Here Shines the Sun (69 page)

“They don’t stop! They don’t stop!” Tiffany tugged at her hair.

Agana began humming a tune as she clung to the Saint’s leg.

After a moment, Tiffany looked down at her. Agana looked up and smiled as she continued her tune, the rain washing blood down her chin. Tiffany put a hand on the girl’s head and Agana leaned into her, resting her cheek upon Tiffany’s side. Tiffany’s other hand went to her sword as Agana continued to hum. Her hand trembled as it hovered over the sword’s pommel. Her other hand squeezed at Agana’s head. And then she fell to her knees in the street.

Agana hugged Tiffany close. “It’s all right, Tiffany. I’ll sing for you.”

Tiffany began to cry. Her arms wrapped around the girl’s back.

“I’ll sing for as long as you like.” said Agana. “And then you can take me home to mommy.”

— 32 —

Beautiful Blood

In Duroton the summer sun was never very hot. As such, the awning that could shade the entire arena was kept retracted, leaving the dozens of masts to stick out from their corbels like skeletal fingers, casting the arena floor in shaded stripes. Today was trial practice for Exalted Lord Balin’s Woodswords—the newest gladiators—leaving the hundred-thousand seats that circled the ovular arena mostly empty. Raygar made his way down the stone steps toward the private boxes where Balin and the other Councilmen were gathered. King Dagrir Thorodin rarely attended the trials and Balin sat in the King’s box, in the King’s seat, with Jord, Gefjon, Aldur and Hymnar beneath him. Attractive attendants in sheer, silken gowns stood nearby with platters of grapes and cheese, or pitchers of wine.

“Where’s the old-man?” asked Raygar, taking a handful of grapes from a tall brunette. There was a seductive touch to her polite smile and her eyes lingered on his shrouded form for a moment.

“Rankin sold off his women and fighters to me.” said Balin. He took a sip from his goblet and set it down beside him.

Raygar stood beside Balin, leaning up against the large, high-backed throne as he munched on his grapes. “Why’s that?”

“Said he was through making debt against the Lands.” said Balin. “Renounced his title of
Exalted
even. His loss.”

Raygar looked over his shoulder at the brunette. She winked at him and swayed her slender hips. “Indeed.”

“I hope we’re in for a good show.” said Balin. “The people are eager for some new champions to arise.”

“There were some proficient fighters in that last lot from Narbereth.” said Raygar, turning his eyes down to the arena. It was a huge area, nearly four-hundred feet long and two-hundred feet in width, circled by marble walls twenty-feet high. At all ends were various portcullises and hidden doors. Its floor was smooth and flat, paved with tightly interlocking brick, home to a number of trapdoors of its own. In the center was the newest attraction: a full-sized galleon, complete with sails and cannons. The hull, however, was only partially built, leaving the bottom half open, exposing the mechanical contraption it was built upon. Iron scaffolding led up to the massive girders and hydraulic pistons the ship was attached to. The deck sat twenty-feet off the arena floor, making it level with the lowest seats and giving the King’s box a tremendous view.

“I hope so. I’d like to see Jorund lose one of these days and wipe the smug look off Gefjon’s face.” said Balin, his voice carrying an edge of bitterness. Even now Raygar could hear Gefjon boasting about the invincibility of his prize fighter to the other Councilmen as they sat in their plush seats beneath Balin’s throne.

From the galleon’s deck, arena workers began lowering rope ladders as twenty gladiators in full, plate armor came from an open portcullis and marched toward the ship. All of them carried broadswords in their scabbards, though the blades were flat and dull, as was typical for trials. Jorund was a large and muscular man from Dimethica. He was in black plate armor and a shroud, much like Raygar, and was playing the role of Lord Cailith, a Dark Star Knight who captained His Grace’s Ship, Bounty some sixty-years ago. The HGS Bounty was carrying gold and silver when it was besieged by pirates. Cailith held them off and sent them all to a watery grave in the shark-infested seas near the Crashingstones.

“Come on, men!” barked Jorund. His head was full of brown hair so dark that it was almost black. His beard was short and brown but he had a deep scar running down the entire right-side of his cheek that looked like a pink worm in the dirt. “Let’s show these Woodswords how it’s done!”

“Hoo!” the twenty gladiators in steel armor thumped their chests as they began climbing the rope ladders to the deck, Jorund shouting at them to move quicker.

Balin sighed. “Who’s this new one you were telling me about?”

“Chazod.” said Raygar. “Keep your eye on him. He’s got promise, and already seems to have some loyal followers. He’s your next champion.”

“Jorund has a habit of accidentally killing those with promise during trials.” said Balin. He drank down his wine and then stood up. “Let’s get this over with.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

“Alright you Woodswords, this is it!” bellowed one of the Arena Masters as he stood before Chazod and some one-hundred-thirty other men. His brown, leather armor was nicely polished and its brass studs sparkled in the gaslamps. He cracked his whip. “Line up! Line up!”

Chazod and the rest of the men all began forming up in front of the steel bars of the portcullis. Banden was behind him, followed by Maddox and Padraic. Jaquin was there too, the scrawny, fair-haired man always clinging to them. Past those in front, Chazod could see the giant ship sitting atop an iron contraption. Jorund, a Steelclad Champion, and his fully armored gladiators—all Steelclads themselves—were climbing the ropes onto the ship’s deck. Just outside the portcullis were twenty small rowboats sitting on the brick floor of the arena.

“Is this really all we get to wear?” whispered Jaquin.

“Aye. We’re pirates!” said Maddox, trying to sound as salty as possible. And they all really looked the part, none of them wearing anything but short trousers and dirty bandannas.

“But… but… but they all have armor!” whined Jaquin. “We’re Woodswords and they’re all Steelclads!”

“Yeah, but we got a Chazod.” said Padraic.

Chazod smirked as he gazed past the bars, trying to figure out how the machine beneath the ship worked. He could see hydraulic pistons, each of them secured by huge bolts to the iron beams the ship’s partial hull was rigged to.

“What about weapons?” said Jaquin.

“Shut up and listen.” said Banden. The dark-skinned man actually looked far more intimidating without a shirt on. He was nothing but slabs of muscle beneath scarred flesh.

“Take your pick!” cried the Arena Master as other workers wheeled some weapon racks over. All the swords were wooden, though there were a handful of metal weapons such as spears and chains. Anything that would normally have a sharp edge had been flattened and dulled. “I suggest sabers and rapiers! The better you play your part, the more favor you’ll win with Exalted Lord Balin.”

“Take a chain and a spear.” said Chazod. He turned around to face his friends. “All of you, take a chain and a spear. Jaquin, you too. Make sure you all take the metal spears, not the wooden ones.”

“Are you crazy?” asked Maddox. “I’m not boarding that ship against those Steelclads carrying a chain.”

“We’re not going to board it.” said Chazod. “Trust me. Do it.”

Padraic hiked his shoulders. “You’re the boss.”

As the workers wheeled the cart over, Banden grabbed up a spear and the longest, heaviest chain there was. Durotonian fighting chains had large rings at either end so that they could be slipped around the wrist and held with a firmer grip. Typically, the iron links would also be barbed but in this case they were not. That didn’t matter though. Chazod only needed them to have those large rings at both ends.

“Mariners fight with a spear and a net.” yelled the Arena Master.

“Banden fights with a spear and chain.” drummed the large man.

“Have it your way.” said the Master. “That chain’ll take you right to the bottom. Won’t win no favors with your Lord if you’re drowned.”

Maddox hesitantly picked up his own chain and spear and Padraic took his and swung the chain over his shoulder. “Let’s hope we don’t sink.” he said.

Chazod grabbed his own chain and spear. The spears were all metal, a little rusty, and had flattened tips and edges. He watched as Jaquin went for a wooden sword. “A spear and a chain.” he said.

“They’re metal!” protested Jaquin. “They’ll sink me to the bottom! You heard the Master!”

Chazod grabbed the last spear and a chain and shoved them into Jaquin’s arms. “You’re taking these.”

Now the portcullis began to rise. Chazod looked at his team. “All of us in the same boat. Follow my lead.”

The line began to move forward, men hopping into the rowboats waiting outside. The galleon was situated at the opposite end of the arena, its entire starboard side facing the fleet. Chazod quickly pushed his way forward and leapt into an empty boat and defended it against anybody else until Banden, Maddox, Padraic and Jaquin all filed in. After them, another four men straggled over and boarded. They were a muscular lot, but Chazod could see it wasn’t fighting strength. They had likely been laborers prior to coming here and had the type of sinewy shoulders and forearms men developed swinging pick axes or hammers over and over again in an unending rhythm for years on end. Chazod thought it a happy chance they came aboard. They would make swift rowers and he decided they’d be known as his oar goons.

“I ain’t gonna be called no goon by the likes of you!” protested one of the men.

“Shut up, goon.” said Chazod, taking stock of what was in the rowboat. There were four pairs of oars and three grappling hooks, each connected to what looked about fifty-feet of neatly coiled rope. He shoved a pair of oars into each of the goons’ hands.

As everybody settled in their boats Chazod could see Exalted Lord Balin rise from his seat in the King’s box. He shouted something about the honor of taking part in this combat trial, promising this and that to those who show the most promise. And then he went into some bullshit about the Duroton sky and the Lands taking witness of them. Chazod, however, didn’t care what the idiot had to say. He was still focused on the workings of the machine beneath the galleon.

As Balin’s speech came to an end, the portcullises around the arena all shut and steel gates came down over them, sealing them with a thud and a clank. Chazod looked up to the top of the arena wall beyond the galleon. There were a dozen round portals spread out down the length, each about ten-feet in diameter and closed off by rusty bars. Valves moaned from deep within them, and a moment later water gushed forth. The entire opposite wall was transformed into something like a waterfall, filling the air with a fresh, pleasant mist as thousands of gallons slapped down upon the stone floor and quickly began spreading throughout the arena.

A foul odor drifted into Chazod’s nose and he traced the miasma over to Jaquin. The goons all scooted away from him, waving their hands in front of their noses and coughing. “Jaquin, you fucking shit head!” protested Maddox, half laughing as he moved away from the man.

Chazod fixed Jaquin with his dark eyes and grabbed the man by the ear and pulled him to the end of the boat. A foul, brown liquid trickled from Jaquin’s shorts and down his legs, leaving a trail of sewage as he went.

“You’re going to have to do something more than shit yourself if you stay with us.” Chazod pushed the man down into the last bench of the boat. Then he turned his attention to the goons. “You four row, and row fast.” said Chazod as water spread its way around the boat. “Get us away from the rest of the fleet as quickly as you can and bring us around to the back of the galleon.”

One of the goons looked at him with a scowl. “You call these rowboats a fleet? And we can’t board no galleon from the rear. The square galley’s too high.” He held up one of the grappling hooks. “We got to go in at the side. That’s why they got it facing us like this.”

Chazod reached over and smacked the man across the skull. “We ain’t boarding the ship, dumb-ass.”

“What do you mean we ain’t boarding the ship?” protested the man. “They’ll think we cowards! They’ll whip us for sure!”

“We ain’t gonna be cowards.” said Chazod. “We’re gonna be the winners.”

“We ain’t gonna be no winners against them in that ship.” said one of the other goons. “They just want to see what we can do. They wanna see if their ship contraption thing works, and see which ones of us get hurt the least.”

“We ain’t got to take no orders from him.” said another goon.

“Yes, you do.” said Banden coolly from his seat. The man looked at him and Banden crossed his arms over his powerful chest.

“What are we doing, anyway?” asked Maddox. Water began to inch its way up the side of their rowboat.

Chazod huddled in with his team and spoke softly. “You see those hydraulics beneath the hull? They hold up the iron beams the ship rests on. Water’s gonna rise up and cover most of the ship’s hull, and we’ll swim under, loosen those bolts that connect the hydraulics to the deck, and the whole thing capsizes.”

“We’ll drown for sure!” said Jaquin.

Chazod smacked him on the head. “We ain’t gonna drown. There won’t be any water under the hull.”

One of the goons laughed. “Magic water! You’re a damn fool, you know that?”

Chazod cast him a dark look. “Your master ever make you wash dishes? Ever put a bowl upside down in the water? The air stays in the bowl even as the water goes above it.”

“If you’re so smart, then how you plan to loosen them bolts? With your bare hands?” said a goon. “Them thing’s are like three-feet around and last I looked you ain’t got no wrench that big.”

Chazod took Padraic’s chain from him. “We wrap a chain around a bolt,” he said, circling it around the most annoying of the goons’ waist a couple times. Then Chazod took a spear and slid it between the wide links at either end, connecting the chain together. “One end of the spear rests flat against the chain and the bolt. And we use the other end as a lever.” He pushed on the end of the spear, and it immediately constricted the chain around the man’s body. His flesh twisted and pooled up in the links and turned red. Chazod applied a little more force and the man yelped. Chazod released his grip, letting the chain slide off the man.