Chapter 5

Who rules the Pit?

We are led to the highest tier which surprises me. I’ve never been up here before, and I'm curious about the nature of today's event. Saffron fights are always special. He pays the most, he enforces the strangest rules, and He imports the scariest creatures. I can only imagine what awaits us in what is probably the most exclusive pit in the city.

It's a nice view from the side of the Pyramid. You can see out over the huge walls of the compound the city glowing in the afternoon sun.

I don’t get long to enjoy it. We are quickly moved into the holding area. It is a caged-off set of benches that opens to a stone staircase leading to the pit. A pair of Saffron mercenaries await at the bottom of those stairs, with more surrounding the cage. The pen already has two other packs of slaves roughly the same size as our own. Even if they hadn’t been grouped up around their house banners it's easy to spot what slave belongs to which house.

Under the Blue orb of explorers are the sleeveless pitters of house HighSail. Like us, they tend to be armoured in leather. But where we are a hodgepodge of whatever scraps BloodRock decides to give us. The HighSail boys…and girls I see a pair of girls near the centre of their group. Are uniformly wearing helmets and padded leather gambesons that offer decent protection from neck to thigh.

The Saffron, under their jewelled pyramid, are honestly ridiculous looking. Each one sporting polished iron armour sculpted like Muraab’s is to give the appearance of impressive abdominal muscles.

Crammed in like this the slaves from each house would usually be jostling and fighting. Not today though. Not in front of Saffron.

Thinking about him makes me glance across the pit at the set of tables where our host and his guests are seated.

Saffron himself sits on an ornate throne of dark carved wood that some poor group of slaves would have had to drag up here. As is the way of old men In Far Mantys time and the sun has turned his olive skin brown. The hair on his head and long drooping moustache are both white. No doubt the silks or whatever his loose tunic is made of is worth thirty of me. Around him is his family. Or maybe his bodyguards and servants. I really have no way to know.

I spot BloodRock seated not far away chatting between tables with Saffron. He is a born and raised Far Mantyian but unlike Saffron, he doesn’t look the part. So crammed full of elemental power he barely looks human at all. Atar BloodRock is the end result of a generational breeding program. I don’t know the details exactly but he has both fire and stone blessings. Creating a man whose skin is perpetually shifting shades of red. Who has six dagger-sharp points of obsidian jutting like a crown out of his head. Who’s tied-back hair always seems wet and drips little motes of that burning liquid you find in volcanoes. They sizzle on the ground but run off his skin like water. That's probably why the old man never wears a shirt. Just torques on his arms and rings on his fingers. Despite his age…He’s old I know that much. BloodRock Radiates strength and solidity. His muscles have never turned to fat. Maybe they won't, no matter how old he gets. Who knows how his blessings work?

My houselord is accompanied by three others. The red-headed man I recognise from around the compound is BloodRock’s adopted middle child. Not really sure how that works either. He adopts people sometimes I guess? Not slaves of course. Never us. The other two are less familiar to me. Though after a moment I realise one is the girl Coil had shown through the tower. The other must be her brother. They share dark hair, ridiculously pale skin, and pointy chins. The boy looks close to my own fifteen years though he’s taller than I am. That's pretty rare among kids. Especially when they are a human that is neither cursed nor blessed. It's always a strange experience looking at teens who aren’t pitters. They seem skinny to me. Skinny and oddly smooth-skinned. Even the other kinds of slaves seem soft to me if I'm honest. I try to keep that opinion to myself. This boy has more muscle than most I’ll admit but he’d still look like a stick next to me or Morean.

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On Saffron’s left is a table occupied by five HighSails. The explorer house seemed to be simply chatting among themselves, and enjoying the sumptuous lunch provided by Saffron. I can’t blame them. Both BloodRock and Saffron are famously dull conversationalists. The more interesting HouseLords BlackMist and Tariff are halfway around the pit where they will be able to see the fights, but not really converse with the other three. I wonder if it's an intentional snub. BlackMist maybe.But Tariff? Not a chance. Not the lawkeepers. Not the second oldest house.

It's a bit cramped in the pen but the Saffron and HighSail groups shuffle over for us. They always do. No one wants to confront the house built not on clever trade-wise investment, or providing society some service. The one built on violence. BloodRock was exactly what he was bred to be. The best, most savage, most successful mercenary of all time. So powerful in his day the other eleven houses had made him one of them and given him a fortune to back the title. It had been that or watch him burn the greatest city in the world to the ground.

Also, none of the other houses do what we are about to. Once all nine of us have filed in behind him. Harrk Turns to face us with his metal shield in hand. Slamming it three times against the cage bars he screams at us.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

“WHO RULES THE PIT?!”

We scream right back.

“BLOODROCK!”

Bang!!

Bang!!

Bang!!

Louder this time.

“WHO RULES THE PIT?!!”

All nine of us match his volume. Even the little kid.

“BLOODROCK!!”

All the rich people at their fancy tables are looking at us now. BloodRock is laughing deeply at the show. I don’t know why he’s so impressed with himself. We do this every time.

One final call drives us to a fever pitch.

Bang!!

It’s not even really about him.

Bang!!

It’s about us. The slaves who bleed and sweat and dominate that arena more often than not.

Bang!!

So when he asks there will only be one answer. There can be only one answer. Because It’s the truth. Each and every one of these wretches I despise rules the pit.

“ WHO RULES THE PIT???!!!!”

We do.

“BLOOOOOOODDDDDRRRRROOOOOOOCK!!!!!!!!!”

The other kids may be right to stay out of our way.