Chapter Three

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I didn’t trust this, but Skip was correct in that I’d been early. Whatever was happening here was independent of me. If that was the case, why was I called here and exactly what was happening? I had questions, but until I opened my mouth I wouldn’t be in any danger of giving anything away, and so I followed Skip’s instruction to have a seat, and I studied what I was seeing. Interestingly, the first thing I noticed was that none of the fallen appeared to be dead. Some had been wounded worse than others, many even gravely so, but they were all being attended to and helped out of the arena one at a time with the care a teenager would show the remains of a house party in the desperate hours before their parents returned home.

“I can see it on you. You recognize Bres, and you’re wondering just what the hell is going on here, am I right?” Skip asked the question with such confidence that my face must have given away my thoughts, though I was certain I hadn’t moved a muscle. “Don’t feel too bad about it, sweetheart. Reading people is kind of my thing.”

“You’re not wrong,” I hedged, still keeping an eye on the arena floor. I wondered absently how many more times I would allow him to call me sweetheart before I did something violent and unprofessional. “I have... an issue with Bres. And it’s true that I do not know what is happening here, but it is also true that I don’t particularly care. I am here against my will; I’m here to do a job. The particulars of which have not been made clear to me.”

“Well, you are in for a real treat. Not only will all be made clear to you, I think you’ll find the reason why you’re here just, well, just a real eye-opener.”

“Hey, boss man!” Bres called out loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd, walking in the direction of our box. “Is this really it? Is this the best you’ve got?”

“Pardon me, but this will require my attention for just a moment,” Skip said almost displaying a hint of etiquette. He stood up and leaned over the box railing and looked down into the pit as the crown ceased their cheering, presumably to hear what was coming next.

“You should feel honored, Bres!” Skip attempted something like a decree, but he clearly didn’t have the voice of authority for it. “These were some of my best men!”

Wiping away a bit of blood from his mouth, Bres stepped forward with a grin and called back, “There’s your problem, boyo. To kill me, you sent men. You should have sent armies.”

“Now, now, none of that. No one wants you dead, Bres,” Skip responded. Seeing the look on his face and hearing the words as he said them, Skip corrected himself. “Well, I don’t want you dead, at least. You and I are going to do great things together.”

Bres sneered at that. “Don’t get it twisted! You seem to be mistaking me for another soldier in your army. Let’s get one thing straight before one of your fool assumptions gets you killed. I’m no soldier of yours. I’m a goddamn holy terror. And I may not have chosen this life, but I make the most of it, and I’ve hurt people worse than anyone you can imagine. Thank your stars, lad, that I’m one of a kind because a wee pissant like you wouldn’t know what to do with two of me. I just took the best ninety-nine soldiers you had, and I took them to places they might not come back from. So go on then, bring it out! Bring out your precious Battle Born, and when I plant them into the earth, I’m going to step over their body and walk out of here free. Through you, if I have to.”

Skip blinked at that, shaking his head in mock surprise. “Wow, Bres. Wow. Did you write up that speech before you entered today or... no, it doesn’t matter. Fantastic though, really giving everyone here their money’s worth. But no, I’m afraid you’re not facing a Battle Born today, you’re—”

“I’m going to stop you right there before you go on making a bags of something you cannot fix!” Bres snapped. “If you try to cheat me again, I will be coming for you. And you will wonder every day and every night if this it. Is this the last time you put on one of your ridiculous suits? Is this the last time you take a drive in your fancy little car? And I don’t want to worry you with how very different your life will be when I get my hands on you, so choose your next words with care.”

“Good god, man! We’ve never cheated you!” Skip exclaimed. “We know how much the Fae love their precious rules. And our rules are simple, yet you’ve broken them every time you’ve had an opportunity here. First rule, no magic. You broke that one almost immediately. Second rule, no killing. And by god did you ever break that one in your second outing! No, we never screwed you, you screwed yourself. And if I can finish what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I was getting ready to agree with you, Bres! You are indeed, one of a kind.”

“What are you playing at?”

“Well, if you bothered to learn the rules, you would know that nowhere does it say that a Battle Born is the last fighter in the gauntlet. Traditionally, yes, that’s who we use, but the rules merely state that we may use one hundred willing participants. And Bres, someone as special as you deserves to go out on a high note! To leave here a legend! So without further ado, allow me to present you with your farewell opponent.”

There was the crunching sound of large gears beneath our seats, and a thud as heavy wooden doors slammed open. And I watched as a towering man, one I nearly managed to mistake for an ogre, lumbered his way into the arena pit, a hush falling over the crowd as he did. Apart from his size, the man had to be just shy of seven feet tall; there was little else that was remarkable about him. He wore a white tank top tucked into beige slacks, the sort of apparel you might have seen on a brawler in the depression era, and that wasn’t the only anachronism he displayed. His fiery red hair was oiled and combed over neat and tight in contrast to his mutton chop sideburns. Nothing special and entirely out of place, all at once. I couldn’t see his face, but his body language was casual, almost bored.

“Hello, Bres.” His Irish accent was flat, and his voice had the impact of dropping a slab of wet meat onto a linoleum floor.

For his part, Bres seemed equal parts amused and incredulous. “Balor, old son,” Bres began. “Forget your sword?”

“Not gonna need it,” Balor replied in the same heavy, flat tone.

Bres nearly cackled at that, just about doubling over with laughter. “Not surprised to see you here, truly. Even less surprised at your arrogance.”

“Not arrogance, you’re beat to hell. Stopping you won’t be a challenge. But it’s gotta be done.”

“Does it?” Bres snarled, the illusion of amusement vanishing in an instant. “You’re a bloody mouse is what you are! For all your power, you’ve never had an original thought of your own. If you thought it through for more than a second, you’d be with me.”

Balor didn’t seem intimidated. If anything, he seemed bored and began to lecture. “We all have a part to play. One of these days you’ll grow up and accept that. In the meantime, here I am.”

“Yes, here you are,” Bres agreed. “The fearsome Balor, is it? Son of the worst, yeah? That’s not what I see. I see one more body to drop. One task standing between me and freedom. Tell me now, what do you think I’m willing to do to you to get what I’m due?”

Balor shrugged his massive shoulders at that. “Guess you’ll have to show me.”

The ensuing battle was bloody and decisive, and to his credit, Bres took his pound of flesh. Probably literally. But the outcome was never in doubt. Balor struck with the force of a runaway truck, and if he felt pain at all where Bres carved into him, he certainly didn’t show it. Whatever enthusiasm the crowd might have had before was gone by the time Bres had the fight taken out of him. Both men, if you could call them that, were stained in crimson, but only Balor remained standing. His demeanor was stoic, but his breaths were labored and even from my box seats I could hear a slight gurgling from his lungs with each one. The aftermath was grotesque.

“Come on; we don’t need to be here for the rest of this,” Skip suggested with a nod of his head. “Let’s finish this conversation somewhere more private.”

I agreed, not that I had much choice, and his guards led us to a makeshift office on another floor. Once we were alone, he took a seat behind a desk and said, “I’d apologize for you having to see that, but you’ve seen worse in the course of your career, haven’t you?”

“I’m not sure how that’s relevant,” I replied.

“It’s extremely relevant,” Skip replied. “In fact, you’ve not only seen worse, but you’ve also been responsible for worse, haven’t you?”

My patience was slipping now. “If you have a point to all of this, I suggest you get to it.”

Skip raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, believe it or not, I’m not the enemy. And I didn’t show you that horrible display for entertainment value. Hand to god, I didn’t like seeing that any more than you did. I probably hated it even more, but it’s not a contest between us. But you were here early, and I thought maybe showing you would speed up the process of explaining it to you.”

“And what is it you intend to explain to me?”

“All of it,” Skip replied. “Or as much as I’m allowed. I see no reason to be coy with you. If we’re going to work together, I think we can both get what we want if we’re both willing to be open and honest with each other. Truce?”

“You have my attention,” I said cautiously as I took the seat opposite his side of the desk.

“Good enough for me. Now tell me, just for starters, what do you know about the Battle Born?”

“They’re your muscle. Who you send in when you really want to make a mess,” I said plainly.

Skip shook his head at that. “No, not that. That’s obvious. I mean, what are they?”

I had to think about that for a moment, and if I was honest with myself, I didn’t have a clue. They were tough, sure, but I suppose the thought of their origins wasn’t one that had ever occurred to me. Skip took my silence as a cue to continue. “I’ll give you a hint while I’m at it. What is Bres?”

“He’s Fae, like me, except not,” I said hesitantly. “He’s not a god, but he’s... something.”

“I sometimes forget your former master wasn’t interested in our arrangement nor was he able to accept even if he wanted to, but I still thought you would have figured it out at some point. There’s the real Bres somewhere out there. Just like there’s the real Balor. We’ve come to an agreement with them, as well as some of the other gods. Well, a lot of the gods, really.” Skip sat up in his seat with an expression that suggested I pay careful attention to what came next. “You see, the gods, they’re not from here, not really, they’re kind of from all over the place. But they can get here easy enough. Well, most of them anyway. And it really grinds their gears that they can’t add to their family tree. And that’s where we come in.”

“You make demigods?” I questioned.

“Not quite, but close!” Skip replied with mild shock. “No, no one and nothing can do that. Their past is a single solid record; they just sort of exist then, now, and forever. But what we’ve found is that those that travel have the winning genetic lotto numbers needed to reproduce with the gods.”

“The Fae can reproduce, so I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” I replied skeptically.

“Certainly Changelings aren’t anything new, I’ll grant you that,” Skip agreed. “But we’re not talking about a housewife’s fairy tales of a summer romance between a centaur and Karen from middle-of-nowhere Idaho. I mean, a Satyr is a lot more likely, but I digress. Fae plus human equals pretty baby as a story is one that’s been told to death. No, this is something special. The gods, for all they can do, can’t reproduce and it drives them wild. You see, once in a generation, the gods can produce something akin to a bad photocopy of themselves. Different, but with the pale shadow of their essence imbued in the offspring and bursting with magical energies. But you know how it is with the gods, and especially the Fae; they need to ask permission, they need to make deals. So we sat down at the negotiating table and made one hell of a deal. If one of ours, usually a Gardener, is willing, they can mate with one of theirs. But we keep the kids and raise them as our own. The gods could care less what happens them, and this at least keeps them alive. Once they reach maturity, if they desire, they have a chance every seven years to earn their freedom in the contest you witnessed today. Face a hundred willing participants in big old fight without killing anyone or using your magic, be the last one standing and badda bing badda boom, you’re free to go. Most of the time, no one is interested. Every so often, we get someone like Bres.”

I was trying—and failing—to keep my composure at this news, but I couldn’t help myself. “Child slaves? How can you possibly be cavalier about this?”

“Hey, whoa, I’m just middle management!” Skip said defensively. “And like I said, I don’t like it any more than you do! That’s just the way it is and the way it has to be. And by the way? That wasn’t our provision; the gods suggested that. Seems for the most part they care more about the act of making a life than caring and raising for one. And with the danger we face on a regular basis to keep the multiverse safe, those little godling bastards are a blessing. I guess maybe the gods want to see them earn their way out; I don’t know. I just work here.”

I took a breath at that, knowing full well that the whims of the gods were capricious and someone like Skip or myself couldn’t stop them from doing anything that they wanted to do. Besides, he was feeling chatty, and I might as well get as much information out of him as I could. You never know when some of it might prove useful. “And I suppose the children are bound to the agreements of their parents by association?”

“Something like that, yes,” Skip agreed. “But again, we give them a home and a place to belong, we make them feel special. They grow up liking what we do. They don’t want to leave.”

“And what does any of this have to do with the Battle Born?”

“What do you think happens if one of those kids is born without that bit of their parents in them?” As he asked, I felt a sick wave of realization. “They’re born stillborn, magically speaking at least. No domain to claim, no Fae ties whatsoever. But they still have god blood in them, and that makes them extremely dangerous. Maybe they don’t have that magical spark, but when you can bench press a bus maybe you don’t need it. The gods themselves are sickened with this result, even the lowliest Fae has a perfect track record of passing on their magical essence when their kid pops out. So, they would prefer just to forget they ever happened. And that’s the other part of our deal. They don’t get names; they don’t get to know their parents. They’re raised for one purpose, and that’s to be our personal weapons of mass destruction. The people in charge of that sort of thing, they tend to treat them well enough. Like a farm with plenty of space for a dog to run and play. But all in all, they’re still treated like things, not people.”

“So then it is child slavery,” I fumed.

Skip sighed at that. “I don’t want to make excuses for it and say no, but they don’t actually fight or do any of our dirty work until they’re adults. It’s not perfect, but it’s something.”

“So why am I here?” I asked on the edge of my patience. “If the answer is to be disgusted, you’re doing a bang-up job of it!”

“Our children have grown wild, it would seem,” Skip said evenly. “And one of them has escaped. If it were up to me, hey. I’d say good for them. But it’s not up to me, and the people above me want to put the word out. The Battle Born comes back dead or alive. We can’t have something like that just out there on the streets. And if we don’t bring it back, we set a bad example for the others, and things could get out of control in a hurry.”

“It seems to me that you think I’d willingly be your slave hunter, and I can’t think of a single damn reason why I’d do this.”

“I can think of a couple,” Skip said. “Your friend Ann being the primary reason. If you complete the task, I have the authority to tell you how to save her. As for what Alistair gets out of it, the bounty is either a half million or an enchanted dagger capable of instantly removing any glamour. Hunters choice.”

He had a point. If I walked now, Ann would die, and unfortunately, everyone seemed to know I wasn’t ready to let that happen. Still, it was starting to add up. Alistair saw dollar signs, and while he had a good lead, he was far too cautious to take on this sort of task on his own. The poor thing might break a nail. I’d rather it was a neck. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Simple answer? I like you the most,” Skip replied. “I mean, you don’t think you’re the only one hunting the bounty, do you? The key difference is, you’re not a monster. Alistair is a weasel and a real scumbag for putting you in this position. Right off the bat, I have sympathy for you and your friend, and out of everyone taking this job, you’re far and away the one I want to see succeed. The others want to do this; you’re the only one doing it for the right reasons.”

I was taken aback by that answer. It made sense. I wasn’t sure why else he would be so free with his information if his words weren’t true, but he seemed to know a lot more about me than I knew about him. I carefully considered my response and asked, “Who else is out there?”

“Well, let’s see, there’s the Abbot of Kinney,” Skip began.

I groaned in spite of myself. “Really? The cult leader?”

“He prefers the term Crystal Healer,” Skip countered, then relented. “But yes, your description is more apt. He has a modicum of talent and probably, technically has the ability to travel. But his juice is just enough to patch up a skinned knee or cure a hangover. Idiot thinks he’s Jesus, probably. Still, don’t look past him. He’s gained quite the following.”

Skip brought up an interesting point. People with the ability to travel were also gifted with magic, but magic came a lot easier than traveling. To travel meant to break the skin of the world and walk in the Knowing, an infinite space between world where literally anything and everything possible. Some, like Elana, could enter at will and with little effort. Most however, would need to spend days, weeks, or even months getting in and that was even if they were aware of that place at all. For obvious reasons, people like Skip didn’t like to advertise what they could do.

I gave him a small nod of acknowledgement. “I’ll keep that in mind. Who else?”

Skip chewed his lip. “There’s also Birdie. If I were you, I’d pray I didn’t cross paths with her at all. She’s psychotic, and when she’s on the hunt, she rarely brings back the whole person. I’ve never met her and don’t know much else about her, but on reputation alone, I’d bet a year’s salary she’s not human. Watch yourself around her.”

I hated to admit it, but Birdie wasn’t a name that I was familiar with, something that came as something of a surprise. If she was as notorious as Skip claimed, I was surprised I hadn’t at least heard whispers about her. Either Skip was exaggerating, or everyone had just been too afraid to say her name out loud.

“I’ll be careful,” I replied.

Skip pursed his lips for a moment studying me. “Don’t sleep on Birdie, I mean it. It seems like you might be sleeping on Birdie and that would be a mistake. You’re not sleeping on Birdie, are you?”

“Please stop saying that,” I asked, surprised at how quickly I was prepared to slap him.

“I’m just saying, I have two dozen reports of incidents involving her and every single time she makes an appearance it’s like horror movie took place in a meat packing plant. Things don’t generally keep their limbs around her and that includes a loup-garou. I’ve got pictures in here, hold on,” he said fishing out a folder from his desk and displaying the graphic images for me to see. Sure enough, the pictures showed the headless remains of massive beast that had been carved with a fury that didn’t look targeted, even if the decapitation did. Considering how quickly a loup-garou can regenerate, this was savage.

“Disturbing,” I agreed, not taking too long surveying the carnage. “Though, why not just say werewolf? Are you trying to sound impressive for my benefit?”

“For one thing, this one was actually French, and for another there’s a distinction. A loup-garou is an inherently magical creature where a werewolf is just some poor sap who got bit and infected. But you know this and you’re testing me, aren’t you?”

Skip had caught me, and I admitted as much. “Indeed.”

“Well don’t, I’ve been around,” He remarked sourly.

I made an apologetic gesture and changed the subject. “So then Alistair, the Abbot, and Birdie? Those are the players?”

“Well, there’s one more,” Skip said. “Caleb Duquesne. Gunslinger, completely human, no magic or talents that anyone can tell. That said, he’s the one that scares me the most. The Abbot has charm as a weapon; Birdie has bloodlust. Caleb, however, he has that dangerous combination of intelligence and integrity. Once he takes a job, he sees it through. For a guy with nothing but a couple of guns at his side, he sure seems to come out on top in a lot of unlikely situations.”

Caleb Duquesne was another one that I’d heard of, but to hear that he was merely human was something of a surprise. I’d heard more than a few rumors about what he was, but humans didn’t tend to survive the sorts of encounters that he willingly took on. “I know of Caleb by reputation only,” I admitted. “Seems odd that he’d take on this kind of job, doesn’t seem to fit his profile.”

“Never underestimate the allure of epic loot.” Skip shrugged. Ah, there it was. The man was a geek.

“This has all been very helpful, and very unexpected,” I said, trying to simultaneously push down my disgust at what I had to do and acknowledge my gratitude. “And while I hate to ask, there’s still just one more crucial detail. I don’t have a clue about where to begin my search.”

“I can do you one better.” Skip grinned knowingly and leaned across the table. “I can tell you exactly where it is right now.”

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