Chapter 4
Saffron
I've crossed most of the way to the south gate before I remember Muraab’s words. Attacking Charik wouldn’t have technically gone against what he said, Not being a challenge fight. I don’t think anyone else would see it that way. So I guess I was being a smart, obedient slave. The kind of slave that gets freed one day.
That soothes my self-loathing, but only a little.
The less valuable pit slaves are already at the gate. Not that they get much choice, they are chained together in a line connecting to the wagon they will have to pull. No Forspoken stones for them. Losers. They are all youth pitters which makes sense. Outside certain special occasions, events are always divided between youth and adult fighters. Given the rivalry between houses and the aggression of pit slaves, the houselords like to keep the groups separate. I don’t blame them. Things tend to get pretty rough for us when the adults are around.
I can see Tota near the head of the group, which draws a little smirk from me. The rest of the boys I have seen around but haven’t really met. Ever since I started training with the adults I only know about the goings on in my own hall. Which boys have been killed, sold, bought, or traded for I have no idea. With the probable exception of the nervous-looking six year old. I have no way to know who is new to fighting in the pits and who is just new to me.
The gate is that kind with metal bars in an arch that gets pulled up into the wall above it. I head towards it and find a spot in the shadow of the wall. As the sun climbs towards midday Its fangs grow, and the light is already turning from an annoying gnaw across my shoulders and back to a piercing bite.
Normally we would be escorted by Muraab and one or two others. That won’t be the case today. I wonder who will be leading us today. Bashik maybe? He is second master of the guard after Muraab. Or Harrk I suppose. He's a veteran and leads the pit runs sometimes.
A little while later my question is answered. A small uncovered wagon being pulled by two huge servile slaves slowly trundles over to the gate. I spot Harrk driving it. Even accompanied by two other guards he's easy to recognise by the fancy gold-coloured helmet BloodRock gave him for some act of heroism. It has a mask bit that closes over his face creating an intimidating facade.
Even knowing that Harrk is a fairly plain-looking man with black hair underneath doesn't diminish the effect.
Morean walks beside the wagon. No chains for him either. Blessed as he is, they gave him a Forspoken stone years ago. Basically, as soon as BloodRock bought him. Maybe he even came here with one and they just realigned it to a new owner.
To my surprise, I don’t see this apparent new pit slave. Maybe he is already at the arena? That idea annoys me a little. They are really treating this kid like a big deal if that's the case.
A few minutes later the chained-up teams have swapped and I'm walking beside the wagon as it leaves the compound. I feel a little bad for the boys pulling the vehicle. The city isn't exactly fun to navigate while chained to a wagon.
I'd feel worse but I've been in their place dozens of times. Besides it's things like this that make us the strongest. Makes BloodRock Pitters the best.
Past the gate, the street remains wide for a little while to accommodate the comings and going of the house. It won't stay that way for long.
House Saffron is in many ways the beating heart of Far Mantys. One of those ways is literal.
It sits at the centre of the great city. A monolithic compound reminding all who see it who rules Far Mantys. Who dominates every field of commerce.
To get there our party needs to head west to the grand tradeway.
It is a huge road running from the northern entrance all the way to the city's south-facing docks. Various markets and compounds run off the tradeway. I've never seen a river, but everyone says it's like a big one bisecting the city.
As the newest house, BloodRock doesn't have what you would call a prime location for their compound. So we will have to pass through winding streets where people make their homes before we get to the tradeway.
No one will be stupid enough to get in our way this close to the compound but it's still dangerous for the boys pulling the wagon. One misstep going around a corner and they could end up under the wheels of the thing. I've seen it happen more than once.
Not today though. People scatter, and we make good time through the thin streets. While the sun is still bright, on these thin streets we are mostly protected by the shade cast by homes on either side of us. There is no footpath here. The streets go from road directly to mudbrick and wood dwellings, stacked atop each other five or six stories high. They tend to have crude stone steps or even cruder wood ladders running around or up their sides.
This isn’t the slums exactly, but BloodRock certainly lives in the poorer half of the city. Considering his wealth it boggles the mind to consider how rich Houses with more central locations must be. Yes of course Saffron, but others as well like HighSail and Tariff. Their fortunes must dwarf BloodRock. Though Muraab says it adds to our mystique, whatever that means.
We pass the body of a young human man at the end of a trail of dried blood. His right arm ends in a ragged stump. Ribbons of skin and flesh hanging limply like a huge force has ripped its way free of his limb. Whoever owned this man had activated his Forspoken stone rather than let him escape. I wonder what pushed him so far that he ran even with the threat of a stone? Maybe he hadn’t even known it was inside him.
The body sparks some chatter amongst the chained boys. Various musings on who might have owned the slave. His clothes don't bear an obvious house icon so it falls to conjecture. Harrk allows all this without complaint. So long as we get where we are going on time and incident free he is happy to let them talk. If anything it's a sign the training is working that they have the breath to do it. Well everyone but that little six year old. To the shock of no one he is struggling, but the others help keep him going.
I suppose it's nice to see solidarity between slaves and all that nonsense, but I can’t help but feel a little bitter. I remember being in his place, and no one gave me a helping hand. I guess it doesn’t matter. I proved my worth and I earned my stone. I don’t have to pull a wagon, and other than the tower beds I haven’t been chained up in years. So I probably shouldn’t be wasting energy resenting a little kid especially when I will be expected to hack down another boy in just a few short hours.
I have a win streak to protect. That Is what I should be thinking about. Easier said than done. I don't know who I'm fighting, I don't know what weapons will be on offer, I don't even know what rules if any Saffron will insist we fight under.
So all I'm really left with is steadily mounting excitement flavoured with anxiety. Same as every other fight.
The wagon takes a series of turns in quick succession, the chain team straining with effort to keep the wooden vehicle on the narrow roads and not colliding with someone's home.
For our part, Morean and I just try to stay out of the way and away from each other. It's not difficult, one of us walking on either side of the chained slaves. I think we are almost like extra guards. While I've never seen anyone....else try to escape while pulling a wagon. Having us here is a pretty good deterrent.
When we hit the Grand Tradeway I'm reminded why Far Mantys is the greatest city in the world. I don’t need to have travelled to know this is a spectacle nowhere else can boast.
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The tradeway is less like a road and more like a market in motion. Though it is a road, one huge enough that wagons travel it six across.
Between the constant stream of people, beasts of burden, caravans, and slaves. Children and traders dash about. Swapping stories or goods. Impromptu market stands pop up on the footwalk and disappear almost as quickly. Where people live in squalor only a few streets away there is always a festival aire here. No matter the time of day.
Getting a single wagon onto the tradeway can be a bit tricky but we are house BloodRock. Battering people out of our way is what we do best.
A bit of shoving into the crowds by us slaves chained or otherwise. Alongside some threats of extreme violence from Harrk and we have made it from the sidestreet to the major road in no time. The guards never even had to get off the wagon.
Things go quickly from there, and before long the monstrously huge Saffron compound is in sight. Where other houses build their miniature towns around the Tradeway Saffron ends it.
The massive processional splits into two equally massive roads that run in different directions around the dark walls of Saffron. One continues south to the docks the other Southeast to the largest of Far Mantys seven markets.
As we approach Harrk and the other guards start digging things out of the wagon. Their own weapons, the bleeding stone banner of house BloodRock, and in Harrk's case a metal shield. I eye the round metal with jealously.
I've never even held a shield. While not illegal, no one ever gives pit slaves a shield. They say it's to keep the fights exciting, but if that was true then why are free pit fighters who buy their own more than welcome to use whatever gear they want? Shields included. They just like seeing us bleed I guess.
An army of houseguards supported by mercenaries from all over the world shepherd the masses of people making their way into house saffron. It’s always like this. As long as any of the compound’s eight gates are open they will be clogged with people coming and going. Be they hauling goods, coming to seek an audience, accessing the superior craftsmen within the compound, applying to be those craftsmen, offering services, or begging for investment. Whatever it is there are always men and women of all shapes, sizes, and degrees of freedom flooding here from the grand tradeway.
Today I even spot a few centaurs in from the grasslands
Fortunately, the guards are expecting us and expedite our entry. As always they are dressed in fine metal armour that covers their entire abdomens worn over flowing robes of a strange purpley-red kind of colour that I only ever see here at House Saffron. Outside that there is little uniformity among them. The Saffron Defenders are a motley collection of different piercings, tattoos, skin tones, and cultures. Even their weapons seem to be based on individual choice rather than any strategic intent the houselord might have.
While not as fun as battering some free people ourselves it is still gratifying to watch the vibrantly adorned guards brutally force a path for our wagon to get through. A bald man in a much finer wagon than ours begins to protest. The complaint is short-lived, very short-lived. A pair of the Saffron guards drag him from his own vehicle. Toss the man to the ground. Then to my shock, they lead the two animals pulling the wagon to the back of the line. I don’t know what these beasts of burden are called, you see them around sometimes. Like cows but bigger, darker, and with big horns. It doesn’t matter. Our path is clear and Harrk calls for us to advance.
Once through we find ourselves in a courtyard half the size of BloodRock’s entire compound. It is also bustling with people. These ones are smart enough or observant enough to get out of the way on their own. So we stroll through a smaller sea of richly adorned people. At least they seem rich to me. But even I can tell there is a division between them.
Some sport more practical clothes like robes or tunics. Others are in anything but. One woman has accessorised her slaves, having each of the two men and one woman wear a collar linked by thin silver-looking chains to a metal spine running down the back of her outfit. When she turns to see the commotion I recognize the Black swirl tattoo of house BlackMist dominating one side of her thin pale face.
BlackMist is maybe the weirdest house. The second youngest after BloodRock they came here only three generations ago from Mordrun, the city of warlocks. Possessing magics, and contacts in their former home no one else can boast about. BlackMist House quickly amassed a huge fortune by being able to import or even make the Forspoken stones en masse. Not Saffron huge obviously. But still enormous.
They can famously channel power and creatures from the world of shadows. Which is probably better than money anyway.
You would think three generations of living near the pinnacle of Far Mantyian society would have softened their weird warlock behaviour. It hasn't.
In maybe the most backward behaviour I have ever seen, they mark their family members with a tattoo like you might brand a slave. Yet their slaves are clean-skinned. BloodRock might not force his mark on us like some do. But he sure isn’t branding his family members instead!
I've been here before but it's still hard not to gape and stare. Once you get inside the second set of gates, the Saffron compound is a marvel. It has all the usual trappings of a house compound of course. But there is a stream of water that runs from somewhere underground that weaves throughout Saffron. The dark earthy water changes everything. Rather than a mill that can only run so long as slaves turn it, the water powers it. Rather than a smithies surrounded by water barrels. There is a cluster of workshops along the banks of the stream. It goes on like this. They fish from it, they grow crops and gardens with it. Crops Inside a house compound. Ridiculous.
Then there are the buildings. Huge stunning things painted bright colours. There in the centre is an airy palace five or six times the size of BloodRock’s manse. Here a statue of some famed Saffron man standing tall as an ettin. There a garden of sunflowers. Here a zoo the size of a city street filled with animals from all over the world. They call a chorus that underscores the chatter of the miniature city. There is a guest manse overlooking the zoo.
Everywhere banners with actual rubies woven into the fabric to make the red pyramid of house Saffron.
It's a lot cleaner than BloodRock too, an army of slaves keeping the paths and buildings dust-free.
Despite all these wonders I only have eyes for the Arena. The multi-tiered saffron pitt is of course one of a kind. Large enough to seat maybe a thousand viewers. Tiny compared to the grand arenas out in the city. But this isn’t out in the city. This is a family’s home, the idea that they would have a need to seat a thousand guests is insane. I had first thought Saffron simply let the workers who lived in his compound attend the fights he held here. It's not the case. Sometimes he just hosts personal events with that many people.
Where most arenas are large circular structures built around a sandy pit at the centre. Saffron’s is a pyramid-shaped building. Huge pylons support the corners of the mostly open-air structure. Another massive column runs up the centre.
Each of the three layers boasts a pit and seating. The bottom is the largest. The top is the most opulent. It's kind of a pain to fight in, as other than the pit on the top you have to deal with that central pillar sitting in the middle of where we compete.
With every step towards the Arena, I can feel my breath quicken a little more and my chest grows a little tighter. I always get nervous before a fight, but it's worse when I'm on a team. I do not like having to rely on other pit slaves. Especially not when they are still recovering from injuries.
Yes, Tota can fight, he's BloodRock property of course he can. But the pit is an ever-shifting horror. Who or what you were going to fight could and would change wildly. Men, monsters, animals, beings from other worlds. Could all end up across the sand from you.
Then there were the conditions and rules, those were entirely at the discretion of the arena's owner. And seemed to change every few months, based on nothing more than what the houselords found most amusing at the time.
When I step into that place on the sands, relying on myself was already a big ask. Expecting someone like Tota to keep me alive is a ridiculous notion.
Glancing at the boy I sneer a little.
Five Saffron Guards have come to escort us and Harrk is releasing the chained slaves. The spine-covered cursed was clearly still winded from the trip here. Pathetic.
Just like every other time I’ve been put on a team, it’s obvious I am going to have to do all the work.
There. Found it! The little spark of annoyance I felt at having to always be the best. Focus on it. Feed it my frustration about my nagging injuries, about Muraab being gone, about being a seven world's damned slave. Let it grow and blot out my fear, drive back my anxiety.
My shoulders set. My breathing doesn't exactly even out, but I don't feel afraid anymore. I feel angry.
The Saffron soldiers lead us to a side entrance. Every arena big or small has at least one side entrance. Yes, there are times when pit slaves are brought to meet the fans of our fights. But our owners still don't want us randomly interacting with people entering or leaving an arena. Probably smart. I don't know what I'd do if an excited fan snatched a handful of my fur or something.
In the case of Saffron’s open-air pyramid, this means climbing stairs that run around the outside of the structure. With a little landing on each tier that leads to a holding area. I find it oddly reminiscent of the homes of the poor near our own compound.
I used to think it was weird that each level of the pyramid has its own holding area for the pit slaves. I understand now. The guests of House Saffron will want to see the state of who they are betting on as early as possible. Though I’ve never quite been able to shake the feeling it's just because the houselord likes to watch us like he might the animals in his zoo.