Book One Chapters 8-10

Chapter 8

The key to owning a good slave is to give them the false sense of security they so desire. When lulled into this state, where they believe that they can get away with almost anything, strike them hard with the lash. Then strike those around them three times as hard. They will learn who the master is then.
- Baron Deus Valkerig, Patriarch of House Valkerig


Cyan could hear the dull thud of metal pounding on stone. It was all he could hear, the center of his universe. Repetitive in cadence the sound had become everything he knew at that moment. Thud after thud, thud after thud, and no lapse in series, just repetitive sound.

He was aware of sight, and the realization that he could see was new to him, a foreign strange thing, that he had not forgotten, but had never known. He saw bright light, and then it faded, and he saw dusty ground beneath him, and slowly he remembered what ground was. He felt something in his hand, and looking down he saw it was his hammer. Coarse wood, the handle worked with his sweat, the metal end chipped, dull, but strong. Before him was a rock, it felt right and he did not hesitate and struck it with the hammer, and he felt good as he did. He felt at home. The sound, thud after thud continued, and he realized he was making it, his hammer, his work was making it, and it felt good.

He thought he heard his name called, but paid no attention to it, for it was more important to hammer. Breaking this rock was what he needed, and intended to do. He heard his name again, interrupting his work. Paying no heed, he continued to hit the rock before it, slowly chipping it away.

With on last swing the hammer came down, and the crushed under it’s force, remnants of it were only powder. Satisfied, Cyan paused and looked at his work, admiring it. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned around to see who it was.

***

Cyan’s eyes opened and he was aware of a distinct sound resounding inside his head. It sounded as if someone was hammering the insides of his skull, and were close to breaking through. The deep headache made his vision blurry, and it took him a few moments to focus and figure out where he was. When his eyes regained sight, he found himself in bed, with Memos leaning over him.

The elder warrior withdrew his hand from Cyan’s shoulder and sat down on a stool next to his bed. He looked tired, drained. Cyan propped himself up on one elbow and quickly noticed the pain, dull, pervading in his arm. He looked down at the wound and found it stitched neatly, and was smaller than Cyan remembered, and not as wide. Puzzled, he stared at it for a moment, then had to look away as he remembered had bad it hurt when he had gotten it.

“ How do you feel?” Memos asked him.

“ Tired, hungry, head hurts.” Cyan said, finding his mouth to be very dry.

“ You’ve been out near a day now.”

“ I seem to be making a habit of that.” He smiled. “ How are the others?”

“ Pix is okay” Memos began as he cracked his neck and knuckles “ Maris got a few cuts, but is otherwise alright. Sherrill wasn’t hurt, just rendered unconscious.”

Cyan nodded “ Who won?”

“ You. The other’s didn’t.”

“ What have they done to my arm? It doesn’t seem as deep as it was.”

“ Chesir, the short mean little man that probably de-liced you worked his magic over it, making it heal more quickly.”

“ Magic?”

Memos shook his head “ Yes, magic. He practices a small amount of healing magic so that we will always be ready to fight. Why’s he’s blessed with the ability to cast magic, I don’t know. I don’t have any use for the little ass.”

“ Yeah. But everyone’s alright?”

“ Yeah, you were the worst off. Sherrill of course isn’t taking it well, being knocked out did more to injure her pride than anything though.”

“ I imagine so.”

Both men smiled. A few moments passed while the both of them took stock of everything that had happened.

“ What did you think of your first fight?” Memos asked.

Cyan looked at him, seeing the scars criss crossing his face and chest made him want to say he loved it, the thrill of battle called to him; but he realized the scars were not Memos, and he could be honest with him.

“ I hated it.” he breathed.

Memos nodded.

“ All I felt, all I knew was fear. It hurt, even more than my arm... it felt like shame.”
Memos looked out the window for a second and then leaned in close to Cyan and stared him in the eye. When he spoke his voice was quiet, thoughtful. “ I thought I was going to die. I thought I wouldn’t ever walk again. I had no idea what to do, instinct took over. From there, I forgot the rest, and just fought, hoping to somehow live.” He traced a long jagged scar on his left forearm. “ You see this? This is my first bloodletting in the trials. I was young, like you, scared like you, but I lost my first fight unlike you. How? I saw the blood come out from this, and passed out. Funny thing is, now, this scar it’s not the largest, the deepest, or the worst, but out of all of them, it’s the only one I can still feel. The other’s I've forgotten about, but not this one. “ He shrugged. “ Before every trial I look at this one to remind me, remind me I have to fight, have to survive. This thing reminds me that somewhere out there, there’s something better, and I intend to find it.”

Cyan broke eye contact with him and stared down at the scar for a moment, and then at his. “ I am not good enough to be freed Memos, I can’t hope to beat so many.”

Memos nodded. “ Aye, no one really is. I’ve fought in front of the Emperor before, and I was never freed. They only free old slaves that have no more use. Us young, strong ones get to keep plugging away until we’re so old we’re used up. Our bodies spent, our minds gone, and then we have nothing to live for. Put no faith in their lies son, these trials, this games, won’t free you.”
Cyan nodded, acknowledging something he knew already but did not want to admit to himself.

“ Do you want freedom Cyan?”

Cyan nodded.

“ No, I mean do you want it, don’t just nod your head son, do you want it more than anything?”

“ Yes.”

“ Then never resign yourself to the fact that you are a slave. Regardless of the brand on your shoulder you are not cattle. Mark me, our day will come when we won’t ever have to worry about being bought, sold, trialed, used again.”

Just as Cyan was beginning to feel the power in Memos’s words the door came open suddenly and Ulrag’s massive form stood in it. He held a half loaf of bread in one hand and a soup bowl in the other. Stooping down he set them at the foot of the bed, grunted, and pointed at them. He looked at both men and then walked out, shutting the door behind him.

“ Do you think he heard us?” Cyan whispered.

Memos shrugged. “ Doubtful. Regardless if he did, remember what I said. Our day will come.” He patted Cyan on the shoulder and walked out.

***

Cyan sat in his room through midday meal, even though he was hungry. No one had come and told him to do chores yet, and he figured he was allowed the morning to recuperate, otherwise Athrax would have already broken his door down, and then commenced to breaking him. He sat in bed and thought about what Memos had said, and the idea of freedom, even though just idle words, excited him. He had no idea what Memos was intending, but still he trusted him. Memos was the smartest person to ever talk to Cyan, and Cyan trusted the older warrior implicitly. Even though he hated this place, he was thankful for Maris, Memos, Sherrill, and even Pix.
After midday meal Cyan went to the mess hall and caught Memos on his way out.

“ Mind if we walk for a minute?”

Memos nodded and turned outside, to go out into the courtyard. “ Don’t you have chores to do?”
“ I’ve got a few minutes I think. They haven’t come and gotten me yet.”

“ What’s on your mind Cyan?”

Cyan squinted his eyes in the midday suns and ran a hand through his hair. “ Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

Memos shrugged.

“ Do you have a talent?”

Memos nodded.

“ When did it develop?”

“ A little before yours did, I was probably two seasons younger than you.”

“ Is it anything like mine?”

“ No, not in the least bit.” Memos smiled. “ With all this scars, do you think there would be any blood left in my body?”

Cyan shrugged.

“ I heal much more quickly than most people do. Not the best thing for a slave to have.” Memos said with a wry smile.

“ I see.”

“ Why do you ask?”

“ I’m trying to figure out to control mine.”

Memos smiled. “ Came to the wrong person then, mine just happens when I get hurt.”

“ I think mine happens when I get mad.”

“ Dangerous. Learn to keep your temper.”

“ True.”

“ I suggest practice, discipline, like anything else, the more you work at control, the better you will become. Like with a sword, the more you work, the more disciplined you are, the better you will be.”

“ I understand. But why do my veins glow blue?”

“ Why do the stars twinkle at night? Why are their two suns and only one moon? Why do women always know more than men? Who knows the answer to these questions, they just are.”

Cyan shook his head, smiling.

“ Don’t burden yourself with questions you can’t answer. Such things are left to the thinkers who sit in the shade and get paid to answer such questions. We don’t. And besides” he playfully slapped Cyan on the arm “ You make a much better warrior than a thinker.”

Cyan smiled. “ Thank you Memos.”

“ No problem. As the old man of this little group I have to be somewhat wise and worldly on occasion.”

“ Where else have you been?”

Memos breathed out for a moment, thinking. “ Imperial City as I told you, grand beyond all sense of the word.”

“ Really?”

“ Oh yes, it was amazing, what I saw at least. Structures that stretched as high as the sky almost, the capitol building, seat of the Emperor is as tall as the tower here in Tacoma, and as wide as the arena, maybe by two.”

“ Have you seen the Emperor?”

“ Aye. Three seasons ago, the last time I fought in Imperial City. I fought in front of his majesty at the grand arena.”

“ What did he look like?”

“ Average size, middle aged, good shape. He had on purple robes, he looked very dignified. Black hair, with little lines of gray.”

“ Did he cheer for you?

Memos shook his head. “ No, he didn’t cheer for anyone. He stared out over the arena, as if he wasn’t even watching.”

“ Was his wife beautiful?”

“ If he had a wife, she wasn’t there, nor was there a seat next to him for her. He sat alone.”

“ Did he free anyone that day?”

“ Yes, a slave who had been in the leagues for about forty winters. Like I said earlier, so old he had no use left.”

“ How does one survive that long?”

Memos shrugged. “ Unwritten rule, when you get to a certain point, where everyone knows you could be killed easily because your too old, then you let the older slave win.”

Cyan smiled. “ Where else have you been?”

“ Oh, all around. Here and there. The only two that really stick out in my mind are Imperial city and Holstamp.”

“ Holstamp?”

“ Yes, it is very beautiful countryside there. I’d love to settle down and build a family there.”
Cyan sat down and leaned against the wall, Memos sitting beside him. Memos continued “ It’s the second largest Imperial city, and has it’s own arena. Slaves are hunted there, but I'd risk it if I was on the run just to live in it’s countryside. Beautiful.”

“ Sounds wonderful. Where would you put your home?”

Memos smiled. “ On a hill overlooking the sea, just above it. Away from everyone, with enough land to grow food, and enough cover to keep visitors away. It’s wouldn’t be large, just enough for Sherrill and I to make many children, and a porch where we could watch the suns over the ocean.”

Cyan nodded.

“ It’ll happen, someday. At least in the worlds of the mind, we’re all free.”

“ How long have the two of you been with each other?”

“ Few years.” Memos smiled as he thought of her.

“ Lucky man.”

“ I know. Been trying for years to figure out what I did to deserve a gods given blessing in this of all places.” He smiled to himself and stood up, and brushed the dirt from his pants. “ Well son, better you get to work. Don't need to tarry any longer.”

“ True.” Cyan stood and brushed himself off an watched Memos walk back inside, and smiled to himself as he walked to the forge to begin the days work.

***

Even as evening meal came and went, he did not see Sherrill, Pix, or Maris. At his late meal in the evening, no one was present, and even Briel did not come in for a late meal as was her custom. After he had eaten he walked out into the courtyard and sat in the space by the wall where he had spoken to Memos earlier. The two suns were set, and Aoi was high in the sky, casting half of it’s pale light over the world. He absentmindedly ate an apple as he watched the moon an thought of a house on a hill overlooking the sea. Maris came out of the compound and sat down next to him quietly, and he looked no worse for the wear, the effects of the trials seeming to have worn off already, except for a slightly pink bandage on his right leg.

“ Good to see you alive.” Maris said.

“ You as well.”

“ Aye, takes more than that to kill me.”

Cyan chuckled. “ How’s the leg?”

“ Fine. Arm?”

“ Fine.”

Both men took a moment and then laughed at each other.

“ Really, hurts like all hells!” Maris said.

“ Feels like someone rubbed a pound of sand in mine!” Cyan responded.

They both laughed until it was gone, and they were calm again.

“ Cyan, how long do you think we’re going to have to do this?” Maris’s voice was not flippant as before, but now was serious and overcast.

“ Until we are dead or free.” Cyan said honestly, even though he knew it wasn’t what Maris wanted to hear.

Maris closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “ I want to see my home.”

“ I know.”

“ I wasn’t what I expected in the fights. I thought he would kill me.” Maris’s voice began to tremble, and Cyan realized it was his turn to do as Memos had earlier in the day.

“ Its okay, I know. I was scared too.”

Maris bowed his head slightly and his shoulder shook as he tried to hold back tears. “ Why do they do this?”

“ I don’t know.”

“ Gods, this isn’t right.”

“ I know.”

“ I was a free man, I don’t deserve this.”

“ I know.”

“ They shouldn’t, they can’t. gods...”

“ Maris.” Cyan tried to sound as much like Memos as he could. “ We’ll have our day, someday, trust me.”

Maris shuddered and began to wipe his face, and Cyan realized how young the elf really was, and how much this affected him, even though he never wanted anyone to see it. Cyan could almost see the tangible spirit of humor and freedom in Maris leave as he wiped his face. Lines of age were already showing, decades before they should have. Cyan put his arm around Mari’s shoulder and held him close as Sherrill did, holding him like a brother would hold a brother. The young elf cried, not wept, but cried tears of nothing but sorrow and defeat, bitter as they soaked into Cyan’s shirt.

“ We’ll fight someday, trust me. Trust me Maris, we will come out of this together.” He said it and he meant it, even though he had no idea how to do it, but it was a start and he knew it.

“ I promise you, I will see you to Illyania, I will see your mountains, your home, if I can picture, than you can Maris.”

The name of Maris’s love seem to shock the young elf back to reality and he nodded, wiping his last tears from his eyes. Cyan patted him on the shoulder and the young elf breathed in deeply.

“ It will be beautiful, you’ll see. I promise. You’ll be free again, and I will see you to hear said Maris, I promise. If you close your eyes, you can see it, trust me.” Cyan realized half of what he had said was for as much his benefit as Maris.

“ I can. Thank you.” Maris lifted his head and finished wiping off his eyes. “ Thank you.”

Cyan nodded.

“ Sorry I broke down. This is all a little too much.”

Cyan nodded.

“ Cyan, I’ll pledge to you now by Aoi who you were born under, as brothers, we’ll get out of this together.” Maris looked at the moon and then to Cyan.

Cyan nodded. “ As brothers.”

“ Among my people, I would call you meo-naf, my brother.”

“ I like the sound of that. Thank you brother.”

Both men nodded at looked up at the moon for a moment, until the silence of the night was broken. A loud crash came from across the courtyard, followed by a cry for help in a woman’s voice. Both men jumped up, Cyan running as Maris followed suit.

They made their way into the first hallway that held Athrax’s room. Behind the door they heard crashing, and the sound of pottery being broken. Loud shouts, and muffled screams that Cyan made out to be Briel’s came from the other side. As Cyan reached for the door handle, Maris grabbed his hand.


“ Cyan, don’t be a fool.”

Cyan looked at him and Maris understood. He let got and got behind ready to whatever he could to help. Cyan wasn’t altogether sure why he did it, but he knew he had to and he forced the door open. As it flew open and hit the wall they saw the struggle. Athrax, clad only in under drawers held Briel by the wrist, and with his other hand had just slapped her across the mouth. Blood ran down the side of her face, and her nose looked out of joint. She was wearing only a thin nightgown, which already had spots of blood.

Cyan charged forward his mind stalwart with foolish courage. He didn’t think, he became action, being bolder than he had ever been before. As his fists came up he half saw the blue glow in his veins, but was more focused on connecting with Athrax’s face. Athrax threw Briel aside to meet Cyan head on.

Cyan swung for his head, a punch that if it had connected it would have shattered Athrax’s skull just as the oak table; but the elder warrior was accustomed to hand to hand fighting, and Cyan was not. He ducked the punch and returned with his shoulder speared into Cyan’s chest, knocking the wind clean out of the young slave. As he fell back, Athrax was on him, his fist connecting straight to his nose.

His eyes clamped shut as the pain went from the tip of his nose straight into his brain, and he hit the floor. He felt blood pour from it, and blindly he tried to scramble up. He felt Athrax’s bare foot on his jaw, and he went down to the floor again. As he tried to regain some sense of direction he heard another pot shatter, and the sound of a man’s body hit the floor. Hoping it was Athrax he got to one knee before he heard the hiss of a broad rapier come out of it’s scabbard. The tip was soon being pressed into his chest.

“ Bad choice boy.”

Cyan forced his eyes open to see Athrax before him, Briel laying next to the bed, quivering and bloody, and Maris laying next to the door , half of his face covered in blood from a broken vase that Athrax must have thrown at him. Footsteps, rapid and coming closer mixed with Briel’s soft whimpering, and the beating of Cyan’s heart.

“ Your mistake boy, one you’ll never make again.” The charming smile of a snake had left

Athrax’s face and was replaced with a cold iron visage of a warrior.

“ What is going on here!” Imona shouted as she entered the room. Dressed in a fine silk gown, her form was beautiful, but her face twisted into rage.

“ These two felt like interrupting me, so I turned them on their ear.” Athrax responded.
She looked at Athrax to Briel, to Cyan to Maris, her eyebrow arched. “ I see, and you intend to?”
“ Run this boy through.” Athrax said coldly.

“ No, I think not.” Athrax scowled at her. “ I have other plans, and he is much to valuable to be killed, at least for right now.” She waved her hand at Briel and Maris. “ Flog those two, tomorrow, twelve lashes, and send him up to my rooms after he has been washed.”

“ Yes my lady.” Athrax said grudgingly.

“ Very well.” She nodded, surveyed the scene and then turned, her silk sash flipping behind her.
Athrax looked back down at Cyan. “ Seems as you get off easy. But don’t worry, both of them shall feel what I wish to do to you.” He pulled the blade back from Cyan, his eyes still cold.

“ You’ll get yours soon enough” Cyan’s voice was even, not that of a seventeen year old. He was proud he has said it, and would have never taken it back, no matter the beating Athrax could give him.

Athrax smiled. “ I’m sure.” He looked out the hallway to one of the many guards now standing there. “ You, take him, bath him, and see him to Imona’s chambers.”

As the guard hauled him out the room Cyan looked to Briel, her face bloody and streaked with tears. She was impassive, silent, reserved. Her eyes looked dead, and colder than even Athrax’s. He stared into them, hoping for some fire, some spark until they drug him from the room.


Chapter 9

The spirit of a warrior is kindled first in the soul. Without spark for the rage, the warrior only has empty training. A man can be trained to kill, but the inborn fire must be stoked by the man and no other. We cannot teach passion.
- Priesthood of War teaching


The guards took him up the stairs and down the hallway that smelled of jasmine after his bath. His nose hurt, as did the rest of his face and ribs, but their would be no permanent damage. His blood still coursed with the anger he felt at Athrax, but was slowly dimming. He was glad to know his talent was not a fluke, and was there if the anger came to him. The guards opened the door and pushed him inside as if he was going into a locked cell and closed it behind him.
Imona sat at the table in the center of the room, fruit still laden in the bowl. Water from the quick bath worked in with his growing perspiration. He still felt the anger, even with the blue glow long gone, he knew now at a moments notice, he could flash to the state that his talent was expressed. She looked him over with a crooked smile on her face and picked up a long silver hilted dagger off the table and put it’s point onto the surface and slowly spun it to and fro like a drill. She was still in the filmy silk gown, cut close to accentuate her figure. Cyan saw no beauty in her now, having been witness to her cruelness.

“ What were you thinking Cyan?” Her voice was smooth, creamy, light.

He measured his response for a moment and realized he had come this far, might as well speak the truth. At this moment he felt like a man, and it was good, the first time in his life he had ever done anything but conform, this was the first time he let the spark inside him come out and take flame.

“ He was beating her, so I stopped him.” His voice was flat, without expression.

“ And it was your place to do this?” she stared into him, a curl of a sardonic smile at her lips.

“ No, but I would not let him.” His voice remained flat.

“ So I ordered you to do this?” she was almost sneering.

“ No.”

“ Then I am still at a lose as to why you would do this.” Her crooked smile broadened, and the same snakelike features so prevalent in Athrax were multiplied by twenty in her.

“ No, I would not let him.”

“ So you knowingly did this?”

“ Yes.”

“ And you knew if you hit, with your talent, you could have killed him?”

He was surprised she brought it up, even in this context, even as a slave, no one brought attention to such things, no master had ever asked him if he had one, it was just the social rule not to speak of such things.

“ I do not know what it would have done, I do not know of it’s power yet.”

“ Ah, so an excuse. Tell me, would you have him die if you had the power to do so?”

He remained silent, his courage failing. He did not want to go that far.

“ I think you would. Come, sit here.”

He moved and sat down at the table across from her. A small hole was slowly being dug into it, with the twisting of the dagger.

“ Cyan, the punishment for such things as you have done is death. You know that, don’t you?”

Her voice was sweet, melodious, but Cyan keyed into how it was similar to Athrax’s, and it sickened him.

“ I do, yes.”

“ But willingly, you did it. Hmm. I can forgive one lapse of judgment. You see Cyan, this incident gives me an idea as to what you are truly capable of. After that first trial you had, I was sure that you would have died of fright, now, this gives me insight as to what you could do.” She laid the dagger flat on the table and leaned back in her chair. “ I want you to use that same fire, that same conviction that you used tonight in every trial you have. Do you think you could do that?”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and then spoke and was surprised to still find courage left inside “ Only if all I battle are Athrax.”

Cocking and eyebrow she said “ A good motivation for you, but I think I have better.” her eyes narrowed “ You are fond of the elf and the serving girl, aren’t you?”

He stared at her, his eyes burning, seeing the direction she was leading.

“ You are fond of them. I think you would most definitely do your best in every fight you are in if you realize that the first fight you lose, I’ll kill one of them in front of you, or perhaps make you do it in front of me.” The sweet tone of her voice, coupled with her corrupt, crooked smile stunned Cyan “Should you lose two, then both die, three, then you die.” she smiled “ Would that be good motivation?”

He stared back at her, a mix of anger and fear on his face. She picked the dagger up again and twisted it slowly on the table, her eyes staring into his, beautiful, yet so hideous to him. He lost all hope for her word, or their ‘business’ arrangement and realized she was the worst of the worst, she was a cruel vindictive master, a harsh, black hearted master.

“ Now that aside Cyan I have been proud of your work here “ she shifted topics as if she was speaking of tea and then coffee, nonchalantly. “ Tonight's lapse forgotten, I wish to reward you for being the only victor last trials.” She stood up and walked to the door between the bookcases

“ Follow me.”

He followed her into her bedroom, the source of the jasmine smell that permeated the air, coming from a candelabra that held nine scented candles, situated in the corner of the room, the only source of light. Two small windows were on the wall, letting in slight fingers of light from Aoi, their portals covered in a rich silk drapery. A thick but soft woven rug covered the majority of the floor it’s pattern a series of interlocking ‘v’s. A dresser with a large mirror, two tables and doors to a closet and privy completed the room, with the bed, a large canopied silk extravagance, laden with different colored silk covered pillows set in the center.

The bed itself was large enough to sleep four or five with sheets made of rich, pure silk, deep purple. More than a dozen pillows lay on the bed, and Cyan wondered why anyone would need so many, and again realized that Imona was a member of a royal house, and luxury was to be expected. Imona stood before the bed with her back turned to Cyan and dropped her nightgown to the rug, crumbling into a pile around her feet. Although his distaste for the woman he had to admit to himself that her body was amazing, ravishing, and that although he knew her to be evil, she was still intoxicating. He knew what was going to happen, and his animal, barbarian, male side welcomed it, but his mind was revolted by it.

She slid down onto the bed, further perpetuating Cyan’s idea that she was a breed of snake. She turned around to face him and Cyan keep his eyes locked on her face, not willing himself to look at the rest of her, for he did not want her to think himself at all interested in what she had to offer.

“ Come here.” she patted the silk sheet beside her with the tip of the dagger, still in her hand. He forced himself to stand stock still.

“ Come now Cyan, this is your reward for good work.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm and he knew she was enjoying the absolute control she had over him, the authority a master has over a slave. He had been heady all day, defying orders, doing acts that should have had him put to death and he realized his punishment now and did not want to accept it. Most men would have seen this as a great thing, to him, another dehumanizing, horrible punishment his master inflicted upon him.

He gritted his teeth and stared at her, hoping to steel himself for another moment, hoping to will himself out of the situation.

“ I see. You don’t seem to interested. Tell me how you feel about this, tell me the truth.” She leaned back onto the pillows, her face eased into the crooked smile.

He didn’t care about his petulance and said what he felt. “ I’d rather bed with a horse.”

She threw her head back and laughed, the curls falling over her cheeks, her eyes dancing. “ Really now, how nice of you. Come Cyan, come here and pleasure me. As in all things, this is not a matter of choice.”

He stared back at her, his eyes full of hatred, his body tense and his mind swimming with a way, anyway to rid himself of her and Athrax. She looked at him evenly, the smile washing from her face, her cold, snakelike eyes fixed on his. “ Pleasure me. Or tomorrow your friends will not take twelve lashes, but enough that they will die. And continue to look at me as you do, and I will have you to hold the whip.”

***

He awoke the next morning with a knock at his door. Standing up he dressed quickly and opened it. Standing outside was Memos and Sherrill.

“ May we come in?” He nodded and sat down on his bed. Sherrill came and took the stool across from the bed and Memos closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

“ We heard what happened.” His voice was quiet, his face older, tired. He looked at Cyan and saw an older man, not the young boy from a day before. He was not frightened, or at least he did not show it. He looked scarred, hurt, and it was a hurt Memos knew. It saddened the older warrior, and inside he hurt for Cyan, because he knew what the young man felt.

“ God’s Cyan, I don’t know what to say.” His voice quivered, and Cyan lowered his head, not wanting to see Memos as he did, but strong, resolute, and wise.

“ Imona said she would kill them if I did not win every trial I am in.” Cyan said as he looked out his window, trying to forgot how old, how frightened Memos had just seemed.

Sherrill spat to the floor and uttered and oath that would have made most sailors blush.

“ She will have the both of them flogged twelve lashes today.”

Sherrill cursed again and Memos shook his head. Cyan looked back at the two older slaves, seeing their eyes. Sherrill was full of rage, and she saw what had happened to Cyan the night before, and Cyan knew then Imona had done the same to Memos. He knew his hatred of Imona could never eclipse Sherrill's and wondered how the warrior woman held her anger in check.

“ Fine.” Memos’s voice was strong again, and it made Cyan comfortable again. “ Our day has come. No more talk. We will make preparations to escape.” Sherrill looked to Memos surprised, and Cyan simply nodded. He had hoped Memos would say as such, and now, he would willingly try, as he felt nothing else would save his life, or more importantly the life of his friends.

“ Pix and I have been working on a plan for some time. The five of us shall make ready to flee within a moon’s time.”

“ Six of us, Briel is coming as well.” Cyan said simply.

Memos nodded. Sherrill looked to him, a look of hope spread across her face, although her eyes still filled with anger. “ Are we to really do this my love?” He nodded, and she stood and embraced him, and Cyan leaned back against the wall, his mind swimming.

“ The world will be ours to share Cyan, be ready.” Memos’s voice was strong, and Cyan saw the older warrior as the resolute, powerful man he was. Memos saw the spark of youth, and the light of hope in Cyan’s eyes, and the hurt left his heart, for a moment and he thanked the gods for giving the young man something to hope for.

***

The two sun’s fell over the group as they stood in the courtyard, their fiery light held in the peak of the sky. Maris and Briel were lead out, his head held high, her’s bowed. Cyan saw Imona across the courtyard seated by her window, fanning herself. Athrax stood at attention offset from the set of poles with manacles in the middle of the courtyard. Ulrag stood with a large whip rolled in his hands, his face stony. Cyan’s visions of freedom for the moment were gone as his body tensed to what would happen.

There was no fanfare as Maris was strapped to the poles, the manacles clamped shut around his wrists and ankles, his arms pulled far, and his legs spread. He was facing Cyan, Memos, Pix, and Sherrill. As they strapped him into the manacles he made no indication he felt it, his face was resigned, proud, a slight smile on his lips. He did not seem scared, but in turn he did not seem at peace.

Ulrag walked forward with a rounded, thick piece of leather and held it to Maris’s face. Imona motioned to put it away before Maris could bite down upon it, and Ulrag pocketed it. Moving behind him the half ogre uncurled the whip, twelve hands long, well oiled and made of tapered, tanned, well-worked leather.

Ulrag’s arm snaked back, his muscles rippling and the whip cracked, and Cyan’s body jolted as it hit Maris, and he spasmed to the pain. He grimaced, but did not scream. He fixed his eyes on Cyan’s and Cyan saw and felt his pain and the inner battle he fought with himself not to let go.
The whip came down again, and he shuddered under the force, his eyes locking shut. Cyan saw drops of blood fall to the dust below Maris. Ulrag swung again and on the third strike Maris lost his battle and screamed. Quick, more of a grunt, but it was pained. The next stroke produced a true scream, as did all after it. Maris lost all composure and screamed ever hit, his body falling limp. By the twelfth stroke, he was unconscious, a pool of blood formed at his feet, and splashed about in the sand. Ulrag unlatched him, and his body slumped, and Cyan could see his back. Ten streaks of cracked, sliced flesh crossed him, lines of blood falling from each, mixing with the sand. They drug him by his arms back into the compound, leaving a long trail of blood in his wake.

The courtyard was quiet, and Cyan looked to his comrades. Memos stared forward as he held Sherrill to his side, whose face was wrapped in hatred. Pix held his head low and looked as if he had tears. They were demoralized. Athrax walked forward and directed the two guards holding Briel to take her to the manacles. She was wearing a brown dress and no shoes, the simple garb of a slave. Her feet, lily white and unblemished stood in the mix of blood and sand that Maris had left. They manacled her, and Cyan felt his heart sink. Memos’s hand was on the small of Cyan’s back, an he grabbed a hold of his shirt, making sure to remind the young slave to keep even.

Athrax walked to behind Briel and unlaced the back of her dress, and pulled her long red curls up and tossed them over her shoulder. She stared into the ground. Cyan felt weak, helpless, and he cursed himself for putting her here, and making her and Maris suffer through this. The feeling wasn’t new to him, but it hurt all the more because he cared for them, and as she looked up from the ground and met his eyes, he saw that she had no hurt, no anger, just emptiness. For a moment, they were blank, empty as the night before, and then he saw hate, anger, and he wasn’t sure if it was directed at him. His heart sank deeper, and at that moment he would have given his lift to be in her and Mari’s place, to take the punishment that should have been his.
Athrax positioned himself seven steps behind her and took the whip from his belt, unfurling it to the ground. The end was broken into three smaller strips, each of them more pink than brown. It looked used, worked, and seemed to have seen the blood of many slaves. The guards strapped her into the manacles tight, and walked away.

Cyan saw his face; the cocky, arrogant smile of a viper, the winner takes all smile that Cyan hated; bearing into his heart like a dagger. He felt it, the unconscious but building energy in his body. His anger was coming to a head and he searched for a way to suppress it, swearing to himself to control it. His talent was coming to bear and he could feel it, palpable, tangible, his anger, and he searched, he fought to control it. I will kill this man, by the gods I will kill him. He didn’t know if he could stop himself, the anger circling inside him.

The crack of the whip was swift and the sound of flesh ripping louder still. She did not scream, she did not move, she did not even flinch. Her burning eyes focused on Cyan’s and he felt his anger grow and his body begin to perspire. He fought to control it and the sound of flesh, much like cloth being torn asunder, ripping as the whip cracked yet again did not help. He felt Memos’s hand tighten on his back and the whip cracked, and flesh ripped again. She did not move. He fought himself for control.

Athrax stopped, and the whip fell slack to the ground, it’s tip now red, and wet. His eyes narrowed and Cyan felt him looking at him, waiting, silently challenging him. He did not move his eyes from Briel, and Athrax seemed far away as he focused on her, and bade his anger to stay still. Briefly, ever so briefly he saw Athrax twitch and perhaps he felt fear for a moment, perhaps for a moment he knew what Cyan wished to do to him. Cyan’s muscles were taut, clenched. Athrax swung the whip again, more force than before, the worst strike yet.
The whip cracked twice, once in the air, once on her back. Cyan was amazed as she remained silent, her body still her eyes fixed on his. Athrax hit her harder still. His savageness and brutality made Sherrill and Pix turn their heads away and Memos stare aghast. Cyan did not move, his eyes locked with hers.

Each stroke was more brutal, and each time more savage. She never made a sound, no tears came from her eyes, no reaction. Her eyes remained locked with his as if she drew strength from his anger, and he controlled himself, and remained fixated on her. The small pool of blood left by Maris was a veritable lake now. By the twelfth stroke she was still stalwart, unmoving, silent. Athrax motioned to the guards and they unlatched her, and Cyan was not surprised to see her stand there, and not fall. She stared at Cyan for a moment, then turned and walked herself back into the compound. As she walked away all Cyan saw of her back was red, as if it was her natural skin color. It was a massacre, and the anger Cyan held in check almost destroyed him like a flood bursting breaching the walls. He turned his eyes to Athrax who looked away from him and it was apparent to Cyan and to Athrax as well that the young slave would now do anything to kill him. Athrax went inside and left Cyan to boil. He closed his eyes and controlled himself, letting the hate, the anger slip down to be used again soon. It took him awhile, but he was clam, his body forged in determination. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Memos his face old, but his eyes confidant. Cyan placed his hand on the elder warrior’s shoulder and they nodded, silently reminding each other that soon, with luck, they would all be free.

The moment past, Cyan saw Pix, his face washed in rage and sorrow walk to the wall and sit in the dirt, punching the ground with surprising force. His eyes danced with the fire of hate, and Cyan saw the intelligence behind them, masked by the stereotype of his species stupidity. Cyan knew the gobbeley felt as bad for all of this as he did, and that Pix would do anything as well to leave all of it behind.

Cyan walked over and knelt down by the gobbeley and put his hand on the green shoulder, locking eyes with him. Silently, the same passed between them as with Memos, and both nodded. Both knew their day had come.


Chapter 10

If want something badly enough, then be willing to die for it.
- Priesthood of War teaching


Training resumed as usual the next day, minus the appearance of Maris. He was gone for three days, neither seen nor heard about. On the fourth day he returned to morning meal, his gait quick, his step light, and a smile on his face. If the brutality of his punishment had gotten to him, he would not show it. When they practiced, he seemed stiff, and they were easy on him, but soon found that he would have none of it, and practiced and trained as hard as he would any other day.

By midday meal they were all tired but their spirits were level. Cyan still felt anxious, as Briel had not been seen since her punishment. He thought about her every fifteen seconds, her face impassive, her eyes bearing into his as she was whipped. Proud and stalwart, the face she wore as they beat her was etched into his mind. Even then, even as she was savagely beaten by Athrax Cyan found her beautiful. He felt hate he had never known, a hate so deep it eclipsed his hatred for those that had beaten him, and made him less of a person. His hate was focused, rational, calm. Towards Athrax, towards Imona, towards the entire complex, towards Chesir, towards Ulrag, towards them all. He didn’t know how but he would take from them what they had taken from him, and her.

Despite all of this, he wasn’t sure what he felt for Briel. He thought of her more than anything, and he wasn’t sure why. The first thought that came to mind was love, that he was in love with her. The more he mulled it over, the sooner he came to the conclusion that he did not love her. He couldn’t love her, for he knew nothing about her, and he wasn’t even sure what love was. He knew he was attracted to her, and he knew he felt something for her. As the days passed he realized what it might be. He felt for her something he had never felt before; outrage. He was outraged at her situation, what she wad forced to do. She was beautiful and she did not deserve, of all people he had met the lot she was given. This outraged him, even more so than Maris’s situation, or his own. He knew she should not be a slave, nor forced to be with someone like Athrax. She deserved better. He did not want her in this place, subject to these things. He did not want to see her harden as she did not cry out when beaten. He did not want to see her empty eyes as Athrax took his hand to her. Her back should have had no scars, and all of this outraged him.

“ Boy, come with me.” Athrax’s voice broke him from his reverie. The young warrior waited for Cyan to stand and then walked him out over the courtyard towards Imona’s chambers. Whatever fear Cyan might have struck into Athrax was gone, as he walked the entire way with his back to him. Cyan knew he was cocky, and it irked him even more. They went up to Imona’s chambers and stopped before the heavy door. Athrax turned to face Cyan and began to speak before Cyan interrupted him.

“ You gave your back to me.” His voice was even, and the titillation of talking down, talking out of place to the slave master thrilled him again.

Athrax cocked an eyebrow. “ I do not fear you boy.” His voice was confidant, but Cyan noticed his hand slip down to the hilt of his sword. Cyan smiled back at him, doing his best to mirror the cocky smile. Athrax snickered and opened the door to Imona’s chambers. As Cyan walked in Athrax leaned close to his ear and whispered.

“ Be sure to be think of what I’ll be doing to Briel while you serve her, boy.”

As Cyan tensed and was about to turn the door slammed behind him. He clenched his fists and cracked his knuckles. Looking around he saw the sitting room empty. Her voice came from the bedroom.

***

After they were done and Cyan laid begrudgingly next to her, with her hand caressing his chest and her hair laid across his shoulder, she began to talk which made the experience all the more infuriating. Her voice had become likes needles to him, small, sharp, shoving into his skull at all angles. He hated listening to her, speaking to her, seeing her, smelling her, touching her, being with her, all things about her. He wished to strangle the life form her body so that he would have to listen, submit to her no more. He did not because he knew they would all die. He had no idea how to do it and get away with it, and he hated that fact as well.

“ You were wonderful.”

He remained silent, staring at the canopy of the bed.

“ We could always remove you from the league and make your permanent place here.”
He imagined a vision of him fighting her in the arena, it calmed him. He ended her with his hands clenched around her throat, crushing the leering smile from her face.

“ Would you enjoy that?”

He said nothing. She shrugged and propped her head up on her elbow, and looked at him as she ran a finger up the middle of his torso.

“ Don’t find me pleasing?” Her voice was mocking, grating. “ Do you know how many men would kill, and have done in the past to lay were you are now?”

He said nothing.

“ I see. Perhaps you’d rather be somewhere else?” Her fingers danced about his skin, running up and down his chest. What should have been a lover’s gesture felt like the underbelly of snakes crawling on him.

“ Perhaps with someone else?”

He said nothing.

“ Hmm, I know. The kitchen girl, yes.” She leaned her face in closer to his, her breath hot on his cheek, her voice slowly falling into a husky whisper. “ Yes, her. A pretty girl indeed. Her hair, her eyes, her silky skin. Do you like that?”

He felt his heartbeat quickening as his anger rose.

“ Very pretty indeed. Very nice body. Small pert breasts, delectable lips.” Her face was a scant space away from his, her breath hot, much like that of a wolf. “ Beautiful legs. I think the scars on her back take away from it all, but I still see the attraction.”

She was very close to his ear, her hand on his chest, her body, a light sheen of sweat still fresh pressed against his. He felt her body heat rapidly rising, as was his, but his was fueled by hate, not passion.

“ You want her. I could give her to you, make her yours. True Athrax would be angry, but I could buy him another. Girls like her are easy to come by, and like her, they’ll all be willing to do whatever to please just as not to dirty their hands.” His heart beat quickly and he swallowed hard. His body could not take more before he exploded, and he battled to keep his will in check. “ I don’t know why you’d want one had by so many. I’ve given her to every man here.”

He lost his battle and drew back his fist to strike her, only to be met by the press of cold steel as she held a stiletto dagger to his throat, slipped quickly into her hand from beneath the pillow. She began to laugh, her black hair dancing across his skin.

“ Poor boy, you need to learn to control yourself.”

He contemplated just hitting her anyway, but managed to hold himself in check because he knew what she would do to his friends.

“ Now Cyan, you get so bold these days. So much fire, so much passion.” She kept the dagger against his throat as she kicked the sheets from them and climbed on top of him, straddling him as she pressed the dagger hard enough against his throat he felt warm blood leave his skin. “ So much vigor, you need some sort of an outlet. Yes, I think you do. It’s a good thing you’ll be fighting again soon. Five days to be exact.” She smiled broadly. “ As a matter of fact it’s quite odd. As I told you, better win, funny though” She leaned down close to his face, her eyes bearing into his “ If you don’t I won’t kill you, your opponent will. Matches to the death always seem to draw the crowds.”

She pressed the dagger blade long against his throat and leaned back, her face contorted into a smile.

“ You’d better win Cyan, or men won’t be the only thing piercing Briel.” His rage was viable and she seemed fueled by it. “ Now, be a good boy, and don’t move too much, I’d hope not to hurt you.”

***

He returned to his room and sat down in the dark. Aoi was not out this evening, and although his twilight blood called to the moon, it did not come. The darkness made him feel comfortable with the thoughts that ran through his mind. He wanted his day to come, and hoped Memos meant what he had said. New moon was not soon enough, and Cyan wanted it to be now. He wanted to escape, he wanted freedom, he wanted revenge.

More than ever he hated the life of a slave, and wanted his escape to be now. More than all though, his mind was filled with a vision. It was simple, and he felt as if he could see it happening, someday. He saw himself, veins glowing blue standing above the broken corpses of Athrax and Imona, their blood spread across his hands. He was in the league arena, and he had won his death match. In the darkness of his room, this vision made him smile, and the only thing that lit the fires of rage in his eyes was the blue glow of his veins, their pale magick mixing with his growing rage.