2. Deep #3
“What about these things?” Rerdas called. He had moved to the other side of the ship and stood over what looked like two wooden platforms resting on top of the drifts.
Imalroc knelt beside one. It looked to be made of logs lashed together by tight ropes.
Another rope trailed from one corner of the platform and disappeared into the sand.
He followed it and found himself up to his elbows in a small dune when his fingertips finally struck a thick metal loop in the ground.
The rope was knotted securely to it. He dragged his arms free of the sand and stood.
He couldn’t think how the tethered platforms might work. The unease flickering in his gut spread. Years in Kirinoll’s top battleboxes taught him most of the tricks there were, but here, he was mystified. Slowly, he picked his way back toward the logs.
“The logs are tied to a metal loop down there... but... I don’t know why,” he admitted.
“Do they smell odd to you?” Rerdas asked, his voice low.
Imalroc inhaled, and the smell of freshly cut wood flooded his nose. And something else, familiar, like—
“Smells like lamp oil.” Rerdas finished his thought out loud.
He backed away, tugging Rerdas with him, glaring at the wood. “They’ll set it on fire. During the fight, I’m sure.”
“Eternals,” Rerdas said weakly. The huntmaster winced, and Imalroc realized he had a crushing grip on his forearm. He dropped his hand and spun away.
“Does this setup make any sense to you?” he asked.
Rerdas ran a hand through his curls. “I don’t know how they do things here.
Heckly warned me they include more tricks in the boxes outside Kirinoll to make the fights more exciting.
But a battlebox this size only makes it easier for two fighters to avoid each other.
It’s huge.” He tilted his head back to look at the rounded edge of a wall. “And absurdly deep,” he added.
Imalroc bared his teeth at whatever hidden threat lurked in this place. He wanted to get away, escape the box, although another instinct told him he should stay. He was missing something.
He shuddered and swung around to catch Rerdas watching him closely. Again.
“You want to leave?” Rerdas murmured.
Imalroc nodded. He avoided the concern in Rerdas’s eyes and aimed for the stairs through which they had entered the box. Might’ve been better off not walking the box. All it had done was unnerve him.
“I'll ask around about this place,” Rerdas said from somewhere close behind. “See if I can get you more information ahead of the fight. I don’t know if we’ll be able to—” He stopped abruptly and Imalroc froze.
He followed Rerdas’s gaze up to the top of the battlebox wall and for a moment found himself staring into the curious eyes of a round-faced guard.
Imalroc dropped his gaze at once and loped over to take up his position at Rerdas’s back.
“Fair afternoon,” Rerdas said cautiously.
The guard gave him a little bow and scurried over to the top of the stairs.
“So sorry to stare, sir! Do you mind if I come down? I’d love to get a look at your fighter up close, sir!”
“Ah. Well, you can get a bit closer, I suppose.”
Imalroc stepped on the huntmaster’s heel. He was in no mood to be put on parade for anyone, least of all one of the battlebox guards.
Rerdas winced. “On second thought, you might want to just stop there.” He nodded to where the eager little guard landed on the bottom step of the stairs.
“He is broken, isn’t he, sir?” The guard tried to peer over Rerdas’s shoulder.
“He’s… he’s skittish at the moment. New city, new battlebox. All that.”
Imalroc made sure his head was low enough that the guard wouldn’t see him bare his teeth. Wonderful to be talked about like he was a fucking horse.
“I don’t envy you this fight, I’ll tell you that.” The guard chuckled. Then he seemed to remember himself and swallowed, plucking at the collar of his tunic. “Uh, what I mean is, it’s sure to be a fine battle, sir.”
“So we hope.” Rerdas cocked his head. “How long have you been in Navona’s employ?”
“Just started here, sir. But I’ve seen the fights since I was a boy. My father worked here before me.”
“It’s certainly an interesting battlebox.”
The guard puffed out his chest. “The best in Inofar, I’d wager.”
Rerdas arched an eyebrow. “Everything seems to be larger here.” He gestured at the nearest porthole. “I can’t imagine how big the pikes must be to warrant portholes this size.”
Imalroc let his eyes flit up in time to catch the quizzical expression that flashed across the guard’s face before the man laughed. “Gods above, those aren’t for pikes, sir! Goodness, you’re right. They’d have to be giant.”
“What are they for?”
“That’s how the water gets in, sir.”
“The… water?” Rerdas echoed.
“Sure. Pump it straight in from the river. We’re the only battlebox I know of that can hold so much.”
Whatever the guard said next drowned in the roar of Imalroc’s pulse, filling his skull. He stumbled away from Rerdas’s shoulder, spinning to stare at the enormous battlebox, with its half-sunk ship and impossibly high walls.
Rerdas was right. It was fucking deep.