The certainty of blood, p.6
The Certainty of Blood, page 6
He had good cause for his worries.
CHAPTER SIX
Now
The boy led Clanless to the Hawk King’s royal box overlooking the arena. The king himself had left his seat at the edge, no longer interested in the fights. Instead, he lounged on a couch next to a table laden with fruits and meats. A handful of other officials, family members, and religious leaders also occupied the royal box as his guests. Most of them crowded at the edge, discussing the conflicts below.
Yesun bowed and scampered away, his job done. Clanless stood before the Hawk King and waited. The king appeared engrossed with a bowl of dates. Several of the other residents of the box, intrigued by the warrior’s arrival, drifted over beside the couch to watch. Two of the women whispered to each other as their eyes roamed over his body. At last, the Hawk King looked up and feigned surprise.
“Ah, Clanless! Thank you for coming. I suppose this is quite a different position for you, looking down on the arena instead of within it.”
The women tittered, though it didn’t seem like a joke to Clanless. “I’ve been here before, sire,” he answered.
“Of course you have, of course you have.” The king picked out another date and tossed it into his mouth. “Tell me: what do you think of the fight I have arranged for you?”
“I will win.”
“He will win. You see, Ghouk”—the king gestured to a scowling young man behind the couch—“he will win. Nothing to worry about. Oh, Clanless. Have you met my son?”
Clanless gave a short bow to the future king, paying little attention to his face or appearance. All of this seemed like nothing more than a king’s idle fancies… in other words: completely pointless. He would play his part and leave as soon as allowed.
“I still say execute the traitor,” Prince Ghouk growled. “Don’t give him even the slightest chance!”
“But Clanless here is so much more entertaining than our executioner,” the king protested. “The people love him.”
“Too many of them love Daviland also.” Ghouk folded his arms over his chest. Clanless finally took notice of him, observing his musculature and the way he stood. The future king clearly had some martial training. He might even be a capable warrior, though not on the same level as the best arena fighters.
“Which is why they need to see another one of their heroes deal with him.” The Hawk King tossed the half-empty bowl on to the table. “If I merely execute this Daviland, I prove his point about being some sort of evil emperor.” He stood and shook crumbs loose from his voluminous sleeves. “But by putting him in the arena, I give him a fair chance.” He chuckled. “Except it won’t be a fair chance at all, will it, Clanless?”
“I do not believe he has such a chance, sire.”
“Have you ever met Daviland, Clanless?”
He hesitated only an instant. “No, sire. Though I may have seen him from a distance.”
“Yes, yes. Ah.” The king pinched the bridge of his nose. “Be sure to stop by his cell on your way out and fully evaluate him, then. We wouldn’t want any surprises.”
“Then we shouldn’t be doing this,” his son mumbled.
“Something else, something else.” The king tilted his head, as if thinking hard. “Oh, yes. Now I remember.” He stepped out from behind the table and gestured toward the viewers still looking down into the arena. “Clanless, I want you to meet my new Ghamba Lam.”
Ghamba Lam? The religious leader of the blood-priests? Why meet him?
A tall, thin man in the usual red robes turned from the arena and smiled. He wore a golden sash across his chest and a large necklace bearing the emblem of the moon. His hair had been cut into a crescent moon shape at the back of his head. Clanless bowed as he approached.
“Ghamba Lam here says he watched some of your earliest fights, Clanless.” The Hawk King waved off in the distance. “Somewhere out there, in the far reaches of our empire. Where was it, Gamba Lam?”
“Rochinbal, your highness,” the religious leader answered with a smile. Clanless straightened and looked in his face. Many years had passed since he last saw that face, but he knew it now.
“I was but a Daghilch then,” Ghamba Lam went on, confirming it. His eyes were locked on those of Clanless. “We have both come a long way.”
The brand on Clanless’s shoulder almost burned at the sound of the voice. This was the man who had banished him, cast him out from his clan, his family, his home, stripping him of even his name. And then there were the other things he’d done. The threats to the few people Clanless cared about. A wave of heat swept over him. Wild thoughts erupted in his mind: thoughts of rushing forward, seizing the holy man, and throwing both of them over the edge down into the arena below. It would be the end for both of them, but the desire still tempted him. He wondered what Zektel would say about that.
“Ghamba Lam has plans for increasing the blood donations and their uses,” the Hawk King said. He yawned, as if bored with his own words. “All very interesting. But I thought the two of you should be reacquainted, at the least.” Beneath the apathetic appearance, the king’s eyes darted back and forth between them, missing nothing. Clanless knew quite well the brilliance—and ruthlessness—of the man hiding behind the masquerade of an idle ruler.
“The clanless one was no more than a boy when I first laid eyes on him,” Ghamba Lam said. “Even then, I could see his potential.” The smile never left his face. “I knew I would see him again someday and somewhere more… regal.”
“There! You see?” The Hawk King slapped the priest on the back. “Potential cannot be hidden by those with eyes to see.”
Clanless said nothing, eyes unmoving. Why did the priest lie about their first meeting? Why didn’t he reveal what he knew? Why not tell the Hawk King of the Taint and how Clanless became branded? Most disturbing of all, this wasn’t the first time the king had brought in someone who knew Clanless from the past. Was this one intentional too?
“The goddess moves in unusual ways to our eyes,” Ghamba Lam said. “She chooses who she will for what purposes only she knows. The voice of her will comes to those who will listen.”
Clanless tried not to flinch. The Hawk King might not have noticed, but the priest put a touch more emphasis on the word “voice.” He hadn’t forgotten.
“Yes, well, let us hope her voice doesn’t come to Daviland,” the king said, “unless it is to tell him of his death.” He waved to Clanless. “You are dismissed, Clanless. We look forward to your fight tomorrow.”
“As you command, sire.” Clanless bowed again, then gave another short bow to the religious leader. “Ghamba Lam.”
He nodded in return. “We will speak again, Clanless. I am sure of it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Then
For six days, Aldan fell asleep as soon as he hit the bunk, and no one disturbed him until Kan’s summons. Everyone else felt the same way. Sleep had become a precious commodity after their strenuous workouts.
On the seventh night, things changed. Aldan fell into the bunk as usual and slipped off to sleep. He jerked awake a short time later when someone seized his left arm. Fear clamped hold of his heart. He started to swing around when someone else grabbed his right arm with both hands and pulled back on it. In a moment, two dark figures had him pinned. He strained against their hold and kicked his legs, terror giving him a rush of energy.
“Don’t waste your energy, Clanless.” The low voice came from a third figure in the dark, standing out of reach of Aldan’s kicks. “We just want to talk.”
“Yeltek! Let me go!”
Only Yeltek. Aldan closed his eyes in relief. He’d imagined something worse, though he couldn’t say why. The two holding his arms must be Duurald and Uyan. They weren’t all that smart, but Yeltek was. He’d have Duurald holding Aldan’s right. Uyan, the weak link, would be on the left. Aldan stopped kicking and relaxed his arms. He tried to slow the racing of his heart. He could get out of this. He wasn’t trapped. He wasn’t. He opened his eyes. The only light in the room came from a soft glow at the door. It didn’t provide much illumination, but at least he could make out the shapes of the boys around him.
“Why were you branded?” Yeltek demanded.
“Why are you an idiot?” Aldan shot back.
Duurald twisted Aldan’s arm. He grunted, but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of any cries of pain.
Yeltek stepped closer. Aldan could barely make out his shaking head. “You may as well tell us. We’re going to find out eventually.”
“Why do you care? We’re all slaves here now.”
“We’re slaves, yes.” Yeltek came closer. “But you? You’re lower than that. Lower than us. And don’t you forget it. The only thing lower than a slave is a clanless slave. You barely rank higher than those goats you clanholders raise.”
Aldan flexed his left arm slightly. Uyan responded by shifting and tightening his grip. Aldan resisted the urge to smile, even though he knew they couldn’t see his face.
“I want to know all about you, Clanless,” Yeltek went on. “You’ve got a story to tell, and I’m sure it’s moonbent. So come on. Tell us. It can’t make things any worse.”
Aldan tried to remember some of the worst curse words his uncle had used when he was angry. But the only ones that came to mind were: “You blood-damned fool!”
Yeltek gave an exaggerated sigh. “We tried doing it the easy way. I’ll give you one more chance, sand-eater. Or else Duurald will wrench your arm out of its socket.”
“I can do it too,” Duurald said from his right.
“And then how will you do in Kan’s training?” Yeltek asked. “And if that’s not enough, we’ll think of something else... something that might hurt worse… and be more embarrassing…”
“What’s going on?” another voice asked groggily from across the room.
“Go back to sleep, Jik!” Yeltek hissed. “Or I’ll put you back myself.”
Jik didn’t respond.
Aldan took in a deep breath and let it back out. “All right, all right. I’ll tell you my secret. But only you, Yeltek.”
“You still think I’m an idiot. They’re not letting you go.”
“All right. Whatever you want. I’m still only telling you. Lean in close, and I’ll whisper it to you.” Aldan swallowed, hoping this would work.
Yeltek paused, considering, then leaned in.
“Closer.” Aldan glanced toward Uyan, who had also tried to get a little closer. Perfect.
“What’s the secret?” Yeltek growled, getting a little closer.
“The reason I was branded…” Aldan whispered.
“Yes?” Yeltek leaned in to hear.
Aldan threw his head forward, smashing his forehead against Yeltek’s face. The other boy staggered back, grabbing at his nose with a sharp exclamation. The sudden movement threw Uyan off balance. Aldan jerked free of him and rolled off his bed into Duurald.
“You bastard!” Yeltek shouted. “Crush him, Duurald!”
Even in the darkness, Aldan knew: Yeltek’s nose was bleeding profusely. A few drops decorated his own forehead. His skin prickled from the dampness of the liquid, and his other senses exploded. He could smell the blood, even taste it on the tip of his tongue. His entire body seemed attuned to the detection of blood—or at least, blood exposed to the air.
“Burn,” Aldan whispered. He struggled against Duurald but also focused the Taint. His eyes burned.
“Ahhhh!” Yeltek screamed. “What is this?”
The other boys, if they’d been asleep before, woke up now, exclaiming over the noise.
Yeltek flailed about. “It hurts,” he whimpered, before collapsing.
Duurald wrestled against Aldan. “What did you do?” he demanded.
“Let him go!” Tunt barreled into Duurald. It wasn’t much, but it gave Aldan the chance to break free. He took several steps back from the other boy.
Someone lit a lantern and held it up, illuminating the crowd of boys standing around their beds. A cacophony of questions and murmurings filled the room.
Yeltek lay unconscious on the floor. Uyan crawled over to him. Duurald shoved Tunt away and spun back to Aldan, fists clenched. “What did you do to him?”
Aldan pointed at Duurald, his finger shaking. In the faltering light of the lantern, he knew he must look deranged, but he couldn’t help laughing. “Maybe I’m a sorcerer, Duurald. Maybe that’s what got me branded.”
Duurald took a step back.
“What is all this?” Nerlesen asked. “Save the fighting for the arena.”
“Yeltek?” Uyan shook him. “Wake up!”
“Or maybe I made a pact with a demon,” Aldan went on, rushing his words. “And it strikes out when I’m in danger.”
“He’s waking up!” Jik said, pointing at Yeltek.
Yeltek moaned. Uyan pulled him up and helped him sit against the end of Jik’s bed. Everyone stared. Aldan stepped back next to his own bed, watching Duurald.
Yeltek’s eyes wavered across the room. He blinked and focused on Uyan’s face.
“Yeltek?” Uyan said. “What did he do to you?”
Shool Baina held the lantern up higher to get a better look.
Yeltek’s bloody face spun toward Aldan. “It burned,” he said in a low voice.
“He’s a taichin!” Duurald yelled. Several of the boys murmured. Aldan had never heard the word before.
“Goddess,” Jik said, like a prayer.
“Help me up!” Yeltek ordered. Uyan obliged.
Aldan pointed at him. “You can call me whatever you want. But leave me alone, or worse things will happen to you.” He chuckled. “Something more embarrassing, maybe.”
Yeltek glared, but he didn’t say anything.
“Stay away from my bed!” Aldan climbed into it and adjusted his pillow before putting his head down. “Are we going to sleep tonight?”
“Everyone back to bed!” Nerlesen ordered, as if he were in charge. But the others moved to obey, possibly because he wasn’t Aldan.
Shool Baina waited until most got to where they were going, then put out the lantern. Only then did Aldan allow himself to relax. As soon as he did, he started to tremble. He’d been forced to reveal his secret, but without naming it. Would any of the others know? Did it matter?
Only one thing he knew for sure: none of them would look at him the same way again.
Aldan tried not to obsess over their looks the next morning. Yeltek, his face improved by the enormous bruise around his nose, glared at him with open hatred now. Duurald and Uyan were no better, though Aldan thought he detected a touch of fear in their gazes too. Nerlesen glanced at him and shook his head a little. Jik stared and did not come near. Tunt tried being his usual friendly self, but he’d clearly been shaken by the night’s events.
Shool Baina’s actions were the most perplexing. He came up behind Aldan as they entered the arena, patted him on the back and murmured, “Nicely done last night.” He walked on as if he hadn’t said anything, and took his place in the line.
When Kan joined them, he took note of Yeltek’s nose. His eyes scanned the line and rested briefly on Aldan.
“Hm. Took an entire week, I see.” The trainer folded his arms across his chest and gave hard stares to each one of them. As he’d predicted, most of them now hated him, but they also feared him. “Let me be clear about something. I am not training you to be a team. You will not be fighting together. And so, you don’t need to like each other. That’s fine. Should you move on from here, there’s even the remote chance that you may end up fighting against one another in an arena far from here.”
He paused and continued moving his eyes down the line. Each one of the boys squirmed under his relentless gaze. “But for now, you are not to fight each other anywhere other than on these sands. Out here, under my supervision, you will get the chance to knock the eternal moon-blood out of each other.” He pointed toward the door. “But not once you cross that line. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” they all murmured.
“Good. Now behind you, you will find eight large stones. Pick them up.”
Aldan turned, found the stone and lifted it. Heavy, but nowhere near his limit.
“For every bruise or other injury I see in the morning that wasn’t there the night before, you will carry these rocks…” Kan smiled in a smug way they’d all grown to hate. “…and run door-to-door. Go!”
“This is not your permanent partner,” Kan warned.
Aldan found himself paired with Shool Baina. Kan had broken them up into pairs and armed them with bucklers and wooden practice weapons.
“You’ll be practicing with this partner for the next week or two, depending on how I see you progressing. Then we’ll change partners. Eventually, you will spend time sparring with everyone else in this class. Who knows why I’m doing this?”
Nerlesen lifted his weapon. “To be sure we learn from a variety of opponents, sir.”
“Yes.” Kan nodded. “And from a variety of opponents, you will learn different things. You will learn the strengths and weaknesses of seven other boys here. This is important, because every single opponent you face in the arena will be different. The more opponents you face, the less you’ll be surprised by one.”
To Aldan, it seemed so obvious as to not require explanation. But Kan had been doing this for years. He probably grew tired of answering the same questions and gave out answers before they could be asked.
Shool Baina tried to spin his practice weapon in his hand. It looked awkward, and he almost dropped it. Aldan examined his own weapon. It didn’t look like a particular weapon. It wasn’t much more than a stick the length of his forearm. A swelling partway up divided the handle area from the “weapon” area.
“These weapons can substitute for either maces or swords,” Kan went on. “For now, pretend they’re maces. Their weight is close to the real thing.” He paused. “And they will hurt. For now, I want you to practice the form of your attacks, rather than the strength of them. And, of course, the use of your bucklers. Block everything, and you won’t go to bed with any new bruises today. Begin!”
