Slave Unbound

Chapter 12

Skills and Tools

**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.

Within the small space afforded to her by the caged cell in which she waited until time for her to enter the arena, Leita carefully went through various arrangements of different moves Colja had been teaching her. With each motion, she focused on putting her mind into placing her feet correctly and keeping her shield arm up. A part of her wished that the Aljin was there with her, even if only to tell her that she was doing it wrong, as always. She could only hope that she was actually doing it right for once.

Inside, she felt a crazy mixture of fear and excitement, her mind still questioning why a part of her actually wanted to be out on those sands again. All her life, she'd never been anything but a meek and obedient slave, a small girl whose only desire was to keep her head down and serve well enough to never invite punishment. Now, however, a small flame had come to life within her, a need to stand her ground and fight.

It helped to know that she was neither expected to kill or to be killed, though no specific rules of how to determine who'd won had been told to her. From what Colja had said, some fights were merely to the first draw of blood and others were nothing but a show of arms, the lesser fighter conceding to the other. While she didn't hold much hope that she would be the more skilled fighter, still learning as she was, she could only pray that she was the more determined one, or, as Kalder kept saying, simply lucky enough to succeed.

"Well, look who it is." Came a voice from outside her cage, breaking into her thoughts and causing her to lose her step. She looked towards the speaker, an arena guard with an unkept mop of rust-colored hair, confused for a moment by the sight of him standing there grinning at her.

"Um...hello, good ser." She said softly, turning to respectfully face him and lowering her head. "Are you here to fetch me?"

The guard chuckled, shaking his head. "No, no. I just...do you not recognize me?" He asked, the grin on his poorly shaven face widening. "I could unfasten my britches if that might help remind you." He laughed.

For a moment, Leita was even more confused, then it suddenly came to her. "Oh. I'm sorry. No, I do remember you now." She blushed a little, looking away a little awkwardly. "Thank you for the shirt of armor. It saved my life."

"Well, you certainly earned it." He said wryly, leaning on his polearm and leering at her lewdly. "Rather wish I had something new to offer you."

Leita paused, still looking off, before quietly replying. "If I may offer some advice, you should consider changing your diet. Your issue was very bitter. If I might suggest, you should eat more cranberries and melon. It might help."

The guard's mouth opened, as though he were about to reply, but nothing came out. The look of complete surprise at her response was rather amusing. After a moment, he recovered, but seemed still rather taken aback by the comment. "I...um...are saying that, if I did, you would...?"

"No." Leita said softly, almost apologetically, though a slight smile began to peek at the edges of her lips. "I'm afraid you no longer have anything I want, ser. I simply wanted to help out the next girl in a terrible situation that you feel the need to take advantage of. She might be grateful for the small mercy of not having to swallow something that tastes like stale piss."

The guard stood up a little straighter, his expression turning indignant. "I could have just left you naked, you stupid whore." He said sourly. "I'd think you'd have more gratitude."

"I did thank you, ser." Leita said, her voice still gentle, but her words firm as iron. She slowly moved up to press against the bars of her cage as she continued to speak, her head raising to look the man in his mud-brown eyes. "You could have easily taken what you wanted and not kept up your end. You actually did more for me than I expected. Thus, the free advice." She gave a little shrug. "In truth, I took as much advantage of you as you took of me. I've previously learned that it's possible to get a man like yourself to be generous simply by stroking his...'ego'. You had something I needed, so I gave you something that meant nothing to me for it."

From another cell nearby, there was a snicker of laughter, followed by another from somewhere else. The guard's face became even more flustered and annoyed as he stepped right up to the bars of the cell, lowering down to put his face almost nose to nose with Leita's. "You should thank me for just be allowed to suc--"

"GUARDSMAN!" The crisp bark of a nearby guard officer cut through the moment, the superior striding over to them looking furious. "Get away from those bars! Your job is to make sure they don't escape, not put your keys in their reach!" The man pointed at where a ring of keys was dangling from his belt, one of Leita's fingers casually caressing them.

"See, easy to manipulate." She said as the guard leapt backwards, lowering his spear towards the cage and looked completely aghast.

"S-sorry, captain! I...I was just--" He stuttered, his face going scarlet with humiliation.

"I know damn well what you were just doing!" The superior barked. "Get out of here! Go to see to the fighters on the other side." As the guard make a hasty exit, the man came up to Leita's cell, arms crossed. "And you stay away from the cocks of my men! With either your feet or your mouth!"

Leita watched the officer stalk away, but couldn't help but smile broadly, feeling a heady rush course through her. She didn't know where it had come from, but it had felt good not to shrink away from the lascivious guard. It was true that she'd done nothing more for the man than something she'd endured many times before without any reward for it and she had been grateful that he'd held up his end of their ugly bargain. Still, walking out into the arena with the man's foul taste still in her mouth had felt like a final insult to a terrible series of events.

Perhaps that was when the old version of herself did die, leaving behind this stronger, more determined Leita. She'd become something more in that hour of her life, had become--

"You should really not make enemies of the guards you know." Came a voice from a nearby cell, cutting across her thoughts. Looking over, she saw a man, iron collar about his own thick neck, leaning against his own bars and shaking his head at her in amusement. No taller than herself, he was easily twice as broad across the shoulders, his arms thicker than her legs. These attributes, the distinctly ridged brow above his dark eyes, and the short, barb-like protrusions along his jaw-line that peeked out from a his beard showed him as a dvartan, a denizen of the country far to the south.

"I...I didn't plan to taunt him." Leita muttered, suddenly feeling timid again, as though having been caught misbehaving. "I just..."

"Hey, there's no need to explain to me, girl." The dvartan said, waving a hand. "I know what sorts of things women often endure here. I've had to witness some pretty loathsome doings. Still, you don't want to know what kind of things these guards can do to you if you really give them reason to dislike you."

Leita looked down, feeling a bit foolish for stepping out of the behavior that had always kept her safe as a slave. Though, after a moment, she looked back up, the feeling draining away. It actually hadn't, if she was honest. She'd been the perfect, obedient, slave all her life and she'd still been tossed into the arena to be killed; naked and afraid.

"I will try to keep your advice in mind, ser." She conceded to him. "It is good advice."

The stocky man raised an ragged eyebrow at her dubiously, a smile turning up a corner of his lips. "Somehow, girl, I doubt you'll really stick to it. You got too much fight in your eyes. I can see it from here."

Leita laughed inwardly at that. If only he'd known her two weeks ago. "I only hope it's enough to keep me in one piece today." She said, stepping back from the bars and taking a deep breath. "I'm pretty sure what little I've learned this week isn't going to be enough."

"You'd be surprised how much more useful a fighting spirit is than just knowing a few fancy moves, girl." He replied with a low chuckle. "I've seen gladiators that could split a flying gnat out of the air with their sword killed by far lesser skilled foes who simply had more fight in them. Even so, I've been watching your little dance there. I wouldn't say you lack the moves, though it's easy enough to fight empty air. Most people forget all those fancy steps and stabs in the heat of a real fight anyway."

She looked at him, seeming to really see him for the first time. She could see a tangled map of scars all about his bare arms and face, an empty gap in the ridge of one ear, a pinkie that ended one knuckle-bone earlier than it should. "How long have you been a gladiator here?" She asked, leaning against the bars again.

"Hard to say, really." He returned. "At least ten years, maybe twelve? A lifetime for a gladiator, really. After a while, you stop really keeping track of the larger scope of time, just counting the days between fights. All I know is that I've seen a lot of fighters and a lot of fights. The name is Trippard, by the way."

"Leita."

"Pleased to meet you, Leita." Trippard stepped back and gave her a short bow. "What House are you from?"

"House Firebridge. The property of Mistress Sabrina Marlowe." Leita unconsciously dipped her head, something she'd been trained to do since a child when formally announcing the name of her owner.

"Marlowe, eh?" He seemed to weigh that information a moment before continuing. "Not a bad House, some pretty good warriors. I'm a warrior of House Steeldawn."

"I'm not very familiar with any of the other Houses, I'm afraid." Leita admitted. "I barely even know much about my own. At least, as far as the arena is concerned."

"Survive long enough, you'll eventually get to know them all." Trippard replied. "And which ones to fear being set against. Most Houses have at least one or two good fighters, but a few have true monsters."

"Monsters?"

"For some, it's the only term that fits, I assure you." Trippard said with a dark look.

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Seated on the floor of his cell, Evkin Delso took long, measured breaths, centering himself and his mind. Though it was a practice he'd learned for very different reasons than what he used it for now, he had long found this exercise to be of benefit to most undertakings. It cleared the head of distractions and sharpened focus. Often, that focus gave him an edge over his opponents, one of the few he had left.

In truth, while he was no novice with a sword, his real strengths lay in other arts. If he were able to employ those skills, he'd be far more dangerous to any foe he was set against than he was with just a blade and shield as his tools. Of course, were he able to make use of those skills, he'd also not have remained a slave for very long. However, just as a warrior could not make proper war without the tools of battle, he needed very particular tools to make use of his real talent. Luckily, no one actually knew to keep such things away from him, even if it was unlikely that he would ever actually run across them.

In another life, he was a very successful thief and, occasionally, assassin, living a life of great comfort and privilege. He had slaves of his own, once, and sly men on whom he could call to help him handle the more challenging capers he took on. Of course, he also had enemies, people from whom he'd had taken things of great value or their loved ones. It had been one of those enemies who'd been his undoing.

He'd been commissioned by a man to steal an object from the home of a lower noble, a job which should have been quite simple for him. Perhaps that should have been his first warning, but the handsome price he'd been offered to obtain the item had swayed him against any better judgements. What Delso hadn't known was that the man commissioning him had been the brother of a target he'd killed three months earlier. Instead of the object, he found the noble's house to be full of city guard, waiting for him.

Lured into the trap, Delso's career as a professional criminal came to a very sudden end. However, even in defeat, he'd managed some measure of fortune. For one, he was found guilty only of being a thief, meaning that he avoided being sentenced to specifically die in the arena, merely sold into slavery. For another, while his reputation as a formidable combatant saw him quickly bought as a gladiatorial slave, his reputation was only that he was capable with a blade, not that he possessed any other hidden talents.

For the last four months, he'd managed to do well in the arena, defeating many stronger opponents simply by the product of his being more centered and focused. He'd won several honors for himself and his House, slowly building a foundation of trust with his owner. Already he was being afforded more comforts and better opportunities. In time, he'd see a chance to escape his enslavement or, if luck stayed with him, the tools he needed to unlock his secret abilities.

Little did he know, it was about to be his lucky day.

The sound of footfalls approaching his cell brought him out of his meditation, looking up to see two men coming up to him. One was an arena guard, an unruly mess of rust-colored hair atop his head and eyes the color of wet mud. The other man wasn't a guard, most likely an attendant to come prepare him for his fight.

"Rise, slave." The guard said. "It's time."

Delso nimbly rose to his feet, exhaling one last deep breath, and extended his hands between two bars to have his wrists shackled without needing to be directed to. He knew the routine quite well already. The attendant came forward with the usual manacles, the guard stepping closer, likely to ensure that Delso didn't attempt do anything to the man. Not that he had any intention to. Cooperation and being a good little slave only helped pave the way to the growing trust.

The attendant began attaching the manacles, but as he did so, slipped something into one of Delso's hands. It felt like a tiny bag full of something that felt like congealed grease. It was tied off with a length of cord, something hard dangling from the loose end. Had he dared to dream or hope, he would have known it immediately, but being a practical man who expected nothing to come so easily to him, it took him a moment to understand.

"Before you ask, Master Delso, I am here to give you a proposition." The attendant whispered to him, still making a show of attaching the manacles. "I represent an anonymous benefactor who knows what you really are. That benefactor offers a trade of giving you this...'gift' in exchange for making sure that the girl you are about to fight suffers greatly today."

Delso blinked in surprise, opening his hand to glimpse at the tiny bag with the small crystal hanging from its tie. His eyes flicked to the guard standing, he now realized, so to block the view of others. The attendant apparently caught the unspoken question in his eyes.

"Do not worry about him, Master Delso. He wishes to see her suffer as well, for his own personal reasons." The man, now obviously not a House attendant, said with a little smile. "I was very fortunate to catch a little exchange as I was on my way here and took a chance approaching him. He was very eager to help."

The guard's poorly shaven face cracked a malicious smile. "Very eager to help." He echoed as Delso withdrew his hands from between the bars and he unlocked the cage.

"I trust that you can use that to not just win your battle, but bring great hurt to her in the process." The man continued once Delso had exited the cell and began walking with them towards the preparation area. "I trust also, given that so few know you are even capable of using such a thing, that you are well versed in subtle ways to make use of it. My benefactor, your benefactor, gives this to you that you may make use of it afterwards. In...whatever way you choose. But only as long as the girl suffers today. You do not need to kill her. It is intended that she will be made to suffer more in the future, so we would prefer she not die. However, should such a thing happen...well, just as long she dies screaming."

"Just wait until your back in your own House before you do anything after the fight." The guard added lowly. "I may want to see this bitch hurt, but I don't want any of the guards here to pay for it."

"I don't believe either will be a problem." Delso replied softly, already holding the crystal and allowing it to attune to him. "I would not want to attempt an escape from here, too many securities and obstacles, and I do indeed know a lot of very subtle spells."

In his hand, he felt the small shard of quartz adjust to him, tune to his essence, allowing him to focus his mind and will through it. With it and the aetherum in the pouch, he'd finally have access to the magic he'd toiled long years to learn how to do. He'd finally have the key to unlocking not only his real talents, but any doors that lay between him and freedom. It was almost too much to believe.

"How did your 'benefactor' even know about this?" He asked, a thread of suspicion passing through him. "And how do I know that they won't just rat me out the moment I'm done doing their dirty work?"

"I don't know the answer to the first, my apologies, and you don't know the answer to the second, but isn't it worth the chance?" The man returned. "As long as you don't give away your game, they have no reason to tell what they know, as they don't care whether you are a slave or a free man. They simply want to make sure this girl is thoroughly humbled and broken."

Delso considered the words a moment, then nodded. "It will be noticeable when I cast my spells, so you will need to--"

"Do not worry, Master Delso, you will have plenty of time to weave your magicks as we get you suited and armed." The man assured him. "With the fortunate find of our new friend here," He gestured to the guard helping them. "I don't think it will be difficult to procure you enough privacy to do whatever you might need to."

Delso gave another nod, a wicked smile splitting his lips. "Excellent. You will, of course, give my thanks to this 'benefactor'."

"Just remember, she MUST suffer, live or die. Fail in this and you return from the sand to find guards waiting to take your materials from you and ensure you never get hands on them again." The man warned.

"No worries." Delso assured him. "I have no issues with what I'm asked. I've actually done much worse and quite willingly."

As they reached the door to the preparation area, the guard leaned in close to Delso, his foul breath making the thief-assassin wince. "And one favor for me. When she's down on the ground writhing and crying, tell her to try eating some cranberries and melon." He gave a nasty chuckle. "Tell her that it will make her failure taste better."

Delso peered at the man questioningly, a little confused by the request, but shrugged it away. In the end, who cared why, as long as it gave him what he'd been needing these past months. With this, he could enhance his own body, could add temporary enchantments to the sword he was given, and fortify the armor they put him in. Were he able to freely do everything that he knew how to do, this girl would know suffering unlike anything she could imagine, but even with just these simple, subtle effects, he could easily make sure that she experienced all the pain and anguish they wanted her to.