9 August 1062 P.E.
First Blood Lounge, Restaurant District, Darnan
Brand stepped out of the mechanohorse-drawn carriage and straightened his dinner jacket. Scrubbed clean until he shone pink, he was now dressed in a full suit, complete with black bow tie, walking cane, and top hat. He’d brushed out his hair and trimmed his short beard as well as he could, but the wavy salt and pepper locks still stuck out at odd angles. Though the sun had gone down, the stones radiated stored-up heat from midday, and Brand was sweating in his many layers.
He stepped up to the sleek black door of the First Blood Lounge. A valet opened the door and bowed.
“Good evening, Mr. Brand. Lord Kushchai is waiting for you.”
At nearly two meters tall barefoot, Brand towered over humans and kashmari alike on any day. But in these shoes and a top hat, he had to duck low to get through the doorway.
As soon as Brand stepped through the door, he pulled off his hat and cool air washed over him, chilling the sweat on the back of his neck. He took a deep breath. The smells of alcohol and pipe tobacco mingled with the musk of sweat and cologne. It reminded him of the pub he’d worked at as a young man.
But unlike the pub of his youth, this establishment was packed with the elites and celebrities of Darnan: kashmari nobles and their ladies, human Council members, and gladiators. Flush with the wealth of the city’s refineries and factories and clothed with exotic textiles from distant Duat, they drank, ate, and laughed amidst the most expensive woods and dark bricks from the mountains. The copper taps gleamed in the light of real electric bulbs.
The patrons looked up from their tables as the giant man entered. Several stood, clapped, and yelled his name. He waved his cane with a grin. A couple of other gladiators, similarly bedecked in top hats and jackets and sporting various scars, came over to slap Brand on the back and exchange a few words of congratulations or well wishes.
“Have a drink with us!” one of them said, thwacking Brand on the back.
“I can’t, Gwythyr,” Brand said, pulling a mournful face. “I’m here on the job. Got a meeting with the boss and his friends.”
“Ah, that’s too bad,” Gwythyr said, his square face falling, “but our patrons keep us in business, so what can you do, right?”
Brand clapped his friend on the back. “Tomorrow morning before the fight. Tell everyone to come.”
“Will do. Good luck with the boss.”
“Thanks.”
Brand disentangled himself from his peers and walked along the bar, searching for Kushchai.
As he scanned the room, he caught sight of four strangers in grey hoods, each pressed up against a different wall. They stood silent, watching, still as stone. There was something…off about them. Maybe it was the way they all held their heads a bit cocked to the side, or how still they were. Or maybe it was the empty space the other patrons left around each grey-cloaked stranger. No one looked directly at the grey figures. Brand couldn’t see inside the hoods, either, and as a fighter, that unnerved him.
A slender kashmari at a table towards the back of the packed lounge stood and waved Brand over. The gladiator shrugged off his unease and moved over to the table.
Lord Kushchai, the city lord of Darnan, was short even for a kashmari. A shock of pure white hair contrasted sharply against his blueish-grey skin. Strange white circles and lines marked his nose, cheeks, and forehead. Silver rings adorned both slender fingers and delicately elongated ears. Despite his otherworldly appearance, he was dressed sharply in a beautifully tailored pinstriped waistcoat and trousers.
As Brand approached, the kashmari’s marked face split into a grin that showed off an array of teeth that would have looked more appropriate in the mouth of a feline.
“There you are, Brand,” the kashmari said. “Have a seat. Are you thirsty? Of course you are. Waiter!”
Before the kashmari could sit again, Brand pulled the city lord aside and whispered in his ear. “B’alam Nehn sent a bounty hunter to attack me two days ago.”
Kushchai’s face went from jovial to serious in an instant.
“Because you beat his champion?”
Brand nodded.
“Is the bounty hunter still alive?”
Brand nodded again.
“You should have killed him.”
“He won’t attack me again.”
“His death would have sent a clear message to B’alam Nehn. Now I’ll have to speak with him.” Kushchai turned and smiled at the others at the table, beckoning for Brand to sit. A waiter arrived, distracting Kushchai and allowing Brand a moment to look over the others seated at the table.
Sitting across from Brand was Lady Mirane. Brand had met his fair share of beautiful kashmari women, but as always, Mirane looked like she’d stepped out of a dream. Silver flakes gilded her eyelids and made her deep sapphire blue eyes stand out against her dark skin. Azure lapis lazuli beads were woven into the locks of her silvery hair, which was piled on top of her head in such a way that the loose ends cascaded down over her bare storm-blue shoulders. A collar necklace made of silver and lapis lazuli hung at her throat and drew Brand’s eyes down. The gladiator studiously yanked his gaze back up where it belonged.
His gaze locked with hers and she smiled warmly. She’s a kashmari, you idiot, he reminded himself. Look, but don’t touch. On second thought, don’t even look.
Brand pried his eyes away from the kashmari woman to smile at the second patron at the table, a human male. He looked vaguely familiar, but Brand couldn’t place him. He was a heavy-set man who had perhaps been well-muscled in his prime. Like many humans in Darnan, his hair and skin were dark, though Brand had rarely seen anyone quite as dark as this man. His shoulder-length wavy black hair framed an almost brutish clean-shaven face; but his eyes belied a keen, watchful intelligence.
The strangest part about him was his clothes: unlike most of the other patrons, who wore elegant formalwear, this man wore a tired old overcoat, a faded red waistcoat, and a loose ascot, as though he were a businessman out for a drink after work. The man seemed completely disinterested in Brand, instead preferring to read the menu.
The third patron was the kashmari lord of Duat, Lord Jinn. Like other kashmari, his skin was bluish-grey. However, his was decidedly greyer, as though the lack of sun in Duat had sucked the bluish tint out of his skin, leaving him looking sickly. His eyes were red as blood, though, and he kept those crimson eyes trained on Brand with as much interest as the human lacked. He waited for Kushchai to finish with the waiter, as was customary.
With the drinks ordered, Kushchai turned to the others.
“May I introduce His Excellency, High Lord Fafnir the Dragon. My lord, this is Cadmus Brand, my champion gladiator.”
Brand’s jaw dropped as the old man in the threadbare red waistcoat nodded courteously. This is Fafnir? The most powerful kashmari of them all? He looks like an older, more worn-down version of me, not an immortal, elegant kashmari.
“My lord.” Brand barely managed a nod and polite smile. The high lord’s eyes twinkled at Brand’s shock.
“And Mirane, Lady of Navar, whom you met last week.”
Grateful for the diversion, Brand accepted her delicate hand and planted a kiss between the silver adornments.
“As well as Lord Jinn of Duat, of course.”
“It is most excellent to meet you again,” Lord Jinn said. “I greatly look forward to watching the contest tomorrow between you and Mirane’s Duati champion.”
“It will be an honor to test myself against him, my lord.”
Kushchai beamed at his prized pet’s manners.
“He was an excellent tour guide,” Mirane said. “I will admit, he’s older than I expected of a prized fighter.” The corners of her lips curled as her stormy gaze raked over the gladiator. “Though he’s certainly handsome and well-built. You say he has no trouble keeping up with the younger gladiators?”
“He not only keeps up with them; he flattens them.”
“Astonishing.” Mirane’s eyes met Brand’s and she smiled in a way that made Brand’s insides twist in on themselves.
“Wisdom and experience often confound the young,” Fafnir said with a deep, gravelly voice that sounded like what Brand imagined the mountains would sound like if they could talk. “Combine that with an excellent physique, and it’s no wonder he has beaten them all.”
“Perhaps,” Jinn said. “But Mirane’s gladiator likewise has had plenty of experience in the Duati caverns and is still young. I believe if anyone has what it takes to defeat Brand, it’s Percy. No offense meant, of course, Mr. Brand.”
“None taken, my lord.”
The waiter arrived with their drinks. Brand sipped his; it was a sweet, spicy whiskey.
Mirane leaned up against Fafnir and grinned. “You find our games silly, don’t you?”
A spark of interest appeared in the high lord’s eye at the female’s touch. He leaned in until his face was mere centimeters from hers and twisted his face into a sneer. “We have other more pressing matters to attend to than games. Your city’s production has fallen off, for example. I’ve heard rumors that your overseers are being paid to find new gladiators rather than new laborers.”
Mirane leaned back indignantly and began to retort when Jinn spoke.
“Morale has been rather low, Lord Fafnir. If the workers hate their lives, they don’t work. I myself have seen a significant increase in productivity since allowing my Duatis to take part in the gladiatorial games. I believe there was a time when it was appropriate to forbid them, but that time is now long past.”
The high lord nodded slowly. “For most of the cities, perhaps. For Navar…I remain unconvinced.”
Kushchai shrugged. “If this continues to be a problem, Darnan has plenty of overseers and laborers to assist Navar. Darnan can pick up Navar’s slack in energy production and storage.”
Mirane shot Kushchai a glare that could have melted a hole in the brick wall.
“I assure you, Navar will improve.”
Kushchai and Mirane eyed each other like two jealous siblings vying for their twisted father’s affection. That’s exactly what this is, Brand realized. He plays them off of each other so they never think to go after him. A turf war without bloodshed.
Brand turned to look at Jinn and saw the grey kashmari’s burning gaze watching him with a knowing little smile.
Under his breath so only Brand could hear, Jinn muttered, “This is why I prefer Duat, warts and all.”
“No one else wants the mess, and if you handle it well, Fafnir leaves you alone?”
“Precisely.”
“You’ve made promise after promise, Mirane,” Fafnir rumbled. “Enough promises. You need oversight from a more successful city lord, I think.”
Mirane gasped. “My lord—“
“No, my mind is made up. Lord Jinn will oversee your management of Navar—“
This time it was Kushchai who interjected. “My orl, wouldn’t it make more sense if a lord from above ground, and perhaps from a city with similar goods, could oversee Navar? I’m sure Lord Jinn runs Duat effectively, but what works in the fields of Duat may not work in the mines of Navar.”
One of Jinn’s eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline and he opened his mouth to speak, but it was Fafnir who spoke next.
“Out of all the city-states, Duat is the most efficiently run. Mirane needs someone to teach her subjects to heel.”
“Jinn brought farmers to heel with your vrykolakas,” Kushchai said, casting a nervous glance at the grey-hooded figures standing around the room. Brand realized that their heads were all tilted toward High Lord Fafnir. Watching. Waiting. Listening.
For a signal, Brand realized with a sudden chill. They must be his guards. Vrykolakas? Brand had never heard of them.
Kushchai was still speaking. “…even Mirane could achieve results under those circumstances. I, on the other hand, have had no such boon, and many of my subjects are individualistic merchants.”
“The miners of Navar are menial workers,” Jinn said, “much like my farmers. I know how they think—“
Mirane’s beautiful face twisted in anger, but she kept it in check, her silky voice careful. “My Lord, before these two brutes get into a fight over my carcass, may I propose an alternative course of action?”
Fafnir crossed his arms over his barrel chest, one thick eyebrow raised. “What did you have in mind?”
Mirane said, “Let us have a simple wager. If my gladiator wins, I get to keep Navar and chose who has oversight over me. If Kushchai’s gladiator wins, I lose Navar.”
Fafnir was so still as he stared at her that Brand was reminded of a reptile waiting patiently on a rock for its prey to wander by. Mirane seemed to be holding her breath as the minutes crept by. The silence and waiting became uncomfortable and she seemed to wither under Fafnir’s unrelenting stare.
Finally, he said, “Fine. You will have your wager. If Kushchai’s champion wins, he gains control of Navar. If yours wins, I will allow you until spring to improve production. Are both parties agreed?”
Mirane looked about ready to light the lounge on fire. Fafnir’s adjustment to the wager only gave her a little breathing room if she won, nothing more. But she nodded tightly.
Kushchai eyed Brand, then glanced at Jinn. The other kashmari lord shrugged. Kushchai thought for a moment more, then, “Agreed.”
“Very well,” Fafnir said. “Your hands.”
Both Kushchai and Mirane offered their palms face up on the table in front of the high lord. With one broad fingernail, Fafnir drew a long thin line of blood from each of their palms. Blood dripped down onto the table and stained the white cloth crimson.
Fafnir held his own palm out. Brand was surprised to see thick callouses on the pads of the hand as though he were a laborer instead of an aristocrat. An angular black tattoo inked on the back of that huge hand continued up under the sleeve of his coat. It reminded Brand of Alastair’s tattoo. The gladiator took a sip of his whiskey to cover the wave of sadness he knew he couldn’t completely keep off his face.
Kushchai then held his hand over the high lord’s, letting his blood drip onto Fafnir’s hand. Mirane did the same so that their blood mingled in the high lord’s palm.
Then the mixed blood turned a deep shade of violet and seemed to seep into Fafnir’s skin. It leaked outwards in a strange dark spiderweb, then faded.
Fafnir clenched his fist with a satisfied nod.
“So be it.”
“A blood wager,” Brand said, stunned.
Kushchai smiled in amusement as he pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped his bleeding hand.
Jinn chuckled. “A rare sight for a lowly human, isn’t it? But now you are no lowly human anymore, are you, Cadmus Brand? Perhaps one day you too will make a blood oath, as many other humans here have done.”
He gestured to the human council members scattered around the lounge.
The idea shocked Brand further. Was Jinn suggesting that he too might become a counselor someday? The thought both excited and terrified him. Regarded as the most powerful humans in the city-states, human members of the Council of Lords were the captains of industry and answered only to the kashmari city-lords.
Jinn downed the remainder of his drink in one swallow. “Enough of this business talk. We’ve bored the poor gladiator stiff. What do you say we leave our stuffy old manipulative high lord here and go find a real party, eh?”
Brand glanced over at Fafnir, but the high lord didn’t seem to mind Jinn’s words at all.
“I’m coming too,” Mirane said, standing. There was silence for a moment as the three males admired the curves of her body not at all hidden by the form-fitting shape of her ankle-length blue dress.
“Me too,” Kushchai chimed in. “Wouldn’t want you to slip something into my gladiator’s drink, now would we?” he grumbled to Mirane. He turned and elbowed Jinn playfully.
The grey kashmari chuckled. “I’m on her side, my old friend. Percy is a Duati boy, and I’ll stand by him. Besides, I look forward to seeing the look on your face when you lose.”
Kushchai grinned. “Mark my words, Navar will be mine.”
Mirane shot a glare at the two lords over her shoulder.
Brand glanced back at the table as they left. Instead of a lonely old man sitting there as he’d expected, Brand saw instead Fafnir’s eyes meet his own. The high lord raised his glass to Brand as though wishing the gladiator luck. Fafnir drank deeply, then stood to leave.
Brand was whisked away at that moment by the other kashmari.
They all know that he’s got them wrapped around his finger. And yet they still follow him. There is definitely more to him than I can see, Brand thought to himself.
