Slave Unbound Ch. 27

Chapter 27

An Offer of Blood

**Characters and text are protected under copyright law

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.

As he stepped down from his personal carriage, HouseMaster Donovan Solivier took a moment to consider the front gardens of House Firebridge's main estate. The lush foliage, the luxuriant frontage, expensive statuary and topiaries; it made for a beautiful tableau, but all he could see was a picture of failure. Though the estate house's forward façade did feature guard walks and watches, all with crossbow-armed marksmen, he found the real lack of proper fortification and security measures to be rather disappointing. It felt like a showcase of the general naiveté of most Arena House owners.

The high foliage of the front gardens could obscure a fleeing slave, as well as grant them ample cover from crossbow fire. The only guards on foot were the sentries at the entrance gate and at the estate's main doors. Not a single person on patrol in the vast space between. There were also numerous grand windows, at ground level, through which an escaping slave could exit, many with hedges footing them that could easily hide them from sight, even in broad daylight.

Only the high, solid, wall around the estate would provide an actual challenge to overcome. Even then, it was little more than a tall fence, easily surmountable by someone determined enough. Like most other owners, there was far more attention to aesthetics and gaudy pageantry than to any concerns of security or strength. It was amazing that Sabrina hadn't already had most of her slaves escape from her.

While his own estate front had its elements of landscaping and décor, such concepts were never put before the stark reality that it was a prison full of enslaved warriors, trained to kill. His front gardens were kept low, providing no cover, there were marksmen in positions at both the main house and on the double-layer exterior walls, both layers of which were wide enough for additional marksmen to walk them. And no fewer than three guards from the ground patrols could reach any spot of the yard within five seconds.

Any slave foolish enough to attempt an escape from his House quickly found themselves caught. If they were lucky, the were killed in the attempt. Woe to those who survived to face the punishments Donovan Solivier meted out. In truth, fear of those punishments tended to discourage attempts far more than any guard or measure of security. In the end, it was the most important part of it all for a Gladiatorial House, that sense of fear.

It was one of the only things that most HouseMasters managed to get right, using fear of retribution to keep their stables bound to them. However, it meant nothing if their estates were easily escaped. You cannot punish a slave that you didn't manage to catch. While normal slaves were less likely to chance it, gladiators were a very different breed.

Common slaves, kept as servants and laborers, were bred and conditioned daily to be docile and obedient. Almost every person with any degree of money had at least one slave and families of great affluence usually had dozens. Such slaves rarely required much efforts to keep from escaping. Their collars alone, serving as constant reminders of their place in the world, was usually more than enough to bind them.

Gladiators, on the other hand, were given weapons, trained to fight, and handed glory and acclaim for killing and maiming other trained and armed gladiators. Where the will of a common slave was best crushed, a gladiator with a crushed will didn't last long in the arena. A gladiator without some measure of will only made for broken men and women who were not warriors, but sacrifices to the alter of blood that was the Grand Arena. However, allow them too much self-esteem and they become a danger to you, eventually realizing that they have the tools to take their freedom from you by force. Thus, keeping gladiatorial slaves was like walking a narrow fence over a very long drop.

Ensuring that those warriors knew they were in a place from which there was no escape and that attempts to try would be met with severe repercussions were key to enabling a House to cultivate the strong without allowing it to grow unchecked and out of control. Those that forgot or ignored this should be made examples of, ground physically and mentally into the basest of components. Most of the time, that meant the end of any real glory in their careers, as few could be successfully rebuilt back to anything more than mongrels, only fit for the basest savagery. However, sacrificing one untrustworthy gladiator often did wonders for keeping the rest from getting ideas.

Of course, every so often, when you applied enough pressure to a lump of coal, it produced a bit of diamond. He should know, he was one such diamond. A champion of the arena created by the efforts of being reduced to near nothing. He'd managed to rise through every effort to humble him, crush him, and kill his soul. It had made him the greatest gladiator in Solace's history, undefeated over a span of almost three decades.

Unlike the pampered elitists who ran the other Houses, he knew both sides of the leash. Knew what it felt like to wear it and to hold someone else's. And that unique perspective was how he'd turned his own House into the top House of the Grand Arena, housing more champions of the arena than any other. It was also how he knew just how much pressure to put on a slave, just how much reward to give, and when to pulverize them back into elemental clay to start them over.

He also knew, from the perspective of a slave, what did and did not persuade that belief that, no matter how deadly you might be on the sands, you were still property of your House. His own Master had been very skilled at punishment and was sharp-minded enough to recognize when to apply such things to one of his stable. He'd learned much from the man after he was given his freedom and made heir to the gladiatorial House, but he had learned for more from being the man's slave.

Shaking his head in disappointment at Sabrina's own lack of understanding of these things, Donovan signaled to his guards to begin preparing the gladiator he'd brought for the trade. As he was turning back to face the house, he saw an entourage exiting the front doors to greet them. Among them was the House Recorder, a skinny and fidgety man, who flinched at the sight of the HouseMaster of House Warforger standing there.

Scuttling over, the Recorder gave an awkward bow to him, seeming unsure if it was the correct etiquette or not. "Lord Solivier, we were unaware that you would be overseeing this trade personally." He squeaked, looking stricken and wrong-footed.

"I am not." Donovan said flatly. "My own people are more than able to handle that. I am here to see your HouseMistress. Have me announced, please."

The Recorder blinked, hesitating a moment while he processed the words. His weasel-like eyes darted about as he thought. "I...yes, of course, Lord Solivier." He said finally, making another awkward bow and scurrying back over to the guards, dispatching one to carry the message into the house.

Donovan waited patiently, watching the official transfer of gladiators. It had honestly surprised him that Sabrina had offered him one of her prime fighters, a member of her 'Elements' that she'd worked so hard to create. Especially with him currently at a high in popularity after his last fight. Sabrina loved injecting a little narrative into her stable, playing with the whole 'four elementals' gimmick and occasionally hiring gossip-mongers to seed rumors of melodramas behind various fights her gladiators fought.

One such melodrama had been this latest fight, an execution match against an arena guard who had stabbed him with a knife before he'd fought Lamaran of House Bloodwalker. Execution matches were already a favorite of the public, but turning it into a story of personal revenge had significantly upped the ante. Not only had it increased public interest in the blue-dyed gladiator, but it had also sneakily undermined the legitimacy of House Bloodwalker's victory.

Always the little hummingbird, Sabrina had a knack for little games such as that. Though he might not say that he truly respected her, it would be a lie to say that he couldn't admire her ability to thrive in an environment that was mostly hostile to her. As the only female House owner, she dealt with an abundance of bigotry from many of the other Houses, most grossly underestimating her to their peril.

Donovan bore no concern at all regarding her gender, recognizing that such things had no real effect on how dangerous or ruthless someone could be. In fact, he felt sure that her need to overcome such prejudices among her peers often made Sabrina become all the more cunning. Of all the other Houseowners, Sabrina ranked high on his list of people to handle with care and consideration.

Presently, a house slave appeared, his neck girded in a steel collar, to escort Donovan to the HouseMistress. Following along behind him, Donovan considered the man as they went. He bore the demeanor of someone who'd been born into slavery, without a real understanding what freedom actually meant. Leather cuffs adorned his wrists and ankles, though they were currently not being used for anything, save a reminder of his place in society. He wore them, and his metal collar, with a familiarity that only came from having never been without them.

While bondage-born slaves were popular among most as house slaves, due to their inbred timidity and mindset, Donovan had never been as fond of them. While he could, logically, see the benefits of a slave who had been raised, from infancy, to see themselves as only property, there was a kind of emptiness to them that he found distasteful. Though he might make great efforts to crush the spirit of his own slaves, having known what freedom tastes like added a certain spark into someone that was not there in someone who couldn't even imagine being without a collar around their neck.

He kept most of his own such slaves in positions that were out of his sight, so he didn't have to look at their pitifulness. Perhaps, it was simply that they seemed to provide no real challenge to him, a remnant of his days as a gladiator, enjoying the thrill of conquering adversity. Breaking a slave was like winning a fight, but these slaves had already surrendered on the day they were born. There was nothing to overcome, nothing in them left to break.

Of course, there were always exceptions to that rule. Like himself. Like Leita. Born in chains, but still possessing a will capable of breaking those chains someday. Sometimes, when you apply enough pressure, enough fire, even the lowest shit of humanity became one of its prized gems. Given how much she'd already grown, he could only imagine what priceless jewel might be formed from Leita with enough time and the right force.

As he was shown through the manor, Donovan continued to examine and assess the general state of the place, making mental notes of where he saw weaknesses in security. There had been a couple of improvements since he'd last visited, he did notice. She'd better spread her guard positions, adjusted their armaments to better suit the needs of pursuit and fighting in restricted quarters, as well as hired at least a few guards that seemed chosen more for their ability than their looks.

He realized all three had been off-hand remarks he'd made to her previously, subtly parceled to see if she even picked up on them. At the time, she'd seemed to sweep them aside, much as other HouseMasters did when he made such comments. That she'd actually considered the points and made adjustments spoke volumes, though he doubted she would ever admit the changes had anything to do with him.

Of course, Sabrina was no one's fool and her best strength was her ability to listen and use what she heard. A rare trait amongst the aristocratic class. While it wasn't enough to earn his real respect, it did re-enforce his belief that she was never to be underestimated. Which was why he recognized that the best way to sell her on his proposal would be directness and transparency. Trying to play games and manipulations would only make her needlessly suspicious.

His only worry was that she might be too indulgent and protective of her expensive gladiator, though he was sure the exorbitant investment little to actually do with why. It was obvious that she'd begun coddling the girl, allowing her to put on pitiful displays with the lots she fought; ridiculous attempts to make caged pigs look like well-breed hunting dogs. Most sadly, the efforts had been well-received by most other HouseMasters. Houses usually banked far more on the fame and popularity of their gladiators, valuing even poor fighters that were well favored over well skilled ones that were not.

Of course, most Houses also made their real wealth off of capitalizing on that fame. Famous gladiators could be rented out to interested parties, either for public appearance or private use, and their names and likenesses were often merchandised. In fact, as much as the ideas galled him, Donovan had found himself needing to occasionally cash in on the prestige and reputations that his own stable had.

However, the difference, for him at least, was that he prized talent and ruthlessness on the sands far above any sort of public appeals in his gladiators. He might make use of what fame they did garner from being the best and the most brutal, but he never coddled any of his stable, no matter what they were worth in terms of outer investments. He bred consummate warriors, not hyped up show ponies.

"Master Solivier. What a pleasant surprise." Sabrina's voice cut through his thoughts, clearing his mind instantly of everything unnecessary to his task at hand. She was coming up to meet them, dressed in her usual fashion of whorish elegance. Long, semi-sheer red dress showing off the shapely silhouette of her beneath, low cut in the front almost to her navel. Glittering jewelry, chosen entirely to accent her natural assets, not to show off her wealth, adorned her body. Even her shoes, high-heeled and silk-laced all the way up her legs, were meant to evoke desire.

"I was unaware that you intended to oversee the transfer of our slaves personally, Donovan." She continued as she reached him, her lithe body automatically positioning itself in the most flattering pose.

"I am not." He responded with a grin intended to look wry and playful. "I wish to meet with you on a solely separate matter and merely took the opportunity of riding along."

Sabrina raised an eyebrow, looking intrigued. "Don't tell me that the only reason you agreed to this trade was as an excuse to come see me, Donovan."

He gave a chuckle, putting on his charismatic mask of ease and charm. "I assure you, Sabrina, I would not trade away someone like Yulmier just for a flimsy excuse. Myrinus's skills are without question and his last performance impressed me. The offer you sent was merely well timed. At most, my intentions to discuss other business only served as a tipping stone to agree to the deal."

He was pretty certain that she cared little whether he was lying or not, that she would far from decline the trade even if it had been merely a way of buttering her up. Which it wasn't, though it would be a lie to say that he did not have additional, ulterior, motives for agreeing to the trade. If it did help lubricate matters, so be it, let her believe as she might.

"Well then, let us leave all that to our underlings and retire to my offices where we can talk." Sabrina replied diplomatically. "I have some Garsian whiskey that I keep just in case you ever come to visit. Can barely stand the swill, myself, but never let it be said I am not a prepared hostess." She gave him a sultry smile that would put most other men instantly off guard or off-footed, depending on how strong their will was.

When he'd first met Sabrina, with her provocative clothing and erotic art pieces all featuring her own nude form, he'd made the mistake of assuming that she used sex as a lure to make others accept her. He'd quickly come to realize that he'd been off the mark.

She used sex, and her own sexuality, as a way of distracting others from just how smart and cunning she really was. Her beauty was a blade she wielded as well as any champion gladiator wielded their weapon. Most took her for a whore, as he had initially, but he could see she was instead a succubus, feeding off the weakness that desire and attraction festered in others.

For that reason, he'd been ever careful to let her believe that he had at least some, well-guarded, interest in such things. Likely, she was sharp enough to recognize it for the act it was, but knew enough to continue to play the game. Sabrina understood lust better than most brothel slaves and was very good at both creating it and recognizing it when she had.

Once they were in Sabrina's offices, laden with images of her immodesty, she went about fixing herself something to drink. "You're certain that you wouldn't like anything?" She asked him, her smile now showing a deep curiosity. "Not even something I can have brought to you from the kitchens?"

Donovan chuckled dryly. "I am content, but thank you."

"Suit yourself, darling." She returned with her drink and arranged herself on her deep sofa, Donovan having taken up a place in one of the wing-back chairs that flanked it. "So, explain this better for me. What exactly is it that you are wanting?"

"Firstly, as you probably are aware, I purchased the assassin that Cornelius staged as a lot to kill your gladiator, Leita." He began, leaning back into the chair and tenting his fingers. "A rather petulant bitch, full of wrath for her current situation."

Sabrina took a sip of her drink and cast an impish glance at him. "I am honestly surprised that Cornelius allowed her to be bought up by someone else. Whether his actions were considered acceptable by the Grand Arena or not, I would have assumed he'd want clean away any evidence of the little deception, by purchasing her himself and disposing of her quietly."

Donovan gave a thin shrug. "For one, I actually contacted him before auction and informed him of my interest in acquiring her. He knows that I despise assassins, so he likely assumed that she would suffer greatly in my House. For another, Cornelius was aware that no censure or harm would come to his own House from his little game before it ever even played out. The assassin and her ultimate fate was of little concern to him, despite her intent to get revenge against him for leaving a slave. I'm sure there is a special little satisfaction for him in being able to openly make an attack at you without repercussion."

Sabrina considered him a moment, tapping her drink with a finger as she tried to figure him out. "If you despise assassins, as you say, why did you want her to begin with?" She asked after a moment, eyeing him suspiciously. "I wouldn't imagine you as one who would buy an auction slave just for something to torture."

"You are correct." He said with a nod. "That is not why I bought her, nor has she been tortured or actually suffered in my care. In fact, I have given her a way of earning her freedom from me and the liberty in her training to prepare for it. Which now brings me to your door."

He had her full attention, though much of that attention was obvious suspicion. He could see her sharp mind was already guessing at what he was about to say. "I wish to arrange an inter-house match between her and the girl she failed to kill, which ultimately left her in a collar. A fight to the death, in fact."