The Conjured and the exiles

Leoff recovered as quickly as the young do, and despite Vas’s entreaties to wait until he was fully recovered Leoff was back training within a moons passing pushing himself hard dawn to dusk building back up the muscle and stamina that he had lost during his convalescence. He did pull ups on the bar, he fought the wooden dummy’s, he carried weights, he swum, he ran, he fought with heavy blades wrapped in leather on the ground, on the balance bar, the pole, and sometimes more than just one opponent.

Sarol watched his youngest gladiator carefully monitoring his rehabilitation, noticing how the Nhemian had to compensate for the slight weakness in his shoulder. Once you signed yourself over as a gladiator your body belonged to your gladiator master. You played a small sum of money to the gladiator master to become his apprentice and join his school, swearing to abide by his rules and decisions. He room and boarded you, trained you and entered you in arena matches, hopefully in matches he thought you would win, and he then took your costs and his percentage from your winnings. Then with some luck he found you a good sponsor. It was a hard life with little privacy and a punishing regime however a signed gladiator had a much better fate than one of the poor bastards who were given over to the arena. Thieves, murderers, lawbreakers, and prisoners of war all could be drafted in to the arena to fight; most of the time with no or poor weapons, some against beasts, some in massive death matches allowing only one survivor who could go free, and against the heavy armored fully trained arena champions. For most it was a death sentence for those poor souls.

Leoff and other signed gladiators like him were in a different league to those dregs of society. The drafts were nothing more than nags for the slaughter, whereas a signed gladiator was a race horse carefully trained and feed so that they would perform, a winner could be worth a fortune. That was the business in which Sarol made his money he trained and then sold gladiators to other people, nobility usually but rich merchants seemed to have taken up the sport more recently as a younger generation split from their puritan roots. Nobles were keen on sport, horses, fighting cocks and fighting men. The richest kept their own stables of men to fight for them in the arena but most kept only one or two gladiators, letting a professional trainer keep and produce the men for them in livery yards.


There were many reasons to fight in the arena by choice, Leoff’s story was not an unusual one someone desperate looking for some quick money. However his decision to keep doing death matches was. If you survived it was good money fighting in a fight to the death as they were unusual. But it wasn’t the best money or the most reliable after all you could end up dead. Instead it was most gladiators’ ambition to be owned by a noble, if you were owned by a noble you became a valuable commodity and so were less likely to have to fight to the death and on top of that there was a reliable wage, a purchase fee, plus bonuses on top of winnings. Sarol saw grate potential in Leoff the question was how to persuade him to enter arena fights which would catch the noble’s interest rather than just for some quick money? To date the young man had been extremely obtuse over the mater refusing to entertain the possibility of finding a noble sponsor. A death match was free to enter and it was cash in hand for the victor no strings attached. To enter one of the true gladiatorial matches there was a fee and you needed a sponsor but if you won they were more lucrative but they were based on skill and popularity not always the kill.

Sarol had therefore pleasantly surprised when Leoff at last agreed to his latest offer of entering the young man in a small private demonstration of new talent arranged for the pleasure of a handful of nobles and their retainers. And so it was this in mind Sarol watched the young man helping him with is training. If the older gladiator was right and he rarely was off the mark in his field, then as long as Leoff put up a good show then someone should be interested, the young man had to be worth one thousand marks at least. Perhaps after this fight he could place him in the fighter’s auction in a month’s time after spreading his name about a bit there was nothing like it when the noble’s began to bid against each other as competitive in their acquisitions as they were their gambling.

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Once getting back to the hubbub and stink of Mawnaws, they had returned straight to Darcia’s city spire. And after a simple meal Daen went to her room weary from the long journey, she was surprised by how tired she was considering how all she had to do was sit in a carriage. She was still a little sore from the night before; even though he had been relatively gentle Darcia was still large adding injury to insult. On top of that the constant rocking motion of the coach had made her feel terribly nauseous, and she swore to herself that she was never riding in a carriage again, give her the open air and a good horse under her any day! She had informed Lord Darcia as much when he had handed her down from the carriage.

The only thing that had helped pass the tedium of the journey through fairly repetitive countryside was Samigina. Just as Darcia had said Samigina was very kind. Her presence was benevolent and unconditionally loving, not as a mother’s love, but more like a holy persons. The spirits voice was peculiar her whole presence was peculiar it was something alien, not in a bad way but though, it was hard to explain but spirits gave off the feeling that they were some how connected with humans. Samigina was made up of something else entirely something not quite of the human spectrum of knowledge, but beyond it somehow.

‘What are you exactly?’ Daen finally had the courage to ask.

‘I’m your spirit guide, part compass, part advisor, part sectary.’ Came the odd but not unpleasant laughing whinny in reply.

‘No, not that I understand that.’ Daen said politely. ‘I want to know what you are you’re not a normal spirit and you’re not like Bherith?’

‘Hmmhhhhmm.’ There was a playful ponyish laugh. ‘No I’m certainly not like other spirits and I’m not at all like Bherith. Next time the moon is full and we are in the wild and I will show you perhaps.’

Daen had been woken early. And was imediatly given a list of things to do, Lord Darcia was busy catching up with is own work but he had sent her a letter with her breakfast. The elegant flowing script informed her that she was to go to the library and start her studies in Chade the language of Marchadia citing a book that he had left out on the table for her and his expectation that she would be able to understand the first four rules by sun down. In her convalescence he had taught her the odd word, and now he would perhaps be half pleased as she used a very choice Chade curse word to call him buy for disturbing her lie in.

Daen was surprisingly happy to see Veoine when he found her in the library half heartedly pursuing the dull grammar book. It had been perhaps two span of days since she had seen him, but she found that even in the short time she had known him that his face had become welcome. Perhaps it was just because she needed a friend, but perhaps it was just Veoine’s natural gregarious charm.

‘Filly, there you are!’ He greeted her. ‘I have been put in charge of finding you a horse.’

Daen’s heart skipped a beet when he said this. ‘A horse, my own horse?’

‘Indeed since you don’t want to ride on the carriage, you need a horse unless you want to walk.’ He replied. ‘And I think I have just the horse for a lady.’

Daen ran and got changed in to leggings, boots, and a short woolen tunic; clothing more suited for riding. And so they set off for the stables Daen practically dancing with excitement. Veoine naturally a happy creature was infected with her enthusiasm and pleased at the change in the formally surly young woman. It was not that she had lost the dark sadness that seemed to be as deep within her as her bones, but some of her levity had been lifted and she had reverted for the time to a state of childish exuberance more attractive in a young woman her age than her previous melancholy anger.

The stables held about twenty horses, more if need be as the lose boxes could be turned in to stalls. While Veoine went to find the required saddle and bridle Daen went down the lines and introduced herself to every animal. Taking a little longer with Lord Darcia’s dark brown courser Percivalesque, though the stallion would answer to Per. Gently Daen called the dark horses name, and held her hand out for him in greeting, Per swiveled his mobile ears around at the familiar voice then stretched his neck out to nuzzle the girls proffered hand. He had smelt this hand before but Per nosed it again just to be sure.

‘Careful, that one can be a grumpy sod.’ Veoine warned coming up behind her. But making a lie out of his words the stallion allowed Daen to scratch behind his ears.

‘You’re not grumpy are you?’ The girl asked Per softly and snuck him the piece of apple she had been saving. ‘You just don’t like everyone do you boy.’

‘Bribing him! Come on before you spoil him.’ Veoine scolded well naturedly as he led the girl away from the happily munching stallion. ‘I have tacked up Harmony for you.’

Veoine lead her to the stall in which a placid palomino mare stood patently. Daen had petted this horse only moment or so before and was slightly disappointed with Veoine’s choice if she was accurate in reading the mares character. She had wanted to ride something with a bit of spirit. And with growing disgust Daen noted that Veoine had even used a woman’s side saddle. ‘Veoine I can ride astride, in fact I prefer it.’

Veoine only shook his blond mane. ‘I’m sorry filly but until I know what you ride like I’m not going to be the one who gets you killed. I don’t need to give Darcia another reason to be pissed off with me involving you.’

Daen agreed to get on, though somewhat sulkily and she walked sedately to the sand exercise arena. The golden mare was exactly what Veoine had informed her to be, a perfect mount for a lady. Who had no seat, and no nerve, Daen added to the description. The mare was very good, very obedient, her paces were as comfortable and slow as a rocking chair, and Daen was soon heartily bored as she put the mare through her paces around the small sand exercise arena.

Veoine was watching with quiet approval as she circled and looped, asking the mare to bed and flex, change pace, collect and extend. He herd hoof beats behind him and turned to see Darcia mounted upon his newest acquisition. ‘My lord, we should be finished soon.’

‘Don’t worry yourself Veoine.’

Darcia rode the young gray forwards with no perceptible aids and joined Daen in the arena. ‘Oh my poor Dae!’ he said mocking her, ‘never have I encountered such a heart rendering site! I told Veoine to match you with a suitable horse and he puts you on that bland little thing how blind he is of others talent!’

‘And he’s making me ride side saddle.’ She cast him a glance of lofty scorn then turned her envious attention to Darcia’s mount who was nickering at her mare. It was a shockingly hansom animal, its coat the color of a thunder storm. It moved well, if a bit kittenishly as young horses do. Lord Darcia sat it well as the young stallion arched his neck and skipped playfully more interested in the other horse than the job in hand. Darcia easily curbed this and set about working the horse in a workmanish fashion. Daen left the arena letting him get on with schooling his young horse.

Daen carefully unharnessed the mare. Rubbing her down gratefully, it was not the horse’s fault that she was so well trained as to be dull. And the mare was a naturally affectionate thing. Veoine smiled at Daen over the half door and waved a bag of coins in front of her nose. ‘On lord Darcia’s orders we are to procure you horse more worthy of your seat.’

Daen flashed him a huge smile that was simply breathtaking it was no wonder Darcia liked the girl so much. ‘Do I get to chose it?’

‘Of course. Go get a cloak on and we will head to the market and see what kind of stock they have on offer.’

‘That’s not very long to choose a horse.’ Daen answered. ‘We will be lucky to find anything really decent in one of those sales; most of the dealers sell screws or plugs.’

Veoine nodded in sound agreement. ‘But we need something for you to ride by tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Yes we set out for Bala.’

‘I could ride Per.’ she said hopefully. ‘Lord Darcia has a new horse after all.’

Veoine laughed. ‘Now I have heard that you had tamed my lord somewhat. But not even all the demon princes could get Darcia to lend you his favorite courser! Luckily it’s the weekly market who knows we may be lucky.’

Still a little more hopeful Daen set out with Veoine who was now dressed in his livery to the market. She had expected that Veoine would be angry with her for causing so much trouble, but instead he seemed slightly sheepish as if he was embarrassed about something as if he was hoping to avoid a certain subject, though Daen couldn’t work out what.

The weekly horse fair was held on the outskirts of the city centering on a street known trotters named for the gypsy people who trotted their horses back up and down the long street to show off their paces. Daen breathed in the sharp tang of horse on the crisp autumn air. There were all sorts of horses and ponies in the multitude of pens, or just tied up on the street in large groups their dealers standing by them. There were small already hairy mountain ponies, huge draft horses with hoofs as big as dinner plates, fierce destriers trained to carry heavy armored men in to battle, lighter built but still strong coursers, planer rounceys for common soldiers, fleet expensive palfreys used for traveling, and cheaper amblers, quiet Jennets for ladies mounts, pack mules, donkeys and non descript hobby horses.

The fair was a riot of color, noise and activity. Daen and Veoine stood with the crowd on the edge of the road for a while watching the dealers of the job horses trotted past in light gigs at a tremendous pace. Some of them simply rode their horses bare back along the road hairy piebalds with flowing mains and tails billowing behind them. It was a wonder that there was not a collision. Veoine managed to steer Daen towards where the majority of the Jennets were penned, and was taking to a dealer about an elegant looking southern breed when there was a clamor on the road.

There regular two time bet of a horses shod hoofs trotting on the road was broken by someone’s uneven beets. The crowed parted as a chestnut horse bronked through, its hoofs striking out at the air. It skipped to the side as it arched its back, its small head set firmly between its legs, and the top heavy man who had been riding it parted company from the determined animal.

Veoine almost had a hernia when Daen strode out in front of the careering animal hands held up. Thankfully the chestnut ground to a halt in front of the girl with a loud snort.
‘Whoa girl!’ Daen caught hold of the mare’s bridle. Whenever Daen met a new horse she felt awe, excitement, fear, reserve, caution, and unconditional love but this time was different. Daen reached out to stroke the mare’s side and it was like the first time she caressed a lover, the memory of connecting, the soothing warmth of reaching out to another spirit with its own passion, power and desire yet knowing that they would be one and yet not one. The young woman ran her hands through the mares fiery mane and looked in to her deep brown eyes, finding there to be a companion who says ‘Let’s go places together, together we can fly without wings.’ As she stroked his velvet muzzle the little mare softened her gaze and lowered her head extending herself in a way that made Daen’s heart swell and race at the same time. This was the one.

‘Dear gods Filly you could have got yourself killed jumping out in front of a horse like that!’ Veoine chided her angrily. The little mare pawed the air with one leg and shook her proud head restively.

‘Isn’t she lovely?’ Daen replied ignoring his ire and stroked the mares pink muzzle. The mare nipped at Daen’s fingers cheekily. But smiling Daen moved the horse’s mane out of the way to better scratch the mare’s muscular swan like neck. The little horse was enjoying this as it wobbled its lip in bliss.

Dean began to look at the horse more personally, the way her coat was a rich fiery chestnut, the exact color of a conker, her mane and tail were the color of leaves in an autumn sunset, many of the strands sparkling golden in the sun as her own hair did. The mare was more of large pony with a short back, powerful quarters, and a small dished head. Daen rubbed the pony’s’ forehead moving under the thick forelock she went to rub over between the horses eyes when she came across a small horny growth. ‘Ah an exile like me.’ Daen said.

‘She’s a dammed nuisance is what she is. But thank you for catching her.’ The red faced rider said coming up to collect his naughty mount. The mare shook her head dangerously and flattened her ears back when he came near. The man shrank back as Daen and Veoine restrained the small horse.

‘How much for her?’ Daen asked.

Veoine looked at the young woman astounded; the dealer looked like he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Filly you cannot be serious. This horse is perhaps one of the worst behaved animals I have ever come across.’ And to put validity to this statement the mare nipped Veoine hard on the arm when he was not paying attention. He cured and the pony skipped sideways head in the air expecting to be hit sending a few more of the pedestrians scattering.

‘I should expect so.’ Daen replied simply calming the pony. ‘She’s a Garleen, you have to take grate care braking them in. And I don’t think she has been handled very well so its more than likely she will be badly behaved, they are very intelligent you know.’

‘A what?’ Veoine replied.

‘The mans who sold her to me said she was a mountain cross.’ The dealer interrupted. ‘But the man’s right girl, that one is not a suitable mount for a woman. I like to sell straight and I will say this one has no mouth or sides.’

Daen huffed, and put one hand on her hip. ‘I will decide what kind of horse I can handle. And further more it’s no wonder she has no mouth and sides if you welly her like a child on a pony, and have hands as bad as yours!’

Veoine couldn’t quite stifle his laugh when the dealer gaped at the young woman with his mouth open like a fish. Daen looked back at him coolly. She glanced up at Veoine. ‘I want this one.’

Veoine shook his head but passed the purse over to her. The dealer despite the insult dealt him couldn’t believe his luck at been able to get rid of this nightmarish animal. ‘How much?’

The dealer wonderd if they were just jokeing and he licked his lips, his piggy eyes glancing at the blond man and the woman. The blond man obviously knew a lot about horses, and looking at his dress he was someone important. But the woman really wanted the animal, gods know why. He worked out in his head how much he should charge, too little and the might think there was a good deal more wrong with it than its temper, too much and he would appear greedy. ‘Eight silvers.’

‘Too expensive.’ Veoine replied. ‘I wouldn’t pay two for that.’

‘Seven.’

‘Done.’ Daen answered before Veoine could get a word in and she passed the money over. ‘What is her name?’

‘Err… Rosie.’ The dealer said hesitantly as he swiftly pocketed the money.

The blond captain was aghast at the young woman and as they wound there way through the crowd Daen having a lively time of it with the small mare who jogged beside her. ‘I think we have just been coned out of seven silvers, just because you wanted to prove you have pluck! A chestnut bloody mare, and a shaggy mountain half leg at that!’

Daen brought the pony to a halt and grabbing the horse’s forelock in to a sort of pony tail pointed to the small thumb length horn that was on the animal’s forehead which had been hidden.

‘What in the world is that? Is that a horn? Bugger me it’s a unicorn!’ The blond man exclaimed.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, unicorn indeed!’ Daen let go of the fidgeting mare’s mane. ‘I told you she is a Garleen. It’s a rare breed from Nheim they are rarely sold outside it.’

‘Nhemian like you then? No wonder it’s such a wicked little creature!’

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To call the arena ‘an arena’ was perhaps a bit misleading. In fact it was actually a whole district within the capital city. Mawnaws was made up of a variety of districts. First the forbidden city, a walled city within the city where the imperial plaice was to be found. No one but the nobles could come and go as they pleased and it was there that could be found the heart of government ran by the eunuch clerics. Out side the plaice was the temple district and also the Spires district where the nobles lived. There was then barracks, and next to there was Arena. Arena was made up of the various gladiator schools, some large some small, and what were known as stables which were the houses of gladiators owned by a particular noble, or trainer. There were also all the other things that fighting men would need, sword smiths, backers, butchers, tailors, surgeons, brothels, bath houses, and of course the various arenas.

Not including the very smallest arenas there were about thirty arenas in all. The largest, the grate imperial arena could seat about 50,000 spectators. It served as a race track for horses as well as an area for combatants and a stage for various spectacles. From there the arena’s sizes varied depending on there purpose, some were designed for racing, jousting, some for fighting, some for beasts, and some stages for what was essentially the torture of prisoners. It was clamed there was an arena suitable for any ones taste and pocket. From fighting cock matches, which were a single copper shard to watch, to more exotic tiger or bare bating, priced at a copper. Then criminal death matches were also a copper then the most expensive was during the spring the champion match, even the worst seats were a silver coin.

Tonight Leoff was to fight in the Asakku arena named after a famous general it was a reasonably sized popular fighting arena close to Spires. He walked with Vas who had fought there once before and also was entered in a small fight. Vas was re-explaining the rules for a non death match competition to him; Leoff was only half paying attention when Vas fell silent. The street had narrowed as two large arenas competed for space. There was a rumble and a roar from the arena on the right, the smell of blood, human excrement and gore was sour and sickly sweet in the air. These five arenas were often lumped together as the flesh works, the arenas where the condemned criminals were forced to fight to the death. There were no decorations the brakeless walls, only the green slime from broken drains adorned them and the smell of piss. Both men were aware just how close they were the other night to ending up in a hell hole like one of those.

The arenas close to Spires were in a different world to the flesh works, frequented often buy the nobility Asakku was built of elaborately carved marble depicting heroic scenes. The raked seating was spacious and thick drapes hung down protecting its patrons from draughts. The arena itself had low walls and no bars so that the spectators could see the combatants better. There was food and drink available even to the fighters. It was certainly universes apart from anywhere Leoff had fought up till now.

He warmed up in his usual way, but he was aware that there were small windows which let the gamblers look in at the men’s preparations. Vas pointed with his blade up to one of the viewing holes. ‘It’s a bit like a collecting ring in here. You can just imagine them looking at us and thinking “oh he’s a bit nervous,” or “doesn’t he look well in the coat I will put my money on him” Eh Leoff?’

Leoff let out a bark of laughter. ‘I wonder what they will say of me.’

Vas grinned and stretched out his calves. ‘They will say, “Now there’s a fine one, big, strong and young with a killing intent. Shame he’s not as good looking as the dark one besides him who’s skills and intelligence are obviously far superior!’

‘Git.’ Leoff grinned. ‘I will make you eat those words.’

‘Nervous?’ Vas asked.

‘No, once you have fought to the death this just seems like training.’ Leoff replied as he tried out some measured lunges.

‘You shouldn’t take this so lightly.’ Vas answered seriously. ‘Its harder than you think, you have to put on a show for them.’

Leoff sighed. But he still couldn’t feel serious about a fight where his life was not even at risk. He continued to warm up as Vas left for his bout wishing his friend a heartfelt good luck. Soon it was his tern.

There sand floored arena was lit by bright lime lights, so dazzling that it was a moment before his eyes adjusted. The racked seats made it almost impossible for him to see anyone blinded by the lights as he was. For the moment the whole universe was just the circle of the arena and his opponent. There was also a new third addition, the referee, who stood a red tasseled stick in his hand.

The referee stood forwards and indicated where the combatants should stand. He announced there names, they bowed to each other, and the stood on guard. Leoff was ready but relaxed. If you remained relaxed then you were ready to move in any direction to adjust and flow like water. Leoff‘s claymore required he hold it with two hands. This he did letting it point down just off the ground towards his opponent. A well built dirty blond man who was using a bastard sword so it could be used either way. The blond was tense, he held the sword with one hand pointing slightly out, and this meant he had to tack from the right.

The referee dropped his stick down starting the fight. The blond burst forward, Leoff anticipating this roiled his sword up to a high guard to strike down at his opponent forcing him to block and knocking him back across the arena. Leoff’s opponent charged forwards again, and again with a right armed attack, this time their swords met up high, they forced their bodies together testing each other’ s strength. They were Leoff discovered about evenly matched.

Pushing apart they began a new, parrying, thrusting and blocking. Leoff lost himself to the dance of blades moving on instinct rather tan calculation suddenly found he had the upper hand his attack growing more and more ferocious. Leoff heard Vas shout out. Looking down he realized that he was crouched above the man with his blade across his throat, the arena had gone deathly silent, and the referee was shouting at him to stop. Leoff’s stood up hastily; he almost killed that man without thinking. If Vas hadn’t shouted he would have done. Shaking he held his hand out to help his fallen opened up; the man cautiously took it and pulled himself to his feet somewhat white about the eyes. ‘Sorry about that.’ Leoff said gruffly. The other man declined to reply as they took there bows. Leoff left, wondering what had happened to him.

Watching from the dark were a pair of rich brown eyes.

‘Enjoying this Sienna my dear?’ Said Lord Gaius Edouard to his daughter in law. The young woman turned her gaze from the brown haired gladiator with the eyes of a killer to her father in law. She absently ran her finger nails over her exposed cavical.

‘You know how I love to watch the fights.’ She said her voice a soft and caressing. ‘And that young man had just won me forty silvers.’

‘My dear you have an excellent eye for a winner, shall I get him for you?’

‘We already have a stable full.’ She protested without any conviction. Knowing full well that if it was what he thought would make her happy then Gaius would buy it for her to make up for the absence of her husband. As long as he plied her with gifts then she would tolerate his son Terent’s infidelities and his other less palatable habits. When she had noticed her husband’s absence again from this ‘family’ outing she hadn’t been at all surprised. It was better that he was like that with some whore than her. Gaius at once had offered her a new toy ‘Just think your own gladiator my dear, any one you like! And you can tell him to fight in any kind of match you want even to the death. You tell them and they have to do it!’

Annoyed she had watched the men fight below her. She had seen hundreds of fights. This time there wasn’t even going to be a fight to the death. She was thoroughly bored. She remembered how Terent when they were first married used to sneak her to the death matches, and how they would make love in there little alcove private and yet public, like a good lie.

‘I want that one.’ She said pointing a bejewelled hand in the direction to the young man with the claymore. ‘The one called Leoff Sheld.’