Sea Queen (14 page)

“Aye,” said McGillus, nodding with a money hungry grin.

Talon took on a curious tone. “How will his new master keep him in line? I mean, what’s to stop the slaves from attacking their masters?”

Grimald regarded him with suspicion, but the captain only smiled.

“Why don’t the Skomm turn on their Vald masters? Your people are weak,” said McGillus, “pitiful really. They know nothing but slavery. A long-lived Skomm knows his place and minds his master.”

Talon didn’t miss the insinuation.

The captain went on. “Firefang will likely become a house Vaka. He will wear fine clothes, eat fine foods, and rule over the others with an iron fist. Yes, he will be quite comfortable…if he obeys.”

By the end of the auction Talon felt as though he might be sick. How could people treat each other so? He had always known that many of the Skomm were sold to slavery, but seeing it firsthand—and how easily it was for the Shierdonians to bear witness to such cruelty made it seem that much worse. Animals were treated better than the Skomm—even here on Agora, where he’d hoped to find a better life.

“Do all Agorans keep slaves?” Talon asked.

Captain McGillus scoffed as the crier rattled on. “Eldalon, Shierdon, and Uthen-Arden do, but Isladon outlawed slavery decades ago. The dwarves have no interest in slaves, neither do the elves. But I’ve helped many Isladonian parliament members to their seats. If I have my way, the king will soon overturn the ridiculous law. Isladon’s economy has already suffered greatly from it—it’s only a matter of time.”

I spent two years in my cave of dreams, watching the life of a boy I had never met. When I saw him upon the sands that day, speaking such words to the people of Hornhollow, my heart smiled. –Azzeal of Elladrindellia, Keeper of the Windwalker Archive, 4997

Captain McGillus led Talon into the fighter’s area below the coliseum. Down in the depths, by the flickering glow of torch light, the House McGillus gladiators were strapping on armor and weapons. Argath nodded at Talon as he passed.

“Your armor is here,” said Grimald. He gestured to a bundle of leather and metal sitting on a bench.

As McGillus left to speak to Rekkr, Talon began examining the various parts, not sure how to proceed. When he attempted to strap on the chest plate, Grimald simply stared, offering no guidance.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” said Argath, who couldn’t help but laugh. He came over to help Talon out of the armor, and then started sorting through the rest of the gear. “Given your size and speed, you’ve got light armor and a pair of daggers. First things first. Strip out of them clothes, and put on that loincloth.”

Talon felt like a child, having the giant of a man help him into his armor, but he was thankful for the assistance. He snuck Chief’s trinket out of his pocket and stuffed it down the front of his loincloth. When he was done dressing, Argath helped him into the mail shirt and breastplate, which was chiseled with muscles he clearly didn’t have. There were also forearm and shin guards, pointed at the elbow and knee, and a pair of leather boots with armored toes. His gloves were the only thing that remained.

As Argath showed him how to strap the daggers to his belt, a loud, muffled voice echoed above. Talon thought a storm must be trapped within the coliseum as thunderous applause and pounding feet shook the subterranean chamber, causing dust to rain down on them.

Soon after, Rekkr led the gladiators through a wide door and up a long ramp. Bright light shone through an iron gate at the end of the tunnel, and the crowd’s cheers became deafening.

The booming voice silenced them, and names and titles were called out loudly. Rekkr slapped one of the gladiator’s hard across the face. The warrior growled like a beast, and butted heads with his trainer before rushing through the gates to another thunderous applause. Talon made his way through the others and peered through the gate at the spectacle.

The arena was nothing like the pits. It was enormous, with at least twenty rows of benches surrounding the floor and ascending alongside stairs reaching nearly a hundred feet. And above that was yet another whole level of similar seating, rising inconceivably high and topped with many long banners flowing in the wind. Talon couldn’t guess how many people had come to watch the gladiators battle, but it was more than he had ever seen gathered.

The fight began at the sound of many deep horns, and the Skomm gladiator engaged his opponent. Talon watched on as the men attacked each other viciously. Swords clanged and shields bashed, and all the while the crowd cheered noisily. When their comrade ran the Agoran through and raised him high into the air, impaled on his sword, the crowd went wild.

Talon’s stomach turned.

They’re all crazy.

When the Skomm gladiator returned, he was met by the cheers and congratulations from his brothers, and Talon fought to not get crushed in the celebration.

Argath was called forth next, and the big man seemed eager for blood. He ran out onto the sand to the steady chant of his name. His opponent turned out to be not one, but two Agoran fighters.

“House Varner’s men,” said a gladiator watching through the gates beside Talon. “Them little Agoran bastards ain’t got a chance against Argath.”

One of Argath’s opponents circled him, holding a net and a long trident. The other held a sword and a large shield and faced him head on.

Argath charged.

The swordsman retreated, deflecting blows with his shield. His partner moved in from behind with the net, but Argath rolled away just as it descended. He was back on his feet in an instant. A solid blow sent the swordsman tumbling back again, and Argath turned just in time to block a thrust from the trident.

The crowd cheered as it took in the spectacle, but Talon was beside himself. He watched in awe at the brutal nature of both the fight and its fanatic onlookers. He wasn’t sure which was worse. When Argath ran through and chopped the head off one of his opponents, the crowd erupted in a blood thirsty frenzy.

I’ve got to get out of here,
thought Talon.
But what about Akkeri,
he wondered. McGillus was the only link he had—he needed to continue on.

His indecision was brought to an abrupt halt as a blood-covered Argath returned to the cheers of his brothers and the crier began calling names again. The argument in his head mixed with the roar of the Skomm gladiators filling the narrow tunnel. He almost didn’t hear his name being called.

He turned around and began moving through the gladiators, making for the tunnel, but a strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder. Rekkr scowled down and Talon’s heart raced. The other gladiators had taken notice of his attempt to leave and glared at him as well. Shamed, he allowed himself to be led through the gate.

When the crowd saw him they began laughing hysterically. The sight of his opponent, a burly Agoran with wild, animalistic hair and eyes to match, made things worse. The crier announced him as “Vlarr,” and he was armed with a sword and whip.

Talon wanted to be anywhere else but this arena.

The horn blew and Vlarr charged immediately.

Talon dove to the right as the first strike rained down. He scrambled to his feet frantically as the whip cracked him in the back.

He fell to the ground and the crowd cheered.

The whip struck again, tearing flesh, as he got to his feet. He began to run, but Vlarr skillfully wrapped the whip around his ankle and brought him back down.

Talon landed on his stomach and turned in time to see the sword coming at him. He rolled away twice as the curved blade chopped through the sand.

Vlarr was fast; but Talon was faster. He sprang to his feet and faced his enemy.

They circled each other and the crowd’s cheers intensified.

The wild man’s eyes widened, and beady black irises regarded Talon like food. ”I’m going to skin you alive, Skomm!”

The cry of the spectators became deep and muffled as Talon fell into a trance like state. He rolled away as another lash came and sprang to his feet. When Vlarr struck again, Talon caught the end of the whip in midair.

The crowd went silent and Vlarr stared at him, mystified. Talon wrapped the whip around his arm and yanked with all his might, pulling the large Agoran to the ground.

Vlarr was infuriated. He worked himself into a frenzy and charged across the sand.

Talon stood his ground and unsheathed his daggers. His senses took in everything—the smell of unwashed bodies, the shifting sand beneath his feet, the burning lashes on his skin, the wind on his face. The roar of the crowd became clear, down to the last curse word. He heard every voice, every inflection.

Vlarr covered the distance quickly, but to Talon he looked like a man running through mud. The sword came straight at his gut, but Talon spun away as it sailed by. He brought his lead dagger around, stabbing Vlarr beneath the armpit, and dropped to one knee to sever his calf muscle.

The big Agoran went down hard.

The crowd was on their feet but completely silent. The moment permitted no words. Talon stood and circled his opponent as he flailed and tried to get up. Finally he seemed to give up, and caught Talon in a murderous glare. “Finish what you started, boy!”

Talon shook his head and sheathed his bloody blades. “I didn’t start this.”

“Do it!” Vlarr screamed.

Talon turned from him as the crowd chanted, “kill, kill, kill.”

McGillus and Grimald stood, watching closely, at the rail of a private booth above the tunnel to the fighters’ area. The captain glared at him and ran a finger across his throat.

“There is no honor in this,” said Vlarr. “Every second you wait shames my memory. Have you no honor? Kill me.”

Talon turned with shimmering eyes and nodded to Vlarr’s sword. “Do it yourself.”

Vlarr began to shake with fury. He stabbed at the ground and, screaming through the pain, pushed himself up onto his good leg. He began limping toward Talon leaving a trail of blood behind him.

“Stand your ground, boy!”

Talon drew his daggers.

The crowd cheered.

As Vlarr lifted his sword, Talon thrust both daggers into his neck.

The Agoran fell dead in the sand and the crowd went berserk. The chant of “Windwalker” echoed on and on. He turned a circle, taking in the spectacle of the venomous mob. The other Skomm gladiators were cheering him, and McGillus was clapping as well, a smug grin across his face.

The crowd seemed like animals to Talon then—wild beasts fighting over carrion scraps. They would have cheered his death all the same. They reveled in watching pain and suffering. He realized they were his enemy, each and every one.

“What is wrong with you people?” he bellowed. His words silenced the crowd as they echoed through the arena.

“You like to see pain? You like to see suffering?” He pointed at Vlarr. “Is this all we are to you?”

The thousands of people stared at him, mouths agape.

“Who do you think the Skomm see when they strike down your champions?” He pointed at the crowd as he turned. “They see you, their masters!”

As his words slowly died out, a lone voice cried out from somewhere in the audience. “Talon the Righteous!”

The cry was repeated, and soon the chant was taken up by all. Talon turned from them in disgust and went back to the gate. The other gladiators let him pass without a word, and the sound of clapping hands followed him down the tunnel.

The realization of what he had done began to set in. He turned the corner and stopped. McGillus and Grimald, along with four armed crewmen stood just beyond the threshold to the armory. The captain locked eyes on him and the men tensed.

Grimald stood with hands resting upon his sword hilts.

“Talon the Righteous,” McGillus said, taking a step forward.

Grimald paced him, watching and waiting.

“You said if I won—if I survived—you would let me see her,” said Talon.

McGillus smirked, gauging him. “I said nothing about a speech.”

Talon shrugged. “You had spoken so highly of me, Captain. Now they will not soon forget McGillus and his Skomm runt.”

Grimald glanced at his master and laid cold eyes back on Talon. The captain only stared; giving nothing away. Suddenly he gave a barking laugh that caused the crewmen to stir nervously. Talon realized they were all deathly afraid of him. The thought was enough to make him chuckle in turn.

McGillus smiled. “Do you think me a fool, boy?”

“I just want to see Akkeri. I’ve held up my end of the bargain.”

Grimald’s eyes never left him. He stood motionless, like a snow cat waiting for a hare to peek his head out just a little further…

“Tell me, those words you spoke,” said McGillus. “Do you really think they see their masters in their victims’ eyes? Is that what you see…your master? Do you want to strike me down?”

Grimald shifted slightly.

“I just want to see Akkeri,” Talon repeated.

The captain’s eyes spoke a hundred curses, but his smile never wavered.

“Come,” he said finally. “You shall see your precious Akkeri.”