Chapter 21
Rising From the Mud
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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.
The training pitch of House Firebridge was a slippery mire of grainy mud, cold from the pouring rain and the chill breeze blowing it in. The gladiators were all soaked to the skin from the heavy shower, many dripping with a brownish soup from repeated spills, due either to loss of footing or having a sparring partner send them to the ground. Some seemed to be enjoying it, but most were far less enthused by being forced to train in such weather.
Despite being covered head to toe with mud and muck, Leita was among those who found the chill rain refreshing and did not particularly mind the sludge through which she was stomping. She'd already figured out how to use the slick surface to her advantage, agilely skating about on the slick when she made dodges. Not to say that she'd yet perfected it, as she ended up falling or losing control about as much as not.
Though the hard rain washed off most of the mud, which was already too liquid to be overly sticky, her hair was near black from the filth and wet, slapping about her face like heavy lashes. Rivulets of brackish water flew from her limbs as she swung about, keeping a heavy barrage of attacks going on her current partner. He seemed far less steady on his feet than she was, only barely keeping from slipping every time he took a step.
Leita's secret to a more secure purchase was having abandoned her sandals and going barefoot. Her toes gave her far better traction than the smooth soles of the footwear, something he seemed not to realize or believe. Struggling to stay upright, the unbalanced gladiator was mostly focused on just trying to keep his shield deflecting both of the swords that Leita was using. So focused, in fact, that he was completely unprepared when Leita suddenly pivoted on one foot, tilted her body sideways, and brought up the other foot to plant solidly into the center of that shield, all in a single, fluid motion.
The sudden impact of her kick against the shield sent him sprawling backwards to land with a thick splash. Leita deftly recovered from her motion and stepped up to cross the two training blades around the man's neck. He sighed as he dropped his own weapon, conceding defeat.
"That was sickening to watch." Kalder grumbled as came up, the rain washing down his rock-like body, making him look dark and shiny. "You do realize that this was the first time she's even tried using two weapons, Boske. You looked like some green lot, fresh to the field!" He glanced at the brown footprint in the center of the shield, already quickly disappearing in the downpour.
"Pretty fancy kick, Leita." He said without actually looking at her. "Of course, had he not fallen down, it would have left you completely defenseless." He reached down to help Boske up. "And, if it hadn't been so wet and slippery, I assure you, he wouldn't have fallen down. You need to remember that you're still just a small girl versus opponents almost twice your size and thrice your weight."
He finally turned to look at her. "Fancy will get you killed, little girl. Stop trying to pretend you're a sidil or aljin and leave their frou-frou styles to them. You were already winning, don't start showing off."
Leita frowned at him, but gave a nod to say that she understood him. Inwardly, she mused that this was still the closest he'd come yet to actually paying her a compliment. As he walked away, she looked to Boske, who nearly fell over again just trying to get his footing back in the mud. "Go again?" She asked.
The other gladiator shook his head wearily. "I need a break from all this rain for a minute." He said sourly. "I'm half frozen and sick of trying stand up in this slop." He gave her a sardonic grin. "And, I can't keep up with your 'frou-frou'." He gave a chuckle, shaking his head and glancing towards where Kalder was now shouting at a couple other gladiators about various shortcomings he saw in their own styles.
"For what it's worth, maybe it was the mud what made me actually fall, but that kick would have definitely left me staggering long enough for you to recover." Boske said in a confidential tone. "You may be short, but you aren't weak."
Leita gave him a grateful smile. Very few in the stable still agreed with Kalder's original assessment of her. She felt certain that even Kalder only clung to that opinion out of pride and stubbornness. And a mutual dislike. Regardless, most were unwilling to voice any support until the massive champion was out of earshot.
As she began looking for a new sparring partner, she considered how much stronger she was now than when she'd first arrived. Though she'd had pretty good strength when she'd first arrived, she'd spent a lot of time since pushing herself to further develop it alongside her general combat skills. She had always been lean and firm-bodied, but now she had significant definition. She was on par, or stronger, than at least a third of the men in the stable, if not half.
Of course, there was no fixing the difference in height, with nearly everyone, male or female, being at least a head taller than her. However, Sasinel repeatedly told her that being smaller could be a significant boon, if one knew how to make use of that. She'd been teaching her maneuvers and techniques where her lower center of gravity made her quite a threat. Much of it was also possible to use without even having a weapon.
As she was thinking about the sidil, she spotted Sasinel on the pitch, looking towards where Cookie was sitting, naked, in the mud to one side of the yard, sulking bitterly. Coming over to her friend, she turned her own gaze to the broken-looking concubine. "She faces her first real opponent tomorrow. Think she's going to manage to free herself?"
"If her opponent is a child or feeble, perhaps." Sasinel clucked. "There is no question that Mistress will make sure that is not the case, I am sure." She gave a slight shrug. "I assume she will just surrender, praying for no pain."
There was little question that the concubine had not taken her fate well. Despite it giving her the chance to survive, whereas the Mistress would have certainly had her put to an immediate death, Cookie had spent every day doing very little to prepare herself for the arena. The first couple of days, she'd been battered and mocked by Kalder and others, none of which had really been attempting to teach her anything. Even them, she'd done nothing more than cry and cower the whole time.
After those initial days, no one had made any effort to force her to spar or learn anything. Cookie had made no effort either, only spent each day of training sitting at the edge of the yard, knees drawn to her bare chest and pouting. Likely, she considered it pointless to even try to learn anything, assuming that anyone who might agree to help teach her would, most likely, only take the opportunity to punish her for years of abusive behavior to the stable.
Not that she hadn't endured quite a bit of that off the pitch. Several of the male gladiators had taken it upon themselves to 'invite' Cookie to spend her nights in the male bunk rooms, where Leita tried very hard not to imagine the sort of things she endured during those dark hours. She was summarily bullied just about any time she wasn't in the training pitch, with not just members of the stable, but guards, servants, and even other house slaves, all taking every opportunity to take their pound of flesh from the horrible woman.
While some, like Colja, Sasinel, and herself, had merely turned a blind eye and a cold shoulder to whatever the woman was going through, no one seemed willing to extend anything resembling mercy to Cookie. For her part, Cookie had no more made an effort to appeal for any sort of forgiveness than she had to prepare for the combat she was soon to face. In fact, despite everything, she still projected a venomous attitude towards everyone, which only served to balm the conscience of anyone who actively tormented her.
"I suppose it would be much better for me if she didn't try." Leita said absently. "I have no doubt that she would seek revenge on me if she ever did manage to regain her freedom."
"I expect that Mistress will seek a lot for her that is likely to do her injury, surrender or not, as I am sure she would have preferred seeing her executed." Sasinel sighed, sounding close to pity. The sidil had more to dislike of Cookie than most. While the concubine only lorded over the rest of the House as the Mistress's right hand, in Sasinel's case, Cookie had delighted in far more disturbing debauchery. Leita knew that only the sidil's sense of honor and discipline kept her from heaping her own punishments onto the foul woman.
Leita considered Cookie a moment, turning a thought in her mind. "No one should die on their knees." She finally responded, deciding something within herself. "Either to a headman's axe or an enemy's spear."
With a sigh, she walked over to Cookie through the pouring rain, the two practice swords still in her grip. For a moment, she simply stood there, looking down at her, waiting for the concubine to acknowledge her. When no such acknowledgement came, she dropped one of the practice weapons into the mud in front of her.
"Pick it, and yourself, up." Leita said firmly. "I'm going to teach you how to use it."
Cookie glared at the dowel-like sword with a repulsed look. After a moment, she raised her eyes to give the same look to Leita. "Come to finally take out your own grievances with me?" She croaked in a hateful tone. "Must figure this is your last chance before I die tomorrow."
