131 Days: House of Pain (Book 2) by Keith C Blackmore

Author:Keith C Blackmore [Blackmore, Keith C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Keith C Blackmore
Published: 2014-07-23T22:00:00+00:00

20

Borchus noticed him almost right away.

The Zhiberian stood out like a boil on a sick cow’s ass. There was nothing harder on the eyes than an unshaven brute of a foreigner, bruised, cuts crisscrossing his chest, his waist bandaged tight. It further amused the agent that Halm, his dark features pensive and hawkish, scanned the masses lined up for the Domis, obviously searching for someone. The very sight of him made Borchus wonder what in Saimon’s name might have lured the topper from the sewers. He had better things to do, though, and actually made it a point to join the people walking past the Zhiberian and head into the arena under his nose. Whatever the punce thought he was doing, Borchus would leave him to it. He and Garl had left the cellar that morning and parted ways near the Pit. The spy was a nervous kettle, but he went off to do his job, mostly because Borchus promised him he’d be watching.

That lasted only a few moments.

While Borchus felt somewhat guilty for deserting his spy, he still had to consider his primary task for Goll. The stairway leading down into the hell known as general quarters could have been found by smell alone. The stench issuing from the dark below made Borchus wonder if the sewers to the massive underchamber had been somehow damaged or blocked. The air smelled as if an entire pack of dogs had voided somewhere down in the blackness, ripe enough that Borchus wanted a rag for his mouth and nose. Still, he descended, loathing how hot the air was becoming, feeling the sweat ooze from his pores. He passed under flickering torches mounted in sconces and followed the passage deep beneath the surface.

The tunnel opened into the shadow-gorged underworld sheltering the homeless of the games. Light from torches revealed masses of pit fighters moving about, teeming around stone columns and walls. Hundreds of voices meshed into a constant and ominous vibe Borchus could actually feel on his sweaty skin. The faster he got out of this hell, the better. Next time, he’d send someone else. Holding his breath at times, he threaded through the fighters to the station of the Madea. As always, a wall of Skarrs guarded the arena official, ensuring his safety. Borchus stopped a few paces away from the Madea’s heavy desk and gazed up at the monstrous matchboard. Fights had been posted for that day and the next, and Borchus strained to read down through the pairings. As far as he could see, none of the names belonged to the House of Ten.

“Madea.” Borchus stepped up to the desk of the seated man, admiring the straight-cut parting of his white hair, right down the middle. The older man regarded the agent with mild puzzlement. As the desk was on a raised platform, Borchus appeared shorter than usual.

“I’m looking for gladiators of the newest House.”

“The newest?”

“The House of Ten.”

“Ah, the Free Trained one.”

Borchus didn’t correct him. “That’s the one.”

“One moment.” The official pulled out papers and rummaged through them.

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