Raising Evzen - 7. The Arena

Sasha drove down the barren road in silence, his eyes adjusting to the rise and fall of streetlights in the eternal night. It had been nearly three bells since they left Novák House behind them, and the Faro could see fields of mushrooms growing on Lidikrys graves, a forest of life sprouting on either side of the road as he drove closer to the city.

In the distance, floodlights shone into the dark sky, the Houbové Louky arena standing tall among various plantations that poked through the ground. Země’s main agriculture took place underground, Daknar working the soil under artificial lighting to grow vegetables and animals alike. The area was more known for its potent strain of mushroom wine than any crop, and Sasha knew that was where the Ambroz fortune had come from. A fortune everyone was eager to get their hands on.

Which was how Evžen had gotten in the current situation. Bohdan had made a deal with the Ambroz patriarch, Honza, offering the Lidikrys a partner for one of the choice Ambroz fields. Fortunately for Sasha’s master, Pan Anderle had made a similar deal, leaving Honza with a choice, and Evžen a way out.

Sasha just had to make sure his master was prepared for the Imperial Navy a full two draks before he was supposed to be ready.

Pulling into a roundabout, the Faro parked the car carefully to the side of the Ambroz mansion, glancing at the light-filled back seat.

“We’re here, Pane,” he said quietly.

Evžen sat stiffly in the outfit Sasha had picked for him. The Faro rubbed the bruise on his arm that had been his reward for explaining why the best dress clothes would not be wise in this situation. It was worth it though; no one would find anything attractive about the Lidikrys in the muddy brown garment he wore, yet it was just fancy enough that no one could accuse Evžen of being unfashionable.

Sasha stepped out of the car, walking around the side to open the door for the young Lidikrys. Evžen stood up slowly, his head twisting slightly as he looked around. Another car rolled past the two, and Sasha watched a Daknar pull into another spot before letting a pure white Lidikrys pup out of the car.

Jindřich Anderle looked to be around Evžen’s age; perhaps a drak or two younger, if Sasha had to guess. He was dressed in finery, gilded up to show the value of a partnership with the Anderles, and Sasha felt a rush of relief. This would be easier than he had hoped. Still he’d feel better if he could get Evžen into the Imperial Navy sooner rather than later.

“I see you finally got your own pet,” Jindřich frowned. “How in the goddess’ name did your family afford a marble Faro?”

“My family’s getting richer, I guess,” Evžen shrugged. “His name is Sasha.”

A golden Egaro stepped from the large manor, a bell-shaped silver agaricus mushroom on his black collar. Ambroz silver and blue contrasted with his cinnamon stripes and rich fur, his loyalties on display for anyone to see. Much like Sasha’s own.

The house he emerged from stood proud, if sedate, a clan at ease with their wealth. Spotlights provided a bright glow to nearly every inch of the wall, large windows offering a softer glow from within. All around the grounds, Daknar slaves tended to rock gardens and a trellis of ivy that grew around the front door in an extravagant bloom that seemed at odds with the rest of the mansion.

Sasha heard the sound of shuffling feet. Jindřich seemed to be having a little trouble standing straight up, and the Faro’s nose smelled the barest hint of adrenaline in the air, mixed with the subtle sweetness of pheromones. Sasha was no genius, but it didn’t take a genius to put the Egaro’s presence and Jindřich’s arousal together. It was an interesting complication to the issue at hand. Maybe he could keep his master from the Ambroz clan without resorting to the navy.

Though Bohdan had made it obvious he expected his son to follow in his siblings’ footsteps. Sasha would keep to his goal, and not be distracted. Still, he’d certainly be watching the Anderle pup with interest.

“Pan bids you welcome, Pane Jindřich, Pane Evžen. Allow me to escort you to the parlour; Pan has some business to conclude before he can take you on your entertainment for the storm.”

The Egaro stepped back into the house, Evžen and Jindřich following close behind. Sasha moved to follow, only to be caught by Jindřich’s green-scaled Daknar.

“Pan Ambroz is not fond of other people’s slaves entering his home,” the lizard said quietly.

Sasha nodded suspiciously, his eyes glancing at the lit windows of the house. He stepped back, watching silently as the Ambroz Daknar continued their labour in the front of the house.

“So you are the new Novák slave. I’m surprised they could afford a marble Faro,” the lizard said beside him.

“They did,” Sasha shrugged.

He wasn’t in the mood to gossip about his master’s clan. The Daknar would get nothing from him.

“I remember Pan Jindřich took me to Novák House. The place was a mess,” the Daknar snorted. “Has it improved any in the last drak?”

“I couldn’t say. I’ve only been there for a few storms,” Sasha shrugged, running an idle hand over his collar.

The leather would do him little good in an emergency. The newer collars that were floating around the wealthier clans had all sorts of features allowing for communication or orientation at the touch of a button. Sasha merely wore a leather band with a mark on it. Nothing useful, save for identification. That was okay; he and Evžen would make the collar useful together.

“Are you nervous about what they’re doing in there?” the Daknar snorted, eyeing the Faro. “You understand they’re only doing what Panove sold them for, right? And I’m almost certain Pan Ambroz prefers Pan Jindřich. Pan Novák doesn’t look like he’s even trying with his son.”

If rubbing his collar made him seem nervous, Sasha would merely use it as another tool. Besides, he was still new to the Novák clan. Nerves would be expected, and for him to be utterly calm would seem strange.

“It is a little suspicious that they are around Pan Ambroz without chaperones,” the Faro said, allowing for a bit of uncertainty to show. “But I trust Pan to tell me if he needs my assistance.”

The Daknar snorted, leaning against the Anderle car. Sasha remained standing, watching a dirt stain grow on the side of the lizard’s uniform. If the Anderle pup yelled at the Daknar about the stain when they returned, the Faro wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain his amusement.

A sudden wind kicked up, sending dust and small rocks flying about, and Sasha crouched down to offer a smaller target, his back turned against the gust. A sharp blow struck his upper back, and the Faro dug his heels in, grimacing as he felt dirt splatter over his own clothing.

So much for amusement. Sasha was just going to settle for gratitude that Evžen wasn’t outside where his clothes would be ruined. The Faro had no doubt that Bohdan would be displeased if Evžen returned covered in dirt. Not that the older Lidikrys ever seemed happy.

He heard the door to the manor open again as the wind died back down. Sasha stood up quickly, shaking roughly in an effort to knock most of the dirt off his back. By the time Evžen and Jindřich appeared, the Faro was once again the picture of near immaculate poise.

A silvered Lidikrys stepped out of the house behind Evžen and Jindřich, a wooden cane tapping lightly on the ground to support the elder rat. Understated opulence covered his outfit, wooden buttons running down a black suit. It was an outrageous use of wood on a planet where such material was nearly impossible to come by, yet to Sasha’s eye, the effect was muted. Nowhere else was the Ambroz fortune on display on the clan patriarch; the point of his wealth was made. Honza Ambroz had no need for posturing.

Sasha stepped back as another car pulled to a stop. The golden Egaro stepped out of the vehicle, gloved hands opening the doors for the silver rat. Jindřich and Evžen followed a moment later, the doors closing behind them, and Sasha glanced at the Anderle’s Daknar. The green lizard was stepping back into his car, and Sasha followed suit, the three vehicles pulling out of the Ambroz estate and making the short trip to the arena.

They were allowed to approach their masters after parking. The arena was surrounded by cars, the sound of excited Lidikrys filling the large open-air structure. Sasha fell in near his master, Evžen standing off to Honza’s left as they moved through the open gates. The young Lidikrys seemed to make an effort to avoid the Ambroz’s Egaro, and Sasha felt a flutter of pride in his chest at his master’s discretion. Jindřich, on the other hand, cast several glances at the giant tiger as they walked through the building, alternating between awe, fear, and something else that Sasha was hesitant to name outright.

Not that Sasha blamed Jindřich. To see an Egaro out here was even more startling than meeting another Faro. The Alliance protected their members zealously, and if any of them suspected that one of their species was being enslaved, there would be a galactic conflict over it. The fact that the tigers were notorious for their heats surely had nothing to do with the Anderle pup’s interest in the slave.

The Faro pushed that thought out of his mind, focusing on the task at hand. Sasha understood his role here. He was Evžen’s chaperone; his place was silent observation. And he would use his time well.

The Lidikrys around them fawned over Honza. It was to be expected, and Sasha knew much of the silver rat’s attention would be split between Evžen, Jindřich, and numerous petitioners who wanted whatever fame and fortune the Ambroz patriarch could give. Even just appearing in the same building as Honza would be considered a blessing to some of the lesser clans, though those were kept separate from the greatness that was the Ambroz patriarch.

They passed through a sparse crowd of Lidikrys with ease, the Egaro ensuring a wide corridor for his master to walk in. Sasha made sure to bring up the rear, watching everything with a keen gaze. The area they passed through was reserved for only the highest class of Lidikrys, second only to the Emperor’s immediate family. This time, Honza was flaunting his wealth and power, and even Sasha was sufficiently impressed.

The Faro’s legs stretched to keep up with the group, hurried without appearing hurried. They were late. A fact that grated on Sasha’s nerves; but there was nothing he could do about it.

The Egaro opened a door for the group, and Sasha’s ears were nearly buffeted with the loud cheers of thousands of Lidikrys. A wet squelch cut through the cheers as Honza directed Jindřich and Evžen into their seats. Sasha’s master had an enraptured look on his face as he stared out of their box, and Sasha glanced out at the arena below them as a victorious roar bellowed over the cheering rats.

A red Daknar had his foot on his kneeling opponent’s back, sword raised high in victory as the broken lizard was pushed onto his hands and knees. A second later, the victorious gladiator brought his blade down, cutting off any hope of survival. The crowd roared its approval as the brown head fell into the sand, the body following close behind as blue blood flooded from the corpse.

Sasha glanced away as the survivor basked in the glory of the arena, his ears folding over to filter out the roar of the crowd. The Faro’s eyes took in the box where they would be seated, a series of wide chairs interspersed with cushions on the ground, offering rare padding for the slaves brought into the stadium. A fan blew quietly through the box, a cooling breeze washing over the group. Sasha found the effect almost chilling after the natural heat outside.

“We missed the first match,” Honza frowned as he took his seat. “Čestmír, see if there are any more matches after the second Stredni. Then put 200 credits on Drakobijec.”

“Yes Pane,” the Egaro said, bowing before hurrying from the box.

Evžen sank into a large seat to Honza’s left, and Sasha knelt beside him, the Faro biting back a grimace as pain shot through his tail. Master and slave stared down at the arena, watching as a pair of slaves carried the dead gladiator off the hot sands.

“Sasha, I want to bet on the match too,” the Lidikrys demanded.

“Hold on Evžen,” Honza interrupted. “Do you know who you’re betting on?”

“Drakobijec?” Evžen asked.

“You don’t sound certain about that,” the Ambroz patriarch frowned. “Why are you betting on Drakobijec?”

“Because you did it,” Sasha’s master muttered, his ears flattening in discomfort.

“That is not a good reason, but I think you know that,” Honza said. “Drakobijec is my choice in the Císařský because he is a Scylid, and I’ve seen him fight before. His opponent is Nezkrocený, who has been defeated one out of every four fights. Drakobijec has only lost one fight in twenty matches. He has an injury on his left hind leg, but his fighting style can generally compensate for it.”

Evžen frowned, staring out at the arena thoughtfully.

“Then… then betting on Drakobijec is the right choice,” the Lidikrys pointed out.

“It is the safe choice,” Honza said. “But you didn’t know that until I explained it. You need to know what you’re doing before you do it.”

The whole exchange left Sasha confused. He could see Jindřich watching the two from Honza’s other side, gears visibly turning in the other Lidikrys’ mind. Something was off. Honza was being way too patronly for someone who was just looking for a body to spend his final years with.

“So I should bet on Drakobijec.”

Honza offered a noncommittal shrug. He leaned toward Evžen, a soft murmur coming from the elder rat.

“Evžen, I’m not sure your clan can afford to gamble right now. You need to learn how to live within your means. Sometimes that means enjoying what you have and not reaching for more.”

Sasha’s ears pricked. He could barely hear Honza, and the curious look on Jindřich’s face left no doubt that the other Lidikrys had no idea what Honza had told Evžen. But things were becoming clearer.

Clan Ambroz had only one surviving family line, as far as Sasha knew. Honza wasn’t rolling over yet; he was fighting to keep his clan alive. And Bohdan had no idea. Sasha was almost certain that if the Novák patriarch knew what Honza was doing, there would be no push for Evžen to join the navy.

Sasha would have to explain that to Bohdan. And hope that the Lidikrys would listen. A life as Honza Ambroz’s ward would be so much better than a life spent wandering the galaxy.

A hammer connected with a skull, sending blue blood splattering across the arena. Sasha kept an eye turned to his master as the fights progressed. They were a little showy, but he was still picking up a few maneuvers that might help if he ever had to fight someone.

Evžen was gripping the armrests of his seat, his eyes blazing with bloodlust as he watched the body fall. Beside him, Honza was more busy watching his charges. Jindřich seemed to be uninterested in the bloodshed, appearing nearly opposite of Evžen. Yet Sasha could see the boggling of the Lidikrys’ eyes, the rat trying to watch closely while appearing aloof from it all. The Faro would even hazard a guess that Jindřich was more excited than Evžen.

The door to the box opened, Čestmír stepping back beside his master. The Egaro leaned over and whispered in the Lidikrys’ ear, and Honza nodded silently, before motioning in front of him. Čestmír knelt on the ground, dropping to his forearms, and Honza lifted his legs, setting them on the Egaro’s back as he leaned back in his chair.

“Jianyu.”

Jindřich waved at his Daknar, the lizard staring at him in confusion. Slowly he seemed to get the idea, setting himself up as Čestmír had so his master could put his feet up. Evžen let out a quiet scoff, an ongoing battle between him and Jindřich dictating that he could not order Sasha to do the same.

The three Lidikrys shifted in their seats as a speaker crackled to life. An energetic announcer spoke out, his booming voice grating in Sasha’s ears.

“Gentlerats, today we have a masterful performance planned. The Sapphire Daknar Nezkrocený, a force few can tame, returns from a string of victories to fight against an interloper from the Outer Rim! Can the Ghost Scylid Drakobijec hope to defeat the dragon in his den?”

A gate rolled up, metal grating through the arena as a Scylid stepped silently onto the sand. Four legs supported a long, slender body, black exoskeleton drawing over his frame into a withered looking crown. To Sasha, the being looked dehydrated, yet he walked confidently into the arena, a pair of wooden blades attached to his massive forearms, and extra blades hanging from each of his legs. The mantid was death incarnate, and Sasha felt his master shiver in excitement beside him.

Opposite of him, another gate revealed a massive blue wingspan. Nezkrocený stood large in his gate, offering the Lidikrys a good look at his scaly body. Twin swords sat in his hands, the wood polish nearly gleaming under the spotlights. A deafening roar emerged from him as he charged into the arena, the Daknar skidding to a halt inches in front of the Scylid to bellow in the tall creature’s face.

Drakobijec remained motionless, silent, waiting for the bell that would start the match. Nezkrocený took an uncertain step back, a snort covering his retreat.

Sasha wasn’t impressed. This fight was already over in his mind. Nezkrocený was impatient, brash. And nervous. The Faro doubted the Daknar had ever been this close to a Scylid before.

The bell rang, yet the Scylid held still in the center of the arena. His opponent lunged forward. Sasha could already see the assault happen; Nezkrocený would dodge the forearms that moved to intercept, using his legs to sweep Drakobijec off his feet. But Drakobijec saw it coming too.

The mantid stepped clumsily to the side, his head turning around to follow the Daknar as Nezkrocený changed direction mid rush. Wood clacked against wood as the Scylid kicked out with his back leg, Nezkrocený stumbling back in surprise.

Sasha sat up on his cushion, the Faro’s attention drawn to the fight. He’d never seen a Scylid attack with their legs before.

All through the box, the watchers held their breath, as Nezkrocený launched himself at Drakobijec’s hindquarters. The Daknar dodged a kick that never came, Drakobijec choosing to scurry toward the walls. Spindly legs galloped across the sand, and then up the wall, tiny claws holding the Scylid on the flat plane as his head turned toward the Daknar in challenge.

And Nezkrocený answered, the Daknar leaping at the insect. Drakobijec dropped heavily as his opponent charged through the air.

With a sickening crunch, Nezkrocený slammed into the wall. Drakobijec rolled over on the ground, climbing back to his feet in the time it took the Daknar to recover. The Scylid scurried away, back to the center of the arena, as his foe picked himself up.

Nezkrocený charged again. This time, the Daknar’s wings lifted him into the air, a broken grin on his face. Drakobijec watched the lizard dive toward him, maintaining his still composure.

And suddenly Nezkrocený was trapped in the mantid’s forearms.

The entire stadium, sans one Faro, let out an astonished gasp. Sasha had fought the insects before. Their arms were blindingly fast. A frontal assault, from the air or otherwise, would never work against them.

Something Nezkrocený was slow to learn.

Drakobijec’s arms flicked suddenly, tossing the lizard across the arena. Nezkrocený rolled to his feet, and immediately took to the sky. Spiralling over the mantid’s grasping arms, he tried to strike Drakobijec’s back.

Suddenly, Drakobijec’s back split apart. Thin wings emerged to propel the insect into the air. Nezkrocený froze in shock as the Scylid met him above the arena. Wood collided with a wing, and the lizard dropped like a rock, Drakobijec following him down. A leg smashed across the Daknar’s jaw, and Nezkrocený fell limp.