The Beast of Salt (Saga of the Gods #1)

7. Sigvid

7

SIGVID

September 1st, Year 100, 9th Era

Treland Arena

S igvid scratches a tally into the grimy stone wall of his Arena cell with a makeshift shiv.

“How long?” A baritone male voice quips from the cage adjacent to Sigvid’s. It belongs to the current Arena Champion, which everyone just calls ‘Champ.’

“Almost one moon cycle.” Sigvid plucks an apple from his tray and takes a large bite. “You?”

“Three winters and too damn long.” His neighbor laughs bitterly through a full mouth of food.

He is undoubtedly enjoying that evening’s hot meal of roasted pig, root vegetables, and an apple. It is not a bad meal, but they did have pork earlier in the week. Someone in the kitchen iss getting lazy.

Their cells had three walls for extra privacy and are funded by wealthy sponsors, ensuring their downtime is what these lords considered the minimum of relaxation. Sigvid can not help but notice that he and the Arena Champion are the only ones who received the most ‘comforts’ from sponsors .

“Had we gone in the practice ring any longer, I think you would have gotten the better of me, Beast.” Champ refers to him by his Arena name. They found camaraderie in the shared abandonment of their previous lives.

“You did not make it easy.” Sigvid finishes off the apple and tosses the core through the bars of his cell door and out into the dreary hallway. “Three winters is quite a long time spent defending your life.”

Champ is not nearly as tall or thick as Sigvid, yet he compensated with swift reflexes and an even faster tongue. On a good day, he could persuade the dumbest guards to dance like they had gone mad.

“Where did you train before the Arena?”

He laughs heartily. “If you count brawling in taverns as ‘training,’ then every tavern in Pinewater. A rough city in Timber south of Scarwood.”

“Your survival without proper training impresses me.”

“Not all of us grew up with a warrior emphasis. Some of us had to fight men bigger than us for a moldy scrap of bread.”

Sigvid scratches his chin. “Pinewater… Pinewater, ah, does that have the one tavern by the entrance with the big stained glass window of a tree? I was thrown through that once. Maybe it was you?” He laughs.

“A distinct possibility. I was quite fond of my ale back in those times.” Champ’s laugh has a dark edge as if there is an untold story from those haunted nights.

Sigvid recommences his nightly pacing.

Sitting still is suffocating.

“What comforts have your sponsors given?” Sigvid wonders how a new combatant like himself managed a mystery sponsor. Regardless, the person paid for Sigvid’s private cell, daily hot meal, regular baths, and a warm bed.

“Staying alive the longest.” There is a hint of sadness in the Champion’s voice. “The better you do in a match, the more the wealthy want to keep you around for entertainment, no matter how desperately you want to move on.”

Sigvid stops pacing. “You want to move on?”

“It’s complicated,” Champion responds, and silence lapses between them.

“Lights out!” A guard hollers down their hallway just before the lit sconces extinguish, bathing them in darkness.

The following morning welcomes the Arena combatants with a bright, clear summer day and hot air in the exterior sparring rings.

Sigvid fucking hates it. Give me bleak, frigid air along the coast any day.

Champ wraps cloth gauntlets over his dark skin as they prepare for range practice. “Try to avoid any loose arrows. Killing other combatants is strongly encouraged in the Arena, but not in training.” He grabs his bow and quiver before glancing over. “You are annoyingly cranky when they chain you in punishment. Your angry screams interrupted my beauty sleep the last time you hauled off and stabbed someone.”

“What can I say?” Sigvid roughly tosses his quiver over his shoulder. “I resent being caged like an animal. Those who have wronged me should know I will find and destroy them.”

He nocks an arrow and fires. The feathers along the shaft bounce side to side, dead center of the bullseye. Sigvid breathes heavily through clenched teeth.

Queen Avina .

After answering her questions through torture, she still saw fit to sell him to this fate. He would find a means of escape and then exact his vengeance. The Timber Queen will regret every decision she has ever made.

Champ fires off an arrow that strikes true, while his second is a bit off-center. “I have to ask, how did you end up here?”

Sigvid can feel the man’s dark eyes on him.

“I remember the night you were dragged in. All the whispers and then screaming from the Assessment Chamber.”

Sigvid fires another arrow before answering, “I have been at war for two winters. I killed the King, and then the Queen continued the dance.” He sinks three arrows, splitting one atop the other before he is content. “She got the jump on me. I was locked in her dungeon, tortured, and then sent here.” He responds through his teeth as he fires faster with perfect accuracy, creating a mass of arrows in the center of his target.

She will answer for condemning me to this Abyss. And this time, she will have answers for me. Answers for how my father fell from the top of the Sapphire Palace while visiting King Ceowald.

“Queen Avina of the Timber Province?”

He stops firing. “Do you have your own stories?”

Did he want to share anger toward her, or did he enjoy his private stewing? Why did he suddenly feel venomous that someone else might have a connection to her?

Champ shakes his head. “No, but Face will make you feel better.” He whistles toward a younger, handsome man reclining against a practice dummy. He strides over with a pearly white smile.

“Face?” Sigvid raises an eyebrow. “A bit cutesy for an Arena name.”

Champ chuckles. “We thought so, too. When he and his buddy dropped in with flawless skin and clean-shaven faces, we couldn’t help bestowing their Arena names.”

“Face, this is Beast. He’s new to the Arena.” Champion gestures between the two of them. “Face here was one of King Rendel’s personal guards. He shared some horror stories about that fucker, but I thought maybe you’d enjoy hearing how he used to torture the Queen.”

Sigvid’s muscles tense as the young man strides over like he owns the practice ring.

A thin sliver of the Salt Prince grapples with a violent need to disembowel anyone who has ever touched his little Queen, even if the more significant portion of him wants to strike her down.

What happened to only wanting to kill her with my bare hands? The thought of sinking into her fucking eyes like they were the path to the Depths breaks me to my core. Damn this fucking woman. She deserves to die!

“What does it mean to be a lackey of Rendel?” Sigvid is rigid.

Face’s smooth features twist into a sideways smirk that features his all-too-pink lips.

“Where oh where to begin?” He chuckles as he settles his back against the fencing, dividing the archers from the targets. “Rendel hand-picked myself and another man to serve his darker tastes, if you know what I mean.”

“No, I do not.” Sigvid found everything about Face irksome, from his scarless skin to his boyish features and haughty demeanor. He looks like a man who needs a solid punch.

“Rendel enjoyed playing with women of various winters. Our job was to bring them to him and dispose of them.” Face looked at Sigvid as if he should understand.

He did not.

Sigvid found anyone who exploits those who can not defend themselves to be despicable. “You served a monster who enjoyed abusing women.” He growls, feeling his blood boil.

Face tosses his shiny brown locks over his chiseled shoulder with a head jerk. “We served only in his private chambers, ensuring the women he chose did not misbehave.”

Like running away.

“Rendel hired us halfway through his marriage to his second wife. Yet, somehow, my favorite was always Avina.” He licks his lips and closes his eyes in a sick display of savoring a memory.

Why am I so godsdamn furious?

“She fought him every breath of their marriage, tooth and nail. He would frequently have us hold her down so he could fill her barren womb with his seed. My favorite instance was when we held her still for his seed to take while he plowed three other women over top of her.” Face shivers in apparent glee.

Sigvid’s knuckles turn white.

I will bleed you dry. You will die with scars on your smooth skin. Why is this inciting me? Fucking Abyss!

“He ended up tossing her in the dungeon at the end. But, after that barbarian prince brutally murdered Rendel, the Council demanded to know the location of the missing Queen.” He shakes his head. “She sold us out like the little ungrateful bitch she is. The rest of the Manchineels placated her by sending us here. I think partially to hide his true nature.”

Sigvid releases his fists and smiles at Face. “And what was his true nature?”

Face sighs. “The Council wanted to call him a monster, but he was a genius. If only he had killed Avina instead of imprisoning her for two weeks, maybe I wouldn’t be here.”

“From how you talk, you deserve to be here.” Sigvid imagines strangling him to death. No, having him drawn and quartered might be nice. Feed his penis to him while he is still alive. Or rip his lungs out through his back.

Endless possibilities.

“Because I followed instructions and had to put up with a whiny bitch of a Queen? Which Province did you say you were from?”

“Salt. I waged war with Timber for two long winters.”

“Wait a second,” Face steps closer, raising his voice. “Are you Sigvid Thordsson?”

Every combatant in the surrounding area stops their actions.

“The one and only.” Sigvid cracks his neck.

Face bends over laughing. “You had me going there. Who could loathe her more than Sigvid Thordsson? Welcome to the group, man. Here’s to the death of the Queen.” Face extends a hand in greeting with a broad smile.

Sigvid grabs his hand and squeezes until he feels bones shatter beneath his grip.

“What the shit!” He screams, backing away with his withered, limp hand clutched to his chest.

Champion even looks confused, glancing back and forth between them. “Beast is still acclimating.” He says nervously.

Sigvid stomps toward Face. “Come here,” he gestures to himself, “I just want to talk.” He grabs his arm and squeezes his broken hand again.

Face yowls as Sigvid cracks the remaining bones. He pulls him close and splits his cheek open, sputtering blood.

“Whoa, whoa, Beast.” Champion steps forward, pleading. “Let’s have a civil conversation about whatever this is.”

There’s a brief second where Champion’s words permeate through Sigvid’s fury. He flinches and begins to reconsider whether a discussion with Face is a noble idea. Champion’s words whisper again in his ear, and he sways in a fog, almost willing to follow the man’s instructions. Then, the power of the berserker overrides his sense, and he shakes off the notion.

“No, we cannot.” Sigvid growls. He pulls Face back and headbutts him, breaking his nose. “Come on, big bad royal guard, fight back.” Sigvid punches him in the gut, causing him to fall winded to the ground. He towers over Face, waiting for him to retaliate.

Face takes a moment to roll back over onto his back. “You psychotic piece of shit!” His nasally exclaim is comical, “What did I ever do to you?”

Sigvid kneels next to him. His right hand curls around his throat, squeezing tighter until Face gasps for air. “You touched her .”

Face’s eyes widen. “The Queen? But you were at war, you-”

Sigvid tightens his grip and leans down so his lips nearly brush his ear.

“Avina is mine .” The growled emphasis on the last word is so low he is not positive Face hears him. “Her life and her body are mine . I will take the greatest pleasure in reminding you as I tear you limb from limb in the ring.”

Genuine fear flickers through Face’s expression. Sigvid releases his throat, tilting his head to the side, deciding how best to end his life until resigning to kick his chest, breaking ribs.

“Enough.” A whip cracks and the spectators drop to the ground.

It takes three guards to restrain Sigvid and allow Face to withdraw to the Healers.