When Cort led his friends outside of the trading post, it was late afternoon. The sun over Remus had turned that deep red and orange associated with dusk, and people were beginning to light torches and lanterns along the pathways of the encampment. At first, Cort wondered how he would find the way to The Pit. However, there was a steady line of men like the one he saw in the trading post advertising the place.
By the time they reached it, Cort could see the reason for the buzz. It was a large wooden building, visible even in the sunset over rows of other tall tents. As they drew closer, the muffled roars of its contents grew louder. The advertised "show" had already started. Closer still, Cort noticed the place had a large door held wide open, a man standing at a podium guiding groups of guests in.
And every patron lined up was an obvious diver.
"Let's go ahead then," Emile said. He had been loudly sniffing for the past five minutes. Cort finally picked up on the scent as well. Spices, perhaps wine even. This far from Vim and his mother he'd finally be able to get a taste of the illicit drink for himself. After all, a diver was a grown up in most parts of the world.
The line of divers moved quickly, especially since the initial dinner crowd walked out in front of them. There did not seem to be anything wrong with the men that were leaving, and all of them sounded cheerful, satisfied, and a little intoxicated. Cort just supposed that the first show was over and they wanted to get everyone out of there.
Finally they got to the front of the line. The host looked up from his podium briefly, then scribbled down something, and looked back up to the three of them again. "You boys can pay for this, right?"
"Yes sir," Lond replied. "Six silver pieces for each of us, right?"
"That's correct." The host scribbled on something again. "Go on in. Haley will take care of you."
Cort nodded to the man, and he led Emile and Lond into The Pit. The noise inside had died down since they approached, probably leaving with the large crowd they had seen. A line of waiters and waitresses, dressed in black slacks and white button up uniforms, was waiting not too far from the entrance.
"Which one of you is Haley?" Emile barked at the waiter line. "I'm starving."
There were "eeps" and gasps from the workers. A young woman, maybe a year below Cort, stepped forward. She was hiding behind a curtain of auburn hair, but brushed it aside to look at her clientele before raising a trembling hand.
"Emile, you have to remember your manners," Cort chided. He looked over to Haley, trying to soften his voice a bit. "Sorry about my friend. He was working very hard this morning."
"No problem sir," Haley replied. She was doing her best to hide the nerves in her voice, but some of the fear seeped through. "We here at The Pit pride ourselves on satisfied customers. Right this way, please."
The three of them followed after Haley as she led them into the restaurant's main floor. It was not to the level of fine dining, more of an interpretation of it. Every table had four chairs and a red table cloth. The main floor was a crater, each level of the dip flattened out in a plateau for those tables to rest on. Already in the restaurant were the people ahead of them in line, ordering and chatting with their waiters.
Haley led the three of them down to the second lowest of eight levels. They took their seats as Cort further surveyed the place. In the very center at the bottom was the namesake of The Pit. A circular arena of dirt with a chicken-wire cage surrounding all sides of it and even above. Even from this distance, Cort could see a shimmer of fresh blood on the metal cage.
"Tonight's meal is boar's head pasta, and adults are allowed spiced wine," Haley stated, speaking so quickly that the sentence was more a singular long word.
"Haley, relax," Emile said. "I don't eat people, and you'd be too scrawny to fill me up anyway."
Haley gulped as her face turned a bright red. Lond's giggling was stifled from beneath his mask, and Cort just let out an exasperated sigh. "Please just ignore him," Cort pleaded. "We'll have a plate and a glass of wine for each of us."
"Just one?" Emile whined.
"Just one. We're saving money right now."
Emile huffed, folding his arms as best as he could with his shackles stopping him. Haley nodded vigorously, then vanished from their tableside to put their order in.
More customers came in, and it was not long before all seating near the party was filled. Cort scanned the crowd, his fears coming true as the one person he did not want to see was sitting across the crater pit from him.
Ryza Ulgrim. Her table was not only full, but more chairs were pulled to the table to accommodate her large party. Cort needed a second, but he was able to spot Leaf as well. While all of them were in civilian clothes, it was clear who was the officer and who was just a lowly grunt. Ryza herself wore a shimmering, blue silk dress. Leaf was in an old cotton jerkin and too long slacks.
When he spotted them, he was glad Emile had not. The lovestruck goof would have insisted they go and join them. Cort was not ready to deal with Ryza yet. He knew he'd be confronted eventually. They were too close in the encampment for him not to. He wanted time, though. Time to come up with excuses.
Then came the drums. Loud and echoing throughout the entire place. The Pit was at capacity all of the sudden, filling up while Cort was pondering. The lights of the restaurant fell, and bright spotlights shone on the dirt arena in the center. Two men occupied it, entering from somewhere the audience could not see.
The drums grew louder as the men took their fighting stances. White cloth bandages were wrapped around their fists and arms. Besides the wrappings, the only thing these men were thin shorts. Their muscles were huge, bodies prepared for fighting for the sake of spectacle.
One of them stood out more, mainly due to his skin tone. It was ashy gray, as if he rolled in the remains of a campfire. To Cort, it was more than the skin. He had eyes that burned with fury. If Cort had to guess, the two men had never met before, but that did not matter to the gray skinned one.
He wanted to kill his foe.
The drums intensity had been growing the whole time, and then finally they stopped. The two men let out battlecries and charged at each other. The Pit truly was dinner and a show.
"That is what a Jicotti looks like," Emile commented, gesturing to the gray skinned man. "They have an interesting fighting style that they don't freely teach outsiders. Watch."
Cort and Lond did watch. The Jicotti man was dodging punches and kicks, and slithered out of his opponents attempts at grappling. There was another shout from the other man, something obscene in a foreign language judging from the audience's reactive gasping. The Jicotti paid it no mind, and pushed forward again.
"Moctal," Emile added as he nodded in approval. "That's their word for it anyway. Every part of his body he uses as a weapon. But the big ones you gotta watch for are those sharp bones. The elbows and knees."
Just as Emile brought it up, the Jicotti leapt forward at his opponent. His knee was sticking up in the air as he attempted to hit the man in the face with it. Cort was surprised that the other man dodged the attack, then spotted the cut that a simple graze from the knee had made on his forehead.
"When they do battle, like actual war, they wear spikes on those parts." The other man's battle cry interrupted Emile. He grabbed the Jicotti man, wrapping his arms tightly around the waist. "Ah. This fight's done."
Before Cort could question that call, the Jicotti man retaliated. He drove his elbow down on the back of his opponent's head. There was a loud crack that echoed through the restaurant. The other man fell to the ground, blood trickling out of the wound on the back of his head. He was not dead, but surely unconscious.
"Don't grab a man using Moctal," Emile instructed. "It's what they want. Remember that Lond."
"I feel like I'll never have a reason to get that close to anyone in a battle," Lond replied sardonically. "But I shall keep that tip in mind."
The crowd was still cheering for the Jicotti man when Haley arrived. "Rakshan! Rakshan! Rakshan!" Yet still, Haley's soft voice could be heard.
"Does anyone at this table go by the surname Cort?" Haley asked. Cort nodded and raised his hand, curious as to how they got that information. "Lord Rakshan requested you to be a participant in the next pit fight."
Cort nearly choked on air. He looked down to the pit, to see just Rakshan standing there alone, his defeated foe carted out during the applause. He was facing their side of the crater. No, Cort realized as he got a good look at the dark eyes of Rakshan.
He's looking at me.