Eight glanced at his two fellow former Varitai and nodded. The days since their liberation had seen them suffer through many hours of sleepless pain as the absence of karn took its toll. However it had also brought a new light to their eyes, plus a tendency to stare at the sky or the landscape, as if seeing them for the first time. They spoke little and Frentis had begun to wonder if they truly understood their situation, but now saw an awareness in their gaze, as well as a sense of certainty.
“We will free as many Varitai as we can,” Frentis went on, “but we cannot free all. You understand this?”
Eight nodded again, speaking slowly, his voice raspy and the words formed with deliberate care, “We were . . . dead. Now . . . we are alive. We will make others . . . live.”
“Yes.” Frentis lifted the sword taken from a fallen Varitai and handed it to Eight. “Many others.”
Thirty-Four’s brief discussion with the overseer revealed the Varikum to be protected by no less than sixty Varitai supplemented by a dozen overseers. Fortunately they were largely devoted to internal defence with no more than a handful set to guarding against an incursion. “Garisai are notoriously difficult to keep,” Thirty-Four advised. “They are never given drugs and are not bound like Kuritai.”
“How many can we expect to free?” Frentis asked.
“The overseer estimated over a hundred. But you should not expect all to be willing recruits, brother, or easy to command. Life in the Varikum is brutal and short, many perish in training and fewer still survive their first experience of the spectacles. It is not uncommon for Garisai to be driven mad by their trials.”
Frentis glanced at Master Rensial, sitting on the ground nearby with the vacant expression that always seemed to grip him in the aftermath of a battle.
He had Lekran play the role of the overseer, clothed in black with whip in hand. Frentis and Master Rensial had donned the garb of Free Sword mercenaries and rode alongside the lead wagon as it ascended the slope to the Varikum’s main gate. The establishment’s lack of preparedness was evident in the fact it was already open, a large man striding forth to greet them with a harsh glower.
“You fuckers are late!” he snarled at Lekran, then paused with a suspicious frown. “Where’s Mastorek?”
“If the old women in my village are to be believed,” the former Kuritai said, standing to unsling his axe from where it was hidden beneath his jerkin, “suffering a thousand years torment beyond the endless sea. You can greet him there.”
The overseer was still wearing a baffled expression as the axe swept down to cleave his skull.
Frentis spurred his horse forward, sword drawn as he galloped through the gate, cutting down another overseer trying desperately to haul it closed. Two Varitai rushed forward from a shadowed doorway, short swords drawn back, then rolled under the hooves of Master Rensial’s horse as he rode them down. Frentis dismounted, falling in beside Lekran as he came charging past, axe in hand, the three former Varitai close behind along with all the fighters in their small army, Frentis having seen little point in moderation now.
According to a prearranged plan, their force divided as it reached the inner keep, Lekran taking half the force right whilst Frentis went left. Resistance was sporadic but fierce, three or four Varitai at a time attempting to block their path but soon overwhelmed by the onslaught. Eight, together with Weaver and his two freed Varitai, had been given the role of capturing as many alive as possible; Weaver would loop his thick rope around one and drag him to the ground whilst the others closed in to bind him. Their success was small, only seven more captured alive by the time the Varikum fell, its elegant curving marble hallways liberally streaked with blood from end to end.
Frentis ordered Illian’s group to scour the Varikum for survivors then sent Draker and his disguised Realm folk to the battlements with instructions to give every appearance that business here continued as normal. He made his way to the wide sand-covered circle in the centre of the main keep, finding a dense knot of men and women standing in a defensive formation. They had arranged themselves in three tight, disciplined ranks, faces set and grim with defiance, although their weapons consisted of only wooden short swords and spears. The sand around them was littered with the bodies of their overseers, cut down by the archers who had occupied the balcony overlooking the arena. It seemed their attack had caught the Varikum in the middle of its afternoon practice.
“They think we’re bandits on a slaving expedition,” Lekran commented as Frentis entered the circle. “Finding it hard to convince them otherwise.”
