Tanys Gladiatrix (The Chronicles of Tanys Book 2) (18 page)

"I don't suppose you know how to open locks?" Tanys asked. Ghodn responded only by lifting his ears and cocking his head to one side as he looked past her at something she could not see.

A mighty cheer thundered through the crowd, and Tanys saw satyr guards leaping down from the walls to advance toward the central dais. The noise of battle rang out from behind her, and Tanys cursed as she strained, ineffectually to see what was happening. Whatever was happening behind her, the satyrs in front would soon be upon her. Their drawn swords left little doubt of their orders regarding Tanys.

Tanys closed her eyes, centering her consciousness in her chest. She pushed her mind outward, toward the mountain tiger that stood, tensed and growling, at her side. This time there was no barrier to press through, only a meeting of two fluid thoughts, that touched and flowed together as one.

Ghodn leapt forward, Tanys with him in her mind. All of his animal strength and killing instinct answered to the command of her warrior's skill. The first guardsman to reach the dais swung his sword in what seemed an impossibly slow arc. Ghodn flowed like water beneath the cut and climbed over him, hind claws raking out the beastman's entrails in passing. The guard fell, dying, smelling sweetly of blood.

Ghodn launched from the shoulders of the mangled guard. The next satyr screamed momentarily inside Ghodn's jaws before the tiger crushed his head between jagged teeth. The big cat flung the body aside like a broken toy, jumping back to avoid a spear thrust. The spearman's eyes went wide as a massive paw batted away half his face.

"Tanys! Tanys, wake up!"

A hand was shaking her shoulder. Tanys pulled herself free of her link with Ghodn, even as the tiger continued to rend and slay. Her eyes opened, and Baran stood before her, clad in polished armor and looking again like a gilded war god. A look of pure joy lit up his face, and he cast down his sword, taking her face in his strong hands. He pressed his lips hard against hers, and Tanys moaned his name into his mouth.

"Do that later!" Berra scolded. The gladiatrix turned aside an axe blow with her shield before splitting the satyr's head with her blade. She wore armor of functional style, dark leather and iron plates, above her knee-high bronze greaves.

"I've got it," Tyll said, and Tanys felt the frame of the stocks bend and creak as Berra's sister jammed a pry bar into the locking mechanism. The girl's massive shoulders bunched, and the stocks cracked apart, freeing Tanys. A moment later, her feet were freed as well.

Tanys leaned against Baran's chest as feeling returned to her tingling extremities. He held her and smiled. All around the arena, gladiators in full armor fought against satyr warriors. Tanys recognized the fighting slaves of Malchesse house, but others had joined into the general melee as well. Here and there, human slaves dropped from the stands to pull down armed satyrs, butchering them with their own weapons in the sand.

A swirl of bright cloth, falling from the upper level caught Tanys' eye. It was the body of a young faun, slipped from the balcony. The satyr elite were trampling one another to escape the mob's wrath, as once trusted human slaves turned on their cruel masters. Tanys looked up at Baran, unsure of what to say.

"Your friend found us and told us where you'd gone," Baran explained, "After you were captured trying to rescue me, I felt obligated to return the favor."

"You weren't in the house at all?" Tanys groaned.

"No. After you were taken away, they gave me a sound beating and sent me back to the slave quarters to contemplate my place in the universe... I did."

"What now?" Tanys asked.

"Now I was hoping you'd help me lead this revolt." He grinned. Berra passed Tanys her shield and Tyll fetched her a fallen guard's sword. Tanys stepped reluctantly from Baran's embrace. The comforting weight of the blade in her hand kindled again the rage in her heart.

She flashed Baran a wicked grin. "Since the Malchesse was your master, if I kill him, I guess that means you belong to me."

Berra and Tyll laughed. Baran's face went red. "We'll see," he said.

The fighting spilled from the arena and spread through the streets of the Holy City. By the time the shadows of evening stretched long, the twisting lanes were scattered with the bodies of men and satyr alike.

The ranks of Tanys' gladiators swelled with angry slaves as they moved toward Fountain Street and its protective walls. The city's inhuman inhabitants had fled there, invited or not, as the rest of the city fell to the revolt. Near the gates, Tanys spotted a familiar face.

"Jorva!"

The dwarf looked down at Tanys from the top of the district wall. He was still wearing his spiked armor and had been performing some manner of crazed badger dance atop the wall.

His face, smeared with blood and ashes, broke into a toothy grin, and he leapt down from the wall, running to meet her. Tanys barely avoided being impaled on his armor spikes as he wrapped his massive arms around her waist.

"No more send Jorva off!" the dwarf said, "Jorva make plan next time. Tanys not good at plans."

"Fair enough," Tanys laughed, "You get to make the next plan."

Ghodn padded up, shoving his large furry head jealously between Jorva and Tanys. She smiled, scratching the mountain tiger behind the ear.

"Tanys," Jorva said, "You got kitty!"

"A big one too," she said, "Jorva, this is Ghodn."

Suddenly, Tanys was thrown off-balance by the full weight of Naietta’s body wrapping around her. Tanys staggered to the side a step, awkwardly returning the girl's embrace.

At last, Naietta released her, dropping to the ground and smiling foolishly. Around the mute girl's neck hung a lavishly jeweled necklace, which had, until recently, probably belonged to a wealthy satyress.

"Where did you get that?" Tanys asked.

Naietta blushed and leaned over, placing her slender hands on Jorva's armored shoulders. The little man grinned, his eyes going to the necklace that hung between the girl's swaying breasts. His face went red, and he glanced away.

"Jorva find pretty rocks. N'etta pretty too. Go together... Jorva think."

Tanys looked at the two of them. "They do go together, I think."

"What next?" a familiar voice called out, "Do we burn the city, or take it for ourselves?"

Tanys turned to see the bandit boy. His pale silk shirt hung open to the waist, below that, red sash, tight pants, and boots. At one side hung his sword, and, on the other, a smiling Danella. A dozen more red-sashed raiders followed behind him.

"I thought I told you to meet me in the desert?" Tanys asked.

The bandit laughed. "As if I take orders from a woman!"

Danella reached across his chest to tug at what appeared to be his freshly pierced nipple. He yelped in pain before correcting himself, "I meant another woman."

Tanys scowled. "Well, since no one seems to want to leave this damned city, we might as well take it for ourselves."

A great cheer went up from the crowd of slaves and outlaws.

"All that remains is the walled district," Baran said, "We should try to take it before nightfall. Some of the nobles may slip away in the darkness."

"Can they send for help?" Tanys asked.

"They probably already have," he said, "but it will be at least three days in coming."

Tanys chewed her lip. "Jorva, what does it look like inside the wall?"

Jorva shrugged. "Lot of goat people. Lot of swords."

"Well, you wanted to make a plan," she laughed, "How would you get in?"

The little man's face darkened in thought for a moment, and then he grinned.

***

Tanys' nose wrinkled at the brown water trickling down the center of the ancient drainpipe. The fired clay bricks that formed the sewer walls arched above her head, worn smooth at the level of her shoulders as though water had once flowed more plentifully here in ages past.

Her sandal slipped on the curved, moss-covered floor, and she fell against Baran. He smiled as he caught her in his arms, his bare skin soft and warm despite the coolness of Jorva's tunnel. Baran had discarded his heavy armor at the last narrowing of the pipe.

Berra and Tyll shoved by, muttering a few lewd comments as they passed the two lovers. The sisters had likewise shed the bulk of their armor at the juncture. All five would-be assassins were now bare-chested and streaked with grime after squeezing through the narrow opening. All but the unarmed dwarf wore the scabbards of their short swords hung from thin baldrics slung over their shoulders.

"Hurry!" Jorva called back, "Almost there." He alone had the foresight to leave his beloved badger armor behind with Naietta.

"You first," Baran said, helping Tanys to climb up the slippery incline of the drainpipe.

"So much for the fearless gladiator," Tanys chuckled.

"Oh, I just like the view better from back here," he said, boosting her over a broken section of pipe with his hands on her rump.

After a short distance, they emerged from the pipe to find Jorva standing in the center of a large circular chamber. Rays of rose-colored light streamed down through a brass grate in the domed ceiling, and the ceramic tile walls reverberated with the sound of many small pipes emptying steaming water into the shallow channel that ringed the perimeter.

"The bathhouse," Berra said.

"We had some fun times there, didn't we?" Tyll said, ribbing her sister as she cast a rueful grin in Tanys' direction.

"How do we get up there?" Tanys asked.

Jorva turned, squinting his eyes as he regarded them each in turn. Settling on Baran, he titled his head and raised his hand before him, measuring Baran's height. The dwarf looked up at the ceiling, then back at Baran. He grinned. "Jorva need you stand there," he indicated with a pointing finger.

Baran glanced at Tanys, his eyebrows cocked. She nodded, and the gladiator moved to place himself where Jorva had commanded, beneath the brass grate. Baran let out a cry of alarm as Jorva quickly climbed him like a tree. The little man scrambled atop Baran's broad shoulders, perching there just below the ceiling grate. Baran guessed his purpose and planted his feet firmly on the tile floor.

Jorva stiffened, lifting his back against the grate and pushing with all his strength. Baran held Jorva's ankles to steady him, his face showing the strain of the pressure on his shoulders. Jorva grunted and shoved and the grate gave way with an ear-rending shriek.

Baran made the mistake of looking up as the grate tore free of its mounting, and was rewarded with a face full of pulverized mortar. He coughed and cursed as he shook his head, his curly hair white with dust. Jorva was already through the hole in the roof, and, by the time Baran had blinked away enough of the powder to see again, the dwarf's hand was lowered toward him through the hole. He took it and was hauled up into the chamber above.

Soon, they stood together in an empty antechamber of the bathhouse. Baran had found a towel and was vigorously scrubbing his head clean as the rest of them secured the room.

"Where will the Malchesse be?" Tanys asked.

"Unless I misjudge him, we will find him at the Duke's villa," Baran said, "Apart from the Palace, it is the true seat of power in the Holy City."

"How do we get there?"

"You will wait here for my return," the Malchesse said, selecting a scroll tube from the pile of documents on the table and sliding it into a leather bag, "I will bring troops from Cassenel to clear the city of this rabble and restore order."

The satyr nobles that stood around the table looked at each other. Their lips moved, but none dared give voice to their misgivings. The red-liveried guards that stood along the walls of the Duke's drawing room stifled any dissent.

"You will hold the district until I arrive. In two week's time, the city will be ours once more."

"Two weeks!" a gray-furred noble exclaimed, "We'll be lucky to last two days!"

The Malchesse's golden eyes narrowed. "You will hold the district until I return!"

"Perhaps if we reasoned with them..."

"No!" the Malchesse slammed his fist on the table, knocking a stack of parchments over, spilling them across the travertine floor. "When I return, every one of the humans will be given to the blade."

"You can't!"

"I will."

"...but think of the cost to replace..."

"They will be replaced," the Malchesse hissed, "Everything can be replaced."

The nobles took his meaning and fell silent once more. The Malchesse brushed aside a tattered scroll, uncovering a large map spread upon the table before him.

His hand moved across the map of Cashuun, pushing back loose papers to reveal the countries that bordered the satyr nation. A smile slowly spread his caprine lips.

"The world is full of slaves," he said, "We can afford to lose a few."

"And just how many satyrs are there left?" Baran's voice called out from the doorway, "How many of your own kind can you afford to lose?"

The satyrs turned to see the gladiator, his sword red with the blood of the perimeter guards. Behind him stood Tanys and her companions, murder in their eyes.