152. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
A erie
Plenum must think he can keep us cooling our heels for days, waiting for the Beast of Tramachor’s arrival. I’m going to have to demand a meeting.
We confirmed with Zar this morning that both ships will arrive this evening. I want Beast to get the manumission papers signed, toss the black velvet bag filled with gold coins on the asshole’s desk, or perhaps in his face, and let us be on our way.
We whispered to each other until early morning. Once I got over the fact that no bodily fluids were going to be exchanged, we snuggled together and shared our thoughts.
I told him how sad and angry I was when I saw the barracks. Although I’d held back tears during the tour, they spilled freely down my cheeks as we talked. Picturing him living there, with never a kind word or soft touch filled me with equal parts rage and compassion.
It just made me want to give him more, to do for him, to make up for all the things he’d missed out on in his life. His response was to kiss me so softly, so sweetly it made my heart ache. He told me, “Aerie, times that by a million and you’ll know how I felt when you told me about your life, about the closet, about your pain. I’d gladly kill those bastards for you and never look back. I’d—.” Then he’d stopped himself. I think he was going to tell me something even more loving, but he just hugged me tighter and kissed my temple.
I’m straightening my suit jacket as I glance into the mirror. Crom should be here any moment to transport us to the mansion. He contacted us this morning and said Plenum would see us at eleven.
I tried to move it to later. It would be safer for us to conduct the purchase after the Fool’s Errand and the new ship land on Trent. Crom diplomatically informed me it was a take-it-or-leave-it proposition. So eleven it is.
The Beast of Tramachor—strong, powerful, and deadly—is nervous. I can sense it, although he’d never admit it. Plenum owned this male, had control over his pain/kill collar for fifteen long, grueling years. Although in Beast’s head he knows he’ll be free in a matter of hours, in his heart, he’s got to be worried that something will go terribly wrong.
There’s a knock on the front door and I picture Crom’s wood-like hand rapping upon the huge entry door. I would bet my next paycheck, which will either be kept by my firm or used for an elaborate funeral when it’s discovered I’ve mysteriously disappeared, that Plenum ran the same scam on Crom as he did on Beast and some of his friends.
I woke early this morning and surfed the Intergalactic Database for Crom’s homeworld Drulinius. My hunch was immediately confirmed. The planet is still there, thriving, full of other wooden beings who are renowned throughout the galaxy for their flute music. Can the male not read? Did he never check to see if Plenum told the truth?
I slip into my Louboutins and open the door. My faithful slave is waiting, hands behind his waist in the typical military ‘at ease’ position.
“Good morning, Miss Aerie,” Crom greets me with what I can only assume is a smile on his wooden face.
“Good morning, Crom. You look happy today.”
“Yes, Miss. Master Plenum was satisfied with how I discharged my duties showing you around the ludus yesterday. He gifted me with extra credits in my account.”
“How generous,” I say, “how much is in your account by now? You must be a very rich male.”
“You know, I’ve never asked to see the ledger after my first request. It displeased Master. He accused me of not trusting him.”
Oh, poor Crom. He is so getting fucked by his beloved Master.
Ten minutes later we’ve hovered to the mansion and are escorted into the palatial foyer. I’m certainly no connoisseur of alien interior design, but my guess is this place would be described as ‘eclectic’.
Eclectic as in there seem to be a thousand different styles in just this one spacious room. I imagine, though, that there is one theme tying everything together. I assume what everything probably has in common is that it’s obscenely expensive.
Crom leads us through a maze of rooms, each large, ostentatious, and filled with knick-knacks. Finally, we arrive at Plenum’s sanctum sanctorum , his office. It’s huge, wood-paneled, and screams wealth. If that isn’t enough, his desk is probably eight by ten feet, putting anyone in the room with him at a distinct power disadvantage. The six-and-a-half-foot-tall armed guards flanking him don’t hurt the overall I-have-the-power-and-you-don’t message.
He doesn’t rise when I enter, just waves me to the chair a few feet in front of his gargantuan desk.
Plenum is somewhere in his fifties, sixty tops. His black crew cut tops a muscled body covered with lavender skin. He might be considered attractive if it weren’t for the perma-sneer that adorns his derisive face.
“Hello Miss Evans. I’ll get right to the point. My Pinnacle fighter, The Beast of Tramachor, has been stolen during an attack on the vessel in which he was being transported. I have no reason to believe he is dead, but I can’t produce him.”
Beast is standing faithfully at my left elbow, as per protocol. I could drag this out and play games with Plenum, but I came here to buy Beast’s freedom, and that’s what I’m going to do.
“You think he’s still alive?” I ask, hoping I’m wearing my best poker face.
“Yes.”
“Where I come from there’s an old saying that when you’re buying something sight unseen you’re buying a pig in a poke.” His face shows no sign of dawning comprehension. “A porcine animal in a thick sack.”
He nods, now understanding.
“With that said, I’d still like to buy this male. I’ll offer you half your asking price for the pig in a poke.”
He scowls. Is there a scarier, meaner word than scowl? Because if the armed Beast of Tramachor wasn’t at my side, that look would chill me to my marrow.
“500,000 whether he surfaces again or not. You’ll be handsomely paid if the male is dead. You’ll get half his worth if he’s found. I’m taking as big a risk as you.” I look him straight in the eye.
He thinks for long moments. Figuring, I’m certain, a way to eventually cheat me out of my investment if Beast is found. If he’s smart, he has to assume Beast will never be recovered. In his head he’s probably licking his chops imagining he just made half a million credits for selling the equivalent of air.
“Deal.” He holds out his hand.
“Where I come from, verbal agreements aren’t binding, nor are handshakes. I’ll need written words and a signed document, I’m afraid.” I didn’t go to school for seven years and work at one of the best law firms in New York City to act like a yokel in the most important deal of my life.
He pulls out his pad and a few minutes later hands me the worst contract I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Mind if I add a few clarifications?” I ask with a toss of my head and a smile.
The corners of his mouth turn down, but he hands over the pad. Ten minutes later, I’ve added every addendum and loophole my attorney’s mind can conceive.
“How’s this?” I ask sweetly.
An imbecile at one hundred paces could see the lavender male is fuming. I’ve removed every possible legal method he could use to screw me out of what’s mine. Beast’s anxiety is more palpable with every second that ticks by, but I don’t want to leave anything to chance.
Plenum grunts unhappily, signs the document, and hands it to me. Moments later, I’ve signed it and sent myself a copy.
“I guess that concludes my business,” I say as I stand.
“500,000 credits,” he demands.
“Cyril, can you hand over the pouch?”
Beast removes the bag from his waist, counts out half the contents, walks to the enormous desk and sets the gold on the polished brown surface.
Perhaps it’s something about the way he moves that catches Plenum’s attention, but the male’s eyes narrow and he inspects Beast. I wonder if he sees the flash of metal through the narrow opening in his mask. For whatever reason, Plenum stands and orders, “Remove your mask.”
“I can’t bear to look at him. I—” I sputter, but I’m interrupted.
“Remove your mask!” he thunders.
The guards stand taller, their hands on their weapons.
Beast pulls his sword, in full attack mode.
“Apprehend him!” Plenum shouts.
The two muscular humanoid guards follow orders, unsheathing their swords and approaching in a split second.
I pull a small kitchen knife from where I’d hidden it under my suit jacket. Both the guards are so busy attacking Beast, they completely disregard me. I never thought I was the type of person who could kill anyone, but I plunge my little knife between one of their shoulder blades. He roars in pain, but doesn’t miss a beat in attacking his foe.
Plenum keeps repeating on his comm, “All guards to my office. Now.” If his words didn’t relate the urgency of the command, his tone certainly does.
Both the guards are dead on the floor. After watching him on Galgon, I had no doubt the Beast of Tramachor would get this done in record time.
Now, though, additional guards are pouring in. Some look like they just bounded out of bed and are wearing nothing but a sword and a fierce look. Others must have been on duty elsewhere and are dressed and more than prepared to take Beast down.
I’ve seen Beast fight three gladiators at a time, but when the eighth guard piles through the door, I fear for Beast’s life.
He’s backed into a corner, hacking to keep the males at bay. There’s no way he can fight his way out of this.
“This can end one of two ways, slave ,” Plenum bites out, his tone furious. He’s not the type of male who tolerates being bested in any way. “Both you and your female die, or you give up and I let her live. She is your female, right, Beast ?”
He waits, every male in the room is on edge. Every muscle tense and waiting in fight-or-flight mode.
“Throw your sword to the floor and I’ll let her live. Spill any more blood on my fine Hercleve carpet, and I’ll hack off her head in front of your eyes. Ten, nine, eight, seven . . .”
I have no fear for my own life. Somehow I know Beast will die before he lets harm come to me. As I feel the heft of the little knife in my hand, I calculate if I can leap across the desk and kill Plenum. I guess there was a method to the fucker’s madness when he bought an eight by ten piece of wooden furniture to sit behind. I’ll be dead before I’m within striking distance.
“Let her go free. Her people will come pick her up,” Beast says as if he’s in a position to bargain.
“I offered to let her live, slave. Five, four, three, two—”
“Kill me. Let her live.” He drops his weapon.
“Remove his helmet,” Plenum orders.
After four guards warily remove Beast’s helmet, Plenum says, “The Beast of Tramachor had the balls to come back to this planet to buy his own freedom. Ever hear the old saying, ‘more balls than brains’?”
Beast ignores Plenum and spears me with his gaze. If I do live, the look on his beautiful face will forever be seared into my brain. It is filled with sorrow and apology, and brimming with love. Not to leave any doubt, he fixes his gaze on me and murmurs, “I love you, Aerie.”
I’ve experienced physical pain a million times in my life. I was very young when I learned how to tolerate it. This. This right here, the pain in my heart knowing these are the last words I’ll ever hear from those beautiful lips, is a hundred times more excruciating than anything Mr. Ochsner could mete out.
Two guards grab my arms, and the knife is wrested away with all the effort it would take to snatch a bottle from a baby.
“Don’t kill him yet,” Plenum orders as four guards approach Beast. “I want to have some fun.”
Good. A reprieve of some sort. Every second he lets Beast live is a second we can hope for a miracle.
“Let’s move this little meeting to the arena, shall we? Crom!” he shouts.
Tree-like Crom pokes his head in the door, keeping the rest of his body hidden. The white all around his eyes is showing. Plenum is clearly a maniac. I wouldn’t want to approach when he bellowed, either.
“Yes, Master?”
“Arrange for a match. In ten minimas I want the Beast of Tramachor to fight six of our best fighters. Make sure Erro, Maximus, and Fabius are in the fight. Word has it you four were friends, Beast. Let’s see how many you kill before they kill you.”
I pull against the strong grip of the two males who are detaining me. Plenum is such a fucker I could kill him with my bare hands if I had access.
“Crom, the female and I will watch from the viewing auditorium. Stock it with fruit and wine. I’ll enjoy her favors while we watch the spectacle. Oh, and get her a dress better suited for a party than a business negotiation. See, Beast? I promised she’d live. I didn’t say how comfortably, nor did I promise how long.”
Beast pulls against the four males who are now restraining him. When he almost breaks his bonds, a fifth approaches and places his sword’s edge across Beast’s throat. It’s a gentle touch, he wouldn’t want to deny his employer the spectacle he’s ordered, but the blade cuts Beast enough that a slim line of blood trickles down his green skin.
Beast stands straight, complying with orders. He’s not the type of male to give up in a fight, I know he’s doing this for me. I hope he has a plan to get us out of this.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I note it’s early. The Fool’s Errand isn’t expected for hours. Whatever happens in the arena will be long decided by then. Beast is a Pinnacle. One of the ten best gladiators in the galaxy, but even he is no match for six other fine fighters. We both know he barely made it off of Galgon alive, and that was only fighting three males at a time.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in the viewing auditorium Crom showed us yesterday. The poor male was tasked with going into the ladies’ room and guarding me while I changed clothes.
He kept his eyes averted the entire time. Although he’s so alien-looking, he has a lot of compassion and humanity.
“Crom, I did some research on your homeworld yesterday,” I say as I shimmy into a gold fabric gown that looks like it stepped right out of ancient Rome. “I was relieved to see that the planet is thriving. Remind me, what made you think no one was left alive?” I ask in my most calm, sincere voice.
“There was a terrible war. All were lost. No one is left.”
“Here,” I say, the Intergalactic Database page already cued up on my wrist-comm. I pull it off and hand it to him.
“I can’t read.”
“Yes, that’s very convenient for a personal assistant, don’t you think?” I ask. “I set it to show only images.”
He scrolls through, fast at first, then slower, taking time to examine details.
“Do this,” I instruct, showing him how to widen his fingers to enlarge what’s on the screen. “You’ve been gone what, years? Decades? If these pictures are old, might there be some clues that indicate the passage of time? Might these pictures be recent, Crom? Do you think your Master might have . . . lied to you?”
He’s scrolling even slower now. I can practically hear the wheels turning in his head.
“Crom!” Plenum bellows from the auditorium. “I want her out here. Now!”
“And the ledger, Crom?” I whisper in a rush. “He stole from Beast and several other gladiators. He scammed them, tricked them into buying their females’ freedom. I think the women were paid to make the males think they were in a relationship when they were just mercenaries used by Plenum to part them from the hard-earned credits in their ledgers.”
“Crom!”
“Tell him I’m getting myself beautiful for him.”
“She’s putting the finishing touches on, Master.”
“You can read numbers, Crom,” I say, assuming it’s true. “Have you ever wondered why he doesn’t want you to have a peek at your own ledger?”
I slip into my Louboutins and wait at the doorway, my palm out so he can drop the comm into it.
Crom’s rugged face is so alien it’s hard to read subtle emotions, but there’s nothing subtle about his expression right now. It’s a cross between shock and rage.
In the auditorium, the crimson curtains have already been pulled back. I can see the black, blowing sand of the arena. None of the gladiators have entered yet.
There are two well-armed guards on either side of the wide viewing window, their backs to the action. Their sole purpose is to guard Plenum. Crom takes up his spot near one of them. He’s near the speaker to relay commands to the gladiators outside.
Plenum has had two of the chaise lounges pulled together. They’re in the middle of the first row. I can’t control my full body shiver as I realize he’s going to rape me while I watch my lover get killed before my eyes.
It slowly dawns on me that I’ve prepared for this my whole life. Eighteen years of childhood hell, learning how to tolerate man’s inhumanity to man—or actually man’s inhumanity to little girls. I know how to go deep inside my head and turn off everything inside me that resembles the real Aerie Evans.
I’ve perfected the art of turning to stone. I swear by all that’s holy I will get through today. I’ve come to terms with the fact that the male I love will perish out there on the blazing hot sand not thirty yards in front of me. But unless Plenum kills me on the chaise lounge he’s patting, I will live through this and by God, I will kill the motherfucker if it’s the last thing I do.
“It’s partly because of you that I’ll be losing my best slave today. I’m certain he wasn’t smart enough to decide to buy himself without some help from you. You owe me something. I’ve already appropriated the million credits in gold coin.” He pats the black bag hanging from the sash on his waist as if it’s the head of a hated enemy. “I’m also appropriating you . I will get as much use out of you as I can take, then give you to my guards. I’ll warn you, though, they never learned how to play nice.”
He gazes out the window, as if talking to me is less interesting than an empty arena.
“The last female I gifted them with lasted less than three weeks, poor thing. And she was a four-armed Mordite made of much sturdier stock than you.”
His chuckle reminds me of a lousy character actor’s malevolent laugh.
Beast
There are six well-armed guards surrounding me. I’m defenseless against them. The moment they give me a weapon— if they give me a weapon—they’ll add six gladiators to the fight. I may be the Beast of Tramachor, but I can’t win against twelve adversaries.
“Maximus! Erro! You don’t have to fight me,” I call into the gloom. It’s a small area, I know they can hear me even though my guards have pushed me into a dank corner.
“Shut up, asshole!” one of them sneers as he thumps my head with the butt of his laser pistol.
I shake my head, trying to chase the dancing stars from my eyes.
“They’ve never given seven of us weapons at the same time,” I shout after I collect my wits. “We can beat them.”
This earns me another drubbing, this time by a different guard.
I’m right, though. Within the hoara , there will be seven armed gladiators, the best fighters the ludus has to offer, in the arena. There is no doubt the seven of us could beat every guard on the estate. And the gladiators are slaves. There is one constant in the universe, more than the pull of gravity or the need every being has for air and water, that is a slave’s hatred for his master and the yearning to be free.
Only one thing stands in the way of my plan. Well, two. First I need to convince my comrades to join me in the fight. The second is the pain/kill collars.
Mine is deactivated. I guess Plenum assumed that with all his guards surrounding me I didn’t need to be controlled by the device for the scant amount of time it will take until I’m dead.
All I need to do is strike down one guard, snatch the controller from his wrist, and I can turn off all the males’ collars. Of course, another guard can reactivate them, but my males are strong, they’ve been taught to fight through pain. Even with intermittent activation of the collars, I can keep turning them off. I have faith that these males are strong and determined enough to win even with the odds against us.
My thoughts stray to Aerie. Visions bombard me of the things Plenum could be doing to her right this minima . I banish those thoughts to the far recesses of my mind. Those pictures will do me no good—none. I need to keep focused.
I did tell her I love her, though. I’m glad I got the chance to say it. I’ve been turning the thought around in my head for days now. I just knew it was too soon to speak out loud. I thought we had all the time in the galaxy to explore the heat that radiates between us. If she lives, I hope the memory of those words gives her comfort even if she has little else.
“All right assholes,” one of the guards says. He calls six gladiators to the door of the weapons closet. I peer over my shoulder, watching as each of my friends is outfitted with greaves, spaulders, helmet, shield, and weapons.
Two are equipped with trident spears and nets and two are given three- fierto swords. Erro and Maximus, my two best friends for the last many annums , are given their weapon of choice—bow and arrows.
Are the guards insane? Did they not hear me inciting my friends to riot? Are they so dim they can’t envision what could happen the moment these males are unleashed in the arena if they are bent on rebellion? What a stroke of luck.
“Now, shitheels,” one of the guards orders, and the six are marched into the arena.
I turn, waiting to see what weapon and shield they’ll assign to me.
“You too, asswipe.”
“You forgot my weapon,” I tell him levelly.
“You forgot to pay your master proper respect,” he responds.
I’m to enter the arena against six of the best gladiators in the galaxy without so much as a sword?
I’m prodded by the barrel of a laser pistol into the blazing sun of the arena.
“Brothers! Never have six males in this ludus been armed at the same time. Erro, Maximus, shoot your arrows at the guards. My collar doesn’t work, I’ll grab a controller and turn your collars off. No matter how many times they turn your collars on, I can turn them off.”
I know what I’m asking them. I know the searing pain of even a short jolt of the collar. I also know these males hate captivity, and even more than that, they hate Plenum himself. Most of them were tricked into buying the freedom of a street prostitute. Tricked into believing they were loved.
“Can I count on you brothers? We have not one but two ships coming to rescue us before sundown.”
None of the six seemed interested in my plan until I shared this last bit of information.
“Is this truth?” Erro asks.
“The Fool’s Errand and a new ship they recently won and commandeered. They’re coming to Trent to pick up me and my female by nightfall.”
“Will they take us with them?” Maximus asks, even as the guards step to the edges of the arena. The fight is about to begin.
“Their new ship doesn’t have enough crew. They’d be proud to have you on board. All the males are gladiators.”
“Does that mean there are females?” Justus asks. I imagine his eyes rounding in interest behind his helmet.
“Yes,” I say, even though it’s mostly a lie. There is, after all, only one single female—Willa.
Over the loudspeaker Crom says in a shaky, reedy voice, “Let the fighting begin.”
Before the command is out of his mouth, both Erro and Maximus spear two guards with arrows. I run to the nearest one and grab his laser pistol and wrist controller.
Not wanting to waste his laser charge, I snap his neck, then turn to join the fight. It’s obvious when the gladiators’ collars are activated—it’s hard to miss their grunts of pain.
I turn the collars off as I watch the fight proceed. The archers were a stroke of luck. Between the two of them, even with the barrage of agony from the collars, four of the six guards are down.
Knowing swords, even swords wielded by the most proficient arm, are no match for lasers, I allow their pain to continue while I kill the other two guards with my pistol. I turn the collars off, and they get a respite, but we all turn to the arched opening into the arena at the sound of approaching boots.
Eight additional guards in full battle gear enter at a run. I can only imagine the panicked request for backup demanded by the great Plenum of Trent.
Five of my six comrades have snagged a laser weapon from a dead or dying body. When the reinforcements enter, they’re all nearly seared in half by the combined power of our lasers.
Wrage, his three- fierto gladius sword in hand, is busy going from body to body, severing heads from shoulders. “I want none of these pieces of drack to rise from the ground to hurt any of us again,” he shouts above the wet squelching sound of his hacking.
Aerie
Six gladiators enter the arena at a run. Beast’s two matches on Galgon educated me about this fine ‘sport’. I notice how well-armed they are—from metal shields to the gauntlets that cover them from wrist to elbow, and the shin guards that protect their lower extremities. Archers, spear throwers, swords, they’ve got it all.
Six against one. Beast can’t win unless they’ve equipped him with nuclear arms, and I doubt that’s the plan.
“Come here,” Plenum orders. “Lie down. Fair warning, you won’t be wearing that dress for long. Too bad you won’t be with me long enough for that hair to grow to your shoulders. What possessed you to cut it short and fashion it into spikes?” he asks with distaste.
Fuckers like you , I retort in my head. Grabby, rapey fuckers like Plenum of Trent.
He presses me into the chaise lounge and sticks his tongue down my throat, I try to push him off, but he’s a big guy, and strong. If I saw him at a bar, I’d think he wasn’t bad looking. But rotten character could detract from the appeal of Mr. Universe, and this guy is no Mr. Universe.
He retreats long enough to order Crom to start the game. After tonguing me again for half a minute, he sits up to watch.
I’ve already given the place a visual once-over. Two burly guards flank the viewing window. They have no job description other than to prevent little old me from hurting big bad Plenum. They’d tackle me within seconds if I try to run.
Crom listened to every word I told him earlier. I know I planted seeds of doubt, but there hasn’t been time for those seeds to fully mature.
Not one, but two ships are winging their way here. However, there are only ten gladiators onboard, and who knows if Plenum will stash me so deep in some underground cavern they’ll never find me.
There may eventually be a way off this planet, but it’s not going to be before the end of the competition playing out in front of me.
Beast enters the arena. Oh my God. He is totally fucking defenseless. One unarmed male, not even equipped with a shield against six well-armed gladiators. This is a travesty.
“You have to give him a weapon,” I demand.
“You,” he says as he grabs me around the throat, crushing my windpipe, “do not command me.”
I’m digging at his fingers, trying to pry them from my throat.
“The best you can do is beg. Come on. Beg. Like a canine.”
I catch Crom’s astonished face out of the corner of my eye. I think his master’s behavior has astonished even him.
I hate myself even as I ease to the floor at his side. If this goes on for thirty seconds more, I think I’ll die. I crouch on all fours, his fingers still squeezing the life out of me. White flashes of lights are flying in my vision.
He finally releases me with a hearty laugh.
“Tell them to begin,” he orders Crom, then gives his full attention to the spectacle in front of us.
I watch, mesmerized as the two archers aim, not at my Beast, but at the guards. The action moves swiftly as the seven gladiators look like they’re in perfect synchrony, all fighting as one against their masters, even through the shocking pain of their collars.
“You, to the arena,” he orders the two guards in the auditorium. “Call for backup!” Plenum screams at Crom.
I realize our male from Drulinius has chosen a side when he balks, in his own way. His branch-like arms take long, critical seconds to press the button, then more seconds are lost as he stutters into the comm on the wall before he finally sounds the alarm.
Good male, Crom! In this life-and-death struggle, every second we gain in our fight is precious.
“Your male did this!” Plenum screams at me as he pulls me to him, his hands again squeezing my neck.
I’m crouched on the floor, he’s sitting on the chaise, putting his entire strength into choking the life from me. Powerless over what’s happening in the arena, he has power over one living being on this planet—me.
My vision is fading. Pain and fear war within me as I realize I’m dying.
I haven’t taken a breath in a minute, maybe more. I can barely think, so I don’t know how the idea comes to me, but with perfect clarity, my hands leave his in their futile attempt to pull his fingers from my throat.
I grab the Louboutin off my right foot, hold it in the perfect position, and stab the motherfucker in his carotid artery.
Just like in the movies, blood sprays everywhere, covering my face and chest. I stay single-minded, I need to keep stabbing until he’s well and truly dead. I pull the six-inch stiletto out and sink it into the hollow of his throat, then pull it out again, ignoring the wet sucking sound it makes, and plunge it between his nipples, trying to reach his heart.
I’m not strong enough to push it past his breastbone, so I pull it out and jam it in again and again until I puncture the bone.
It’s only now that I dare look at his face. His eyes are sightless. His perpetual sneer is finally gone. He’s dead.
Beast
The moment I have confidence that we’ve won, I leave the arena at a run, enter the dark cavern of the barracks, and find the stairwell that leads to the viewing auditorium. Aerie! Gods only know what Plenum is doing to her right this moment.
I barge into the cool cavernous room to see Aerie kneeling over Plenum, who’s reclining on one of his lounges. She’s stabbing him, over and over, right in the heart. With one of her stilts.
“Aerie,” I call as I approach. She’s covered in blood, and appears to be in a trance. “Aerie, it’s Beast. You’re safe.”
She stops, shakes her head as if she’s returning to the present, and then drops her shoe.
I run to her, lift her into my arms, then check that Plenum’s dead.
“You killed him, love. He won’t hurt either of us again.”
“Crom,” I say with authority when I notice him almost hidden in the thick folds of the curtain, “pick a side.”
He stutters for long moments. He’s not stalling, I believe I’ve scared the words right out of him.
“He helped,” Aerie says. “He’s already picked our side.”
“How many guards are on the premises?”
Crom mentally calculates. “Fifteen,” he says, then, “no. Sixteen. Minus the carnage in Plenum’s office, of course.”
“That’s everyone? No one in their bunk on their day off? No one out shopping?”
“There are female house staff that aren’t slaves, Sir . . . Master . . . Beast, Sir. But no other males.”
“Use that comm to tell the gladiators to count the bodies. Tell them we need sixteen.”
When all of our enemies are dead and accounted for, I carry Aerie to the arena. Crom trails behind.
“I told the truth when I said two ships of escaped gladiator slaves will land here tonight,” I tell them. “We’ll have to confirm we’ll be welcome on their ships. Crom will release the remaining prisoners, fill them in on the plan. My female needs a moment of peace.
“I want no looting, no fires, no damage. Am I clear? We’re free males now. Not savages. We’ll each make our own decisions from here. Let’s ensure there’s something on this godsforsaken rock to salvage.
“We reconvene in four hoaras in the viewing auditorium. It’s blessedly cool as a winter day in there. Might I request Plenum’s body be disposed of before we return?”
Maximus says, “Yes.”
“And if any of you wondered if I’m the one who killed our sadistic dracker of a master, I wish I could take credit. But it wasn’t me, it was the five- fierto -tall female in my arms.”
With that, I stalk out of the arena, Crom scurrying beside us to hover us back to the guest cottage.