I can imagine the exchange. Embella is a bloody swaying mess, yet she¡¯s still kind of standing even if the flame stick has turned from weapon to crutch.

    Klash is probably demanding that the blonde boy surrender or he¡¯s going to kill Tota. Smart move if he¡¯s trying to save the Itti¡¯atti girl. I don¡¯t think Tota would want Kalon to take the deal, but the human does pause his assault on the flame witch.

    Klash barks one more word and then rips Tota¡¯s arm right out of its socket like I rip the wings off the little game birds they sell here.

    Either the crowd has gone silent or my ears have stopped working, the world seems to blur as a gout of blood spews from the spiked boy onto the sand.

    Kalon screams something I think and then drops his whip.

    ¡®No. No! Don¡¯t be an idiot. They will never get to him in time to save Tota, surrendering is pointless.¡¯

    Kalon does it anyway, the spikey cursed is his friend and has been since the human and his mother arrived at BloodRock a couple of years back. He rushes to the convulsing form of Tota and tries his best to help. Klash does something similar lifting the Itti¡¯atti into his arms as the announcer starts screaming.

    ¡°END! WINNERS HOUSE HIGHSAIL!¡±

    I¡¯m right¡­.Tota is dead before the serviles have gotten their stretcher halfway across the pit floor.

 Chapter 52: Spectacles

    Chapter 52

    Spectacles

    The mood in the BloodRock compound isn¡¯t exactly cheerful over the next few days. Tota was popular among¡­everyone. The youth pitters, the adults, the domestics, even us over in hall three. He used to make everyone laugh with his stupid impersonations of people; The ones he did of BloodRock and me were especially beloved. I remember how much that used to annoy me, now it makes me smile. Isn''t it funny how life is like that?

    Kalon stops coming to our early morning training. Neither I nor Xael say anything about it but we both practise harder, a lot harder. I don¡¯t know how much it will help in the four or so days before we fight again, it makes me feel a little better though.

    I go hard when I¡¯m training with the other slaves too, probably too hard if I¡¯m honest. In two days I manage to send four of them to the tower.

    When the masked Guard Haark comes and orders me to leave afternoon training I assume that''s why. When he take me to Xael and his sister and that same portable bath I almost wish I were about to get punished for being too rough. While I enjoyed that last party at the BlackMist compound I haven¡¯t lost my fear of the events. One good one does not undo a decade of horrible experiences.

    Still, I don¡¯t complain. Not even when Ilexa forces me to model outfits for what feels like hours.

    My lack of complaint and faint grin during the whole process has absolutely nothing to do with Xae pre-empting my complaints by informing me Viscarra would be there and asking after my attendance specifically.

    It isn¡¯t until I¡¯m dressed in the tightest most annoying outfit I have ever put on that I think to ask where we are going and why. It turns out the last three teams have to attend a special party to celebrate the final matches of the tournament. It will also be there that they ¡®randomly¡¯ decide who fights who.

    As we head for Prime Arena Two, which strikes me as an odd place for a party. Xael explains that it won¡¯t be random at all. The whole city has been waiting weeks to see Velorn the fire blessed face off against Embella the flame witch. The foreign boy is certain the BlackMists won''t risk us beating one of them before that fight can take place. The money they will make on attendance and gambling will simply be too great to leave to chance.

    ¡°Guaranteed second place,¡± I say with a grin ¡°Not bad.¡±

    The wagon feels oddly empty with just Xael and me in it.

    ¡°You are not worried about BloodRock losing his bet before we get a chance to face them?¡±  That almost makes me laugh.

    ¡°Are you kidding? Velorn won¡¯t last ten heartbeats against those two.¡±

    We get taken through the upper levels and for the first time in my life into one of the large viewing boxes. It is a lot larger than they look from down in the pit itself. The place easily holds fifty or sixty people along with long food tables, and a little podium.

    The moment we are in there Xael abandons me again. I don¡¯t like being in these sorts of things alone but I think he thinks he¡¯s doing me a favor.

    I make a straight line for the long food tables. There is a domestic who hands me a plate when I get there, and then I can just help myself as much as I want. It''s madness, if no one says anything to stop me I intend to do my best to bankrupt house BlackMist via their own hospitality.

    Seeing that everyone else is also using the wooden plates they are given I resist the urge to discard the thing as an unneeded extra step. I still proceed to stuff my face with all manner of smoked meats and dried and sugared fruits. I¡¯m going to miss this tomorrow when I¡¯m eating unseasoned rice or gruel back at the compound.

    I don¡¯t notice it immediately but there are quite a few guards around in the gravy armor and purple livery of BlackMist. They ring the viewing box, one every few feet standing next to or leaning up against the wall. Once I start looking for them I count at least fifteen.

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    ¡®They just shouldn¡¯t have the three teams in a room together like this and they wouldn¡¯t need so many.¡¯

    I don¡¯t think anything is going to happen, and I have no plans to start anything even though they were kind enough to leave me unmuzzled tonight, still with Klash, Embella, Velorn, and especially myself roaming the gathering freely. I would have brought more than a couple of soldiers too.

    Xael and the girl teamed up with Velorn aren¡¯t even worth considering, If either of them starts a fight I¡¯ll eat my left foot. I must look ridiculous with the plate held near my face, chewing while I look around suspiciously for the other teams. They don¡¯t take long to spot. Klash unsurprisingly being the first, the enormous grey-skinned cursed is accompanied by his pit partner who must have been stuffed full of Forspoken stone to be as recovered as she is already. The Itti¡¯atti girl still bears scars across her face and arms that will likely never fade.

    Velorn is close to the balcony where the BlackMists watch the fights. Any fights they want, not just those a part of the tournament they are hosting. This is their viewing box, and open to their use whenever they want it.

    The flame-blessed boy is obviously flirting with a middle-aged BlackMister. I take a second shocked glance realising it¡¯s Viscarra¡¯s mother. The silver bone-wearing woman seems happy for the attention, and whatever he is saying is apparently excessively funny.

    I almost choke when I finally lay eyes on Viscarra. I don¡¯t know why I hate to admit to myself that I have been looking for her. The BlackMist girl and I haven¡¯t had a chance to interact at all since The Storm Herald Invitational began. Weirdly she is deep in conversation with Muaritzo; The young dog boy from the rich trading family who runs my little fan club, I haven¡¯t seen him in a while either.

    It is quite a shock to see the two of them together but that isn¡¯t why I choke, It''s the girl. I honestly feel like every time I see Viscarra she is more stunning than the last time. I think I understand the reason why, but that doesn¡¯t change the impact. A few days back Xael¡¯s sister Ilexa explained the concept of makeup to me. Yet the powders and creams she uses must possess powerful magic indeed to make Vicarra look like this.

    Both the boy and teen girl get excited when they spot me in turn, waving me over but I¡¯m already walking towards the pair. In fact, I¡¯m so engrossed in watching the BlackMist girl cast a little spell with a flourish of her hands as I approach that I practically knock some human in Saffron red over. I expect the human to get all indignant or something but he laughs it off, tells me I won him a fortune last match, and just goes back to whatever he was doing.

    Rich people are weird, I would have knocked his teeth out if the roles were reversed so maybe I should just be grateful. When I finally get over to the pair Viscarra is finishing up her little display of magic.

    ¡°That''s so weird?!¡± Says the little dog boy up at her.

    ¡°It is¡± She agrees ¡° but you take the good with the bad, and it means I can do things with magic that neither of my parents can do.¡±

    ¡°Like those spectacle things?¡±

    ¡°Like these spectacle things,¡± She agrees.

    I don¡¯t know what ¡®spectacle things¡¯ are but it takes me almost no time to figure it out.  When Viscarra looks up from the boy to me it becomes abundantly clear, there are a pair of swirling black discs about the size of a large coin each hovering against each of her eyes.

    They look like tiny versions of the disc that spins around BlackMist tower, giving her a slightly terrifying visage. Considering she is a sorceress who wears metal bones over or weaved into her clothes, so it isn¡¯t like she needed help being scary.

    Except she looks at me. Right at me her face splits into a smile that I can¡¯t help but match with a goofy one of my own.

    ¡®Maybe not that scary.¡¯

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you two knew each other, ¡° I say in a display of my usual cutting wit.

    ¡°Well, good evening to you too,¡± replies Viscarra with a little snort.

    ¡°Uhh yeah¡±

    I look to Mauritzo as though the little dog boy can help me somehow. He explains that his father and Viscarra¡¯s uncle have been in business together for a long time. For my part, I¡¯m running an internal check of all the nasty things I¡¯ve said to Mauri or while around him. Is there something that might make me look bad to the BlackMist girl? No¡­no?

    ¡®Oh, who fucking cares¡¯ I chide myself. She knows who and what I am, she was in this very viewing box when I killed Locke. If Viscarra suddenly does not like me, I¡¯ll just have to deal with it.

    ¡°Well, what do you think?¡± She asks, gesturing to the horrifying discs of darkness sitting atop her eyes.

    ¡°You look like you are about to eat my soul,¡± I say back honestly.

 Chapter 53: Poor Decisions Made Easy

    Chapter 53

    Poor Decisions Made Easy

    I like talking to Viscarra, really I do. She knows a lot about the pits, music, and magic. I¡¯m honestly not sure there is a subject she can¡¯t make seem interesting in spite of all that I¡¯m doing an awful job of listening to her. It isn¡¯t on purpose or anything but every time she opens her mouth and speaks I get distracted by the red of her lips and the little curve of her neck.

    What''s worse is the BlackMist girl is dressed in a corset that makes her figure more than a little distracting and I keep having to ask her to repeat herself.

    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± She asks me obviously, noticing my terrible attempts to converse. ¡°I¡¯m talking about your matches here, giving you all sorts of chances to brag and you don''t even care.¡±

    I am not at all equipped to handle that statement. My normal response to getting called out like this is violence but that isn¡¯t exactly on the table for me right now. Taking the least effective steadying breath of all time and try opting for the truth.

    ¡°I..uhh you just look really pretty tonight and it keeps distracting me while I¡¯m trying to listen.¡±

    Viscarra gives me what I think is a flat look, it''s hard to tell with the creepy black discs atop her eyes.

    ¡°Was that supposed to be charming? I¡¯m so pretty that you can¡¯t even manage to pay attention to what I¡¯m saying?¡±

    She does not sound impressed.

    ¡°Logically if you thought I was so pretty, you would want to pay attention to what I''m saying.¡±

    My fists ball at my sides, but I try to keep the rest of me seeming as non-threatening as possible. I don¡¯t think it works as I see one of the BlackMist guards out of the corner of my eye get the attention of another and gesture towards me.

    ¡°I do want to pay attention,¡± I say scratching at my main like I¡¯m Xael.

    ¡°So why aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I already told you. I just¡± I¡¯m getting frustrated now, and my mind is struggling to find the words to express myself. ¡° I¡¯m not trying to be charming, I don¡¯t even know how. But I do know you smell really good, and you are really pretty, and your clothes are like.¡±

    ¡°North.¡±

    I¡¯m rambling a little too much to notice she is trying to interrupt me right away. ¡°Are like doing something to the shape of your body, and every time I notice I just think about what kissing you might be like, and and I don¡¯t fucking know!¡±

    ¡°North calm down, you are getting really loud.¡± She¡¯s right, at some point during my little tirade, I practically started yelling.

    ¡°Right,¡± I grunt before going silent.

    She doesn¡¯t say anything for a long time, just staring at me with those black discs. I am telling myself I¡¯m an idiot and shouldn¡¯t have said anything for probably the twentieth time when she finally breaks the awkward silence.

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    ¡° So.¡± She says with a grin that shows a single dimple on her left side. ¡°You are saying if I let you kiss me you will start paying attention?¡± I¡¯ve never considered myself particularly smart. Quite the opposite once I get angry if I¡¯m being entirely honest, but even I am not slow-witted enough to miss an opportunity like that.

    ¡°I...yes that''s exactly what I¡¯m saying.¡±

    Her little giggle in response sets my heart racing so fast It starts make the buzzing feeling I get when I¡¯m really tired.

    ¡®Does that mean I can do it?¡¯ I try to look sure of myself offering her my best attempt at a charming smile and a raised eyebrow. I have never imagined I would want to kiss someone at a party but here I am. I wouldn¡¯t be much of a pitter if I couldn¡¯t take initiative while I¡¯m scared and I lean on that skill now.

    ¡°Well¡± I say, my voice is far steadier than I am expecting. ¡° Close your eyes then.¡±

    For just a heartbeat she looks absolutely scandalized and I¡¯m certain I¡¯ve made an awful mistake. Then the girl takes a little breath, closes her eyes, and purses her lips.

    I¡¯m glad she can¡¯t see the slack-jawed and idiotic expression that crosses my face.

    ¡®That is definitely confirmation.¡¯

    I don¡¯t know exactly what she was expecting but judging from the surprised ¡°eep¡± she makes against my lips when I grip the hair on the back of her head and pull Viscarra into a kiss. I¡¯m not quite audacious enough to shove my tongue into her mouth, but I still kiss her hard.

    Her lips are soft, and so close that the perfumes she wears fill my nostrils with an intensity that makes my head spin. After a moment of basically slamming my lips into her, she opens her mouth and matches my intensity.

    That is the moment I remember I¡¯m supposed to close my eyes and I quickly screw them shut. Somehow that makes the kiss feel better, like taking vision off the table somehow improves all the other feelings. I still wish I hadn¡¯t closed them as I''m in the midst of letting out a little groan of pleasure when not one but two heavily armored BlackMist soldiers brutally tackle me to the ground.

    Not seeing the attack coming it both knocks the wind out of my lungs and ruins my attempts to defend myself. With a snarl I struggle, kicking and snapping my jaws at the pair of men. As per usual it''s the armor that makes the difference. Even caught off guard I feel like I could probably fight them off eventually if it wasn¡¯t for them being encased in metal.

    I get my mouth around the armored forearm of one of the soldiers I am grappling with. Chomping down with as much force as I can manage. The armor initially holds but I feel the metal start to buckle and the man screams. Sadly before I can crush his arm properly another pair of the soldiers get involved and the four of them have little trouble pummeling me with blows and wrestling me out of the room.

    The BlackMist soldiers are less than gentle as they transport me to a locked room down the hall from the viewing box. Granted I''m not exactly what you would call cooperative but its still unnecessary since I didn¡¯t do anything wrong!

    I¡¯m not sure if the room they shove me into and lock is always intended as a cell or if they emptied out a large supply closet before the party. Either way there is nothing in the little room besides some empty shelves and now one extremely pissed off cursed.

    I wouldn¡¯t say I¡¯m keeping track of the time as I pace back and forth in the tiny room but I¡¯m pretty sure it''s about half an hourglass when the door opens again. I¡¯ve calmed enough that I don¡¯t hurl myself at it the moment the door moves. I still drop into a crouch and make ready to dispense some violence if I think it will prove to be the fastest way out of here.

    I¡¯m glad I didn¡¯t try anything, really glad when I see Poe the pale-skinned shadow creature that had casually shattered the lock on my muzzle with its bare hands. If I ever have to fight this thing I want to do it with an axe in hand.

    Behind Poe is Viscarra and a woman it take me a moment to rezognise, but when I do the sense of relief I felt at seeing the BlackMist girl sizzles away like the droplets of burning stone that bleed of my owner.

    ¡®Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. This is bad. BAAAAAAAAD! They are going to execute me, this is it, this is the end. I¡¯m dead, I¡¯m fucked, I¡¯m going to get eaten by shadow monsters. Why didn¡¯t I think about all this before?!¡±

    The woman accompanying her is Viscarra¡¯s mother.

 Chapter 54: Interrogation

    Chapter 54

    Interrogation

    The pale-skinned shadow creature wastes no time backing me up against the far wall of my makeshift cell; it keeps itself interposed between me and the women. I¡¯m bigger than Poe is, but I''ve seen the Shadow World denizen shatter metal with its bare hands. I have no intention of trying to fight him, but if I did I wouldn''t love my chances in such a small space.

    Viscarra¡¯s mother strides haughtily into the space and gives me a look I am more than a little familiar with. Repressing a sigh, I widen my stance and put my right fist in my left palm in a way that causes my arms and stomach muscles to flex. I know when I¡¯m being inspected, and while Hyena¡¯s never fetch much of a price I know how I¡¯m supposed to stand to seem as valuable as possible.  I don¡¯t even glare defiantly at the woman though the urge is very much present inside me.

    ¡°So this is him huh?¡± She says tilting a head to look me up and down. ¡° I suppose we all want to be ridden by a beast now and then, but a Hyena? And From BloodRock? Honestly Viscarra I¡¯m a bit worried about your tastes.¡±

    Last time when I had been at a BlackMist party Viscarra¡¯s uncle had teased her about wanting to kiss me. It had turned her bright pink with embarrassment, having her mother talk like this is making the girl I kissed look like she wants to die.

    ¡®The girl I kissed.¡¯ Even with the rich sorceress inspecting me, and a mostly naked shadow monster barring me up I can¡¯t quite keep the goofy grin off of my face.

    ¡°MOM!¡± Viscarra shouts in mortification. ¡°It was one kiss, would you slow down!?¡±

    The older BlackMist lady all but ignores her daughter as she continues to lecture the girl.

    ¡°You can¡¯t get married to him or anything and you absolutely cannot get pregnant.¡±

    ¡°One kiss Mom! It was one kiss!¡±

    Viscarra¡¯s mother plays with a finger bone necklace she is wearing for a few heartbeats before turning her measuring gaze on her daughter.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡± The older woman says simply.

    That pauses Viscarra for a moment.

    ¡°well...I¡± The younger BlackMist stumbles out.

    ¡°You are taking Royal¡¯s Rue yes?¡±

    I didn¡¯t think Viscarra could possibly look any more embarrassed than she does right now. Her mortification is so blatant on her face that the black discs that allow her to look at me can¡¯t even begin to hide it.

    It turns out I am very wrong. I don¡¯t know what Royal¡¯s Rue is but the question turns Viscarra so red that she looks like Atar BloodRock. The floor draws her gaze like a lodestone and the girl opens and closes her mouth like a fish stuck on dry land.

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    ¡°I¡± Viscarra eventually manages. ¡° Yes.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Her mother says without judgment before turning back to me.

    ¡°You, shirt off.¡± She doesn¡¯t offer an explanation and I don¡¯t ask for one. This is just how inspections go. Without a word, I slip the garment over my head and toss it to Poe. The shadow creature silently catches my shirt and neatly folds it into a little square, before handing it back to me.

    Her appraising eye doesn¡¯t seem overly impressed. Something I try not to take too personally.  Even when she makes a little ¡®meh¡¯ noise.

    ¡°He¡¯s tall and looks powerful, but he has a lot of scars Viscarra, I won¡¯t have a boy on your arm that loses.¡±

    I feel myself stiffen at those words and do my best to fight down a glare at the women. In spite of my efforts the glare wins, and I fix the women with a scowl that could peel paint.

    ¡® I am not a loser. My Record speaks for itself.¡¯

    ¡°Honestly¡± continues the older BlackMist. ¡° Why couldn¡¯t you have gotten all moon-eyed over Resh, or that massive elephant boy¡­what''s his name?¡±

    ¡°His name is Klash and I beat him.¡±

    I used to be pretty good at not talking back when people talk about me like I¡¯m not here. Somewhere along the way, I have lost the ability. To my surprise, it doesn¡¯t bite me in the ass like I expect.

    The middle-aged sorceress turns a sly smile on me.

    ¡°Really? And this was in a one-against-one?¡±

    I Nod. ¡°Yeah, It was just him and me. I¡¯m the only loss he has¡±

    Viscarra¡¯s mother proceeds to quiz me on all manner of topics about myself. There doesn¡¯t seem to be any sense to the way she eclectically jumps around.  One moment she is asking me to describe my match against Resh, the next she is asking me embarrassing questions about measurements I¡¯ve never taken. If the woman has any shame, the pleasure she is getting from making both me and her daughter blush far outweighs it.

    I don¡¯t really understand what the point of this is but I  guess my answers are satisfactory enough as the woman allows me to return to the party with her daughter on my arm.

    ¡°Uhh North,¡± Says the girl with black discs for eyes as we walk back to the viewing box.

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Put your shirt back on.¡±

    The snicker I managed to hold back the entire interrogation bursts from my lips. This prompts a raised eyebrow from Viscarra. Remembering Xael¡¯s advice I rush to explain that it¡¯s part of my curse.

    The sorceress is actually quite understanding which is nice though she thinks it¡¯s funny that putting my shirt back on is what broke the damn, rather than taking it off or some of the more outlandish things her mother asked me.

    The single dimple that appears on her left cheek when she smiles is the most unfair thing ever. It combined with how dazzling I find her smile in general is making my stomach do flips, and my heart sprint like I¡¯m fighting Resh.

    I think that is the moment I decide I don¡¯t want to go back to the party. As interested as I am in finding out who is fighting who next, I know I¡¯ll learn the answer soon enough. Besides Xael assured me it was going to be a rigged draw anyway.  No, I think I have everything I need right here in this wide hallway.

    ¡°How about,¡± I say while reaching forward to stroke her cheek. ¡° I leave it off.¡±

    I personally think that was particularly charming. The sort of phrase that would earn me another kiss or at least a giggle. Unfortunately I never get the chance to find out as the double doors that lead back to the viewing box and party within open allowing chattering guests out into the hall with us.

 Chapter 55: Like A Candle

    Chapter 55

    Like A Candle

    I guess It wasn¡¯t just my own embarrassment making the interview I did in the makeshift cell seem to take forever. I really was in there for a long time if the party is already getting out.

    Initially, I just stand my ground hoping to simply wait the flow of people out so I can get a little bit more time with Viscarra. I¡¯m wasting my time, Xael and the BloodRock guards sweep out into the hall and I have no choice but to go with them.  I don¡¯t even get a chance to say goodbye to the girl, but our gazes linger on each other as I¡¯m practically dragged off.

    I¡¯m basically in a daze the entire trip back to my home compound. It wouldn¡¯t be fair to say I¡¯ve never had a kiss before, but this is absolutely the first time I¡¯ve had one that I wanted. And wow did I want to kiss that girl! Not only is Viscarra pretty and rich but she¡¯s smart, she knows about fighting and she can do magic. To the best of my knowledge that is all of the categories I should care about.

    These are far less wholesome thoughts about the girl are swirling around my head so much that the walls of the BloodRock compound are in sight before it even occurs to me to ask if Xael was right about the final three matches.

    He was of course. The Itti¡¯atti flame witch will face Saffron¡¯s fire-blessed prodigy and all we have to do is watch from the sidelines, perfectly secure in the knowledge we will fight in the final match of the Storm Herald Invitational no matter what.

    If only that was the conversation topic Xael was interested in. Now that I¡¯m talking there is only one subject the foreign boy wants to discuss and it isn¡¯t fighting.

    ¡°Viscarra BlackMist,¡± He says with a rueful shake of his head. ¡°I know you have a big ego, that is audacious even for you.¡±

    ¡®I have a big ego?¡¯

    ¡°Why? It''s fine, she likes me.¡± I ask cautiously

    The look of disbelief Xael gives me lingers for an uncomfortably long time as the wagon drives into the east gate of the BloodRock.

    ¡°What!?¡± I eventually demand. This silent treatment shit always works wonders on me, I just don¡¯t have the patience to put up with it.

    ¡°She¡¯s here learning the family business with the lesser branch of her family. ¡°

    I have no idea what that means or why it''s important. My confusion must be pretty as he rolls his eyes and goes on.

    ¡°BlackMist. The people putting on the tournament we are in, the people who own that giant tower with the magic swirling around it, the second or third richest house in the whole city.¡±

    I¡¯m frowning now.

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡° Those same people are the poorer, less powerful secondary house. Rumour has it they would barely even matter if the Houselord wasn¡¯t such a master of magic.¡±

    I¡¯m not sure how he knows any of this but I suppose on days we don¡¯t fight I only see him for morning practice and at dinner. He could be anywhere and doing anything the rest of the time for all I know.

    We climb out of the wagon and the guards stride off. It''s always weird seeing them just leave me to my own devices but Xael isn¡¯t a slave and I¡¯m more forspoken stone than boy. There isn¡¯t actually a reason for them to bother watching over us once we are back in the compound.

    ¡°I already knew she was rich¡± I grunt. ¡° Why does it matter? Rich people like pitters.¡±

    ¡°Do you not realize it is because she likes you that it¡¯s a problem?

    ¡°Huh?¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°That girl is more than a friend or a girl, she is a prize. The prize of our generation in Mordrun. Every two-bit sorcerer with delusions of grandeur wants her attention, every rich boy in the whole of the warlock city has some scheme they are enacting or a part of to get her hand in marriage. You¡­you are.¡±

    ¡°Nothing.¡± I finish for him. ¡° A nothing slave that would take the slightest effort to get out of the way.¡±

    He lets out a long sigh. ¡°Not exactly how I would put it, but yes.¡±

    I understand what he¡¯s saying. Not only will members of Viscarra¡¯s family be watching me like hunting birds, but the more time I spend with her the more reason I give rich or magical people to want me gone. Somehow I don¡¯t care, they can fucking bite me and they had better hope I don¡¯t get a chance to bite back.

    I can feel my eyes shining with fervor as I turn a rather manic smile on my pit partner.

    ¡°It¡¯s not true anyway.¡±

    ¡°No?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not nothing, I¡¯m the future Storm Herald Invitational Champion.¡±

    Two days later I¡¯m sitting in the BloodRock viewing cage back in Prime Arena two. The stands of the place we call ¡®The Killing Fields¡¯ are at capacity, filled with fans screaming, chanting, eating, and gambling by the thousands. Even the little plateau our cages rest on is filled with groups of people sitting on blankets around us, including my entire fan club.

    The One Directioners and their dog boy leader are sitting in front of the BloodRock cage with their backs against the bars. It¡¯s just me and Kalon in here so I guess they aren¡¯t in any danger, but getting within arm¡¯s reach of pit slaves is generally a bad idea and I¡¯m sure Mauritzo¡¯s bodyguard is more than a little annoyed by the behaviour.

    Down on the pit floor the final two teams of condemned men are clashing in a grand melee. This far into the event the skills these men already had are honed to a fine point, and they are hardened long past the point of hesitation. Honestly it makes me feel bad, the winners today will face one last wall before freedom. I don¡¯t know what it will be exactly but I''ve seen this plenty of times. The last hurdle between them and freedom will be practically insurmountable.

    The fans don¡¯t care about any of that engaged as they are in the narrative the BlackMists are selling. The stands are packed because everyone wants to know how the match between the Flame Blessed and the Flame Witch will go. There are few among them that haven''t been following the convict saga along the way. Teams of five desperate men fighting tooth and nail for the chance at freedom.

    The story is apparently important even if it doesn¡¯t compel me the way it does the people cheering. What is keeping my attention is the big bald convict who is absolutely tearing through the other team with his pit-sword. At least he keeps my attention when I¡¯m not shooting long glances over at the BlackMist viewing box, trying to catch a glimpse of Viscarra.

    It would be fair to think my excitement would grow with the crowd around me after the convict match ends, and I will admit the energy in the air is more than a little infectious. Yet I actually don¡¯t care that much about the match between HighSail and Saffron. The red-armored Saffrons are going to get battered, and If I was allowed to place bets I would put my entire stock of hidden coins on that outcome.

    I do however hope the pair from Saffron can inflict some further damage along the way. Even with liberal use of forspoken stone there is only so much anyone can recover in the two days before I face tonight¡¯s winner.

    Kalon damn near flayed the skin off the Itti¡¯atti¡¯s flesh so I know if the Saffron¡¯s bring the right strategy it might happen. Of course, even if they do manage to overcome the insane offensive power of the flame witch that still leaves Klash. A challenge I know as well as anyone is a nightmare to overcome.

    The announcer lady starts her spiel introducing the pair of teams, giving a brief history of their path here, their achievements, and which houses they belong to.

    ¡®Wait!¡¯ I spot Viscarra and her mother move to the edge of their viewing box. This far away from them it¡¯s stupid to think I can tell she is looking back at me. I guess I¡¯m stupid then as I¡¯m certain Viscarra is doing her best to meet my gaze.

    I snap out of it and redirect my attention back to the pit food when a single special word is uttered by the announcer. A word that when yelled never fails to send my heart racing and my nerves twitching.

    ¡°Begin!¡±

    Velorn hasn¡¯t let his partner help him the entire tournament that cocky little shit, but even he knows he will be outmatched two against one today. So the barbarian girl is right beside the flame blessed as he charges forward.

    Klash has his spear leaned over his shoulder and is making no move to engage. If anything the Itti¡¯atti is even more casual about the impending assault.

    Raising her left hand the dark-haired flame witch brings three of her fingers together like she is snuffing a candle and Velorn simply collapses. Where normally his hair ignites into swirling flames, it and his skin are ash grey as the flame-blessed boy convulses on the sands. Beside him, his partner jogs to a halt and raises both her hands indicating surrender while a ball of fire forces its way out of Velorn¡¯s mouth and floats its way to the witch.  She cocks her head inspecting the floating fire before making a little ¡®shooing¡¯ motion. The ball vanishes, healers rush out towards Velorn, and the barbarian princess walks away laughing at her partner.

    I don¡¯t want to call it a match exactly, that suggests there was a fight or some sort. Whatever you call this level of utter obliteration I don¡¯t know, but it is over and I have no idea what to think about it.

 Chapter 56: The Special Ones

    Chapter 56

    The Special Ones

    Gori is at dinner that night and I don¡¯t like it. While the others from Hall Three treat the antlered boy¡¯s progressive recovery as some sort of good omen, I can¡¯t see it that way. If old man BloodRock believes Gori resisted the interrogation that so badly wounded him he will throw the boy into some horrible fodder match well before he¡¯s recovered.

    Still, I bully my way over to sit next to him. Being the number one in a hall does have its advantages now and then and I want to talk to Gori. If my guess about BloodRock getting him killed soon is right I¡¯m not going to get a whole lot more opportunities.

    ¡°Hey,¡± I grunt at him as I sit down. ¡° I need you to show me how you do that trick with the water.¡±

    The next day I and Xael are dragged off by BloodRock himself and an escort of fifteen guards, to a type of event I¡¯ve never been to before and don¡¯t really understand. It¡¯s kind of like a party held on the sands of Prime Arena two, with the stands empty and little tent-roofed gazebo things set up all around.  There is a wooden stage set up in the center of the weird gathering.

    That stage is where I and Xael get deposited while BloodRock goes off to do whatever it is he does before he gets drunk.  Ten of the fifteen guards including Muraab. They line up against the little back wall of the stage, and a few minutes later it becomes clear why all the armed and armored security are present.

    A similar party of soldiers escorting Klash, Embella and led by the heir to House HighSail Dashiel HighSail. A few years back Dashiel had delusions of being a pitter, It was me that disabused him of that notion. I beat him so bad I heard he stopped training entirely, though I understand he handles a lot of the pit business for his house.

    The dark-skinned HighSail gives a few orders I¡¯m not listening to, the HighSail warriors line up alongside the ones from BloodRock, and the pair of pit-slaves march to the front of the stage opposite where Xael and I are on display.

    ¡°What do we do now?¡± I ask Xael quietly as Klash and I glare at each other across the stage.

    ¡°Nothing¡± Responds the GodsRinger. ¡° We simply stand here and look impressive for an hourglass or two and they do the same.¡± He finishes with a nod to our future opposition.

    ¡°An hourglass or two?!¡± He has to be kidding.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so.¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    I have gone through some awful things in my life, if I¡¯m entirely honest this probably doesn¡¯t even make the top ten terrible things I¡¯ve had to endure. I still hate it, I hate everything about it. I hate the way the sun is beating down on me, I hate the building humidity in the air, and I really hate the way the people come gawk at us or call up the dumbest questions I have ever heard. After I ignore the third such question Muraab comes over and insists I need to, I hate that too.

    If there is a single consolation it¡¯s that the pair from HighSail seem to be suffering just as much as I am. In fact, I¡¯d say the only one here who isn¡¯t having a terrible time is Xael.

    ¡®Of Course.¡¯

    The dark-haired foreigner strides back and forth on our half of the stage waving and smiling, answering stupid questions like ¡°Is Klash too big for you?¡± with infuriating good nature. The only question I want an answer to is when I can get off this fucking stage and go home. I have a fight tomorrow against a pseudo-giant and a witch that kills almost everything she fights. I do not have the patience for this, nor the luxury to be wasting my energy.  They don¡¯t care, the guards keep us here and the questions keep flowing.

    Almost unconsciously as my frustration grows I begin to move closer and closer to the HighSail side of the stage. Something that very much prompts a reaction from the guards behind me. The last thing I need is another misunderstanding that results in me dragged off by house soldiers. This time wouldn¡¯t be a misunderstanding though would it?

    Still, I want this fight bad. Almost as much as I want a rematch with Resh, they killed Tota just as I was learning how to become friends with the kid. They killed Laren and Tarnen a few days after the Ettin had finally returned to Far Mantys for the first time in five years. On some level, I know Klash and Embella aren¡¯t truly responsible, but that level is waaaaay down there. Besides, there is the other thing as well.

    I¡¯m jealous, its really that simple. Even though I have a win over Klash either no one remembers or no one cares. They all act like the HighSail pair are guaranteed to win the tournament. The two of them have been the final fight of the night, and the pitters the fans most clammer to see the entire time. I want that, and I think if I can beat them I might get it.

    I can see a similar hunger in the elephant boy¡¯s eyes when I look over at him. He wants to avenge his loss against me, I know the feeling. That no matter how many wins you string together there is someone out there who walked away when you fell. Someone who is inarguably a better fighter than you. Inarguable unless you can get that rematch, inarguable unless you can go out there onto the sands and prove you are as special as you think you are.

    ¡°You aren¡¯t, you know,¡± I call over at Klash.

    ¡°What?¡± He grunts back in a voice like a collapsing building.

    ¡°You aren¡¯t special enough to beat me.¡±

    I see his big eyes narrow, and his lip raise in disgust. It probably isn¡¯t in those words exactly but if he thinks of me the way I think of Resh that fear is in there somewhere.

    If I¡¯m lucky I might be able to bring that out a little, if not insulting the other team certainly makes this experience a lot more pleasant.

 Chapter 57: The Beast Of BloodRock

    Chapter 57:

    The Beast Of BloodRock

    Much to my disappointment, Klash and Embella don¡¯t get pulled into a name-calling contest. The big elephant boy grunts something about doing his talking on the sands and my eyes feel like they are going to roll out of my head.

    In front of the stage, two dozen bookkeepers are set up to take bets. It''s always about gambling with the people of Far Mantys. I don¡¯t usually think about it but standing up here I have nothing but time. So I spend a little while pondering the nature of my home city. It isn¡¯t like there is some grand insight revealed to me or anything. Who wouldn¡¯t want free things?

    I feel a little surge of bitter joy when I realize the men and women taking bets on whether or not I¡¯m going to fucking die tomorrow are even less protected from the sun than I am. The season of storms might almost be upon us but until it''s actually raining all that means is the air is more humid.

    When Muraab finally leads us off that stage I¡¯m ready to hit someone, I feel so overheated and annoyed. Xael of course takes it in all stride with the infuriating good nature. I really don¡¯t understand it, he isn¡¯t from here. How does he handle the sun so well?

    ¡°Can we please go home?¡± I growl at Muraab. Thankfully the master of guards not only answers in the affirmative but offers the both of us leather wineskins full of water. The water is warm of course, it''s always warm. The last time I tasted water with an edge of coolness to it was when Xael had gotten me ice for my injuries. I had ended up eating most of it.

    When we make it back to the BloodRock compound I find myself a little bit torn. Part of me feels the urge to train, to run, to lift heavy things. To do every last little thing I possibly can to prepare for my match tomorrow. None of it will help though will it?

    I¡¯m not going to get stronger or faster in a day. I¡¯m not going to miraculously discover some new perfect combination the day before a big fight.

    I have been training since I was four years old, I know that day before preparations are usually a waste of time. Worse you can risk an injury whilst gaining nothing. No, I and Xael already have a plan, I am as prepared as I can possibly be. The correct move here is to head back to hall three and rest.

    It is also the move I make, and I instantly wish I hadn¡¯t. Intending to stretch and get some water in the hall before maybe catching an afternoon nap. I enter hall three and am greeted by a sight that makes my blood run colder than the ice I ate.

    Gori is sitting on the edge of his bed with two of the other boys helping him strap on the frayed leather BloodRock gives us for armor.

    The antlered boy meets my gaze and offers a sad smile. Before Gori can say a word I¡¯m spinning on my heels and storming back out of the hall, I can feel myself snickering already but the only sound I can hear is my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

    This is too much! Old man BloodRock is going to send him off to die tonight and it''s going to work. Gori has never been much of a fighter, mostly coasting on his size and ability to catch you with his antlers. That isn¡¯t going to help him now, not while he can barely fucking walk.

    I burst back out into the sunlight, my snicker growing only louder and fiercer. My friends are dropping left and right. Soon the only one I will have left is Resh, and he lives elsewhere. I¡¯ll be alone again all the time, and the worst part is that I should have known it was coming.

    My friendship with Xael, my budding relationship with Viscarra, the special training sessions, the coins under my bed, and even the way the boys in my compound have been treating me. It all conspired together to trick me, make me soft, and make me start thinking I can have things other people get, things like friends and family. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    What an absolute joke. No wonder I can¡¯t stop laughing as I approach the kitchen entrance to the manse.

    ¡°What¡¯s so funny North?¡± Asks the young guard Charik. I don¡¯t respond to his question, I also don¡¯t remember deciding to attack him but I do. Before I know it I tackled the spear-wielding man to the ground. He screams and struggles but I¡¯m a whirlwind of bites and blows. If he manages to hurt me in any capacity it isn¡¯t with his spear and I don¡¯t feel whatever it is.

    Spinning about with the armored guard trapped beneath me I bite down on his kicking knee till the bone snaps. I leave him screaming and advance into the kitchen. I don¡¯t remember picking up his spear, but I¡¯m holding it when I storm laughing past the cooks, knocking them aside and destroying anything that looks breakable and enters my reach. The domestic slaves are smart enough to scatter before me, even Kalon¡¯s mother cowers out of the way. The pair of BloodRock guards in the main hall don¡¯t though. They demand I put the weapon down. While I wouldn¡¯t call what I do obeying exactly, I do let go of the spear. It just happens to be in the larger of the two¡¯s stomach.

    His armor is better than the useless garbage they give us to fight in the pits with, but so is the spear. The rings part before my ferocity and I¡¯m throwing myself at the other of the pair before he or I really know what''s happening.

    I have spent my whole life demanding to be treated like a human being and being refused. It turns out they were right all along. I am an animal, and this animal is going to rip the face off of Atar BloodRock and anyone who gets between me and him.

    Finding the houselord doesn¡¯t take long, at least I don¡¯t think it does. The world has been reduced to fragmented flashes of the building around me. I can smell him the entire time though, that stupid rain on hot stone stink that I despise.

    The blessed houselord is hosting a pair of fancily dressed men in his first-floor office but they don¡¯t stay long. The moment I throw myself at BloodRock himself they scurry out of the room. Much like the guards I attacked along the way I try to tackle the scarlet-skinned man. I don¡¯t know why I think it has a chance of working, I may as well try to tackle an oak tree. The man is simply too big, too heavy, and too strong. With furious contempt, he throws me across the room.

    Smashing into the stone wall doesn¡¯t stop me, in fact, I barely feel it. It is enough to bring me mostly back to my senses though. I¡¯m still snickering like a madman but I manage to get some screamed words out.

    ¡°YOU CAN¡¯T MAKE GORI FIGHT YET!¡±

    The flame and earth-blessed man looks at me like he¡¯s studying shit he just stepped in.

    ¡°And what are you going to do about it?¡±

    ¡°I..¡± I have no idea what I¡¯m going to do about it. I may have cut through a bunch of the house guards with ease but BloodRock is different. The man is an army all by himself and all but invincible when he activates the abilities of his blessing.

    ¡°I will throw the fight tomorrow!¡±

    The single bark of a laugh he lets out says it all. We both know I won¡¯t do that. I won¡¯t give up the opportunity to win a Minor and I certainly won¡¯t volunteer for the sort of punishment I would receive if I lose the houselord his bet with House HighSail. I¡¯m probably in a ridiculous amount of trouble already but I can¡¯t bring myself to care.

    ¡°So North what are you going to do? Hmmm? Would you really throw a match when it means so much to you?¡±

    My face twitches and I clench my jaw so hard I cut the gum where my missing tooth once stood.

    ¡°When I¡¯m free I¡¯m going to kill you,¡± I promise the older man. My snicker seems to have finally run its course as my voice doesn¡¯t even waver as I say it.

    ¡°You will never be free.¡± He says turning to walk to his stupid throne of rock. ¡®Drip, drip, drip¡¯ go the little droplets of sizzling rock that bleed off his hair.

    ¡°Yes, I will. I am going to win tomorrow, and then they will invite me to the next minor, and when I win that I will get to the Majors and you won¡¯t be able to say no.¡±

    The sheer venom in my tone doesn¡¯t seem to matter to him, in fact, I¡¯m not sure the old bastard is even listening.

    ¡°You are really that sure you are going to win tomorrow?¡± He asks me, a sly look slowly creeping across his face.

    ¡°Forget a flagship, you can bet the whole fucking house on it!¡±

 Chapter 58: A Little Over Five Feet Of Pure Murder

    Chapter 58

    A Little Over Five Feet Of Pure Murder

    No one has ever accused me of thinking overly far ahead. In fact, Old Man BloodRock has called me ¡®bad in the blood¡¯ ever since I was little, which apparently means I¡¯m overly aggressive or something. Whatever the reason for it I¡¯ve always tended to get myself in trouble by talking or acting before thinking things through.

    As Muraab and Harrk beat me to the floor of BloodRock¡¯s office with weighted saps I think this might very well be the perfect example of my impetuousness fucking me over.  The Master of guards and his second in command are both solidly built men, well-equipped and talented as warriors. Not to mention they are both furious with me. If the houselord didn¡¯t call for them to stop I think the two of them might have crippled me.

    Instead, I¡¯m only left heavily bruised, and bleeding from split lips, a split eyebrow, and I think one of my pinky fingers is broken. Pretty good considering the number of houseguards I left bleeding, crippled, or maybe even dead. I guess I¡¯m lucky that BloodRock doesn¡¯t care about his employees any more than he does his slaves. The blessed former mercenary cares about winning his bets, and any other way he can make money while drunk off his ass, and that is what''s protecting me.

    I¡¯m still dragged by the pair to the punishment room below the manse. I suppose you could call it a dungeon, but it isn¡¯t really. There is only the one room and it''s more set up for torture and interrogation than storing someone for any amount of time. This place used to give me nightmares, and it''s also where they would have tortured Gori. Thinking of the antlered boy I wince. The pair of guards have already told me I will be spending the night chained up down here. Doubtless tomorrow I will go straight from my incarceration to the arena, and that means I won¡¯t know if Gori survived his match tonight until at least after the tournament ends.

    ¡°Fuck¡±  I say to no one after I¡¯m chained up and alone. ¡°This is going to be a long night.¡±

    I¡¯m right about that, constantly moving so the restrictive chains don¡¯t cramp my muscles too much. Not to mention I can¡¯t get Gori off my mind. I¡¯ve lost count of the number of times he¡¯s called himself a genius or said something like ¡®My genius cannot be stopped.¡¯ While the antlered boy is pretty smart, smarter than me at least. I have never really taken his claims seriously. Right now I pray to every god I can think of that he was telling the truth.

    Maybe just maybe if Gori is as smart as he says he is he can think his way through a match when he can barely walk. Even as I have the thought I know it won''t matter, having the best plan in the world won¡¯t help someone whose body can¡¯t actually enact it.

    I¡¯m sore and jittery by the time Muraab lets me out in the morning. The master of guards is still angry with me. I can tell by the way he doesn¡¯t say anything but does shove me into the waiting arms of four other guards. All of whom are covered head to toe in plated armor.

    ¡®That seems a little excessive.¡¯

    I would have liked more of a chance to stretch but before I can enjoy my freedom of movement I¡¯m grabbed and chained up again. I don¡¯t fight back, at least not at first. Even I am smart enough not to antagonize Muraab or the other guards right now, when they bring out the muzzle my eyes widen and I start to struggle. ¡°No Not that thing again!¡± I shout and kick. Muraab is grim-faced and silent as he locks the device in place. My eyes prickle like I¡¯m going to cry though after a few sharp breaths through my nose, I manage to hold the tears back.

    This is so unfair, I proved I can be trusted outside the compound without this metal thing locked around my jaw. It isn¡¯t like I¡¯m going to attack some random person at the arena. I was set off by a very specific thing¡­.the almost certain death of my friend.

    Next, I¡¯m strung up by the chains around my limbs to the back of the covered wagon I usually get to ride into the arena. Still beats pulling the thing though, which truth be told I have expected I would end up doing.

    ¡®That''s a stupid idea, Muraab won¡¯t risk me getting hurt or pulling a muscle before the final match of the tournament. I could have killed half the guards and BloodRock would still make sure I get to this fight in good condition.¡¯

    After that though I am less confident about how I¡¯m going to be treated. My only recourse there is to win and hope it increases my value enough to extend the protection.

    Besides I¡¯m pretty sure the men I injured all survived, they might not be much use as soldiers without some Forspoken stone healing.  Oddly enough I don¡¯t feel a whole lot of sympathy on that front. If I have to live with being slowly turned into an artificial monster, they can deal with a fake knee or something.

    The ride to Prime Arena Two is uncomfortable in the extreme but I must admit It¡¯s sort of interesting to watch the city as I pass. More than one person recognizes me, or more likely the BloodRock flag painted on both sides of the wagon, and then figures out who I am from there. Whatever the reason I get waved at or cheered numerous times. If I wasn¡¯t hanging by shackles digging into my wrists, and jostling my broken finger I might even be enjoying myself.

    Arriving at the arena I¡¯m not even unchained, Muraab lets me down but the shackles and muzzle remain until I¡¯m locked in my own little one-person cell that they have set up on the pit floor right up against the Arena wall beneath where I normally watch from the viewing cages.

    I have the best seat in the house to watch the matches I guess. I can barely walk around and the sun is blasting down on me but oddly something else happens from it too. The crowd as a whole start making a bit of a fuss about me even before the preliminary matches for the day begin. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    I catch more chants of ¡°North¡± and ¡°The Beast Of BloodRock¡± than I have ever heard in my life. On the downside, I¡¯ve also never had so many people in the crowd throw food at me before either. Most of the things tossed at me go wide or fall well short, but every now and then an apple core or the like catches me on the shoulder or the side of the head.

    I can¡¯t do anything about the rowdy spectators but I assume they are fans of the HighSail pair. If that is the case well then I am going to get a chance at petty revenge on their beloved duo in a few scant hours.

    The finals of any tournament are more than just a fight, they are a spectacle of excess. A demonstration of Far Mantyian grandness. Well before a single pitter takes to the sands the pit floor is populated by dancing girls performing feats of acrobatics whilst wearing basically nothing.

    As close as I am I can smell them, and honestly, the girls might be pretty in a way that leaves me dumbfounded. Their scents aren¡¯t very pleasant though, if I had to guess they probably bathe about as often as I do.

    After them is a cavalcade of exotic animals, more pretty girls doing tricks, and of course sorcerous magery. The BlackMist spellcasters craft grand images or throw elements back and forth like jugglers. It¡¯s spectacle enough that I find myself just as engrossed by the pageantry as the crowd above me.

    It''s during one of the displays of magic that a familiar set of faces pop their heads over the wall separating the sands from the stands. In spite of my tiredness and severe agitation over both my upcoming match and Gori¡¯s fate, the five children looking down at me draws a genuine smile to my face.

    The so-called One Directioners have somehow worked their way down here. It probably had something to do with the Lion-Cursed Bodyguard Mauri has following him.

    ¡°Hey, North!¡± come the calls and waves.

    ¡°Heya kids¡± I call back still smiling. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever quite understand the group that has declared themselves my fan club, but the fact that they keep coming back honestly warms my heart.

    Mauri says something to me that is drowned out by the gasps of the crowd as a man leaps between trained horses that are sprinting around the pit. The rich little dog-boy rolls his eyes and tries again when the noise dies down a little.

    ¡°I know you probably just want to focus on your fight but is there anything we can get you?¡±

    I¡¯m briefly stunned by the consideration my fans have for me. Collecting myself I call back up a single word to him.

    ¡°Water!¡± I don¡¯t think he knows I can¡¯t keep food down on fight day. Fortunately, I don¡¯t have the same issue with water and frequently drinking a bunch of the liquid is how I stave off hunger pains while I¡¯m waiting for my match. As hungry and tired as I am today I¡¯m going to need all the little tricks like that I can think of. Well, better than that honestly. After all, I can¡¯t go into a fight with a gut sloshing water around.

    The One Directioners return just as the first round of fights is starting. These matches have nothing to do with the outcome of the Storm Herald Invitational but they serve to offer more entertainment and more fights for people to bet on.

    The crowd has grown so large and so unruly in the meantime that I am honestly a little worried for the safety of my young fan club. Talking to them when they get back is entirely out of the question but Mauri tosses down a wineskin that is around three-quarters full.

    Nodding up at him I try to magically will my gratefulness into his mind from my own. No mystic ability manifests but I think he can tell from my expression just how big of a help this was. With more than a little gusto, I drink down about half the surprisingly chill water.

    The first few preliminary matches are little kids but don¡¯t follow any sneaky ¡®safety¡¯ rules like Saffron employed against me. They are savage affairs as little boys and girls that don¡¯t really understand they can actually die here throw themselves at each other,

    I don¡¯t pay much mind to these fights as I¡¯m focused on finding ways to stretch and warm up in my tiny one-man cage. I wouldn¡¯t call it a grand success or anything, but by the time the final match that doesn¡¯t matter rolls around, the stiffness in my muscles has been worked out.

    It''s the team of five condemned convicts who made it to the end of their own little tournament. Over the weeks of the event they have developed their own fans, and I hear multiple names chanted and signs waved for these men.

    I can see the spark in them has grown into a roaring bonfire. They have stepped into the role of pitters truly by now, what''s more, freedom is close they can taste it. I can imagine the conversations they would have had leading up to this.

    ¡®Just one more match, just one more and we can walk out of that arena free men!¡¯

    I wouldn¡¯t want to be one of those poor bastards right now. Condemned means condemned, these men are supposed to die and the houselord of BlackMist will send out the scariest monster he has under his command to make sure they all do.

    I wonder what it will be?  Does he have another Ettin? Maybe a True-Hydra, or Demi-Dragon? He might even send out Poe, the creature from the world of shadows radiates both power and threat.

    The convict pitters gather together at the center of the pit floor, waving to the crowd or doing some last-moment stretching. Soon though they are lined up in a defensive formation every one of their eyes nailed to the gate at the far end of the arena.

    They aren¡¯t alone the crowd has gone silent and they wait with bated breath to see if their favorite doomed man has any hope of surviving against what will come through.

    As soon as the gate rises I know that they don¡¯t. The crowd figures it out a few heartbeats after I do, but I recognize the shine of those black eyes before the figure is even revealed from the shadow of the tunnel.

    It¡¯s kind of funny I think to myself, I was both right and wrong. The creature that steps out onto the sands is the scariest thing BlackMist can lay their hands on, an absolute death sentence for the convicts. I¡¯m right about that part but where I erred was my own feelings about it. I would trade everything I have, everything I have ever had to be out there with a weapon in hand right now.

    There is a collective gasp when the fans realize just what they are looking at, followed by a cheer that makes the reception the fire witch gets seem tame. A little over five feet of pure murder has entered the killing fields and it''s accompanied by a repeating chant every man woman and child in Far Mantys has heard a thousand times at least.

    ¡°YOU CAN¡¯T STOP THE RUSH!!¡±

 Chapter 59: The Cage

    Chapter 59

    The Cage

    I want to say watching Resh fight is a pleasure but it would be a lie. Don¡¯t get me wrong my friend is poetry made motion, his skill is dazzling, his speed impossible. He easily flows between techniques no one else would even consider trying. The issue is there just really isn¡¯t all that much to see.

    My eyes are sharp, and I can track him better than most yet even I lose track of the aptly named ¡®Rush¡¯ once he gets going. So if you attend a Resh fight hoping to see pitters exchanging flurries of intense blows you will be disappointed.

    Rather than clashing blades and roaring warriors what you get is a small boy who suddenly vanishes and reappears somewhere else on the sands, while his enemy just kind of falls over. I know people like winners and all that. Saffron''s golden balls, no one respects his record more than I do. One hundred and six up, and One hundred and six down, myself included.

    That doesn¡¯t make him fun to watch in a regular match though. Today at least Resh is against five guys who are battle-hardened and used to working together. There is some possibility they guessed who they would be matched against and devised a strategy to counter him. After all, I was able to do it and there is only the one of me, and I¡¯m not really that smart.

    ¡°Ooop no,¡± I mutter to myself.

    Resh explodes into movement, his speed transforming him into a blur like one of those heat hazes. Before I can even blink he reappears and one of the men dies. Head removed from his shoulders in a single lightning-fast strike. The Rush didn¡¯t even seem to slow down until he reappears on the other side of the pit.

    The little rat boy or ¡®mongoose¡¯ as he claims offers the crowd a little flourish and vanishes again. In the center of the arena, the four remaining condemned men have pulled in close together, forming a back-to-back defensive circle and trying to cover each other.

    I understand the logic behind the decision and against anyone else it might even work. However fighting Resh defensively is a terrible idea, it just gives him time to understand your timing and trap you with his speed. I let out a little sigh and shake my head.

    ¡°You think these guys have a chance to hurt him?¡± Comes a yelled question from Mauri above me. That makes me snort, everyone knows Resh will win. The only question anyone has is how hard will these doomed men make it?

    ¡°Nah¡± I call back. ¡°This is already over.¡±

    In a few moments, he and everyone else will see why. Resh begins his assault on the grouped men, a blurring swarm of violence attacking from all angles. The men are talking, even if I can¡¯t hear them it''s obvious what''s happened by the way their tactics change from defensive to aggressive.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    It doesn¡¯t matter now, they are too late. It only took a few heartbeats of the group of men standing still for The Cage to slam shut around them, poor bastards. It must seem like the impossible has happened. Resh, despite being outnumbered, has somehow cornered a group of men who are surrounded by nothing but open air.

    I know what they are going through,it honestly feels like there are a dozen of him working together so that no matter what you do one of them is there unleashing a flashing blade to punish you.

    They try to escape but the area around them that Resh has occupied is impenetrable. There is a reason he calls it The Cage, and the name is absolutely appropriate. Every attempt to move from the back to back circle costs one of the men blood or limbs.

    Like Xael, Resh¡¯s style might seem intentionally cruel. He picks and pecks at his enemy wearing them down with light cuts well before he goes for the killing blow.

    I know he doesn¡¯t enjoy torturing his enemy like this, if Resh could he would absolutely finish the remaining four with clean precise strokes that killed them with as little pain as possible.

    Unfortunately he only really has that opportunity right at the start of the fight. Besides he isn¡¯t about to abandon the style of fighting that makes him all but impossible to land strikes on, just to save a little pain and fear for his opposition.

    In my mind¡¯s eye I can see the circle of The Cage contract, slowly stealing more and more territory that the condemned men can occupy without being sliced to pieces. It''s like the men are standing in the eye of a hurricane and no matter how ferociously they struggle the slicing winds will not let them out.

    It likely seems slow to the group of men enduring cut after shallow cut, but in no time all the group of men begin to wilt. The pain, the blood loss, the hopelessness of it all. No one can reasonably be expected to stand up to that. To their credit they try, lashing out against a foe they only catch glimpses of. It isn¡¯t enough, it could never be enough.

    First, the tall man with the spear falls, a few heartbeats later a more stocky convict wielding two type one light axes joins him convulsing as the last of his lifeblood stains the sands around him.

    The remaining two try a side by side surge forwards in a last desperate attempt to escape the impossible trap. It doesn¡¯t improve their position even the slightest bit, but at least the aggression allows Resh to kill them clean. Like magic the little cursed boy appears behind the pair of men and hacks into the unarmored backs of the necks.

    With a twirl of both weapons, The Rush flicks the blood and grime from his blades, before resheathing them in on his sides. Resh then proceeds to offer a series of little bows to the crowd in each direction.

    I shake my head ruefully one last time at the inhuman display of speed and skill.

    ¡®I guess you really can¡¯t stop The Rush.¡¯

    It won¡¯t be long till my match now, I¡¯m sure Muraab is already coming to let me out of my own little cage and arm me before my match. With a little sigh I pour the last of the waterskin into my mouth before the guards can come take it off me.

 Chapter 60: One Last Introduction

    Chapter 60

    One Last Introduction

    In spite of everything I feel good. I may have slept in a cell, I may not have eaten in almost a full day, but there is something inside me that sings when a big fight is close. Something that makes me feel like I can win no matter what, that I can rise to the occasion.

    It¡¯s honestly kind of weird but against lesser competition, my nerves flare up worse than they do when I¡¯m fighting a real monster. Maybe it''s a preparation thing? I¡¯ve known for weeks that I would be fighting Klash and Embella at some point, so we have been preparing in some form or another.

    I even feel confident in the plan that Xael and I have cooked up for these two. Granted it is going to be a little harder to pull off than our last plan, which really boiled down to ¡® throw an axe at a guy.¡¯ But I suppose some of the best plans are on the simple side, since those are the ones that are easy to execute.

    This plan is also on the simple side of things, but that won¡¯t make it easy to execute. Not to mention I am only going to have one chance to make this work and if I can¡¯t probably we both die fiery, skin peeling deaths.

    ¡°You ready?¡± the question comes from Muraab who has an axe in one hand and the keys to my cage in the other.  I meet the old pitter''s gaze, he was King on The Sands once. The most dominant fighter in the whole city for a whole year.  They used to call him ¡®Red Muraab¡¯ and right now I can tell he¡¯s still angry at me.

    That isn¡¯t what strikes me, Muraab is the master of BloodRock¡¯s guards; he is often stern or angry. No, it''s the other thing I can see in his eyes that takes me back. Muraab is worried about me, I can see it. I suppose I shouldn¡¯t be as surprised as I am, ever since he brought me back to the compound from¡­wherever it was my parents lived, Muraab has tried to look after me.

    I nod and raise my eyebrows at the master of guards but don¡¯t say anything. He seems a bit off-put by my silence but doesn¡¯t push me about it. Instead, Muraab unlocks the cage and offers me the type two medium axe he¡¯s holding. I set my shoulders, let out a long nasal exhale, and take the weapon before striding out into the center of the pit floor.

    Usually, I bite down on my distaste and make a show for the crowd, not today though. Today I stand and stare at the viewing cages holding the pair of HighSail pitters. They aren¡¯t hard to spot, not with the group of HighSail guards moving to escort the pair from their cage.

    I want this fight so bad that I¡¯m starting to shake with excitement. Even Resh can¡¯t say he has gone head to head with a flame witch and won. After this match things will start to change. I will get invitations to other minors, and then eventually the majors. Soon everyone will know just how fucking good I am at this. Already the fans who have been following The Storm Herald Invitational are starting to come around. I have my own dedicated cheer section now, and it feels like every time I catch sight of the ¡®one directioners¡¯ there are more kids sitting with them.

    Xael that fop more than makes up for my lack of showmanship, rather than walking down the stairs from the viewing area like we have every other time. It strikes me as an unnecessary risk but the foreign boy insists on showing off his acrobatic skill.

    Sword in hand Xael passes through the crowd unescorted, slapping hands with the fans as he passes, and leaping down from each layer of the seating. I¡¯m genuinely horrified imagining him breaking a limb or something on the way down. I shouldn¡¯t have bothered worrying, the dark-haired boy skips and flips down the stands like he¡¯s from the World of Sky.

    When the GodsRinger reaches the wall that separates the stands from the pit the crowd goes silent bar a few gasps. This drop is many times the height of the gap between levels of the various stands.

    The height doesn¡¯t stop him, it doesn¡¯t even slow him down. Exactly the same as when I fought him the first time Xael leaps into the pit, landing in a roll before coming back to his feet in a sort of springing motion.  Even after all these months training together watching the way he moves so effortlessly still makes me hate Xael just a little bit.

    Sword pointed at the crowd he joins me in the center of the arena. I say nothing but offer him a nod, which Xael returns.

    ¡°This is it then.¡± He says wistfully.  ¡°I¡¯ll get you in range, just don¡¯t miss.¡±

    That prompts a little glare from me. I would very much like to declare that he¡¯s an idiot, and I don¡¯t even need him to get me in range. Of course I don¡¯t, this isn¡¯t the time. Not with Klash and Embella marching down onto the sands and the announcer lady striding over to stand in between the two teams.

    Not to be outdone by Xael¡¯s display of athleticism the flame witch makes a display of her own. Just as they step onto the pit floor the Ittit¡¯atti girl raises both of her hands and lets out a shrill sound of effort. For a heartbeat nothing happens, then the fire from basically every torch around the arena flows through the air to combine above the dark-haired witch¡¯s head. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Initially its just an amorphous mass of flames, but quickly it resolves itself into a towering bust of both HighSail pit-slaves. The crowd are utterly flabbergasted as the light of the huge burning figures pours down on us all. I can¡¯t blame them for that, I¡¯m stunned enough that I have to actively stop my jaw from hanging open.

    With a clap from the girl the burning self portrait vanishes and the arena¡¯s torches come back to life.

    ¡®I hope that was fucking exhausting you cocky bitch.¡¯

    As they begin their approach again the pair from HighSail are talking quietly between themselves. I can¡¯t make any of it out as they stop maybe thirty feet away from us but whatever the Itti¡¯atti girl says makes Klash laugh. At least until the elephant cursed set his gaze on me. Then his face darkens and his eyes narrow. I send an antagonistic wink back in his direction.

    ¡°Men, women, children, and all you degenerate gamblers out there! THE TIME HAS FINALLY COME!¡± This close to her, the BlackMist announcer¡¯s magically enhanced voice is exhilarating and deafening in equal measure.

    ¡°After weeks of brutal combat, only two teams remain. It is my and House BlackMist¡¯s very great pleasure to give you the final match of the Storm Herald Invitational!¡±

    The crowd can¡¯t contain themselves anymore at that point, they burst into rapturous cheering and I have to fight not to smile. Once the cheering dies down the announcer begins again.

    ¡°Fiiiiiighting on behalf of House BloodRock!¡±

    I hate that we get introduced first, it implies that they are the bigger fan favorites, the ones everyone expects to win. They are those things but I still hate it.

    ¡°The Beast Of BloodRock! A pitter so out of control he tried to kill his owner this very morning!¡±

    ¡®That is not what happened! And besides it was last night.¡¯

    ¡°I give you NOOOORRRRTTTTHHHHH!¡±

    ¡°With this animal stands his only friend.¡±

    ¡®Also not true.¡¯

    ¡°The Angel of the GodsRing, The Divine Blade, the most skilled, most handsome, most charming free pitter to ever voluntarily step onto the sands!¡±

    ¡®They make it so hard to like this kid sometimes.¡¯

    ¡°XAAAAAEEEEEELLLLL DEBOOORRRRAAAAAANNNNTTTT!¡±

    The cheer I got was pretty good, but Xael¡¯s eclipses it easily. I try not to be jealous, and weirdly it kind of works. I suppose it''s easier to do when the other team is already getting chants during our introductions.

    With every call of ¡®Klash¡¯, ¡®flame witch¡¯, ¡®colossus¡¯, or even ¡®burn them alive¡¯ my irritation gets directed towards the HighSail team and away from my partner.  Oh well, I¡¯m going to get my chance to shut them up really really soon.

    ¡°FrOOOoooooMMMm House HighSail comes  the most dominant pair this tournament has ever seen!¡±

    She gestures at Klash.

    ¡°They call him the strrrrrrooooonnngggessst Youth pitter in the history of Far Mantys!¡±

    ¡®Klash is crazy strong, but surely that isn¡¯t true right? He did rip Tota¡¯s arm out of its socket..¡¯

    ¡°Having only ever tasted defeat once In over seventy bouts, I  give you the enormous, the indestructible, THE HIGHSAIL COLOSSUS HIMSELF KAAAALLLLLLLLAAAAAAASSSSSSSHHHHHHH!¡±

    It annoys me that they never mention that I¡¯m his one loss. You would think it''s the sort of thing they would want people to know all about, but evidently, the story the BlackMists want to tell is one of absolute dominance.

    Wait, when did I start caring about things like storyline? I shake the idea from my head and try to spot VIscarra in the BlackMist viewing box for the hundredth time today. Also for the hundredth time today, I fail to catch sight of her. I know that a member of the House Lord¡¯s family can¡¯t risk showing any favoritism today, but I had still hoped the sorceress might find some clandestine way to see me before the match. I should know better, that''s the sort of nonsense that almost never happens in real life.

    ¡°Finally! You know her, you love her, you know that she has never lost, and never fought  a match where all of the opposition have survived!"

    I flick my gaze away from the BlackMist viewing box and back to my opposition. I really have more important things to worry about than girls right now. Not when I have one specific girl right here in front of me utterly exuding arrogance and danger. She¡¯s a bit more scarred up now after the beating Kalon put on her, but Embella still carries herself with the ego of the undefeated.

    ¡°The Desert Inferno! The Queen Of Sparks! The biggest betting favorite to ever compete in this fine event. I GIVE YOU EMMMMMMBBBBBBeeeeeeeEEEEEELLLLLAAAAAA!!¡±

    I honestly think I¡¯ve lost the ability to hear for a second when the crowd cheers for the Itti¡¯atti girl. It¡¯s a primal roar, a unified swell of aggression and support. Of everyone who has fought during this event only Resh¡¯s appearance garnered a greater reaction.

    ¡®Good. Let''s see how they react after I¡¯m done.¡¯

 Chapter 61: Into The Inferno

    Chapter 61

    Into The Inferno

    The announcer woman gives the four of us an incredibly wide birth before she calls to begin. When she does the crowd roars and I doubt I¡¯d have been able to hear her were her voice not augmented the way it is.  As things stand my heart races the moment the word leaves her mouth. It isn¡¯t the only thing either.

    Besides me, Xael flies at Klash like he has been launched from a ballista. If the two of them fight for more than a few heartbeats the human¡¯s headlong attack will absolutely get him killed. Fortunately, he isn¡¯t going to, the foreigner will use his fancy footwork to disengage once my part of the plan is complete.

    The elephant boy surges forward to meet the onrushing human with his spear ready to strike. Somehow he seems to loom even larger than when I saw him last, a mountain of muscle and nearly impenetrable flesh.

    That doesn¡¯t matter to me though, he can be a moving mountain all he wants that won¡¯t make the other cursed my quarry now. My job is to get the flame witch, a task I am honestly not as well suited to as my partner. The fancy footwork that will allow him to disengage from his opponent at will would serve him well here. A lot better than my own agility is going to help me get to her but he just couldn¡¯t get the last part of the plan right. We tried, and tried, and tried in practice but for whatever reason my inhumanity just lends itself to this trick better.

    Still against this enemy I am going to need to be a dancer, the lightest on my feet I have ever been. Even in my match against Resh I have needed the kind of movement I am going to today. There was never any hope of keeping up with The Rush so while my reflexes needed to be sharp I only really needed to face in his direction when it came to footwork.

    I have seen the flame witch perhaps a dozen times in the last few weeks, but today I have to admit she looks kind of beautiful. I have never really noticed it before, but the way her long dark hair hangs is honestly prettier than Viscarra¡¯s. She is made of entirely lean muscle, and there is something appealing about the roughness of her skin.  None of that is going to hold me back though, if I get the chance to kill this girl I am absolutely going to take it.

    The Itti¡¯atti whips her flamestick around her and my own personal World Of Fire begins.

    Streams of living flame drive towards my legs, but I think I''ve seen this pattern from her before. She expects me to jump the whip-like fire, and as soon as I do the stream will split into a net that will explode out and engulf me as I¡¯m landing.

    Instead, I pivot and change the direction of my run. It costs me some fur from the backs of my legs but that is a price I will pay all day long if it means not dying.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡®Twenty feet.¡¯

    Obeying the Itti¡¯atti girls'' will and slight hand movements the fire splits into two streams that surge at me from different directions. Now is when I jump, leaping forward both over the twisting flames that strike at my legs once more.

    I can feel the heat as one of the streams follows me into the air, and the other vanishes entirely but only for a moment.  A new stream of living fire surges from the other end of the flame witch¡¯s weapon and rushes to intercept me.

    ¡®Fifteen feet.¡¯

    I land on all fours ducking low as the newest stream of fire lunges towards my face. It misses but not in the way a normal projectile might miss. The fire obeys the girl with virtually any amount of notice.

    That means It doesn¡¯t sail harmlessly overhead, but stops mid air and explodes  down at me like a firework or some sort of burning rain.

    Resisting the urge to breath through my mouth I use my stupid Hyena legs to launch myself forwards and up into a sprint.

    ¡®Ten feet. Almost there.¡¯

    Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Klash charging towards me. Funnily enough, it turned out to be the elephant cursed who chose to disengage the contest with the human boy. I¡¯m not sure what HighSail have promised Klash in return for keeping Embella safe, but he was willing to get cut multiple times by Xael both on his side and back to come to her aid.

    In terms of strategy, it honestly makes a degree of sense, the flame witch is more than capable of holding her own even in close quarters against almost anyone. Wielding her flamestick like a bow staff she can keep herself safe, whilst also threatening to simply touch you with her hands and turning you into a pillar of fire. All the while a walking landslide is bearing down on you...on me.

    Almost Anyone.

    Embella brings her staff forward as she tries to circle away from me. It¡¯s a smart move, both intended to avoid my charge and buy her a little more time to recall her streams of fire to protect her.

    ¡®Five feet. It doesn¡¯t matter that the charge won¡¯t get my axe in range.¡¯

    I see the fire vanish and reappear once more, this time from both ends of the hollow metal pole we call a flamestick.

    ¡®Four feet, It doesn¡¯t matter that she can launch fire at me yet again.¡¯

    The slightest frown crosses her features as she realizes something is wrong. I haven¡¯t lifted my axe from beside my hip the entire time I¡¯ve been running at Embella, and I don¡¯t do it now.

    ¡®Three Feet. Got you!¡¯

    Opening my mouth I exhale the water I¡¯ve had in there since before I even left my little solo cage. It isn¡¯t a spit, that could be dodged. Oh no, just like Gorri taught me I launch the liquid forward in a fine mist that explodes outwards in a cone from my mouth.

    The spray of water easily covers the distance between us, and in less than a heartbeat the girl who doesn¡¯t really belong on a world with so much water is covered in fine droplets of the stuff.

 Chapter 62: Shadow OF The Colossus

    Chapter 62

    Shadow Of The Colossus

    The flame witch makes a noise I would have sworn a human throat couldn¡¯t produce before dropping to her knees. The flamestick falls from her hands as she stares down at her droplet-covered skin.  For a frantic moment, she tries to wipe the water away with her hands before letting out another scream as she realizes this just moved the water to her hands.

    I¡¯m sure plenty of people out there have seen an Itti¡¯atti get wet before but I am not one of them. I know that all the Itti¡¯atti fear the liquid to the point of obsession but beyond that I¡¯m not really sure what to expect. Maybe she will pass out or even die?

    Leaping out of the way of Klash who actually slows his charge at me I move to regroup with Xael as the Elephant boy of all things tries to reason with the flame witch.

    ¡°Sand Embella,¡± He says in his voice like a rockslide. ¡° Remember the sand.¡± The girl who has started to shake tries to say something, but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper. Giving up on communication she starts scrabbling at the hard-packed sand of the pit floor, desperately trying to gather and rub sand on herself. I snort at the sight because I know it won¡¯t work, the sands of the pit are so packed down they are almost as hard as stone. She should be trying to roll around. The elephant boy is still trying to help her when the pops start.

    Little sparks start appearing in the air around her head, they last maybe a heartbeat or two before flaring out of existence with a loud popping sound. When he spots them Klash begins to slowly back away from the still shaking girl.

    ¡°Embella¡­¡± He says cautiously.

    ¡°It seems to me, ¡° says Xael as I sidle up to him. ¡°That our plan is working.¡±

    Always the dazzling conversationalist, I reply with ¡° Yeah.¡± It galls me that we can¡¯t take advantage of the fact that Klash is both outnumbered and distracted especially since if the Itti¡¯atti recovers we will be right back where we started but now without water to surprise her with.

    On the other hand, the sparks appearing around the flame witch are growing in both size and frequency. If the girl who can convert an ettin into a bonfire with a mere touch is losing control of her magic we do not want to be anywhere near her.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    A decision that is proven wise a few moments later when fire explodes out from the Itti¡¯atti in all directions. Briefly, the flames hold the shape of a person, like an eight-foot-tall giant of fire. But then the figure collapses into what I can only describe as a whirlwind of flame. A whirlwind of flame that rapidly expands outwards.

    All three of us turn and run from the whirling inferno, but Xael and I are a lot further away from the Itti¡¯atti than Klash is. I can¡¯t help but smile as I see the fire catch and then overtake him. By the time Xael and I skid to a stop a few feet from one of the arena walls the flames have expanded so far that I can¡¯t see the crowd on the other side of the pit, nor can I make out Klash or Embella.

    Like a child¡¯s construction of sticks and twine the fire reaches the limit it can spread and begins to collapse. Falling away to reveal blackened sand in between fading embers.

    My grin widens as I know that there is no way we haven¡¯t just won, even if Klash survived being enveloped by the flames even he won¡¯t be in a condition to fight. All we need to do is wait a little bit for the fire to fully clear, confirm the Itti¡¯atti girl is really down for the count, and wait for the judge to declare us the winners.

    Despite my usual complaints about playing to the crowd, I raise the axe that I didn¡¯t even need to use today into the air with a celebratory roar. Still holding the weapon aloft I turn to Xael to express my utter disbelief that the BlackMist Invitational is finally over and that we have won it.

    I¡¯m cut off by a spear that comes hurtling out of the collapsing fire, followed close by a charred and bellowing Klash. The weapon hits the left side of my chest with the force of a siege weapon, punching through my lung and out my back as the thrown spear lifts me from my feet and slams me into the arena wall.  I feel and hear the head and top half of the spear shatter as it meets stone with the kind of power no weapon of wood and bone is intended to endure.

    Most of the haft is intact though, buried deep inside me and sticking out for a few feet. My head is still fuzzy from the collision, and my chest is beginning to register that awful invasive feeling of having a foreign object inside my body. I fall to the sands like a sack of BloodRock¡¯s spices, my legs splayed in front of me, my back against the arena wall. I know my body is doing that thing where it blocks out the pain for a little while. It must be, as this hurts far less than it should. The problem is when that happens it becomes almost impossible to think or move quickly.

    I manage to get my legs back under me and lean against the wall as I rise, but it''s then that I realize I haven¡¯t taken a breath since I got hit. I try to inhale but it awakens the pain my body has been hiding from me. I try to scream with the agony of it but nothing comes out.

    There has to be something I can do, some way to cope with the pain and the injury, some path to victory and survival for me from here. After all, I¡¯m the best.

    Those are the last words I think as the world descends into darkness.