Bloodguard

chapter 23

Leith

The woman standing at the door to the cottage is not Maeve.

Giselle is wearing brown today—gloves, dress, boots, cape. She looks like a fucking tree trunk. A nice tree trunk, but still… “What do you want?”

She turns behind her, to where Caelen, his hair braided above the shaved sides of his head in the style of Arrow’s military elite, raises his eyebrows at me. “ Did you see where it went?” she asks him. The little thing lifts her skirt and checks her feet. “ It’s got to be around here somewhere.”

“ What are you doing?” I demand.

“ Just looking for my will to live,” she says. “ Your idea of a good morning sent it running.” She offers me one of her hands. “ Care to try again?”

Her leather gloves give me pause. They’re thick, closer to what a blacksmith would use, and very unlike the fine dress and cape she wears now.

She clears her throat.

I roll my eyes.

“ Good morning, Giselle,” I force myself to say, shaking her hand quickly.

I nod at her companion. “ Caelen.”

A nod is all he offers, and I could give a damn.

She claps her hands. “ Splendid. Let’s go. We need to be back before nightfall.”

She snags my wrist, but I don’t budge.

“ Come on, the horses are ready. Why are you dawdling?”

I do not dawdle .

“ Where do you think you’re taking me?” I growl.

Giselle simply beams. Perhaps her will to live is back in place. “ Your barracks. Maeve has business in the castle, and she asked us to escort you.” She spreads her arms. “ See, the fun has just begun.”

I debate telling her and her companion to piss off. But I do want to return to the barracks. And there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say, but I need to retrieve some things.

We mount, and they mercifully allow me to set the pace. We follow a bumpy, barely there trail through the forest surrounding the Iamond family manor, and I even manage to keep my seat as we do it. Credit for both achievements is owed exclusively to my mare, Star. Giselle rides just behind me with her bodyguard beside her. He doesn’t say much, but I’ve noticed Caelen always shadows her, and not for the first time, I wonder at their relationship.

Star’s heavy hooves pound against the moist ground, kicking mud and grass up behind her. The sound reminds me of those damn drumbeats in the arena, and I grimace, hating the way my body instinctively tenses in preparation for another fight.

As we reach a break in the trees at the top of the ridgeline, the terrain starts to change. A long, winding road snakes down this side of the incline. As we descend, the lush pines and dense forest give way to a rocky landscape littered with weeds and thorny plants and not much else.

Caelen draws to a stop partway down. “ This is it?” he asks, pointing to the barracks in the distance where I lived with the other gladiators.

“Yes. ”

Rows and rows of large wooden buildings with poorly patched roofs fill a vast, walled square. In each tower along the points that make up the compound, royal guards, bored to pieces, pretend to keep watch.

A dense copse of thorned fire bushes—red-leafed plants that burn like hell if the leaves touch your skin—ring the barracks walls, keeping us in and everyone else out.

“ Which is yours?” Caelen asks.

“ The one at the end, on the left,” I mumble, but it’s sure as hell not mine . It’s where I was brought as a fresh recruit and where I met Sullivan. He’d been there longer. We didn’t talk right away. No one did. Why strike up a conversation with someone who’d likely be dead in a week? Or worse, someone who might become a friend.

As we follow the weather-beaten path down to the barracks past the bare patch of dirt where competitors are loaded like wild animals into the caged wagons that transport us to the arena, we have a good view of the open area where we practice. It’s mostly dirt, sometimes mud or even ice depending on the season. Beq the ogre wields his favorite stick, howling a challenge to those practicing throwing longer sticks like spears on the range.

“ Come!” he calls. “ Fight.”

Several others duel hand to hand in designated sparring circles beside him. Some turn, debating whether to take him up on the challenge. Most don’t. He’s good with that stick. He’s also good at swiping your shit if you don’t hide it well enough.

Caelen frowns as we close in on the compound’s tall, spike-topped iron doors. I almost laugh at the way he looks at the old rusty things, his features alerting me that he’s offended by this place.

“ They don’t have barracks on the front lines?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “ Not like this. As a former soldier himself, Vitor provides the best care to Arrow’s fighters.”

Well, therein lies the difference. General— Regent —Vitor prizes his militia. They’re valuable. We’re nothing more than live entertainment.

“ My lord?” the sprite guard calls from her perch at the tower. She flaps her gossamer wings as she lands. She’s not greeting Caelen. She’s just confounded by the fact that he’s here. I get it.

“ No one is permitted within a mile of these barracks unless first screened by Lord Vitor,” she says. She and the others hold their ground as much as they dare. Caelen comes from a noble house, and he’s a high-ranking military official in his own right.

Giselle, though, is the one who replies. “ This gladiator has earned favor from our beloved Princess Maeve, and she currently sponsors him,” she says. “We ’re here to collect his belongings and be on our way.” She loses her polite tone. “Move, ” she tells them.

The guards flanking the sprite edge away, not wanting to offend Caelen, who has his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The sprite steps back, her beelike eyes blinking madly. Her lingering apprehension softens when Caelen drops several coins in her palm, and she damn near sinks her sword into the cohorts who rush in to demand their share.

We slide off our horses, tying their reins to a designated post out front, and Caelen motions for me to take the lead.

The slanted buildings inside the camp are made of mismatched wooden beams with colors ranging from the gray of an old man’s beard to the brown of toadstools pushing through the dirt. Caelen straightens as a group of gladiators spills from the opening of the building to our left and rushes to the rear of the compound, a battle cry rising.

“ Who are they attacking?” Caelen asks, sweeping Giselle behind him.

“ No one,” I say. “ It’s Tuesday. Their building gets to eat first.”

We cross the yard in the direction they ran. The line stops in front of Heene, the human cook, who lifts one of the wooden bowls from the stack beside him and pours a ladle of fairy elm soup.

He’s generous with his helpings. Everyone knows it, which is why they’re all but stoning one another to be first.

Never mind. They are stoning one another.

“ They’re hitting each other with rocks!” Giselle gasps, echoing my thoughts.

“Yes. ” I shrug. “Except for some wooden swords you couldn’t stab through parchment, weapons aren’t easy to come by here.”

The guards march forward to break up the fight. Not quickly, mind you—like I mentioned, they’re bored to shit. Heene pours a bowl and hands it to the troll who’s smart enough to move away from the escalating brawl. He dips all six fingers of his right hand into the soup and licks them clean. He must enjoy his broth with a dash of dirt and sweat.

Caelen pulls Giselle along to keep pace with me. They had stopped to watch, not understanding the gladiators in the food line were probably going extra hard in the hopes of winning Caelen’s or Giselle’s favor. No. They’re not in danger of being killed. Not here with me. But they will get more attention than they’re ready for.

“ They feed you broth here?” Caelen says. “ That’s your meal.”

He doesn’t bother calling it fairy elm soup. Probably because it’s not damn soup. It’s just like he said. Broth. And broth is bullshit.

“ It has protein, and the cook adds minerals.” I point back toward the barren, rocky expanse that we traveled over in the last leg. “ This was a quarry at some point,” I say, explaining.

“ They add rock dust to your soup?” Giselle is incredulous.

A pang of resentment builds, and I tamp it down. It wasn’t always like this here. And the circumstances I— we —found ourselves in were not of Caelen’s or Giselle’s making.

I cut a sharp left, stepping over a body. The barely conscious elf came from my homeland of Siertos. He arrived less than a month ago. He claimed he’d never heard of my family and walked away from me into a group of gator shifters that had impressed him more. The bite mark along his bare chest tells me they weren’t as impressed by him.

Every new arrival is “tested.” Some fare better than my countryman did.

The barrack where I sleep is the next one we reach. I think that, like the rest of the buildings, it once had a porch. The pillars that support the overhang remain, but the wall that should separate the outdoors from the indoors is long gone, to create more space for all the idiots like me who were recruited for a game no one really wins.

I step into the empty room, thankful we arrived during mealtime. Dragging two nobles through a barrack full of gladiators is not my idea of fun. Our wooden “bunks” are really just stacks of large, rectangular crates, piled five high and open on one side. The bucket of water in the corner is our sink, and the uselessly barred window at the rear is a place to relieve ourselves when the weather is too perilous to reach the shitter.

I arrived from Siertos during one of the worst summers Arrow was said to have endured. I almost chose the bunk in the center, where I could stick my head out and enjoy some semblance of a breeze. But then I noticed that older men, even giants, all chose beds against the walls. There was one left with a few people eyeing it, so I claimed that one for myself. Everyone else took a bed in the center. Though the heat made it tough to sleep that first summer, I thought about hanging a blanket from the top beam for privacy, and I eventually did. Not even for the peace I sought, but to keep out the harsh wind and cold that struck us the moment summer surrendered to fall. The actual walls in this place did little more to buffer against that cold.

When it came to attacks during the night, the middle bunks took the brunt of them. Vulnerable in all directions.

Since then, I graduated to the third level of bunks. I feel for the tear in my meager bed pad, rummaging through the lumpy, straw-filled sack until I find the letters from my family hidden inside. I tuck them into my shirt. It’s the only thing I came here for. The only object in the world I care about. Just holding them grounds me so much that I almost smile, remembering the day I showed Rose how to sneak her letters into the courier’s cart to send for free. In my absence, Beq the ogre may claim my spot. Let him. I’ll take it back, but I’ll be damned if I let him screw with the things I can truly call my own.

I’ve started to lead them out when Pega, Ioni, and Rye saunter in.

“ Told ya it was Leith,” Rye says. A gash on his forehead held together by stitches Ioni or someone sewed is bright red and infected.

My injuries aren’t infected, my clothes aren’t hanging by threads, and I’m not dirty. I’m healthy. I’m fed.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt worse.

Rye wipes his dirty face with the back of his hand. It doesn’t do him any good, since his arms are about as clean as his bare feet.

Pega tries to smooth out her bright hair when she sees Giselle. “Nice cape, ” she says, not meaning it. The dwarf looks no worse off than the last time I saw her. No better, either. “ Ya nanny press it for ya?”

Giselle unfastens her cape and hands it to her. “ I’m glad you like it. Consider it yours.”

Pega stares at it hard. She wants it, but we all have our pride. It’s a constant tension, accepting help versus surviving when we can only depend on ourselves. “ I’m not your charity case, Princess.”

Giselle makes a face. “ And I’m not a princess.” She pulls a large pouch from a pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt. “What I am is your new sponsor who is generous with gifts.”

Ioni tries to take the cape. Pega bites his hand. “ Ouch!” he yelps.

“ My sponsor, my cape,” Pega tells him. She beams proudly.

Sponsorships used to be more plentiful. But with matches to the death, gladiators aren’t a great investment anymore.

A shadow thumps its way into the barracks. Holy hell. Luther!

Relief showers me like a warm summer’s rain. He’s better, but his leg still looks bad. “Heard…you…here.” He grunts and I think even smiles. I know I do.

“No … touch! ” he grunts.

I turn and realize he’s talking to Caelen, who’s leaning over Pega’s bunk, looking into her cups. Some are filled with dirt and others with filthy water. “ Yeah. Don’t touch them,” I warn.

“ I wouldn’t,” Caelen says. He eyes me closely. “ They’ re maggots. ”

“ And leeches,” Pega adds, smiling proudly with what remains of her teeth.

“ They’re not her pets,” Caelen says, stating the obvious. He sighs, weary. “ This is what you use to clean your wounds?”

I keep quiet. He already stated the truth.

“ What else do we have?” she asks. She looks back to Rye. “ Come on. You need a good leeching if we’re gonna keep what’s left of your forehead.”

Rye takes a seat opposite Luther. Luther used to sleep on the floor, but a few weeks ago, a bunch of us removed two of the bunks and put them end to end so he could have a bed. It was Sullivan’s idea, even though he got mad when Luther thanked him.

“ Um, before you use your little buddies over there,” Giselle says, appearing a little green, “ take these.”

Luther’s small eyes widen to their fullest when Giselle pulls out several small vials from the pouch. “ For…me?” he asks carefully.

Giselle nods and starts handing out Maeve’s treatments. “ For all of Leith’s friends.”

Ioni laughs. “ So, we’re friends now. Is that right, Leith?”

Maybe they are. Shared misery has a way of bonding people. Why not? I answer with a small nod. Ioni’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, and then his mouth curves into a tremulous grin. Pega opens one of the vials and scrunches her wide nose. “ How do we know these work?” She’s smart to whisper. We might be alone for now, but the walls are thin, and you never know who will pass by.

Luther holds out his leg. It’s not perfect, and neither is his health, but it’s a damn sight better than what it would’ve been. “ It work,” he says.

The gladiators hurry forward. I help Luther, and Pega and Giselle alternate between Ioni and Rye. We try to keep quiet and move fast. Around here, these potions are worth more than gold. I can ask Maeve for more later, but for now, I want to help those closest to me.

Caelen ambles to my side, watching me rub the paste Maeve created onto Luther’s red and oozing knee.

“ There’s supposed to be an infirmary,” Caelen says. “ Was that a lie, too?”

“Nah, ” Pega says. “ That’s still there.”

“ Why not go, then?” Caelen presses. His revulsion is as obvious as the damage to Luther’s leg. He’s not disgusted by the injuries. He’s disgusted by our situation.

“ Why should we?” Ioni mumbles. “ So they can drug us, cut off our limbs because it’s cheaper than healin’ ’em, and claim to have saved us? Nah, then we really wouldn’t survive, would we?”

Giselle shakes her head and hands out envelopes stuffed with mixtures of healing herbs.

“ Make sure Ned gets some,” I add softly.

Luther nods.

“ The ones with red ink treat burns,” Giselle explains, taking a cue from the gladiators to lower her voice. “ The blues and greens fight infection. Yellow, mix with water and drink it slowly. That one’ s for fever. ”

Maeve wrote instructions on the envelopes, but Giselle is the one who recognizes that not everyone present can read.

There’s a shift in the wind and voices approaching. I don’t have to tell the gladiators to hide their stashes.

“ Time to leave,” I say.

Giselle takes Pega’s wrist and pulls her along. I guess she’s going to take that sponsorship seriously.

“ You remind me of my nephew,” Pega says, her tone gathering a sadness I haven’t seen before in her. “ Always dragging me about, showing me something.”

Caelen turns before we leave. “ The gladiator Pega will stay with me, but I shall return with whatever you need.”

Luther, Rye, and Ioni nod and smile their thanks, and for them, that’s a lot.

The sun has just begun to set as we head out.

A group of guards is carting an ogre’s body away as two others fight over his abandoned stick. Beq is dead.

I don’t have to worry about him taking my spot.

I just have to make sure I’m not next.