In the city of Korossos, the grudge pit is judge, jury, and executioner all at once. Trapped under the thumb of Khren, lord of Korossos, Salnath of the Sword has spent the past year fighting the lord's grudge matches for him, unable to find a way to extricate himself -- until his elder sister, Myrra, arrives in the city to bring him home.
But Myrra's appearance only makes things worse. Soon Salnath is no longer Khren's champion, but his slave. Myrra, desperate to free her brother, vows that either both of them will leave Korossos, or none at all. And the only way to best Khren is by trapping the lord of Korossos into a grudge match of her own!
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Two From Korossos
Action/Fantasy
Publisher: Under The Moon
Format: eBook
Length: Novella
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Excerpt
"I offer forty-to-one odds, and still no one will take the bet," the duke, standing in the archway, complained. "Salnath, what am I to do with you?"
"Nothing," Salnath replied coldly, laving the dust of the pit from his skin. "I'm through."
"You are if you keep fighting like that," Khren said, giving his embroidered robes a neat flick and settling on the one stone bench in the champion's den. "Nobody likes a one-sided fight. Except me, of course. That match cost Forren three-quarters of his lands." Khren's eyes gleamed with amusement. "The more fool he for challenging me."
"You seduced his sister," Salnath reminded him.
"She was hardly unwilling, my young barbarian." Khren looked at him, surprised. "I wouldn't have thought the intrigues of the nobility interested you."
"They don't." But if it'd been his sister, Salnath thought, he'd have gutted Khren himself--if Myrra didn't get to it first, that is. The thought brought a fond, rueful smile to his lips.
"Nevertheless," Khren continued, "you could give the crowd more of a show. Now, I've scheduled a match this afternoon. I know it's short notice; it was a bit of a surprise--"
Salnath cut him off. "Maybe you didn't hear me."
The Duke froze, his face still. Only his eyes moved, those eyes like bits of burning jet, that black gaze flicking over his face, his stance, the hard, set line of his massive shoulders. Salnath didn't move.
"I see," Khren said at last. "May I ask why?"
"Do you really want to know?"
Khren smiled. "Salnath, you are still such a boy at times." Salnath couldn't help it--he flushed. Words tangled in his brain, fighting to be said. But under the duke's cool, amused gaze, he couldn't find his tongue. Returning to the question of the match, the duke continued, "I could make it worth your while, you know."
"I doubt it." Salnath reached for his sword belt. The last thing he wanted was more of Khren's money. It was the duke's particular talent, Salnath mused, to turn other men's blood into gold--gold that had lined his own purse, as well as Khren's. The thought carried its own disquiet.
He gathered the belongings that had accumulated in the den over the past twelve months; a dented breastplate of polished bronze, an unopened jar of ointment for the disinfection of wounds, the worn whetstone he used for his knife--Karkaran, forged deep in the underground temple of Morg, had yet to require sharpening.
"You're serious about this." Khren stared at him. When Salnath didn't answer, he shrugged, stood, and held out his hand. "Well, then..."
Salnath looked at it warily. Could it really be this easy? This wasn't the first time he'd tried to leave. But each time Khren had somehow balked him, leaving him feeling slow and thick and surly as a baffled bull. At first it had been simply the gold; heady enough for the son of a poor mountain tribe! After that lure had lost its hold, a woman had appeared. That was when he'd learned just how far Khren would go to keep his young champion right where he wanted.
"It's been quite a partnership, hasn't it, Salnath? Exciting, profitable..."
Salnath ignored the proffered hand and turned away.
Rage flickered for a moment deep in Khren's eyes. He watched Salnath sling his possessions over one shoulder, then added lightly, "You will, of course, return Daru to my stables in the morning."
The bronze breastplate clattered to the stone floor, acquiring yet another dent, as Salnath spun around. "What?"
"My dear, the horse was a perquisite of your employment, after all. And I'm in need of a fourth black for my carriage. Sundowner's gone lame."
Daru, a carriage nag? The black battle stallion had saved Salnath's life more times than he could count. He seethed, feeling the muscles knot in his jaw as Khren continued, "Of course, he'd have to be gelded..."
Karkaran was out before Salnath realized he'd drawn it. But before he could complete the swing Khren waved a negligent hand, and Salnath found himself frozen, muscles straining against an unseen force which pinned him, helpless as a trussed rabbit, the sword poised impotently in midair. Khren stepped out from under its gleaming black edge, waved his hand again, and Salnath staggered forward at the sudden release of pressure.
"What--"
"Oh," the Duke smirked, "just something I've been toying with recently."
"So you're a sorcerer, too," Salnath spat in disgust. "And either I keep fighting your matches, or you take my horse."
"Salnath, Salnath. I wouldn't dream of forcing you to stay. But I do need a champion for this afternoon... Ah!" Khren's exclamation sounded about as spontaneous as a siege. "I know. You fight this one last match for me, and if you win, the horse is yours."
Salnath's eyes narrowed. "No conditions?"
"None whatever."
Salnath scowled. Fleetingly, he wished Myrra were here--he tended to solve conundrums with the edge of a sword. And there was a catch here, he knew it. There had to be. He just couldn't see it. "And if I lose?"
Khren's smile hardened. "Well, it won't really matter then, will it?" His eyes glittered, and Salnath had the uneasy sensation the duke was reading his expression as easily as a scribe might read a scroll. He dropped his gaze, feeling the old baffled fury once again twisting his gut. Because Khren was right. It didn't matter. Whatever catch the duke might have planned, he had to do it. For Daru.
Satisfied, Khren turned away. "Don't look so glum, my dear. You know you never lose." And with that, he swept from the champion's den.
Dully, Salnath sank to the bench. It was true, he thought, he didn't lose. So why, he wondered as he sat in the cool, empty cell, did he feel an icy conviction that he'd already lost?
