Valour

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED

MAQUIN

Maquin spent a ten-night after the conflict in the arena languishing in the pit-fighters’ quarters, a stone block of a building close to the stables in Jerolin. He and the other pit-fighters — five of them remaining of the ten who had survived that day on the Island of Nerin — had been left alone. Usually Herak or some of his other more trusted guards would see them through a daily training session, but not since Orgull’s shocking turn. Food and drink came at regular intervals, but that was all.

Maquin felt as if he was going mad, the sheer boredom gnawing at him. He had no idea if Orgull was still alive, though that was unlikely. It was clear to Maquin that Deinon had stayed Lykos’ hand that day in the arena, saving Orgull’s life.

Not out of kindness, though. Not a chance of that. Probably so they could hang Orgull up somewhere and make him scream at their leisure.

He was sitting on a stone bench when he heard the keys rattling in the main door. Light shafted in as the door opened, Herak’s unmistakable shape standing outlined in the entrance.

‘On your feet, fighters,’ he called.

They gathered quickly — Maquin, Javed and the few others who had survived this far. They all had the same look of bottled energy mixed with despair.

A dangerous combination.

‘Follow,’ Herak ordered and turned on his heel.

Maquin blinked as he stepped into the daylight, even though it was weak, filtered through slate-grey clouds overhead. He noticed guards closing behind them as they all left their prison. Emad, the tall guard from Pelset, was one of them.

Herak led them through wide streets. Maquin saw Vin Thalun warriors on every corner, the occasional man in the black and silver of Tenebral. Then they were walking into the keep, through a feast-hall, up a winding staircase. At the top Herak nodded to guardsmen and a door was opened; all of them were ushered into a large chamber. Maquin pulled up short.

Orgull was hanging from shackles on the wall. He was naked apart from a stained loincloth, his body a tapestry of pain. One side of his face was fire scarred, blistered and weeping, his eye a ruin of twisted skin and flesh. His torso and legs were criss-crossed with cuts and weals, a combination of whip and blade. Someone had taken their time on him. Mercifully he was unconscious, his head hanging limp, chest rhythmically rising and falling.

Maquin looked away, feeling his stomach buck. Then he looked back, ashamed of himself. This was his sword-brother, the closest thing to a friend that he had left. As if feeling his eyes, Orgull stirred. A groan, then a shifting of his weight, taking the strain on his wrists bound above his head, a ripple in his thighs, a tension in his neck.

Sleep longer, brother.

‘Welcome,’ a voice said, drawing his attention.

It was Lykos, leaning casually against a desk. Five chests were placed on the ground before him. Deinon hovered in the shadows.

‘My apologies for neglecting you all, the past ten-night,’ Lykos said. ‘There have been distractions.’

‘What distractions?’ Javed asked.

One day your questions are going to get you a knife in the belly, Maquin thought.

‘That’s none of your concern,’ Lykos said. ‘They’re dealt with now, anyway. What does concern you is what I have to say.’ He paused, one hand reaching inside the recesses of his cloak. Maquin saw the outline of his hand close about something. Lykos didn’t seem to be aware that he was doing anything; something about the whole gesture seemed habitual.

‘You’ve done well,’ Lykos continued. ‘More than well, living this long, surviving the pits. You’re close to earning your freedom, all of you. See these chests.’ Lykos walked to each one, kicking them open. They were stuffed to brimming with gold coins. ‘Each one is what we’ve earned from you. You’ve made us rich.’

He walked back to the desk and poured himself a cup of wine, taking a long drink.

Freedom. The word hit Maquin like a blow, making his dizzy. Jael’s face floated into his mind, sneering at him, as always.

‘One more fight you all have. Win and you’ve earned your freedom. Win and I’ll give you a pouch of gold each from these chests. And I’ll make you an offer to think on, too. I want you to join me — join my crew. Sail with me. Swear a blood-oath to me. What you see in these chests is nothing to what’s in my future. Those who stay close to me are going to be rich men, and I don’t mean just gold: land, men, women, respect.’

‘One more fight,’ Maquin said.

‘Aye, that’s right. So let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh?’

‘When?’ asked Javed.

‘A ten-night, maybe a little longer. You’ll go back to your training from the morrow.’

‘Who are we fighting?’ Maquin asked.

‘Whoever I put in front of you,’ Lykos said. ‘Just remember: obey me and you may end up with this.’ He nudged one of the open chests with a toe. ‘Cross me and you’ll likely end up like him.’ He pointed at Orgull. ‘That’s all I have to say.’

Herak opened the door and waved them out. Maquin looked back as he reached the door. Orgull was looking at him with his one good eye. His lips moved, only a sigh coming out.

‘Get on,’ Herak ordered, pushing Maquin into the corridor. The door slammed shut.

Maquin lay back on his cot, hands laced behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he saw Orgull’s ruined face. Saw his lips moving, a silent plea. He hadn’t heard the words, but he was sure what Orgull had mouthed to him across the room.

Kill me.