Chapter 29
The HighSail Colossus
We sit on the little bench near the artist and Viscarra reads the other canvasses to me as we eat. At first, I am a little tentative, but quickly realize what is looking up at me from the plate is a small roasted game bird of some kind. I grab the thing and tear a wing off, popping the appendage into my mouth. When the flesh hits my tongue I gasp in surprise. Nothing should taste this good. Crispy yet moist, spicy yet rich.
I’m so overwhelmed that I almost start crying. It leads to an awkward little while where Viscarra and I sit in silence avoiding looking at each other, but once I am back in control of myself I ask her to tell me about each of the competitors displayed here.
There are more than thirty different canvases displaying paintings of youth pitters. Most I have never heard of and am dubious of the glowing descriptions underneath the paintings. Like my own, they are probably ‘Embellished.’
Every now and then there is a name or description I recognize, and I can feel myself growing both nervous and excited at the prospect of fighting some of these people.
“Corlin; The Grassland whirlwind, so light and agile he-”
Mmmmm” I interrupt with a mouth still half full of food. “I Know Corlin, his Partner Ariun throws him into the air and then he doesn't come back down. I heard they have been doing well north of the city.”
Viscarra nods. “Undefeated as a duo, they are the current doubles champions for every event the centaurs hold.”
She looks about for a few moments before pointing to a lower tier at a green-haired boy holding court with a mixed group of teenagers who seem to be hanging on his every word.
“I think that is Corlin there.”
I let out a little impressed noise at her ability to identify pit-slaves at a glance. Even with the painted canvases for reference, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. She has been proving Resh right the entire time we have sat talking, Viscarra knows a lot about who is who in the pits.
I had intended to devour the plate of food with gusto and then go get another one, but the meats are so flavourful and rich that I find myself struggling to finish even this one serving.
“Who’s that?” I ask pointing at one of the paintings which the artist informed me are called pamphlets. The figure in this image is a huge cursed of some kind with clipped tusks protruding from his upper jaw and wild dreaded hair.
“Ohh that’s Klash,” she says stepping closer to the pamphlet in question.
“The HighSail Colossus, oh this description is silly. He is teamed up with an Itti’atti flame witch and it says the strongest youth pitter in all Far Mantys meets the steamiest.”
I snort in reply. “ That is stupid, they make fire, not steam, they hate steam.”
Still, there is something about the picture, about the description that tickles my memory.
“Does it say what kind of cursed he is?”
“ No, but it’s a lot easier to tell in person.” She points to the center of the dancefloor where a massive and I mean massive figure is roving around with a dark-haired girl sitting atop just one of his shoulders. I see the white flash of the cut tusks, the thick grey of his skin, and the fact that I recognize the girl he is carrying from having incinerated her competition at the Saffron personal arena.
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“He’s an elephant,” I say as my heart sinks. I knew winning BloodRock’s bet was always going to be a challenge any time a flame witch enters the pit they are a dominant force, but I now realize it is going to be even harder than I imagined.
“HighSail have brought their elephant-boy back from the Graceless Isles.” Wow, they must really want to win this bet, maybe even more than Atar does. The BloodRock houselord may have brought in his own ringer in the form of Xael but Klash is special in ways a human can never be, no matter how skilled.
“You know him too?” She asks with what has to be false interest. I am not nearly as interesting as you would think watching the two of us. Maybe she is trying to make up for the fact that she struggles to look at me?
“Yeah,” I say putting aside my plate. To my surprise, there is almost a quarter of the food I started with left, but the idea of eating more is making me feel ill right now.
“I beat him a couple of years ago, he was part of my old win streak before Resh broke it.”
Viscarra looks from me to the almost seven-foot wall of muscle acting as a one-man wedge on the dancefloor then back to me for a heartbeat.
“Don’t be offended but you aren’t lying to impress me or something? Everyone knows you are really good but you beat him?”
Despite myself, I am offended and more than a little confused.
‘That’s dumb, why would I lie to impress her?’
I try and fail to hide how unimpressed I am, my response coming out clipped and flat.
“You can go ask him if you don’t believe me. I left him face down on the sands trying to breathe his own blood.” I don’t add that he had been a fair bit shorter back then, and kind of chubby. I’m still proud of that win, the elephant-boy was one of the toughest opponents I have ever faced. Strong in a way that defies belief and durable to the point of self-harm. I remember that fight well, not only had I been unable to meet the force of his attacks head-on, but his flat refusal to lose was something nightmare-inducing. I hit that boy with every trick, trap, and bite I could think of. But he hadn’t gone down until finally after almost an entire hourglass I had rammed his own spear through his ribs and into both lungs.
“Sorry. I do believe you, it's just my mother and I watched him defend his championship in the Graceless Isles last year.” She shakes her head at the memory “It was supposed to be a free-for-all, but the rest turned on Klash and worked together as soon as it started.”
I nod. “ That's smart.”
“No, North listen, he destroyed them. Five against one and he went through them like a whale eating a school of fish.”
My only experience with these animals is seeing carved-up versions on stands along The Grand TradeWay but the way she says it makes her meaning clear.
I shrug in response. “ We will see. I remember him being dangerous but the fighters out of The Graceless Isles are mediocre, if he can do it against Mantyian pit-slaves then I will be impressed.”
She lets out a little giggle and looks at me through a raised hand.
“So patriotic.”
“I don’t know what Patriotic means. '' I grunt in response. Which naturally causes her to giggle again. I would expect being laughed at to make me angry and it does, just not in quite the way I’m used to. I think maybe I’m embarrassed. Which is weird, there are lots of words I don’t know and it's never made me feel this way before.
“It means you think the place you live is the best.”
“Well, “ I say slowly “ It's not the best best, but for pitters, It has to be here or Azazel right?”
Viscarra informs me it is certainly not Mordrun where she is from. The city of warlocks has pits, but they aren’t the economic staple they are here. In fact, most of the people who are sent into it are done so as a form of execution for some crime. That has been known to happen here as well if only occasionally.
The BlackMist girl has insights into lots of the cities of the world. As a sorceress from a rich family with connections and business partners far and wide she has been to a lot of places for someone her age. Which turns out to be sixteen and three-quarters. A detail she seemed embarrassed to have said as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
It isn’t until I see a sweaty but exuberant Xael making his way toward me that I realize just how long I have been chatting with this girl. It was fun, too fun. I had spent virtually the entire evening talking to her. That wasn’t a bad thing, quite the opposite in fact but the way I had lost track of time was strange and surprising.
Initially, I assume there is some task we are supposed to do tonight on behalf of BloodRock. Thankfully the foreign boy just wants to sit and rest in what he describes as good company. I suppose I can’t really blame him, in his shoes I suspect I would be sweaty and more than a little exhausted.