Tin Thoughts (The Downfall Saga Book 2) Read online

  Donovan took several deep breaths to calm his pounding heart. Tomorrow he’d be a free man, or be the catalyst in the deaths of Osmont and Tuff. He slipped into a Vanora to empty his mind, before finally laying down to sleep, perhaps for the final time.

  Chapter 6

  A lavish breakfast was slid into the cell in the morning, but Donovan’s cartwheeling stomach prevented him from eating it. He slowly drank the bowl of cool water, before sitting down on the bench.

  He put his face in his hands and tried to relax. His palms rubbed against the fuzz on his face. He hadn’t shaved in weeks, yet no one would mistake it for a beard. It had seemed like a good idea mere days ago, fight for their freedom like the heroes he’d read about, but now he was left with a harsh realization. Sparring was one thing, but he had never wanted to injure, let alone kill anyone. He thought about begging them to call it off, and let him return to the cells with Osmont and Tuff, but things had progressed too far for them to let him back out now.

  He looked up at the wooden door. He had no choice. It was win or die.

  He sat there for an eternity before the soldier from the other day appeared in the window. He opened the door and Donovan saw several other men in the hallway with him. The soldier looked down at the uneaten food on the tray.

  “You should eat. You’re going to need your strength.”

  He slid the tray to the side with his boot before entering the cell. He carried a bundle in his hands which he set down on the bench. A second soldier entered carrying a bucket of water and a bar of soap.

  “Make yourself presentable. People will remember you this day, whether you live or die.”

  They exited the room, but left the door ajar.

  Donovan picked up the bundle on the bench and saw that it contained a towel and an old pair of pants. Stripping off his pants, he began washing himself with the bucket of warm water. Rivulets of water slid down his back, forging rivers through the grime. As the grime slid away, so did his worries.

  Clean for the first time in many days, he toweled himself off and slipped into the pair of pants. They were slightly too long, but otherwise fit well. He rolled up the cuffs, before putting on his boots and poking his head out the door.

  “Any chance I could get a razor?” asked Donovan. “I don’t want to die a fuzzy peach.”

  The soldier looked him up and down, his eyes lingering on the swirling pattern carved into his chest.

  “Can’t have you killing yourself before the show. Go take a seat.”

  Donovan returned to the bench in his cell and the soldier followed him in. He pulled out a small knife. Holding Donovan’s face with his left hand, he drew the knife down his face in careful, measured strokes.

  “I’m sure there’s a story to go with that symbol on your chest. I’ve seen many warriors draw patterns on their skin, but never in their skin.”

  Donovan waited until the sharp knife wasn’t pressed against his face before answering.

  “I’m sure there is, but I don’t know it ... yet.”

  The soldier finished shaving him, before dipping the corner of the towel in the bucket and washing the loose hairs off his face.

  “There’s a face that would make a father proud.”

  He wiped off his knife before returning it to its sheath. He walked over to the door and waited for Donovan to follow.

  “Come on, your destiny awaits.”

  They shackled his hands together, before starting down the hallway. The pack of soldiers closed around him, most carried loaded crossbows in their hands, as they made their way through the building.

  A cheer erupted as they exited the building. A crowd of people, including many young children, were being kept away from the door by a group of soldiers.

  They paused on the stairs outside the building, allowing the crowd to get a good look at Donovan. He gazed out at the crowd, wondering how people could celebrate the misery of others.

  It was his first look at the sun in many days, and it might be the last day that he’d ever see it. He closed his eyes and let its warmth christen his skin.

  They descended the stairs and moved through the crowd towards the fighting pit. Donovan saw many people pointing at his chest and asking their neighbors what it was. He ignored them, and stared straight ahead.

  They were buffeted by the sounds of the crowd and the heat from the many bodies pressed together until they reached a small, nondescript door into the pit. Donovan stared at the back of the soldier in front of him and barely registered the size of the building as they entered.

  Their path through the building descended below ground, providing a welcome relief from the heat outside. They led him to a long hallway with intersections every twenty feet. Each intersecting hallway ran for thirty feet before dead ending, lined by cells on both sides.

  They led him to a cell and locked him inside. Several minutes later, the soldier who had shaved him appeared at the window to the cell.

  “You’re in one of the early matches. Make sure you give the crowd a show.” He studied Donovan before sliding his sword through the gap between the bars.

  Donovan grasped the sheath and belted it around his waist. He drew the sword and studied the blade, the edges were pristine, never having been used before. He met the soldier’s gaze, before turning away from the door.

  He fell into a simple Vanora, the movements slow and graceful, intended to warm up his muscles and reacquaint himself to the sword without tiring himself out.

  Several minutes later he sheathed his sword and sat down to wait. There was a heaviness to the air around him and he could feel vibrations moving through the stone floor.

  Finally two soldiers appeared at his door.

  “Keep your weapon sheathed.”

  They opened the door and he slowly walked into the hallway. Both pointed loaded crossbows at his chest. They motioned him to walk in front of them and gave simple commands to direct him to the pit.

  Turning a corner, they directed him towards a large arched opening. Donovan had to squint his eyes against the bright light shining through opening. Stepping through the opening, he felt, rather than heard, the thunderous cheer of the crowd. Staring up at the clear blue sky, he blinked against the blazing sun.

  “Walk towards the dais. Wait there until told otherwise.”

  He continued across the pit towards a dais high above, where he could see the Magistrates unmistakable form lounging on a chaise beside other dignitaries that he didn’t recognize.

  Turning around, he could see thousands of people crowded together on stone benches rising up around the circular pit. Stepping over a still wet red patch on the sandy floor from a previous match, he continued across the pit, his feet leaving small depressions in the sand behind him.

  Five men already stood in a line, staring up at the dais. He took his place beside them. Clasping his hands behind his back, he waited.

  The crowd went crazy again, and Donovan glanced behind to see a well-dressed man sauntering towards them. His red coat was buttoned up to his neck, despite the heat, and a small hat was perched on his head at a jaunty angle. The man paused in the center of the pit and raised an arm into the air. He waited for the crowd to quiet down before speaking.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this next match should be particularly pleasurable for you. Gathered before me are six of the most heinous criminals that you will have the luxury of seeing today. Each has committed crimes so dastardly that their only chance at freedom is by cutting down each other for your amusement.”

  The crowd erupted in cheers and stomped their feet in unison until Donovan could feel the ground vibrate.

  “First we have Pandar, a thief and a rapist.”

  The crowd roared as the thin man at the end of the line took a step forward and made a rude gesture to the people on the dais. He had a large, hooked nose and when he turned to smile at his opponents, he showed an empty mouth with only a few rotting teeth remaining. He wore two long daggers at his sides.

  �
�Next we have Acurel, who killed four men and a child.”

  Acurel bowed to the men on the dais and waved to the crowd. He had broad shoulders, a handsome face with a charming smile, and wore an ax strapped to his back.

  “Caliban and Haki are slaves who ran away from their rightful master.”

  Both stood stoically, ignoring the commotion. They were covered in scars. Caliban had a fresh cut running across his chest, while Haki had a festering wound where most of his nose used to be. Both carried swords.

  “What’s worse than a runaway slave ... a slaver operating without a license. This is Talman.”

  Talman was middle aged, balding with the start of a paunch. He took a step forward and cheerfully waved at the roaring crowd. A small shield was strapped to his left arm, and a sword hung at his side.

  “Last, and worst of all, we have Donovan. He is a thief and a smuggler, who was caught associating with wizards.”

  The cheers and boot stomping of the crowd was replaced by loud hissing. Donovan was shocked to realize how much the people detested wizards in Lornell. He tried to ignore them as he glowered towards Rach.

  “Fighters, prepare yourselves.”

  The well-dressed man quickly retreated out of the pit as the six of them spread themselves out.

  Rach raised his flabby arm into the air. The match began when he dropped it to his side.

  The sun beat down on him as Donovan watched the action unfold before him, his sword still in its sheath.

  Acurel stalked towards Pandar, ax carried loosely in his hand. Pandar darted around, trying to escape his relentless pursuit.

  Caliban and Haki, the two escaped slaves, both went after Talman. They herded him towards the edge of the pit. He tried to cower behind his shield, but they came at him from both sides and overwhelmed him. They stabbed and hacked at his body until it stopped twitching.

  The two of them looked up and saw Donovan standing there, calmly watching them. They spread out and advanced towards him.

  Drying his sweaty palms on his pants, Donovan finally drew his sword and fell into a stance that Jerel had taught him for facing multiple foes. Jerel had drilled into his head many times that you have to take the attack to your opponents. If you wait for them to coordinate their attacks, then you have already lost.

  They spread out so they could come at him from both sides. Donovan charged at Caliban without warning. Knocking his clumsy swing to the side, he swept the leg out from underneath him with a kick to the knee.

  Pivoting around, he went after Haki. Haki had clearly never used a sword before, and Donovan quickly disarmed him. A punch to the temple staggered him and he fell to the ground. Pandar appeared from the side and jumped on top of Haki, while Donovan recoiled in horror. Pandar had a gaping grin on his face as he stabbed Haki repeatedly.

  Caliban was back on his feet, sword in hand, and ran towards Pandar. Acurel got there first and removed Pandar’s head with a single swing of his ax.

  Acurel turned towards Caliban, just in time to be impaled in the stomach by his sword. He hacked Caliban down, before falling to his knees, sword still sticking out of his stomach.

  Donovan couldn’t believe what had just happened. He’d managed to survive without having to kill a single person.

  The crowd was on their feet, but Donovan barely heard them over the blood pounding in his ears. Many of them were pointing behind Donovan. He turned around to see Acurel kneeling on the ground, tears in his eyes, as he pointed at the sword still in his stomach. He tried to speak, but only blood came out of his mouth.

  Donovan bent over and retched up the liquid that he’d drunk that morning. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he watched as Acurel grabbed the blade with his hands. The edges of the sword cut deeply into his hands as he struggled to pull it out. Donovan’s brain told him to give Acurel a merciful death, but his body refused to move. The sword slowly slid free, its blade coated in blood. Holding the blade of the sword in both hands, Acurel brought it up to his throat and began sawing back and forth. His blood tickled down the blade and covered his hands. The drops turned into rivers, until he hit a vein and it gushed out in a torrent.

  Acurel collapsed to the ground.

  Donovan hung his head in shame, tears spattering the sandy ground.

  Chapter 7

  “I couldn’t do it,” moaned Donovan. “He was going to die anyways. All he wanted was mercy, and I didn’t help him.”

  Donovan had broken down after watching Acurel die. Soldiers had to come out and carry him out of the pit. When he hadn’t shown any signs of recovery after an hour, they’d carried him all the way down to where Osmont and Tuff were jailed. The soldiers told him that he was fighting again tomorrow regardless of his condition, but the crowd deserved a show. Still sobbing, he’d curled up on the floor of the circular room outside their cells.

  “It never gets easier,” said Osmont. “You just get better at deceiving yourself.”

  “I never want to be in that situation again.”

  “It’s a rough world,” said Tuff. “There will always be someone who wants to knock you down. Your best defense is to scare them off before they even try.”

  “Donovan,” said Osmont. “You made this choice. There is no turning back. If you can’t handle it, then you might as well ask for an execution because it will be less painful than the alternative.”

  “What?”

  “You made your choice, now deal with the consequences. We’re past the point of me trying to coddle you.”

  Donovan got up off the ground and threw himself at the door to Osmont’s cell. Osmont calmly took a step back out of the reach of Donovan’s groping arms.

  “How can you say that? You weren’t there! You don’t understand what I had to do!”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You didn’t see his eyes, and then ...”

  “Blood. Lots of blood. I’ve seen more blood than I ever wanted to, and I will see much more before the end.”

  Donovan stared at Osmont, eyes wide, trying to catch his breath.

  “I suppose you have.”

  “Life is what you make of it. You saw an opportunity to take control and you seized it. I respect that. Now you have to follow through, and get all of our lives back.”

  “I can’t. How could I do that to someone—”

  “Who would do it to you without hesitation,” interrupted Osmont. “Two men will walk into the pit, only one will walk out. You need to decide if the person walking out is in dispute.”

  Donovan turned away and studied the door to his former cell.

  “I can’t.”

  “Look at me.” Osmont waited for Donovan to turn back. He summoned a dim light with his magic, and they stood there, face to face. “Give me the word and I’ll end it quickly ... painlessly.”

  Donovan’s eyes grew wide and he stepped away from Osmont.

  “You couldn’t.”

  “All you have to do is ask.”

  They studied each other until Tuff broke the silence.

  “Life is all about your choices,” he said. “Choosing not to do something is often tougher than trying to do it.”

  “We all have to do things that we don’t want to,” said Osmont quietly. “Your choices stay with you forever, and each one can turn you into a different person afterwards.” He paused to take a deep breath before continuing. “I had a wife once. My world revolved around my Jessica. She had a headache one day which refused to go away. Days later she was so tired that she couldn’t get out of bed. Then she started to bleed inside. I tried everything that I could think of to heal her and it all failed. I had other Healers try as well, but nothing helped. After days of moaning in pain and trying to escape her nightmare, she opened her eyes and was lucid. She told me that if I couldn’t help her, then she needed me to take away her pain. I gave her my word, and I’ve been running from that decision ever since.”

  “I ... I never knew that,” said Donovan.

  “Few kids are bi
g enough to look at what’s around them.”

  Donovan spent a long time thinking about his life and all of the unanswered questions that he had. It was better to try and fail, than fail to try.

  “So, how do I defeat a better swordsman than myself?”

  “Very carefully.”

  ***

  Donovan was allowed to sleep in a cell across from Osmont and Tuff that night, but was woken up early in the morning to be transported to the fighting pit. They left him with a tray of food in a cell near the pit, which he managed to eat despite his quaking stomach. He started into a Vanora after finishing eating to calm his mind. He was halfway through the routine when a man appeared at the window to his cell. He had a pockmarked face and greasy hair.

  “Boy, come over here.”

  Donovan returned to a neutral pose and took several slow breaths before walking over to the cell door.

  “The Magistrate isn’t happy with you. You’re lucky to be alive and had better not disappoint the crowd a second time.”

  Donovan shrugged his shoulders, but didn’t answer.

  “Today you’ll face Tulpa in the Viper’s Pit. This is the only matched scheduled for today, and everyone is anxiously waiting for the executions which will follow. Don’t you worry, Tulpa’s known for giving the crowd a good show.”

  He walked away, and just like last time, two men with loaded crossbows escorted him to the pit.

  The sun hadn’t yet risen over the top of the seats, leaving the floor bathed in shadows. Entering the pit, Donovan could tell that the crowd was more subdued today. Many were yawning and talking to their neighbors, but a few cheered when he entered. For every person in the stands, there was space for ten more. He felt strangely insulted that more people hadn’t shown up.

  A pile of large stones lay in the center of the pit, and others were spread across the floor. He made a mental note to watch out for them. A single misstep could cost him his life.

  He wondered why they called this the Viper’s Pit. He found out a moment later when he heard a loud hiss from by his feet. He narrowly avoided stepping on a coiled snake as he sprung to the side.