Slave Unbound Ch. 28

Chapter 28

Death By Inches

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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.

As she was led from her holding cell towards the preparation room to be armed and armored, Leita's mind swirled chaotically. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, but wasn't certain if it did so due to anxiety or excitement. Within another hour, she would be faced with having to kill or die herself. There was no question that her opponent would kill her without mercy, if given the chance, even though the last time they'd faced one another, Leita had spared the woman's life, despite a command to snuff it out.

However, even if she desired to show mercy again, it would forfeit her own life. There were only two possible outcomes to the coming battle. One person leaves or neither of them leave. If either of them refused to finish the other, they would both lose. It was meant to add incentive, to leave both fighters with no choice but to kill their opponent.

Thoughts of her last encounter with the woman, whom she now knew to be an assassin, mixed with questions and concerns spinning wildly in her head. According to what Sabrina had been told, the woman blamed the difference in their armaments as the only reason Leita had come away the victor. She claimed that, had they been on equal footing, Leita would not have stood a chance.

She remembered the woman as very adept, remembered well the injuries she had suffered from the woman, even with her being better armored and armed. It had read like a blur in her memory, with Leita not fully sure how she'd managed to turn the tide against the skilled killer. What she did remember was that, while her armor had kept the first few hits that she'd suffered from being much worse, it had played very little part in the fight.

She also remembered the both of them being surprised by the other's ability, both misinformed about what the other would be like. While the assassin had been armed only with a spear, it had seemed to be what she was best trained with. As far as Leita was concerned, their fight had been more than fair and even. She might not be able to remember how she'd managed to better the woman, but she was certain that she'd done so on her own skill and intelligence.

Having been many weeks ago now, she felt certain that the assassin would have spent all that time preparing herself. Devoting most of her efforts towards specifically countering how Leita fought, given what she'd been told about the woman's vendetta against her. Leita sparing her life had been seen as an insult and an injury to her pride, so she'd become obsessed with revenge.

Leita, however, had spared little thought to the woman or the way she fought, had spent those same weeks learning new forms of combat, not honing the skills she already had, nor focusing on how best to face an opponent who was particularly well trained with the spear. Now, they would face each other again, without the choice of granting mercy. If Leita once again put the woman to her knees, she had to be prepared to carry through with the order she'd been originally given. To kill her opponent without hesitation.

When she'd first become a real gladiator, sold to House Firebridge, she had steeled herself with the expectation that she would be required to kill, had even prepared herself emotionally to do so. However, at that time, she'd assumed that every fight upon the sand would end in death for one of the fighters. The revelation that she'd been mistaken about that had introduced the idea to her mind that she might could escape having to take more life.

Or, at least, grant her the ability to decide to show mercy when she could. A part of her had managed to keep hold of the cold fact that, someday, she would find herself in a situation, like with her first confrontation, where killing her opponent was her only chance to survive. A practical voice laying quiet behind the hopeful one that she might be allowed to be a merciful warrior, showing the strength of restraint. She clung now to that practical voice, reminding herself of what she'd been told by Sabrina a few days before.

"Neither of you will be allowed to leave the arena floor until one of you is dead. A refusal to finish your opponent results in you both being put down by crossbowmen." Enfolded into one another, Sabrina absently playing with the stray, wild, locks of Leita's dirty blonde hair, her Mistress had looked almost afraid.

"I am almost tempted to cancel the arrangement." She'd added after a moment. "You have become a very significant member of the stable now. I'm not sure it wise to risk you so recklessly when your popularity is still rising, nor have you fully managed to return your initial investment back in winnings for the House, for that matter. This seems like folly to me."

Looking into her owner's eyes, she could see the vulnerability hidden behind her lies. Sabrina's concerns were clearly not about investments or Leita's standing among the stable or in the arena. Her hesitation was because she was growing fond of her slave, enjoyed sharing her bed with Leita. Her bed and her true self.

When it was just the two of them, Leita could see the real Sabrina Marlowe, lonely and tired of keeping the world always at a distance. She could see too the fear in her owner, fear of both having someone able to get so far past her many defenses, but also afraid of losing that one person who she felt safe enough to allow there. Despite so many things, not the least of which being that Leita was enslaved to Sabrina, they had developed a strange sort of connection, something dangerously close to friendship.

"You say that Master Solivier will help ensure that Master Venge will not correct the Baroness's mistake about my demise." She caressed a hand along Sabrina's shoulder. "Is that not worth a little risk? I am not afraid to face her and I am able to do what I must, my Mistress."

Sabrina didn't immediately reply to that, just searched her slave's face for something she needed to see. Whether she ever found it, Leita couldn't be certain, but the HouseMistress looked away from her as she replied. "I suppose it is. I just fear I have allowed you too much liberty with your place. I should have punished you for not killing her to begin with."

"Then let this BE my punishment." Leita said, drawing her Mistress's face back to meet hers. "Allow me to do what I should have done when you first commanded me to. You know I am proud to represent House Firebridge and all my glory belongs to you, Mistress."

"Please, Leita..." Sabrina began, but the rest of whatever she intended to say stuck in her throat. Finally, she swallowed whatever thought had previously been there and a little bit of that mask she wore around all others slid into place.

"Very well, slave. This will be your punishment then." She said, feigning a measure of arrogance that could not reach her eyes. "Since you could not follow my orders before, you will now be forced into a place where you will not be allowed to defy me again, at cost of death."

"Yes, Mistress." Leita said obediently. "As you command."

Sabrina sighed. "Now stop calling me 'my Mistress' and seduce me." A rapacious grin spread on her face. "I want to be taken by my fierce warrior woman."

Though all further talk of the death match or House Warforger had ceased for the rest of that night, the looming weight of it had continued to hang over the both of them. Leita for the struggle that lay before her and her Mistress for the risk she was taking with this battle. A risk that would take more than just a star gladiator from her if it went badly.

In the end, Leita would be going into this battle better prepared than she had the first time. Already, she had a clearer understanding of what to expect from her opponent. Despite what the assassin claimed about how she'd won, Leita had been at just as much of a disadvantage as the assassin in their first fight. Perhaps, there had been an advantage with her armor, however little it had played, but she felt a sting from the accusation.

"You are Leita?"

The attendant's question snapped her out of her inner thoughts, only now realizing that she'd already reached the preparation room, guards unfastening her restraints so she could be fitted into her armor. "I am Leita, of House Firebridge." She responded.

The attendant sighed, a twinkle of remembrance in his expression. "What weapon do you use?"

She looked towards where her usual suit of raw and boiled leather was typically arranged on a table for the attendants to begin assembling onto her. This time, however, the suit of armor was different, composed of a treated leather under-suit and light metal plating over key locations. Along with it were a set of weapons, sword and shield, of equal quality to the fine armor.

Very likely, the assassin would be suited in something very similar, be suitably armed with a well-made spear rather than the sword. If she had some belief that Leita only defeated her because she was better outfitted, their owners would likely have agreed to both of them having equal quality in their armament. Again, Leita felt a fresh pang of resentment at the whole claim.

It was the same as Kalder continually saying that she'd survived her very first fight on luck alone.

She wondered to herself if that was pride in her ability talking or just arrogance. She had not fought against a truly dangerous, equally equipped, opponent in some time. At least, not here, where such a thing counted. Was it arrogance to want to prove, once and for all, to herself and to others, that she was no longer the frightened and timid girl who'd been dangled half out a window for the world to see her humiliation? She was a gladiator now.

No. She was a warrior.

"Attendant, I will need my dagger and that." She pointed to her choice, sitting over on one of the standard racks before looking to the table with the armor. "As for that, I have a small 'alteration' I'd like to make."

Perhaps it was arrogance. Perhaps she had a right to be arrogant and perhaps she really had only been lucky. Today, she planned to lay those questions to rest. Buried right beside either her or her opponent.

***************************

Trinka, clad in a suit of lightweight leather and plate meant to balance protection with freedom of motion, stood waiting inside the large Ceribos gate, visualizing her plan of attack against the stupid bitch who had ruined her life. Today, she would finally have her revenge on her and tomorrow she would begin planning her revenge on Cornelius Venge. She was also toying with whether or not she should add Donovan Solivier to her list of those who deserved payback. Solivier had not been particularly friendly with her, but had also never been either unfair or cruel.

When it became clear what all his cryptic intentions were regarding this fight, she had almost laughed. Now, she could fully understand why he continued to maintain that there was no need to debate what might happen if she failed to defeat the girl again. In a strange way, it had made her feel more confident that he might actually keep his word to grant her freedom if she won.

If, indeed, she found herself once again a free woman to begin plotting her vengeance tomorrow, she would have him to thank for it. If he simply found some new excuse to keep her in chains, however, she would most definitely make him pay deeply. She felt certain she could find a way to escape, even from him, in time.

She had little concern that she needed to worry about not having a tomorrow at all. If she had learned anything about the girl at all from her last run in with her, it was that the sniveling wench didn't have the guts to take a life. That fact had been since proven repeatedly, based on what she kept hearing, with her unwillingness to even really inflict serious harm to the lots she fought.

The girl had some skills, but she was weak-willed. Trinka had come very close to beating the girl on their last outing, foiled only due to lack of proper preparation for the challenge she'd turned out to be. This time, she was not only evenly equipped, but had spent her days training herself specifically to fight against the girl. She'd prepared herself on how to counter the way the girl fought and what she fought with.

She had even been allowed time to practice in the very suit of armor she currently wore, which would also be the armor provided for the girl. From what she'd been told, the girl was usually given only cheap stiffened leather armor in her fights. That meant she would be less accustomed to it, less acclimated to the differences in weight and flexibility. More, Trinka had been able to determine where the weak points in the armor were. Had prepared herself on how to exploit them.

Her victory was a given, as far as Trinka was concerned. The fact that her very life was on the line only added the fuel to the fire to make sure she left nothing but an unrecognizable corpse in her wake. This wretched girl's string of luck and coddling with unfair fights was over. As would be her continued ability to breath.

She heard the sudden surge of the crowds outside the gate, knew that meant that the girl had exited her gate. She noted a strange pitch to the way the masses reacted, something she couldn't quite pinpoint, but that scratched at her mind. She felt a sudden sense of intuition pass through her, a bothersome thread of concern.

However, she would not allow herself to be distracted by stray thoughts at this point. She was committed now and she could allow no room in her mind for doubt. Inhaling a deep breath, she prepared herself mentally and imagined the body of the girl laying at her feet, bleeding out.

A moment later, the heavy iron portcullis rose with a loud ratcheting sound and the guard holding her weapon, a very well-made battle spear, placed it into her hands. Made of solid steel, the spear was more meant for use as a melee weapon, than designed for being well thrown. Trinka's skill with it involved every inch of the weapon, making the metal shaft as dangerous, in her hands, as the sharp head on its end.

Also, being metal, she had no worry about the girl chopping it in half with her sword. One side of the spearhead was also serrated, making for wounds that would be not only be terribly painful, but far more devastating. She'd already ensured that it was sharp enough pierce the leather under-suit of their armor and she'd practiced putting that point where the metal plates weren't.

However, as she strode out onto the sand and caught her first look at the girl, she had to stop and blink. Her first reaction was surprise, then utter incredulity. She found herself unable to hold back a laugh at the girl's complete stupidity.

Before her, Leita was doing that ignorant salute to the symbol of the conflict god with the weapon she'd chosen. That weapon was a common spear, like what was given to a lot. The only part of the armor that House Warforger had provided her that she was wearing was a single sleeve of the leather, covering her right arm from shoulder to fingertip. The rest of her was clad only in a simple shift of linen so thin and supple that one could make out the outline of her naked body beneath it.

Save for that one arm, the girl could have been a lot who accidently wandered into the wrong fight. The girl was even barefoot. Her toes wriggled in the sand as she made her salute, like a child relishing the feel of fresh mud while at play. The lamb was practically laying down to the slaughter.

The brainless fool turned to face Trinka, showing no sign that she was aware of how stupid she was to forgo not only her armor, but the weapons she knew best. If she truly believed she could match Trinka with a spear, the girl was practically asking to be killed.

As they closed to one another, the sounds of the gathered throngs above rumbled for their show of blood, but even with the cacophony of their voices above, down at the level of the sand, it was not hard for the combatants to hear one another as they drew together.

"Forget to get dressed, my dear?" Trinka snickered as they began to slowly circle one another.

"I wanted to make sure you didn't feel I had been given any unfair advantages." Leita replied, her tone sounding actually sincere, though Trinka was certain it must be meant with sarcasm. Perhaps this was her owner deciding to sacrifice her. The white slip did rather bring up the image of some virgin offering.

Trinka began slowly spinning her spear, watched as, after a beat, the girl began doing the same. "Well, all the easier to be done with this quickly. Not that I intend to make your death that quick."

"If I can, I will make yours swift and merciful." Came the retort, spoken calmly and confidently. The lack of any fear in the girl's eyes once more sent a strange tickle through Trinka, as though some deep part of her was trying to warn her of something. She could feel the tuned instincts she relied on telling her that something was very wrong here.

Of course, those same instincts had failed to keep her from being in this situation to begin with, so she forced herself to rely on her confidence that she was vastly superior in skill to this girl. She may be tricky, but her previous win was a product of nothing more than luck and uneven advantage, she reminded herself. This time, the advantage was Trinka's and luck only took someone so far. She was going to take this girl apart, piece by piece, and savor every drop of blood she spilled.

When it became apparent that her opponent was not going to initiate the offense, Trinka burst into sudden motion, turning her spear point out and making a sudden thrust. Already expecting the girl to dodge aside, she immediately began the pivot of the shaft right behind its completion, bringing it around hard to bludgeon the girl with the iron haft. As she'd expected, Leita juked right into the blow, though she managed to brace her armored arm against it, blunting the hit, but it forced her to release her grip on her own spear with her dominant hand.

Trinka took immediate advantage, reversing the pivot and bringing the serrated edge of her spearhead around to slash at all the exposed flesh of her opponent. To her surprise, the crazy girl planted the butt of her spear into the sand to stabilize it for a block of the swipe, metal haft meeting wooded one. As part of the same movement, she used her planted spear to lift herself into an unexpectedly high kick. Her bare foot hit Trinka in the side of the head hard enough to send her staggering.

Before she could even begin to recover the girl was already launching a fresh attack at her, spear coming up and around so smoothly that Trinka could barely believe it. Her only recourse was to throw herself backwards, away from the attack. It was poorly coordinated, but effective enough. She was able to turn it into a proper tumble, getting back her balance and recovering herself.

As she quickly rolled back onto her feet, she conceded that this girl did have some degree of skill and she needed to give it some respect. She was still confident in her win, but she needed to recognize this girl wasn't someone to toy with. The girl was fast, faster still for the lack of weight in armor that Trinka had on herself.

However, for all her speed and little tricks, Trinka was still the master here. She'd spent years honing her skill and techniques. This girl had only been fighting for a few months. There was no way she could be a real threat. It was time to teach the little whore what she was dealing with.