Arena

CHAPTER 9

“DAMN!”

The sound of the blow startled him and Hammen cringed against the side of the sewer, afraid to breathe. He looked over at Norreen, who stood calmly, blade out of its scabbard, staring toward the flickering circle of light straight ahead in the darkness.

He could hear Uriah whimpering.

“Tell Varnel I want that satchel and the hell with the price.”

Hammen looked over at Varena, who smiled at the sound of Zarel’s ravings.

“He took three thousand just to bar the door; let him know that if he doesn’t release the satchel, word of his betrayal might slip out.”

Varena stirred angrily, her features suddenly tight with rage.

“Offer him ten thousand if need be. I want that servant as well. He must know something and he doesn’t have the mind of a fighter. He can’t resist the way One-eye can.”

Hammen wanted to snap out a curse, half-amused at the thought of a subterranean voice wafting up from the sewer telling Zarel to burn in torment.

“Is there something else?” Zarel shouted.

There was a pause.

“Damn you, get out of my sight.”

Hammen waited and then, finally, started to slip forward. Varena’s hand shot out, holding him, shaking her head in warning.

She seemed to be holding her breath, and Hammen could sense the ripple of power, as if she was struggling to block something out. The minutes passed and then, finally, she sighed, lowering her head as if exhausted. She looked over at Norreen and nodded. The Benalish woman slipped forward, moving with a catlike ease, not making a sound as she moved through the thigh-high sludge and filth. Hammen and Varena followed, stopping just short of the overhead grate.

She reached up and felt the side of the grate, then looked back at Hammen, nodding. He came forward and she hoisted him up, hissing a warning as he attempted to run his hands up the side of her body. He slipped a lockpick out of his sleeve and started to reach up.

“That’ll keep the scum,” said a voice overhead, and there was a hoarse laugh.

Hammen froze, Norreen remaining motionless.

A foot stepped straight on the grate, and Hammen closed his eyes, waiting.

“Where do you think the cutter will start?”

“Where else?” another voice replied, and there was a crude laugh.

“Nah. He saves that for later. Five coppers it’s the hands first.”

“Which one?”

There was a momentary pause.

“The right.”

“Five coppers then.” And again there was the hoarse laugh.

Seconds later Hammen felt something warm splashing on his face and he fought the temptation to take his dagger and drive it straight up through the grate.

“Ah, that’s better, too much beer.”

The two continued on.

Hammen reached up and slipped the pick into the lock that held the grate.

It was rusted. He tried to force it but it wouldn’t give. He looked over at Varena.

“It’s stuck,” he whispered. “Use a spell.”

“Might draw attention. Oil it.”

He unslung a small tin tied around his neck, uncorked it with his teeth, and reached up, first oiling the hinges to the grate and then upending the rest into the lock. Oil dripped back down on his face, stinging his eyes.

He worked the pick again and still it wouldn’t budge. Sweat started to bead down his face in spite of the cold damp of the sewer.

“What’s going on?” Norreen whispered.

“I can’t get any leverage. It won’t budge.”

“Damn, keep working!”

“Hoist me up higher.”

Norreen, grunting, pushed him up higher against the grate, and he grabbed it with one hand, sticking the other one through the grate to work the lock.

Hoarse laughter echoed in the distance, the only answer a moaning cry nearby.

“Shut up, damn you, or we’ll cut the other hand off!” a voice echoed in the distance.

He heard footsteps drawing closer and again he froze, pulling his hand back down. Someone was going from cell to cell, opening peepholes into each cell to check on prisoners. The minutes passed, the guard drawing closer, stepping over the grate. He opened another peephole.

“Damn. Hey, Grimash, this bastard in here’s hung himself.”

“So what do you want me to do about it?” a voice echoed in the distance.

“Open the door so we can dump him.”

Hammen looked over at Norreen.

“Leave it till morning.”

“Come on, let’s get it done.”

“Oh, all right.”

Hammen looked down wide-eyed at Norreen. She quietly lowered him and slipped back, away from the opening.

Footsteps echoed overhead and there was the sound of a door unbolting.

“Damn, he stinks. When did you last check him?”

“I don’t know. I think they brought him in yesterday or the day before?”

“Damn you! Carry him then. What a stink.”

The two guards cursed softly and there was the sound of something being dragged. A shadow appeared overhead and there was the sound of a key snicking in a lock. The lock let go with a metallic pop and the grate was lifted up.

“Something wrong here.”

“What do you mean?”

“The key. Look, it’s covered in oil.”

“So somebody oiled it.”

“Who? I sure didn’t.”

“Just shut up and dump the stiff. He’s enough to make a maggot gag.”

The body plunged straight down, slapping into the muck, spraying the three in the sewer. It was stiff as a board, however, and rather than tilt over with the current of the sewer to be swept away, it lodged in place as if standing, its head banging up against the circle of stones directly beneath the grate. Hammen fought to suppress a gag. The corpse’s face was invisible in the shadows except for a thin ray of light that revealed his blackened tongue protruding out of a face that was swollen like a balloon, the rope, made out of strips of rag, cutting into its gray-green neck.

The guards overhead looked down and one of them started to laugh.

“He likes it here. He doesn’t want to leave.”

“Well, get down there and push him.”

“Nah, let’s leave him. Actually it’s kind of funny, him standing down there like that.”

“Damn it, push him. It’ll stink the place up.”

“As if the customers are going to complain.”

“Just move him.”

A hand reached down through the grate and, grabbing hold of the corpse by the back of the head, pulled him back. The current started to swing the dead man’s legs outward, and at that moment Hammen screamed.

Wide-eyed, Hammen found himself staring into the face of Petros, one of his brotherhood, a friend who only three days ago had shared the fleas and lice of their hovel.

Hammen’s scream was answered by the two guards overhead, both of them jumping back in terror.

“Go! Go!”

Varena pushed past Hammen, knocking him over into the muck so that he started to get swept away by the current, his dead friend bobbing beside him.

Looking up, she raised her hand and a blast of fire slammed upward, catching one of the guards and bowling him over. The other ran off in terror. Varena grabbed hold of the sides of the access hole and pulled herself up, Norreen starting to scramble up after her.

“I’m drowning!”

Norreen looked back at Hammen, hesitated, and then, cursing, waded after him, grabbing hold of him by his hair and pulling him back toward the opening. She pushed him, sputtering and choking, up through the grate.

Hammen flopped up onto the floor of the dungeon and rolled away from the guard, who was writhing back and forth, screaming hysterically, as he tried to beat out the flames that were engulfing him.

Norreen came out of the hole and her sword slashed down, cutting his cries short.

“Which one is his?” Norreen cried.

From down the corridor Varena came running back.

“He got away. We don’t have much time!”

“Which one is his?”

She looked around, confused. Their plan of sneaking in and silently checking cells was now gone.

“He must be at this end!” She started to walk down the corridor, raising her hand as she passed each door, blasting locks off. Norreen followed, tearing the doors open.

Hammen lay on the floor watching them, still shaken by the memory of what was left of his friend.

“Hammen, watch the corridor!”

Cursing, he came to his feet and started down the hallway. All around him was bedlam, prisoners inside cells shrieking for release.

He turned back to the scorched remains of the dead guard and found the man’s keys. As he worked his way up the corridor he started to unlock doors. Some of the victims within were beyond hope, chained to tables of pain or to walls, some of them looking up and weakly calling for rescue, food, water, or simply for an end to their torment. Tears clouded his eyes and he continued on. Behind several of the doors the prisoners were not chained and they staggered out.

“Get in the sewer and follow the current!” Hammen shouted, pushing them back. The men and women crawled away.

One of them hobbled up to Hammen.

“Hammen,” the voice was hoarse, croaking.

The man was familiar, his old handless friend from the hovel.

“Get out of here and tell the others, tell everyone,” Hammen whispered. “Tell them it was One-eye who set you free. Go hide with Lothor’s brotherhood, and I’ll meet you there later.”

The man grinned through a bloody face and scurried away to the sewer hole.

From down at the far end of the corridor he suddenly heard footsteps running, drawing closer.

“They’re coming!”

“We’ve got him!”

Hammen looked over his shoulder. Norreen was coming out of a cell, Garth in her arms, Varena pushing past her and running toward him.

A crossbow bolt shot past, skidding off a wall, showering sparks. At the far end of the cellblock torches appeared.

“Move it!”

Hammen, needing no urging, ran back toward her and stopped at the sewer hole.

Varena raised her hand, and within seconds a great horde of rats appeared, shrieking and crying, running down the length of the corridor. Directly behind them a wall of fire rose up and moved after them, driving them toward the end of the corridor.

Norreen came up to the hole, carrying Garth.

“Hammen first!”

He looked down into the darkness, hesitating, and a foot caught him from behind. With a curse he fell in, going under and then coming back up, struggling to get his footing on the slimy bottom.

“Catch him!”

Norreen lowered Garth feetfirst and then she let go. He fell into the current and Hammen struggled to pull his head out of the water. Seconds later Norreen jumped in.

“Varena, let’s go!”

The Orange fighter jumped down just behind her and overhead the brilliant glare of the fire winked out. But still there was the sound of the rats, squealing with delight as they fought for their meal, the guards shrieking and howling.

The two women pulled Garth up and started off, half walking, half swimming with the current. As they passed beneath another grate a spear slammed down, nearly catching Hammen in the shoulder.

“The key, where’s the damn key!” a voice raged overhead, and then they were past him. The sewer sloped downhill, the current picking up speed, following the gentle drop downward from the palace, which rested on the highest ground in the center of the Plaza.

They reached the mesh of steel bars set across the sewer, marking the edge of the palace. Grunting and cursing, they squeezed through the narrow opening that Hammen and Norreen had spent hours cutting out and then weaved past the snares and traps which had been cunningly set into the sewer wall, ignoring the skeletons from previous attempts at rescue which had failed, most likely years ago, and now hung impaled against the wall.

They passed an opening to their right and then a second, moving now in pitch-darkness. Far ahead they could hear the echoing voices of the prisoners Hammen had released.

“Why’d you let them go?” Varena asked sharply.

“It’ll throw the chase off,” he lied in response.

“Third on the right,” Hammen announced. “Here it is.”

He was almost swept past and hung desperately to the side of the opening until Norreen reached back to pull him in. Far up the corridor a thin flicker of light was visible, while from overhead, through a storm opening, could be heard the braying of trumpets. A thin shaft of daylight shone down through the opening and above the trumpets could be heard the shouting of the mob.

“One-eye! One-eye!”

Already word has spread.

Now fighting against the current, they continued up the sewer, passing two more openings as the level of sewage and muck dropped till it was down to ankle level.

Varena suddenly extended her hand. Ten fathoms straight ahead came a rasping of metal on stone, and a lantern was lowered.

Varena motioned for them to lie down. Hammen followed her lead, his face in the muck, and watched as a head appeared, upside down, looking first up the sewer and then back toward them. A loud clamoring could be heard. The guard looked straight at them and started to point, as if having seen them. With a loud cry he suddenly plunged headfirst into the sewer, smashing into the lamp, which went out in the filthy water.

“Come on!”

Varena got up and moved forward as they reached the unconscious guard. A wild melee was breaking out overhead, the mob shouting and roaring, fighting with the Grand Master’s warriors.

Just as Hammen stepped past the opening overhead, he looked up and could see legs, people running, struggling. Another warrior fell through the hole and landed feetfirst. Cursing, he started to stand up, his cry of alarm cut short by Norreen’s blade.

They pressed on up the narrowing sewer, following Hammen as he cut left, then right, then left again.

Finally Hammen stopped.

“This is it,” he whispered.

They were at a juncture where four lines came in together, illuminated by a thin narrow grate directly overhead. One of the lines was dry and inside of it four oilskinned bundles were stacked along with a dozen heavy skins of water.

Norreen and Varena gently laid Garth down.

Hammen crawled up by his side and looked down at his face.

Garth tossed back and forth as if caught in a fevered dream, mumbling softly.

“Father, no, Father… Father.”

Varena crawled up beside him and, reaching into her satchel, pulled out an amulet and laid it on Garth’s brow. A thin shimmer of light haloed his face and, ever so gradually, the drawn lines of pain eased away. Hammen watched in amazement as the swelling of Garth’s battered face subsided, the cuts from Zarel’s ringed hand drew shut, and finally the wound to his shoulder closed over. Garth sighed and then almost seemed to fall in upon himself and, for a moment, Hammen thought Garth was dead, his spirit having slipped away.

“Let him rest for now,” Varena whispered. “Keep an eye on him.”

She crawled back out into the junction of sewer lines and casually started to strip off her clothes, Norreen following her and doing the same.

She looked back and saw two eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness.

“Hammen, so help me,” Norreen snapped, “this is the one thing I objected to in all of this.” And taking her cape, she managed to drape it across the opening where he sat with Garth.

He started to move quietly forward to sneak a peek.

“Hammen, if I see your ugly face, you’re a blind man,” Varena said quietly.

“How about just one eye?”

“Take care of Garth! Wash him up.”

Cursing softly, he struggled to pull off Garth’s stinking wet clothes. Getting his trousers off, he started on the bloody tunic, finally taking a dagger to cut it away, while on the other side of the curtain he could hear the two women splashing water over themselves to wash off the filth.

“Damn! You think there’d be a little gratitude in this world,” he hissed as he finally cut Garth’s tunic free.

And then he froze. There was the thin tracing of a scar running down the length of Garth’s right arm, and at the sight of it tears filled Hammen’s eyes, coursing down his filthy cheeks.

The curtain was pulled back and, startled, he looked up to see Varena looking at him while toweling her hair.

“Come on, let me help you,” she said quietly and he wiped his hand across his face to hide his tears.

She unstoppered another skin and poured it over Garth, using the towel to wipe the filth off. Norreen joined him and they soon had him cleaned. Hammen sat in silence, lost in thought.

“Well, you stink too. Now wash,” Varena directed. “We’ll dress him.”

Hammen, surprised, pointed at himself.

“Me?”

“You think you can walk around up there smelling like you do? It’s a dead giveaway! Now wash!”

“Go to the demons.”

Varena calmly raised her hand and a snap of pain hit Hammen.

“Damn it, that hurts!”

“Next time it’s twice as bad. Now wash!”

Cursing under his breath, he moved out into the junction and started to uncork a waterskin.

“Undress first.”

Hammen looked at them, gape mouthed.

“You’re kidding.”

The pain hit again and, true to her word, it was twice as bad.

Mumbling imprecation after imprecation, he pulled off his tunic and trousers.

“Everything,” Norreen said calmly.

He started to protest and Varena raised her hand.

“Well, give me some privacy at least!” he demanded as he struggled to raise the curtain back up.

Stripping the rest of the way, he started to wash, grimacing as the cold water splashed over him and the curtain fell.

Norreen and Varena looked at him and started to chuckle softly. Red-faced with rage and humiliation, Hammen turned around and they laughed even louder.

“Some ladies you turned out to be,” he snapped angrily as he finished, and Varena finally handed him a towel to dry off.

He quickly grabbed his bundle of clothes and changed, feeling uncomfortable as clean cloth rubbed against his scrubbed skin.

The two women turned their attention back to Garth, and drying him off, they dressed him in fresh clothes.

“So are you interested in him?” Varena asked, looking up at Norreen.

“He’s a good fighter. Though I didn’t admit it at the time, he saved me from getting stabbed in the back. I owed him.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Norreen looked down at Garth.

“He’s not of my clan.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“You certainly are interested,” Hammen interrupted, looking straight at Varena.

“It meant nothing,” she replied calmly, and Hammen chuckled.

“What a life. Two women dressing him together, one’s already slept with him and the other wants to. What a life.”

Norreen looked back coldly at Hammen.

“What he did with her doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.”

“Sure. Anything you say,” he replied tauntingly.

Varena silently watched Norreen and her features started to turn red.

“Once we get him out of here my obligation’s done,” Norreen snapped. “He’s yours if he means that much to you.”

“I said I wasn’t interested.”

“Why don’t you just bid on him?” Hammen sniffed.

“Shut up,” both of them snarled simultaneously.

From the grate overhead a distant roaring cry broke out and was picked up, rolling closer. Footsteps could be heard, then more shouting, and finally the distinctive sound of crossbows snapping.

Suddenly there was a snuffling sound, a deep-throated breathing that echoed in the tunnels. A low, throaty growl erupted.

“Mastiffs,” Norreen whispered.

“There’s something down there,” a voice cried.

“Pull the grate!”

Norreen reached for her blade.

“It’s set into the stone and it’s too narrow to get through.”

“Well, damn it, find a way to get in; they’re down there!”

Varena leaned over Garth, pressed her hands on either temple, and, leaning over, whispered softly into his ear.

He stirred, groaning softly. She whispered again.

With a cry he tried to sit up, and she clamped a hand over his mouth.

“They’re down there, they’re down there!”

Garth looked about wildly and Varena kept her hand firmly grasped over his mouth. Suddenly she leaned over, removed her hand, and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Hammen, in spite of his fear, fought to suppress a chuckle at the flash of anger on Norreen’s face.

The terror in Garth’s eyes subsided and Varena leaned back. Reaching over to one of the oilskinned bundles, she opened it up, drew out his satchel, and pulled it over his shoulder.

“Where am I?” He recoiled as more shouts echoed from above.

“We got you out of the dungeon,” Norreen whispered, moving to kneel by him.

“How?”

“Hammen figured it out.”

Garth looked over at Hammen, who was kneeling behind Norreen. The old man said nothing, his eyes filled with concern.

Garth reached out and touched him lightly on the shoulder and Hammen lowered his head.

Wordlessly he looked at Varena and Norreen and nodded a thanks.

“Well, now that this reunion’s over, I’d suggest we get out of here,” Hammen whispered, trying to suppress a sniffle.

He scurried past Garth, moving up the tunnel. Norreen helped Garth to his feet, ready to grab him if he started to collapse.

“I’m all right,” Garth whispered as her hand shot out to steady him and, bending low, he followed Hammen.

They continued up the tunnel, scurrying quickly past a side channel that echoed with voices and the distant growling of a dog. Hammen turned down another line, then turned right again, and finally came to a stop.

“This is the turn,” he whispered.

Varena paused, looking to where Hammen pointed.

“It comes out behind the street of the money changers. It’s an empty courtyard. After the last fire swept the city, they changed the street so it’s no longer used. Scale over the wall, head east, and you’ll come up behind your House. You should get through in the confusion.”

Without a word, Varena started up the tunnel and then paused and looked back.

“Garth.”

“Yes.”

“Get out of the city. Give it up. I don’t know what it is you’re after; I don’t want to know. Just get out. If you stay and we have to fight, you know I won’t hold back. My sessan will not allow it.”

Garth smiled and said nothing.

“Benalish, he’s yours now. Get him out.”

“I don’t take gifts from an Orange hanin,” Norreen replied haughtily.

Varena laughed and disappeared up the tunnel.

From the direction they had just come, the baying of mastiffs echoed.

“Let’s go,” Hammen said, and, turning, he led them into a narrow tunnel opposite the direction Varena had taken. The tunnel was so low that they had to crawl on hands and knees until Hammen finally stopped and pointed up. Overhead was a grate at the top of a narrow shaft. Hammen turned and reached up. Grabbing hold of a slippery outcropping of rock, he pulled himself up, shouldering the grate aside.

He climbed out warily and, crouching, looked around. The ruined courtyard was a jumble of fire-blackened stones tangled with a dense overgrowth of vines. Just on the other side of a tottering wall could be heard a wild commotion and exuberant shouts.

“One-eye, One-eye!”

Hammen motioned for the two to follow him up. Garth came next and then Norreen. Just as she cleared the grate a loud barking erupted from directly below.

“They’re out, they’re out!”

Garth threw the grate back over the hole while Norreen pushed a heavy boulder on top of it.

“Damn it, clear that grate!”

Hammen pointed toward a narrow fissure in the wall, which led out into the alleyway. Garth and Norreen started for it and stopped when they heard Hammen laughing.

He stood over the grate, relieving himself and an angry cursing exploded from below.

“Payback time,” Hammen announced savagely, and then, laughing, he followed his two friends out into the alleyway. As they reached the street Garth pulled his cape up around his head to cover his face and missing eye.

“The way out of the city is that way,” Hammen announced, pointing down the street, trying to be heard above the tumult of the crowds pushing around them.

“I’m staying,” Garth announced sharply.

“Damn it!” Norreen snarled.

He looked over at her and her protest fell silent.

“All right, we kind of figured that,” Hammen said. “The Bolk House is just around the corner.”

“How’d you know?” Garth asked.

“We just kind of assumed it.”

The three shouldered their way through the crowd, which was pushing and shoving, some of them moving toward the rioting in the Plaza, others moving to get away.

Reaching the side of Brown’s House, they edged along the wall and finally reached the Great Plaza.

A mad chaos was sweeping the square, tens of thousands of people shouting and laughing, taunting, as a knot of warriors swept past. Wherever there was a storm drain hundreds, thousands were gathered around, shouting encouragement as if One-eye were directly beneath them. Back and forth in the Plaza could be heard laughing cries, “He’s here, no he’s over here, no here!” Warriors and fighters were trying to battle their way through the mobs, which pelted them with whatever was handy.

In some sections of the Plaza open fighting was breaking out, while around the Great Palace of the Grand Master a solid wall of warriors was slowly moving forward to drive the mob back.

Garth pushed his way through to the edge of the brown paving stones which marked Brown’s half circle of territory in front of their House. A solid ring of fighters was drawn around the great semicircle to keep the crowd off their sacred land. But the mood was almost festive, the mob trading good-natured gibes with the fighters, the fighters obviously enjoying the humiliation the Grand Master was experiencing.

Garth edged up to the ring of fighters and looked around. Seeing what he wanted, he pushed his way through and came up directly in front of a towering bulky form.

“Naru,” he said quietly.

Hammen, groaning with despair, started to back away.

“I saved you for this?” he moaned.

“Naru!” This time Garth’s voice was more commanding.

The giant looked down at Garth and gradually recognition set in. His features turned from surprise to a stunned disbelief. Naru looked past him for a second as if wondering how he had thus appeared and then looked back again. This time his features were starting to contort with a murderous rage.

Garth, his hand in his satchel, pulled out a bundle and held it up.

“Fighter, this is your satchel. Some beggar stole it from you unfairly. I got it back and have been trying to return it. I even had to fight with the Grand Master to keep it safe.”

Naru looked down at him, confused. He tentatively reached out and took the bundle, opening it up. Hammen watched him, surprised by the almost-childlike look of joy that appeared in the giant’s eyes.

Naru put the satchel on and Hammen waited, ready for the fight to begin. Naru, however, suddenly started to dance about, as if possessed.

“My spells, my spells!”

Garth stood in silence, watching him. Around him the crowd had been watching the exchange and recognition suddenly dawned.

“One-eye, he’s here, he’s here!”

A company of warriors not ten fathoms away was wading through the crowd. Hearing the cry, some of them started to turn but their commander, swearing at the mob, angrily pointed them in the opposite direction and they continued on.

Naru looked back at Garth and there was a look of genuine confusion in his eyes.

Garth smiled and extended his hands palms downward in a gesture of peace.

“May I join this House and fight at your side, Naru?”

Naru stood silent for a moment, obviously confused by the complexity of what he had to deal with. He looked back up toward the palace and then, finally, back at Garth.

“You play good joke, yes.”

And reaching out, he pulled Garth onto the brown stones.

Stunned, Hammen watched as Naru slapped Garth heavily on the shoulders and beamed with pride as if he had somehow rescued him. The mob, seeing the display and moved by the sentimentality of the moment, howled with delight. Hammen looked over at Norreen.

“I guess I better go with him, the damn fool.”

“Take care of him, Hammen.”

“Come with us. Damn it, woman. They’re always hiring warriors. It’s too dangerous out there right now.”

Norreen shook her head.

“Take care of him.”

She turned and started to disappear into the mob.

“Norreen. He wants you, you know that.”

“Tell that to Varena. She’s easier,” Norreen said with a sad smile, and, turning, she disappeared.