The arms of the vendors hawking meat on a stick and candied nuts were so streaked with filth Sylena couldn’t imagine why anyone would purchase anything from the trays they carried. Yet the merchants did a brisk business among the folk in the viewing stands. At least with those who couldn’t afford seats beneath the awnings.
She’d been in an arena before, but never one quite like this. It was a huge rectangular structure of old stone. Chipped rock benches swept up in stair-steps on its two longest sides, and one of its smaller. The north side was a raised platform that trailed the Sargavan banner down to the tallest of the barred arena gates. Smaller grilled doors were set into the walls beneath the stands at semi-regular intervals. In the early morning light there was little to be seen through them, but Sylena caught an occasional glimpse of some monstrous eye peering out.
Rajana carried a parasol despite the protection of the sagging crimson awning over their expensive front-row seat. She didn’t want to risk any stray rays reaching her arms or neck. Sylena had sneered inwardly the moment her elder sister opened the pretty little thing, but she’d refrained from comment.
Her sister and her smug Garundi bodyguard had been unaccountably quiet all morning.
She addressed Rajana with forced cheer. “How many people are there in Crown’s End? I can’t possibly imagine how much money it must have taken to build such an arena. It must usually be empty.”
Rajana’s left eyebrow arched, and she answered coolly. “Perhaps you failed to notice the age of the stone.”
Sylena masked her embarrassment with a smile. “This was here before the settlement?”
“Yes. A temple compound, long abandoned. Some accommodation was made in converting it to an arena.” An idle hand swept toward the barred openings built into the wall across from them. “I understand that some of the pens were added, and the images of savage gods removed.”
Sylena strove for pleasant blandness, her eyes roving over the stadium. “It’s hard to believe the crowd could be gathered so early.”
“It’s hard to believe any of us are here so early, isn’t it? I’d not expected to have to be here at all, sweating under this ridiculous awning.”
Sylena bit back a rejoinder. Rajana didn’t have to be here. Her sister worried that Rendak or the lizardfolk might somehow jeopardize their cover in Sargava, despite Sylena’s assurances to the contrary.
The more she’d thought about it, the more she realized her only real mistake had been Kellic. Seeing as how she hadn’t told Rajana about her plans for him, Rajana could hardly count that as an error. “That’s not fair, Sister. We earned plenty of gold for the lizardfolk and the human—”
“A few purses is not ‘plenty,’” Rajana corrected. “And selling any of them to the arena, especially a human, was simply stupid. I can’t believe it didn’t occur to you to search their belongings! Anything carried by Galanor’s son or the salvager could have been used to scry the location of their bodies.”
“Under fathoms of water,” Sylena corrected. “And we don’t have any salvagers.”
Her sister spoke through gritted teeth. “A king’s ransom—no, a kingdom’s ransom—is lying on the ocean floor! I could have found a way if you hadn’t thrown their luggage into the water! You’re an idiot.”
“I don’t think you realize the challenges I’ve been under.”
Rajana’s eyes narrowed. “Praise Asmodeus that my superiors know the challenges I’m under, working with you. The little you’ve brought back will probably be enough to pay our extra expenditures, providing I make the right connections back in Cheliax.”
“Two bags full of treasure,” Sylena countered.
“One of which holds mostly strange carvings, and the other unreadable writing of a useless race. To get any worth from them I’ll need to find a collector.”
“I think you miss the point, Sister, and are unduly harsh. I thoroughly wrecked the salvager mission, and Lady Galanor and her son are dead. And that money they found will not go to the Free Captains. That was the most important goal. Our superiors should be pleased.”
“They may be content,” Rajana said. “Perhaps enough to let us leave this place for good. I, for one, will be pleased when that day comes.”
A trumpet blast sounded.
Sylena, Rajana, and the rest of the crowd turned to face the musician standing on the platform atop the fourth wall. He lowered the trumpet with a flourish and made way for a corpulent colonial in a shiny blue shirt.
The newcomer grinned and spread his arms. “People of Crown’s End and visitors, I bid you good morning!” His voice boomed through the arena. “We’ve quite a spectacle planned today, starting with a very special treat! Your friends will wish they’d gotten out of bed early like you when they see the savage frillbacks who’ll be facing one another any moment!”
The crowd stirred, clearly unused to drama in the early slots, which were usually given over to executions. Sylena’s heart raced as Rajana turned with burning eyes.
“You said,” Rajana said with slow deliberation, “that this Rendak was scheduled for execution first thing.”
“That’s what I was promised. Believe me, I’m very upset about this. Do you want me to get up and complain?”
“To whom?” Rajana asked icily.
The crowd muttered excitedly as the announcer elaborated on the ferocity and cunning of the frillback warriors they were about to witness in a bitter battle to the death.
The trumpeter stepped forward to blow another fanfare, and then two lizardfolk were forced into the enclosure by the lash of whips. The spokesman continued to stress the untamed savagery of the imminent conflict.
Sylena was too disciplined to sputter, though she very much felt like doing so. Why weren’t the human prisoners being introduced first?
Fortunately, the announcer’s next words put her at greater ease. “These two will battle to the death, and then the winner will be set loose against the prisoners!”
“Ah.” Sylena smiled. “You see, it’ll all work out.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Weapons were thrown out from behind the grills, the clack of axes upon swords just audible over the rising bloodlust of the hundred or so spectators scattered through the stands. This early in the morning there were many empty seats yet.
It was the two smaller frillbacks they’d released first. Kellic had told her the one with the smaller snout was a female, although there were no obvious gender differences. Neither wore anything but a long loincloth that hung almost to their knees. Their frills were fully extended, and they stood near one another. The male raised his arms and called out to the people in the stands, saying something about injustice.
“Excellent,” Rajana said. “He’s bound to mention you soon.”
But the first was silenced as the second threw back her head and began a strange chirping, warbling song. The other’s head sank, along with his frill, and he plodded toward the weapons.
“Let’s get this going!” a man shouted from higher in the stands.
Now the frillback handed a sword off to the singer and began a melody of his own. Their songs sometimes clashed, sometimes met in weird harmony.
It was certainly peculiar, and diverting enough that the catcalls briefly died down.
An old woman in the awning beside theirs put hands to her mouth and shouted: “We didn’t come for frillback opera!”
Roars of laughter swept through the viewers, and the announcer cried out to the frillbacks that neither would live unless they got to the fight.
“It’s always disappointing when someone underperforms, don’t you think?” Rajana asked.