Tanys Gladiatrix (The Chronicles of Tanys Book 2) (19 page)

"Traitor!" the Malchesse spat, "You brought shame to our house!"

Baran's eyes flashed. Tanys could see how much the satyr's words hurt him. The gladiator muscles tensed, and his silence filled the room. Suddenly Baran's sword clanged on the stone floor. "I'm sick of killing," Baran said.

The satyr guards took an unconscious step forward then froze as Tanys and the sisters raised their swords. Jorva sauntered into the room, giving Baran a quizzical look.

The Malchesse's eyes narrowed, the leather bag creaked in his tightening grasp.

"What are you doing?" Tanys whispered.

"I'm offering peace between our people," Baran said.

The nobles, wide-eyed, looked from Baran to the Malchesse.

The Malchesse snorted. He sneered as he slung the satchel over his shoulder. "Kill this fool."

Ten red armored satyr guards surged forward, and Tanys leapt to meet them. She dodged clear of a downward arcing sword and drove her blade into the throat of the unlucky swordsman. She yanked her weapon back, and the satyr's blood sprayed across the pale stone floor.

Baran did not stoop to retrieve his blade but caught a guard's wrist and knocked him senseless with a brutal strike to his face. Stripping the sword from the satyr's grip, Baran spun, lifting another satyr's head from his shoulders with the curved blade.

A moment later Berra and Tyll crashed upon the hapless guards like two angry she-bears. Jorva as well leapt into the fray, ripping the tendons from a screaming faun's leg with his daggerlike teeth.

"Mercy!" cried a noble who cowered at the tip of Berra's sword.

"Hold!" Baran cried out, "Surrender and live!"

"The remaining guards looked to the Malchesse for guidance, but he had slipped away through the far passageway in the confusion. The guards cursed and flung their weapons to the ground beside the whimpering nobles.

"Dammit!" Tanys exclaimed, rushing through the archway into the shadowy corridor down which the Malchesse had fled.

"Tanys!" Baran called after her, but she did not wait for her friends.

She raced past darkened rooms and vaulted over pieces of overturned furniture and smashed valuables. She glimpsed the red silk of the satyr lord's robe disappearing through a slamming door.

Tanys shouldered hard into the door before it could be fully closed, nearly stunning herself with the impact. On the other side, the gray-furred veteran grunted and staggered back.

"You again!" the satyr growled, snatching an axe from his belt.

Tanys shoved wide the door, ducking beneath an axe swing that splintered the doorframe. Her sword flew in an upward stroke, laying bare the satyr’s cheekbone. He reeled and swung wildly, the hooked corner of his axe opening a gash in Tanys’ bare thigh.

Tanys stumbled away, blood streaming down her leg. The gray-maned satyr, sensing an opening, lunged toward her, axe raised high. Tanys dropped to one knee, pitching forward beneath his guard, thrusting the tip of her blade between the gap of armor at his waist. He fell across her shoulder, moaning, as the sword point emerged from the far side of his bowels.

She shrugged the dying faun aside as she rose again to pursue the fleeing Malchesse.

Her wounded leg shook beneath her as she ran. As she emerged through a side door into the cool night air, she tripped and fell, landing on the heels of her hands in the gravel road beside the Duke’s manor. She looked up to see an ebon-framed chariot, pulled by four black horses and driven by a red-liveried satyr with a plumed helmet. The Malchesse was already climbing aboard. He looked back at her with a cruel smirk as the chariot pulled away.

“No!” Tanys screamed. She rose shakily to her knees and hurled her sword end over end at the fleeing chariot. It fell short as the horses dragged the satyr lord beyond her reach.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she gritted her teeth and pressed her bruised hand against her throbbing wound. She watched the chariot draw farther away, wondering if she would ever again find the black faun within reach of her blade.

Then the chariot slowed, wheeling around to reverse its course. Tanys watched in wonder as the chariot drew nearer.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” the Malchesse shouted. His eyes went wide with terror as he saw Tanys rising to her feet in the lane. He grasped his satchel full of documents in both hands and struck the plumed driver across the back. They were close enough now that Tanys could see a broad smile spread across the helmeted driver’s face.

“Why are we going back?” the Malchesse demanded, his voice growing panicked.

“I just wanted you to think for a moment that you’d actually escaped,” the driver said, turning toward the Malchesse, “I really wish that you could see the look on your face just now.”

The Malchesse’s jaw dropped open, his golden eyes bright disks in the moonlight.

The driver calmly removed his helmet and tossed it aside. A single long ear bounced free of the helm.

“Torke!” Tanys gasped.

Torke grinned at her as she stumbled to the side, allowing the chariot horses to pass. The Malchesse looked frantically from Tanys to the assassin and then down at the knife handle protruding from his belly.

Torke sagged against the frame of the chariot, a pained look on his face. “I’d kick you off the back of this thing, but it would hurt like hell in my condition,” he said, “Would you be so good as to fall off?”

The Malchesse stumbled backward, clutching at the rail, but Tanys caught his robe as he passed and pulled him down. He landed on the road, staring up at her, speechless with pain.

“A parting gift, my lovely butcheress,” Torke called out as he lashed the horses to speed.

Tanys knelt and jerked the knife from the Malchesse’s gut, ignoring his anguished cry as she turned, lifting the blade to eye-level and gauging the distance to the fleeing assassin. It would be an easy throw.

Torke’s chariot receded into the shadows of the tree-lined street, and he was gone. Tanys could not guess what strange impulse had stayed her hand. It could not have been mercy for Haru’s murderer. Perhaps she just wanted to look him in the eye when she took vengeance for her friend.

She sighed and looked down at the Malchesse who writhed in the dirt, his bloody hands pressed to his wound. Suddenly Baran appeared in the doorway, a look of bewildered joy on his handsome face.

“You caught him!”

“Sort of,” Tanys smiled crookedly.

“We have gathered here today to see justice done!” the Caller’s voice reverberated throughout the arena.

From the stands roared the combined voices of the free citizens of the Holy City. Most of the voices were human, but a few satyrs had dared to attend the spectacle under the protection of Prince Baran. The gladiator prince sat in the upper stands, a contingent of nervous-looking satyr nobles sitting to his left and all his friends, save Tanys, seated to his right. The stands around them were filled with all manner of former slave and desert raider. Gone were the separations of class and race. The sun shone down on all of them, their bright clothing fluttering in the hot wind that blew from the Rashaki.

Tanys looked up at Baran from the shade of the arena wall. The god of war had become a lord of men. She smiled, remembering her time with him, hurting to know that it was coming to an end. She had dared hope for a moment that the revolt would set him free; that he could choose love over honor. She knew now that he never would. As though he sensed her watching him, Baran looked down at her. She thought she saw him smile.

Ghodn padded up beside her, a low rumble in his throat.

Tanys laid her hand on his neck and stroked the mighty tiger. “Don’t worry, boy,” she said, “Not much longer.”

Berra and Tyll were anxious to be on the road. Jorva as well seemed fidgety and restless whenever he was away from Naietta’s side. That he would go with Tanys when she left was in little doubt. That Naietta would follow the little man to the ends of the earth was an absolute certainty. Danella would not be coming. She had lost her heart to the desert, or at least to a certain desert raider.

Tanys flexed her limbs beneath the white linen of her loose tunic. Her wounds had healed, and she ached to be on her way. Her ghast-wrought blades hung heavy on her hips, and her fingers longed to feel them dance again to the song of battle.

“…stands accused and convicted of High Treason,” the Caller’s booming voice continued, “And he will suffer the death of Tooth and Claw!”

The crowd screamed for vengeance. Their bloodlust demanded a sacrifice. At least they had chosen a deserving one this time.

Tanys looked to the center of the arena where the black-furred satyr who was once known as the Malchesse hung, chained naked to an iron wheel. Crude stitches laced shut the jagged wound in his abdomen. The satyr raised his shaggy head, his golden eyes filled with undisguised loathing.

Ghodn growled hungrily, his muscles twitching beneath Tanys' hand.

She smiled down at the massive tiger and scratched fondly at the fur behind his ear. Ghodn looked up at her questioningly.

"Go on, boy... Go have your lunch."

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