Of those who witnessed the defiance of the blond giant, not all were cowed. Some scoffed - they had seen bigger, they assured each other, seen them die on the sands to this or that famous pit fighter. Others were sure that even if he were to prove the greatest warrior ever seen, he could not prevail against the forces of the entire city. The hurriedly assembled force of guards may have fallen to trickery and ambush, but there was still only one way this could end. They did not fear some rebellious slave.

Then those rebellious slaves began to drag out the corpses. Stripped of weapons and armour, those that had been sent in were brought out, and dumped like trash into a growing pile to the side of the arena entrance. Outraged calls came from the surviving guards, mirrored by the nobles watching, if for different reasons, as they demanded another attack. The slaves seemed to have no fear, as if the Andal barbarian watching over them as they worked could possibly protect them from the consequences of their actions. Infuriated and embarrassed, the ranking officer gave an order, and an archer was found, a sellsword come to watch the spectacle. An order was given, and rather than disagree with the angry men around him, the sellsword stepped forward, drawing a line on one of those hauling corpses.

The ringleader put himself in the way. The archer swallowed as blue eyes seemed to pierce him truer than any arrow, but he breathed out, and let his shaft fly all the same. It was not his best shot, he knew as soon as he loosed. It would take the slave in the belly, not the heart, but - he blinked, suddenly doubting his eyes.

The slave held the arrow in his hand, inspecting it, as if he had pulled it from a quiver himself. He flicked it away, saying something to a man behind him that spurred a laugh. It echoed across the square.

Bow lowering, the archer swallowed again, looking at his arrow laying in the dust. He did not string another, and no one ordered him to do so.

X

Steve watched from the shadows of the entrance as the officer in charge struggled to deal with the demands of the nobles around him. Many were escapees from the arena, attempting to exert their authority while they stood on pained feet, cut and shredded by the short run to safety, but not all. Word was spreading, carried on by strangled panic and gleeful gossip alike, and the square and streets around the arena grew busy. More nobles arrived, seeking this or that family member who had been attending, and they brought with them their household guards. The cream of the citizenry pushed and shoved and squawked like commoners, all certain that their need was most urgent. By the time someone of actual authority arrived, Steve watched as they and their entourage had to break through the crowd on their horse, pushing to reach the officer besieged by complaints.

“Is that him?” Steve asked the woman by his side. She had been called beautiful once, but someone had sought to take that from her with a knife, and succeeded.

“That’s him,” she said, muscled figure tensing and untensing in place, like she wanted to surge out into the square. Even scarred and missing her nose, there was a fire in her that had a way of catching the eye. “When you kill him, tell him to remember Jezebel’s oath.”

“I’ll tell him,” Steve promised, and some of her tension eased. “Head back to the others. I shouldn’t need rescuing, but better safe than sorry.”

Jezebel scoffed, but did as asked, departing back down the side of the entry hall, towards the corner around where the best fighters waited should they be needed. She stepped around someone coming from the other way, rapping a knuckle on the armour he had found, before tracing the muscles engraved upon it with a feather light touch, already leaving him behind.

Arthor stopped, staring after her for a moment. He shook his head, jogging up to Steve to join him in his watch. “She always makes me feel like a rabbit before a shadowcat,” he said.

“She’ll gobble you up if you’re not careful,” Steve said, eyes still on the crowd of slavers outside. Order was slowly being brought to the crowd, whoever had arrived being someone expected to get the job done.

“What a way to go though,” Arthor said.

Steve ignored his dreamy expression. “You ready to go?”

“Aye,” the Northman said after a moment. “Let’s go bait some slavers.”

The mess outside the arena had almost been brought under control by the newcomers when Steve and Arthor walked from the shadows, but a pointed finger and an accusing shout threatened to bring that all undone as they were noticed. The crowd went from almost huddling against the buildings on the far side of the square to looking like they were ready to charge the two of them. Only a cold command from the new leader kept them under control, and a moment later, he began to walk his mount towards them, two of his subordinates following.

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They met halfway between the arena entrance and the crowd, coming to a stop a short distance apart. For a moment, they inspected each other, and both groups found the other wanting.

The slaver leader was middle aged and dark haired, calm face revealing nothing and white already creeping up from his temples, but the two with him were younger and less seasoned for it, anger worn clearly. They wore the rich and light fabrics that all nobles of this godforsaken city did, the only allowance for protection the light chain they wore under it, and even then it seemed more theatre to announce themselves as warriors than actual armour. Steve and Arthor were tall, but still they had to look up at the men.

“You have much nerve, walking out here,” the leader said, speaking to Steve. His voice was smooth if weathered, and he seemed to dismiss Arthor entirely.

“Well, there’s an awful lot of hostages inside,” Steve said with a shrug, voice full of implication.

The leader huffed, amused. “I am Zaraz no Loraq, commander of the city guard. What do you want?” He asked the question like it was some dull formality.

“What do I want?” Steve asked, tapping a finger on his chin. “Every chain broken, every slave freed, and every malicious excess and cruelty punished. After that, we can start talking about restitution.”

The man to Zaraz’s left laughed, involuntarily, but he was ignored.

“And in return?” Zaraz said, no hint of his thoughts showing.

“Peace,” Steve said. “Everyone in the city can get on with their lives, and we all avoid a bloody revolution.”

“I see,” Zaraz said. He was silent for a moment, as if pondering the offer. “Unfortunately, I do not think such a deal is possible.”

“That’s a pity,” Steve said sincerely.

“Allow me to make a counter offer,” Zaraz said, his manner still calm. “For every slave you incited to take up arms, a clean death. For every slave who did not, a return to their masters. All you have to do is surrender your hostages without further harm.”

“Can’t help but notice I’m not mentioned in there,” Steve said.

Zaraz inclined his head. “You will, of course, have to suffer greatly before you are allowed to die. There can be no other response to your crimes.”

Arthor gargled obnoxiously, and then spat noisily towards the slavers. The glob landed near the hoof of Zaraz’s mount.

“I see we’re not going to come to an agreement on the big issues today,” Steve said, like it was a minor speed bump. “As a show of good faith, I’m willing to release two hostages in return for twenty days of food and water for one thousand people.”

“You do not have one thousand slaves in there,” the man who had laughed said derisively.

“No, but we need to feed our hostages too,” Steve said. “So I’d suggest against poisoning any of it.”

“This is something I must consider,” Zaraz said.

“We should take them now!” the man said to him, making a cutting gesture at Steve and Arthor, speaking like they weren’t standing right there. “They cannot hope to stop us, and we know the savages have already slain those within.”

The second man by Zaraz turned an ugly look on the speaker. “The slaves would not dare. They know those hostages are the only thing between them all and their deserved deaths.” He sneered at the two men standing before them.

Steve looked at the second man, the lynchpin of their plan. “Kornaz zo Pahl. Your sister visited the Pit today, didn’t she?” Steve asked.

Disdain fled, and Kornaz’s face went pale with anger. “If you dare -”

“There was going to be a folly later,” Arthor said, as if discussing the weather. “Madzi back there-” he gestured at the man still hanging in the entrance “-was going to have three young women coated in honey and thrown naked to wolves.” He smirked, a cruel expression that would have looked out of place to anyone who had spoken to him more than once. “I don’t know where the keys to the wolf pens are, but we’ve got a lot of men in there who haven’t known a woman for far too long. We can figure something out.”

“If you harm a hair on her head, you will live in torment for decades to come,” Kornaz said hoarsely.

“Save your threats, you cockless wonder,” Arthor said. “You’ve seen what happens when you send your guards in.” The pile of bodies over his shoulder stood in mute testament to his words.

“Meet our demands and your sister will be safe,” Steve said. “Fail, and she won’t be.”

With that, they turned and left, ignoring the enraged shouts in their wake, and the sound of Kornaz being held back by Zaraz.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Steve muttered to Arthor. “That wasn’t too over the top, was it?”

“I’ve seen worse deliveries in Braavosi playhouses,” Arthor said. “He’ll take the bait.”

“If he doesn’t, we’re in for a long siege.”

X

In the end, a wary guard was sent to agree to the second terms Steve had offered, and the details of the exchange were hammered out. The nobles that had fled the arena started to filter away, collected by palanquins and household guards, though not all left. Some had shade cloths erected and tables brought, setting up guarded viewing platforms from which to observe the arena, as if it was only a continuation of the spectacle they had first come to see. One enterprising noble even set up on one of the rooftops, though he swiftly found his perch confiscated by Zaraz for a command post. The far side of the square came to resemble a city under siege, as if fearing a breakout from the arena via the only path left unblocked.

When the food and water was brought, with it came the beat of marching boots, far more regimented than any guard unit that had arrived over the day. Those within the arena couldn’t help but fear as they watched the men in spiked caps march in lockstep into the square. Every motion was mirrored by all, each gesture repeated hundreds of times as they turned as one and stamped their spears into the ground, the sounds echoing off the buildings and arena walls. Free men and women knew fear, even with the trust they held in their leader and his plan.

The Unsullied filled the square, almost to the arena walls, but a path had been left through the middle of their ranks, and it was down this that crates and barrels of food and water were brought. They were not brought to the entrance however, but left in the middle of the square, forcing the besieged to emerge to retrieve the bounty. Zaraz waited with it, and he frowned as he watched Arthor approach to treat with him.

Steve would have done it himself, not being one to ask others to take a risk he would not, but he had another task to see to. It was a task that saw him padding silently along a dark tunnel, lit only by the torch he carried, as dust drifted down into his path, dislodged by the marching above. It told him that they were surrounded, their only avenue of escape cut off by the most dangerous soldiers the city had to offer, summoned by Kornaz zo Pahl in a fury, the man bringing the full force of his family’s military to bear. The situation was excellent, and soon it would be time to attack.

But first, he needed to see a man about a whip.