Slave Unbound Ch. 17

Chapter 17

A Truth of Cold Logic

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Disclaimer: This story is not meant as 'erotica', but dark adventure-fantasy. It may contain material that sensitive readers might find uncomfortable. Please be advised.

Leaning back against the bars of the caged wagon, Leita inhaled the stale aroma of the streets, only half aware of the milling onlookers watching them pass. The heavy weight of her shackles and chains felt almost comforting, in a strange way, as they meant she was headed for the arena. Which also meant several hours away from Cookie and her maniacal demands. She would finally be somewhere she felt like she had some kind of control.

The last several days had proven rather taxing, despite how little she'd really had to do. Though time in the training pitch had served as reprieves, having to spend the whole time devoid of any clothing had become tedious. There were few places left on her body where she didn't have scraps or abrasions from contact with the ground or training weapons. She was grateful that it was still the warm season, at least, but had to wonder if this would continue all the way into winter. She wasn't fond of the idea of having to spend hours out in the freezing cold with nothing on.

Ironically, her disrobed state had proven fairly useful in her special training with Sasinel. As the sidil had said, having Leita's body completely visible had helped her spot where she wasn't moving quite correctly. So much so, that Sasinel herself had begun partially disrobing so that Leita could see her own movements better. The sight of these two women, one completely naked and the other very close to it, had proven to be quite the distraction for the rest of the yard and rather the annoyance to Kalder.

Still, even the rock-like giant couldn't deny that there was merit in allowing it to continue. Sasinel had been shocked at how quickly Leita had picked up the basic forms and motions. Though her skill with them was still quite rough, her swift progress had convinced the sidil to continue to teach Leita more of the art. It had also inspired Leita to return to Colja and request more instruction in his own style of fighting, to which he'd agreed.

The sound of clanking chains brought her from her inner contemplations as it heralded Myrinus moving over to take a place beside her in the cart. She gave him a friendly smile as he settled in. "Any idea who they have you fighting today, Element?" She asked him curiously, their relationship having grown rather casual, due to recent events.

"Lamaran, of House Bloodwalker." He replied indifferently, seeming almost bored by his own answer. "Good fighter, but no challenge." He added with the same air of flippancy.

"At least, there will be some glory to be won from it." Leita offered, brushing against him affectionately. "The Mistress only has me fighting against lots."

"You were 'only' a lot once." Myrinus chuckled, his Southern reaches accent making the words sound almost like a taunt, if still playful in tone. "Assumed to be no challenge at all. And yet..."

He let the words dangle off, not really needing to say more. She'd killed a seasoned gladiator without taking significant injury herself. Further, in only her second fight in the arena, she'd defeated a foe wielding forces that most of the rest of stable would have shrunk away from. Despite that, while her victories weren't purely dumb luck, luck had played into it. Had either of those gladiators not been arrogant and reckless, or had not chosen to just toy with her in the beginning, she might not be here now. Regardless, she was living proof that someone could be more dangerous than even they realized.

Still, she'd seen how lots entered the arena, half-starved and humbled. More-over, she'd seen how battered they'd been after their experiences, brutalized by superior skills and equipment. Most had to be dragged off the sands, some as corpses, rather than leaving on their feet. She couldn't be certain what kind of challenge may be ahead of her, but the odds were that it would be a fairly easy battle.

She gave the blue-lipped man a shrug and a smile. "I suppose I should be happy to finally be going into a fight where I will have the advantage. Of course, considering my luck, I'll end up facing some donated oruhk warrior."

Myrinus chuckled. "Or some ogre a noble been keeping as an exotic 'pet'." He gave her a nudge. "And probably still win anyway."

She joined in with his chuckle and fully leaned in this time, snuggling against his side. She felt a slight blush touch her cheeks as she inhaled the scent of him, making her mind recall her interactions with him the last couple of days. She felt a tingle in certain places of her body and realized, almost to her surprise, that she was rather looking forward to their next little show.

In light of the stance that the Elements had taken over Cookie's declaration of Leita as 'free use', none of the stable seemed willing to chance their wrath enough to make use of it. Even considering that the prohibition applied only when they were supposed to be training, no one wanted to push their luck. The other slaves and servants of the House were so heeled and oppressed by Cookie's heavy-handed manner that they lacked the confidence to attempt taking advantage of it, fearing it to be a trap of some kind. Even the House guards had left her alone, either being too professional to put themselves in such a compromised position with a trained gladiator or as a show of respect for so effortlessly humiliating Master Venge, which had apparently amused them.

While there was some relief in not having to deal with being continuously grabbed and mounted, Cookie had begun to become quite irate at Leita not suffering any indignities. So, Leita had approached Myrinus with a request. Since he was obviously interested and was an Element himself, she asked for him to take her amorously in places where Cookie would run across them. He'd not hesitated to agree.

Twice already, they had staged something for Cookie, who had seemed quite satisfied to see someone finally taking advantage. However, if her intent was to bring Leita grief, that had failed. Perhaps, it was because they were encounters of her own choosing or just that Myrinus was a fairly competent lover, but she'd found herself quite enjoying the interludes. It also didn't hurt that he was rather nice to look at. In the course of their little ruse, they had developed an affectionate bond, though neither of them considered the sex anything deeper than just an effort to keep Cookie at bay.

A sudden lurch and jolt of the cart heralded them entering through the secured gates of the arena, where the gladiators would be transferred into the holding areas below ground. Sitting upright again, Leita watched as the proceeded past a small army of guards to the offloading deck. A sudden, foul, thought came to her mind.

"You don't think that Cookie would have sent word ahead that the Arena guards are welcome to have at me, do you?" She asked Myrinus lowly.

"Likely, she did try." He said with a grin. "But Arena guards are not allowed to do such things."

A phantom sour taste in her mouth reminded Leita that there was a big difference between 'not allowed' and 'would not'. She clenched her teeth, bracing herself for the possibility that she may get another visit from her 'old friend' here. Considering Cookie's twisted mind, if she'd heard anything about her exchange with him last time, she'd likely have personally informed him of the edict.

However, as they were off-loaded, processed, and moved down to the lower cells, there was neither any sign of that particular guard or any indication that any of the guards seemed informed of anything special about her. By the time she was in her cage, she felt convinced that Cookie had either not considered the idea or someone else had intervened.

Still, she felt her hackles leap up when a voice suddenly called towards her. "Hey there, beautiful!"

She whirled to face the direction it had come, but found the source not to be a guard, but coming from one of the other cages. She laughed when she recognized Trippard, the dvartan she'd met the last time she was here. It occurred to her that she'd not really thought about him since her fight against the magic-user, but found herself quite glad to see him looking healthy and alive.

"Hello there, ser." She replied amicably, moving up to the bars and leaning against them. "I didn't get a chance to thank you."

The gladiator peered at her questioningly. "Thank me? For what?"

"Your advice the last time we spoke." She replied.

"Oh! About you not making enemies of the guards?"

Leita gave a laugh. "Oh, well, that too. In fact, I do believe I've managed to earn some good will with the guards of my own House recently. However, I meant the advice about not relying on fancy moves as much as natural talent. It was what allowed me to win my fight, actually."

Trippard gave a smile and a nod. "Well, glad I could help then. Here tell you cut the man's hands off."

"It seemed the best idea, at the time." Leita chuckled. "I mean, they seemed rather dangerous."

"Ah, yeah, I imagine they did." He conceded with a grin. "Still, well advised or not, quite a feat to have overcome someone tossing around magic. There are some very nasty things that those sorts can do to a person."

"I've heard stories, but I've actually never seen real magic used before that moment." She said, realizing how little she'd really thought about it. She'd, of course, heard plenty of wild tales about witches casting dire curses and wizards laying waste to armies, but magic was a rare thing, apparently taking lifetimes of study and discipline.

Even her old Mistress, a Baroness, had owned only a single object that was purported to be enchanted. A small ornate clock that she'd kept in her bedchambers, its magic simply that it did not need winding. Even so, Leita had often wondered if it had actually been magical or just a feat of clever engineering. She'd seen the clock many times and, while delicately beautiful, nothing about it appeared mystical.

"Have you seen magic used in the arena before?" Leita asked, wondering if Trippard's words meant he had a lot more practical experience around such forces than she did.

"A gladiator is still a slave, my dear." He answered wryly. "And a slave who can weave spells is never considered a safe thing to own. So, a gladiator that's found able to cast magic is usually kept very carefully away from the necessary tools to do so and rarely allowed to remain a gladiator, as that grants them too much freedom to do something unexpected."

He gave a little shrug. "However, there are cases of gladiators who have been granted the use of ensorcelled weapons and armor on the sands, though the use of such things is highly regulated. One usually only sees them in execution fights or inter-House arranged matches. Even then, they cannot be used in secret, so to ensure fairness and to keep the betting odds from being thrown off."

"Really?" Leita replied, intrigued by the idea. "How commonly does that happen?"

The dvartan laughed. "So rare as to be close to never. The cost of even the weakest such weapon is so high that few would waste it on a gladiator; enchanted armor thrice so. Only the most honored and famous gladiators have ever laid hands to anything like that and those instances few."

"But it has happened? And you've seen it?" Leita persisted, certain now that Trippard knew more than he was saying.

"I've seen the use of magic and the use of such things, yes." Trippard said evasively. "Just not here. Though I do know that it does happen."

Leita paused, puzzling a moment, before realizing what he was getting at. "You weren't born a slave." She said, confident enough in her revelation to not make it a question.

"Garsian Infantryman for near to two decades, before I made the 'mistake' of not letting a brigadier give us an order that would have amounted to suicide." He sighed, a sour smirk coming to his lips.

"You were enslaved just for not following a bad order?" Leita balked.

"Actually, the charge was 'murder of a superior officer', which normally carries a sentence of unceremonious execution." Trippard replied sardonically. "But I was offered the 'mercy' of simply being sold to the Arena as a gladiator, since my actions, extreme as they may have been, saved the lives of a couple hundred soldiers."

Leita stared in disbelief. "Oh."

Trippard shrugged and gave a dry laugh. "Ironically, life as a gladiator is easier than life as a soldier. Both involve me fighting for my life, but the meals and beds are much better here."

Leita couldn't help but laugh with him. "I suppose that's something, ser."

"Somedays, it's everything, bright-eyes. Somedays." He said wistfully. She could see the weight in his eyes though. Life as a gladiator might be similar to that of a soldier, but, as a soldier, he'd still been free. She could see the same longing that she would often see in Sasinel's eyes when the sidil would look off into the blue of the sky, usually watching some bird circle above them.

They'd known something she had never had. Whatever obligations or responsibilities they might have once carried; they had still belonged only to themselves. Before coming to the Arena, Leita could not even grasp the idea of it. Now though, some part of her was starting to understand what that feeling was like, however subtle it might be.

When she was on the sands, she was the one in control of her fate. A small piece of her felt free in those brief minutes. In fact, it was beginning to infect her like a virus now, like a poison thorn that was slowly eroding away all her years of ingrained obedient nature. Despite the dangers it held, she longed for her time here, if only to have that taste of pseudo-freedom.

"Do you know who you are fighting today?" She asked him, deciding to tactfully change the subject.

"I imagine I'm here for the same sort of fight you are." The dvartan chuckled. "I'll be butchering some poor lot. No idea beyond that."

Leita frowned at the word he used, 'butchering'. "Is not the idea simply to defeat them? You make it sound like we will be torturing them."

He leaned against his bars, peering at her. "Do you remember when you were a lot, my bright-eyed beauty?" He smirked. "Did they tell you anything of the rules? That you could just surrender and let your opponent win?"

She pondered that a moment, seeing the wisdom in his words. "I think I understand what you mean. Whoever comes out of that gate will be convinced that they are going to be killed by us."

"And a cornered and frightened creature is the most dangerous." Trippard said with a nod. "Even if you try to explain to them that they can just concede, without need for blood, they will only expect it to be a trick." He fixed her with a meaningful look. "And they have reason to believe it too. Many gladiators still go for a kill, even if they don't have to. Blood and death are what the audience wants to see and giving it to them only gains your popularity, however modest. Showing mercy is always a dicey thing here."

Leita laid her forehead against the bars. "And so, we give them blood, if not death. The lots thank the gods for their survival and the crowds are sated."

"Exactly. If a lot does throw down their spear, kick it back into their hands." He said with a grin. "Make them earn their lives. Consider also that a lot stays a lot until sold at auction. No House wants to buy someone who just surrenders in the first moments. Hurt them now and make them fight, so they have a chance at finding themselves on the other side of the arrangement."

"Where they can get training and proper arms." Leita sighed, understanding the bitter logic of it all.

His voice was soft when he spoke again. "There is no room for mercy out there, Leita." She looked towards him, seeing the compassion on his face. It was a hard truth, but a truth all the same. Nodding her acceptance, she gave him a reassuring smile.

"Well, I wish you glory, ser." She said to him, placing a fist to her chest. He returned it with a smile.

"You as well, beautiful." She saw his attention shift away to the side and he dipped his head in gesture to her.

She turned to look behind her and saw guards coming to fetch one of them. It was her cell they stopped at. She gave Trippard one last nod, by way of farewell, and dutifully went with the guards to the preparation area. Unlike her last time there, she was not the only gladiator being suited into their armor. Many others were already in the room, at different stages in the process.

Almost as soon as she had entered, a decidedly beefy woman, half of who's head was clean shaven, was escorted out the far end to await her entrance through the Ansgorii gate. The other gladiators, paid her no notice as she was guided to her spot for preparation. Attendants buzzed about them, strapping on armor and making preparations, a few of which came over to begin preparing her.

"You are Leita?" Came the familiar question, asked by the same short man with the large nose and bald head as last time. She gave him a quick nod, curious if he would remember her. If he did, he gave no indication. "What weapon do you use?"

She started to reply, but whatever she might have said was cut off by someone to her other side. "Broadsword and roundshield. As well as a dagger in a thigh sheath." Looking over in absolute shock, she found Mistress Marlowe standing there. Sabrina had a pair of personal guards standing just a step behind her, both of whom seemed overly wary, despite all the gladiators in here being chained.

"Very well." The man said without a beat, apparently not finding it odd to have an owner appear citing directions. He stepped away to see to the choices.

"You will be fighting someone today that is likely not going to give you much of a fight." Sabrina began, putting her full focus on Leita. "You are to take advantage of that and make it very quick. Do not draw it out, just kill them."

Leita blinked. "Kill, Mistress?"

"Yes, Leita." Sabrina said in a slightly irritated voice that suggested she didn't want to be questioned on this. "Go for an immediate kill. I have been given a request to make her ordeal merciful, since she is just some pitiful little play-toy that was cast off. She won't ever sell at auction, so it is easier on her to simply be killed quickly. If you are able to do it fast enough, you may even manage to still gain a little glory from such a pitiful lot. All they will see is a gladiator killing her opponent, an opponent whose skill could have been whatever they imagine it to be."

She gave a sly little sneer. "Let them see her as some sympathetic wretch and you killing her will just make you look like...a butcher."

Leita felt her stomach twist, the implications of what she was being told making icy ripples pass through her limbs. "I understand, Mistress." She said weakly, suddenly feeling the collar around her neck more distinctly than she ever had.

"Good." Sabrina cooed. "I have been very delighted with your unwavering obedience, Leita. You have impressed me with it and with your spirit. Do this well and I will let Cookie know she is done with you. From what Master Crahka says, you've learned the art of seduction just as quickly as you have the art of combat."

Leita felt her body clench, that cowering part of her that had always shown absolute obedience, if only to protect herself from the punishments of failure, went to war with the growing part of her that seemed to revel in her growing defiance. She could understand hurting a lot to try and draw the fight out of them, to push them to earn a place for themselves in a House. However, just killing someone who is apparently of no danger seemed wrong.