Fire Made Flesh by Denny Flowers

Author:Denny Flowers
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2021-02-03T08:21:08+00:00

13

Virae barked at the serfs, keeping half an eye on the events happening over her shoulder. Gash was squaring up to the heckler, though neither had a weapon in hand. It was a foolish move accepting a challenge from the crowd, but there was little she could do now. The code of the arena forbade her from interfering, and Gash would never forgive her if she forced him to back down. In any event she trusted the pit fighter would swat the smaller man aside easily enough, but the slaves were the greater threat. They still cowered at her approach, redoubling their labours. But they had listened to the man’s words, and something had shifted in their eyes. Behind the fear, anger was rising.

Her gaze darted between them, trying to identify any true threats. She remembered the ratskin, those cold eyes framed by crimson slashes. Was she not part of the work crew? Virae swore she had been there a moment earlier, seemingly labouring without complaint.

But there was no sign of her now.

‘Elle?’ she barked through the vox-channel.

‘Unbroken?’

‘Where is the ratskin?’ she said, surveying the slaves. ‘Tell me someone has eyes on the ratskin?’

‘I don’t know. I thought she was part of the ground crew?’

‘Well, she’s not,’ Virae snapped. ‘Find her. And get some Enforcers down here – tell them there’s risk of a riot.’

Caleb wore a self-assured smile as he pandered to the crowd, which was swelling each moment, drawn by the commotion and prospect of blood being spilled.

‘You ready then?’ Gash said, flexing his massive hands.

‘Let’s just give them a moment to settle,’ Caleb replied, keeping his voice upbeat and free from the fear gnawing at his belly. The cheers were dying now, the onlookers settling themselves for the violence to come. Many were half masked, but there was enough flesh visible to see their faces split by bloodthirsty smiles. There was something deeply unsettling about their collective savagery, but he had no time to dwell on it.

‘Iktomi, please tell me you’re clear,’ he whispered into his concealed vox-bead. ‘I’m running out of prefight banter.’

His opponent had discarded his blade and was squaring up to Caleb. Or trying to anyway; Caleb’s wilting mohawk barely reached the man’s chin, and his shoulder width was perhaps a third of the pit fighter’s.

‘You got a death-oath or something?’ the huge man asked, still smiling like a sumpkroc.

‘It does seem like it,’ Caleb mused. ‘But no, this is all a bit of misdirection. I owe an old man a favour.’

‘And this is how you’re repaying it?’

‘Actually, I’m trying to rescue his daughter from a life of slavery.’ Caleb shrugged. ‘But that’s hardly here or there. Quick question though – are you willing to take a dive?’

Gash considered this, brow furrowed.

‘And lose to a runt like you?’ he asked. ‘I’d be asking ten thousand credits minimum. And I don’t go down until after I’ve pulled off at least one of your arms. I’ve got a reputation to protect.’

‘Strong opening bid.’ Caleb nodded. ‘How

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