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As usual, the 'xxxxx'are spaces.
– Odium –
Chapter Six
(3 days later)
Filrah hurried along in the ruin of the building that Braegon had proudly called their 'lair'. It was a letdown to be sure, but the Captain had always painted it as a majestic place, almost like a palace of sorts. And everyone, anyone who saw the real McCoy was bound to feel his expectations lower dramatically. Sure, the building was majestic. Or used to be anyway. It had probably served some higher purpose than that of 'hideout' for raiders like them long before the war had started.
The corridors were littered with the captain's men: many of them still in the throes of sleep, oblivious expressions on their faces, having remotely survived drinking gallons of beer the night before. The others who were awake, however, looked a bit worse for wear, having gotten a hangover from that excessive drinking. They stumbled about on the corridors, clutching the walls for some semblance of support. That method helped them, though Filrah could not help stifling a laugh each time their hands met air and they tumbled into another room. Of which a second later there would be none-too-pleasant shouts, and the man would stumble out, looking even worse than before.
He could have stayed and watched, and laugh himself hoarse. But that was a bad idea in itself, since one, he had an errand to run, and two, it would not bode well for his well being. With those thoughts in mind, he quickly went along, carefully skirting the drunken men, before arriving in front of one of the few wooden doors in the lair. Without thinking, he pushed it open and stepped in. The room was dark, save for a small square of sunlight coming through the window, if it could be called that.
"Hello?" he shouted, looking around for some sign of life, or tampering.
Perhaps she had –
A derisive snort broke his chain of thoughts, even as he wondered how to account for her disappearance. As he looked towards the sound, she stepped up from the room's darkest corner.
"You know, back where I came from, we used to knock before we entered. But I'm guessing that that's not the custom here."
Filrah stuttered, not knowing how to answer that remark. Not that it really mattered, for Kyelia just continued speaking.
"In case you are wondering, a drunk comrade of yours stumbled in yesterday. Mind you, I don't really like to be interrupted in my sleep."
"You didn't kill him. Did you?" he asked cautiously.
"You don't see any dead bodies here do you? Anyway, I just sent him on his way" –Filrah heaved a sigh of unspoken relief –"he just will remember not to stumble without invitation into another's room again. That's all."
It was all the lad could do not to groan. Not that he blamed her though. If he could remotely even fight, he would also prevent those 'comrades' of his from entering his room in their drunken stupor.
"So I'm guessing you are feeling better," he remarked dryly.
"And I'm guessing you did not just barge in here to exchange pleasantries."
There was a slight pause before she continued.
"What does he want now anyway?"
xxxxx
Braegon paced around in the main room. It had been fifteen minutes since he sent the boy on his way, and he had not returned yet. Was the girl missing? Or perhaps something had happened to him on his way? Could the girl have forced him to help her escape? Maybe–
"Captain," he heard one of his men speak. "They are here."
A flick of his hand and the girl was led in while the boy was dismissed.
Another flick and his men left him alone with the girl, closing the door behind them.
"Come here."
The girl looked properly terrified, and reluctantly took a few steps forward. Satisfied, Braegon sat in his chair –and the only one in the room –and looked at her. The girl seemed strong enough, and one of those that would not go down without a fight. He liked that attribute in his fighters, and after that, 'will' and 'determination' were an added bonus.
"You can fight."
Kyelia stared at the man. That seemed phrased to be more of a solid statement than a tentative question, and how did one answer something like that? But apparently her silence was more than enough reply to the well-built man in front of her.
"Well enough. Do you suppose we can make a trade, just between the two of us?"
She was immediately cautious. Considering these people and what they did for a living, she highly doubted the 'trade' would benefit her, not would be it even somewhat legal.
"What kind?"
She watched as the man leaned back in his chair, and began giving her a long-winded speech on some 'game' that the underground had every year, one that involved trained fighters, representing the various 'groups'. She heard as he skirted any detail of death, gore and disembowelment, going on about the 'honor' of it all and the main motivator of it all: gold. It was interesting definitely, and amusing to listen to him recount his days as one of them. However, she had no idea how could this be linked to a 'trade' of sorts. More like making use of the other side, perhaps.
Half an hour had passed before Braegon stopped and looked at her expectantly, while she looked back blankly. He expected an answer of sorts, and she had no idea how to answer.
"You want me to fight for you?" she finally forced out, narrowing her eyes at Braegon. "What kind of trade is that?"
"Well," he exhaled. "You will be fighting for us, meaning representing the raiders in this lair. As for the trade, I was, well, I was getting to that. You see, whenever a fighter wins a round, the party will get all of what the losing party had betted on their fighters, including half of the on-lookers makings. As you can do the sums, it added up profitably. As long as you keep winning for us, and we get money, we will treat you like one of us–"
"How lucrative."
"That's not all, you know. As I was saying, if you keep helping us win, at the end of it all, I will let you go, and pretend that you were never with us. Then we go on with life as normal, and you go on your way to wherever you are headed to. How does that sound?"
"You left out the part detailing what happens if I die."
"And that will happen as soon as the sky breaks asunder upon us. You did dispatch more than half my company of men those days ago. In less than eight minutes I must add. Though I often wonder why you didn't kill the rest of us."
A corner of her mouth curled into a smirk, "well, then the real underworld would be a little too crowded, would it not?"
"Charming," Braegon uttered, then speaking in a louder tone, he continued, "so we have a deal?"
"When does it start?"
"Tonight."
xxxxx
Kyelia stared at the blank walls of her room. The talk with the captain had mentally drained her, and she was not completely healed yet. Reaching up, she softly prodded the injured area on her head, wincing as it throbbed and gave out random stabs of pain. Compared to the pain in the morning, this was considered an improvement, no matter how little. At least when she got knocked on her head tonight, she would still be able to continue, which she hoped was a good sign.
Although she had no idea how to fight without her weapons, or rather, all but one of her weapons, she thought, fingering the Gondorian short sword in her hand. The Captain probably trusted people quite easily, considering he never gave thought as to the fact that she could kill him in a flash if she even wanted. But a deal was a deal, and even those in dirty dealings like them would hold to such a thing, wouldn't they?
If only I even remembered to ask him about my weapons!
If I could just have them with me...now.
As if in answer to her thoughts, a knock sounded on her door. A second later, it was flung wide open and Filrah stepped in, dragging a huge brown sack of something: a something that was struggling and moaning at the same time. He had a triumphant grin on his face, even as he looked at her proudly.
"Care to share in the secret?"
"Remember that I told you about the man who was given a tongue-lashing for hitting you?"
"I may have lost my freedom, but not my mind."
Filrah ignored that remark. "Anyway, as I told you, Captain's going to let you give him a taste of his medicine. In short, do whatever you want to him. Just do not kill him: Captain still has some other use for him. Oh, and once you have finished with him, you can have your weapons back."
"This is definitely the first time I am to beat someone up to get something."
xxxxx
Her sword lay in front of her in surprisingly good condition. Someone had taken care to wipe the blood –that would otherwise stain it –off it, and polish it. There was not a hint of dust on it at all, despite it spending five days somewhere –probably in some dark, dank room. Even her quiver was cleared of any desert dust etc that was gathered on her trip here. It was half-filled with arrows that looked somewhat –and most probably so –Gondorian, which made her reckon that it was a no-holds-barred fight for survival.
The return of her weapons, and even her pack did not come cheaply though. After a while of plummeting the pitiful man, her fists –though wrapped in tough leather –had started to hurt, and she decided that it was enough for both the man and her. However, a guard that Braegon sent was apparently still not satisfied.
As it was, the underground meaning of "do not kill him" was another way of saying "beat him still he is only hanging by a thread, and less than an inch from death". Which was indeed disturbing, since the fight rules also stipulated that for the first two rounds, one was "not to kill the opponent". If that was so, that meant she would not be able to win that round till her opponent was "an inch from death"?
If so, that would be difficulty in itself.
xxxxx
The tavern where it was held had a tad more taste than the other one, and many times cleaner, although she highly doubted it would be that way after the fights. Braegon and Filrah were with her, along with some other raiders.
She had eavesdropped upon the conversation that Braegon had with his men about her. They had been adamant that a female was to represent them. Could they not find a fighter of the male species? An argument had rose quickly and fiercely, only quenched when Braegon had asked one of them to volunteer himself. As usual, they were all talk and no action, and no one stood up, so as default, they had to go with her.
The fighters were disallowed from watching the other fights, and all had to stay in the back, anxiously waiting for their round. Kyelia was worried. She had seen winners and losers alike come back equally bloodstained and inches from death. The only difference was that one was standing and the other was unconscious, some almost at the point of no return.
As Braegon excused himself to get some drinks, Filrah turned to her, worry in his eyes. They had become friends in the past few days, and though he had not seen a proper fight yet, he knew of the consequences. She heard as the lad tried to persuade her to withdraw, and when she had declined, insisting that she would be fine, had wished her well with some resignation before returning to his drink.
Braegon soon came back, excitement clear in his eyes as he told her the details of the just-concluded match. Bloodlust was in his eyes, as it was in the audiences that randomly came out to get their money from dealers. It seemed that for nights like these, beer and girls were out of the agenda, as if they had not existed. Instead, it was the violence of it all that kept them awake.
"Captain! It's her turn!"
Kyelia looked around blankly as she was hauled to her feet. Butterflies flew in her stomach, and she faintly wondered why she was feeling so giddy. She was led into the tavern, where the crowd burst into cheers at the sight of her. She saw money, changing hands as bets were made anew, and she faintly heard Braegon whispering tips in her ear, catching only parts of it.
"They always play dirty-"
"Look out… surprises"
"Do not kill"
"-No rules for now"
She nodded her head absently, fingering her sword on her back, and feeling the other sword inside the lining of her boot. Her opponent was already on the platform waiting for her, and looking at the platform, she swallowed nervously. It was roughly rectangular and huge, but it was not enough for maneuvering properly, which explained the blood and cuts on the other fighters.
Taking a deep breath, and climbed onto the platform, her head but half-a-meter below the ceiling. Turning around, she surveyed the crowd, seeing only but bloodlust and more bloodlust reflected in those orbs of theirs. Their mouths open and closed as they chanted "kill, kill" as one. It was almost impossible to breathe in that space, and the heat was rolling off everyone in beads of sweat.
Finally, she brought her eyes to the barmaid taking charge of the match. Her lips were pursed as she glanced around, and held her hands up for silence. She grinned when she was satisfied, ringing to the huge bell beside her.
The match had started.
Tbc…YAY! Another chapter done! The next chapter's half done, and I'm gonna try to finish that asap since I'm really really running behind and I don't really like it.
Please Review! I'll give you a hug!
Mysterious Jedi: Just say the boy is not doing anything illegal... (:
LoTRwriter27: I hope this update is soon enough... though I don't think so. Your fic is really interesting! Do update soon too!
lindahoyland: Thanks for reviewing! Must say, I'm enjoying your fics too!
wene: Not sure whether I will kill Aragorn or not... that depends on Kyelia's skill. Heh. And 'gay' can also mean 'happy'!
Turiel: Hey there! Glad to know you're enjoying my story! grins
melo: Slaying not in this chapter sadly, but in the next. And this is chapter 7! Aragorn-slaying... smirk Guess you have to wait, don't you...