Chapter 56
The Special Ones
Gori is at dinner that night and I don’t like it. While the others from Hall Three treat the antlered boy’s progressive recovery as some sort of good omen, I can’t see it that way. If old man BloodRock believes Gori resisted the interrogation that so badly wounded him he will throw the boy into some horrible fodder match well before he’s recovered.
Still, I bully my way over to sit next to him. Being the number one in a hall does have its advantages now and then and I want to talk to Gori. If my guess about BloodRock getting him killed soon is right I’m not going to get a whole lot more opportunities.
“Hey,” I grunt at him as I sit down. “ I need you to show me how you do that trick with the water.”
The next day I and Xael are dragged off by BloodRock himself and an escort of fifteen guards, to a type of event I’ve never been to before and don’t really understand. It’s kind of like a party held on the sands of Prime Arena two, with the stands empty and little tent-roofed gazebo things set up all around. There is a wooden stage set up in the center of the weird gathering.
That stage is where I and Xael get deposited while BloodRock goes off to do whatever it is he does before he gets drunk. Ten of the fifteen guards including Muraab. They line up against the little back wall of the stage, and a few minutes later it becomes clear why all the armed and armored security are present.
A similar party of soldiers escorting Klash, Embella and led by the heir to House HighSail Dashiel HighSail. A few years back Dashiel had delusions of being a pitter, It was me that disabused him of that notion. I beat him so bad I heard he stopped training entirely, though I understand he handles a lot of the pit business for his house.
The dark-skinned HighSail gives a few orders I’m not listening to, the HighSail warriors line up alongside the ones from BloodRock, and the pair of pit-slaves march to the front of the stage opposite where Xael and I are on display.
“What do we do now?” I ask Xael quietly as Klash and I glare at each other across the stage.
“Nothing” Responds the GodsRinger. “ We simply stand here and look impressive for an hourglass or two and they do the same.” He finishes with a nod to our future opposition.
“An hourglass or two?!” He has to be kidding.
“I’m afraid so.”
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I have gone through some awful things in my life, if I’m entirely honest this probably doesn’t even make the top ten terrible things I’ve had to endure. I still hate it, I hate everything about it. I hate the way the sun is beating down on me, I hate the building humidity in the air, and I really hate the way the people come gawk at us or call up the dumbest questions I have ever heard. After I ignore the third such question Muraab comes over and insists I need to, I hate that too.
If there is a single consolation it’s that the pair from HighSail seem to be suffering just as much as I am. In fact, I’d say the only one here who isn’t having a terrible time is Xael.
‘Of Course.’
The dark-haired foreigner strides back and forth on our half of the stage waving and smiling, answering stupid questions like “Is Klash too big for you?” with infuriating good nature. The only question I want an answer to is when I can get off this fucking stage and go home. I have a fight tomorrow against a pseudo-giant and a witch that kills almost everything she fights. I do not have the patience for this, nor the luxury to be wasting my energy. They don’t care, the guards keep us here and the questions keep flowing.
Almost unconsciously as my frustration grows I begin to move closer and closer to the HighSail side of the stage. Something that very much prompts a reaction from the guards behind me. The last thing I need is another misunderstanding that results in me dragged off by house soldiers. This time wouldn’t be a misunderstanding though would it?
Still, I want this fight bad. Almost as much as I want a rematch with Resh, they killed Tota just as I was learning how to become friends with the kid. They killed Laren and Tarnen a few days after the Ettin had finally returned to Far Mantys for the first time in five years. On some level, I know Klash and Embella aren’t truly responsible, but that level is waaaaay down there. Besides, there is the other thing as well.
I’m jealous, its really that simple. Even though I have a win over Klash either no one remembers or no one cares. They all act like the HighSail pair are guaranteed to win the tournament. The two of them have been the final fight of the night, and the pitters the fans most clammer to see the entire time. I want that, and I think if I can beat them I might get it.
I can see a similar hunger in the elephant boy’s eyes when I look over at him. He wants to avenge his loss against me, I know the feeling. That no matter how many wins you string together there is someone out there who walked away when you fell. Someone who is inarguably a better fighter than you. Inarguable unless you can get that rematch, inarguable unless you can go out there onto the sands and prove you are as special as you think you are.
“You aren’t, you know,” I call over at Klash.
“What?” He grunts back in a voice like a collapsing building.
“You aren’t special enough to beat me.”
I see his big eyes narrow, and his lip raise in disgust. It probably isn’t in those words exactly but if he thinks of me the way I think of Resh that fear is in there somewhere.
If I’m lucky I might be able to bring that out a little, if not insulting the other team certainly makes this experience a lot more pleasant.