Good decision.
Nearby a low hill reared up, tattered tents and abandoned wains all that was left of the enemy’s camp. In the distance Veradis saw riders on the giants’ road rallying the fleeing warriors, pulling them into a semblance of order. Veradis watched them for a while, wondering if they would regroup and return to the battle, but they dwindled into the distance.
‘The day is won, then,’ Bos said as he came to stand beside Veradis.
‘It looks that way.’
‘What now.’
‘A good meal. Then on to Dun Taras.’
CHAPTER EIGHTY
MAQUIN
Maquin stood and stretched. Twelve days of rowing had set his back and shoulders to aching. Not like before, though. The training that he had been put through during his stay on the island of Panos had had some benefits, at least.
He looked up at the slopes of Nerin. They were anchored in a sheltered bay, with a beach angling up into rocky slopes. On the skyline ruins reflected the glow of the sinking sun.
‘Get a move on,’ Emad barked, cracking his whip.
They all filed off the ship. At the crest of the hill a town appeared, similar to the one on Panos: houses built of baked clay bricks and reed roofs, hordes of children and skinny dogs rushing to greet them.
‘These Vin Thalun have too much time on their hands,’ Javed said beside him, ‘if they have all this time to be making children.’
Maquin laughed. He had grown to like the little man, who came from Tarbesh, a land far to the east that Maquin had vaguely heard of. A place of sun and desert, mostly like these islands, although even here winter was making itself known. Maquin tried not to get too friendly, though. He had lost too many who were close to him, and he never forgot what it was that they were being trained to become. Killers. He was a warrior already, no stranger to death, to combat, but this was different. Then he had fought for a cause, or so it seemed. Now the only cause was life over death.
No, there is more than that. There is freedom, and then Jael.
But nevertheless, if he were to fight for that cause, the possibility that he would see Jael again and attempt his vengeance, then he had to embrace the fact that he would have to kill in the pit, and soon.
I’ve taken that ship already. Better just get used to it. And that was why he kept his distance from Javed, from any attempts at friendship that came his way. He did not know who would be thrown into the pit with him. Who he would be forced to slay or be slain by.
They were herded through bustling streets, an abundance of smells doing battle as they passed through a great market, a variety of meats cooking on spits – including big lizards – as well as mountains of figs and dates, mushrooms and onions, olives and melons, oranges and peppers.
People stopped and stared as they passed by, some even daring to prod shoulders and chests, testing muscle.
Wondering who will survive the pits, who to bet on? We are an investment to them, as well as an entertainment.
They left the market and streets behind and walked out onto a wide plain with a slope rising higher in front of them, a great mountain in the distance, its top jagged like a broken tooth. Night fell and still they walked, eventually seeing torches ahead. Maquin caught a glimpse of a cavernous opening in the ground, then they were being led down, through open gates and into tunnels – giant-craft again, tall and wide. Eventually they were ushered into a circular room with alcoves dug into the rock all the way round, cots with straw mattresses in them. A long table stood in the middle of the room with food and jugs laid out, a good meal, though nothing as lavish as on the night of the first pit-fight.
Their guards unchained them and locked them in.
Before much food could be consumed the barred gates opened and Herak strode in, a handful of guards behind him, big Emad one of them.
‘You’ll fight on the morrow,’ Herak said. Maquin and the rest of them gathered in a half-circle before him.
‘Not like before. You’ll be in a big pit, big as the chamber on Panos that had all the other pits in it. You’ll fight the recruits of Nerin, this island, and of Pelset, the third island east of here. The men you’ll be up against, they’ll have come through their first pit-fight, just like you, and been trained on their island, just like you have by me. All of you, against all of them. The fight won’t stop until only one side remains. That means one of you might survive, or fifty, or none.’ He shrugged.
‘How will we know who’s who?’ Javed asked.
‘By these.’ Herak held up a big iron ring. You’ll all have one around your necks. The men of Nerin, around a wrist, the men of Pelset, around their ankle. Line up.’