Conquering The Unbroken

Chapter 36

When we arrive at the capital by nightfall, a fog hanging over the forests. The scouts inform us that, although the guard presence is heavy at the front gates, it's lacking on the outskirts of the slums where pit fights are taking place.

I hate to think how those fights have evolved since I was down there myself. Back then, the king made them strictly voluntary to those that wished to have their bodies pummeled into mush and killed once they were deemed unworthy of another fight. Some of the first lives I took were down in those pits, and I had the complicated ways of the king's strength hanging over my head like a swaying noose.

Possibly to gain more attraction or more thirst for blood, the pits have evolved to face similar conditions to Lona's brave and ruthless citizens. Anyone, whether shoved, pushed, or walking in there willingly, can be a worthy opponent. A tepid barmaid, a pirate with a peg for a leg, a prostitute shoved from the edge of the crowd. Once you're in the pits, there's no getting back out.

Fight or die.

It's not about receiving gold coins as payment anymore. It's about proving to their king that they're the strongest and most worthy. They're being fed lies. The witches here, the strongest, they're being told that joining the king's army will land them in riches, battles they will win, and endless women that will kiss their feet and hold them dearly.

The king promises those things. Once they're under his control, he has no right to deliver. Minds become warped, unable to request the simplest thing from a man that offered them so much already. Between a potion and a life, everything changes. And there's no possibility of them regaining control over their senses.

So instead of bothering with the front gates, it was our last option, anyway; we choose to enter Mailan through the slums. The streets are colder, emptier than when I was here last. I rode through these streets and held my chin high to the sound of rattling chains. Prisoners walked behind me, prisoners of war—of Saebia. I don't remember their faces either.

A thick fog hangs over the streets and serves as a shield. The scouts and the spies hang back towards the edge of the city and watch for commotion, for guards, for the king's men leaving the fighting pits with their hands bloody and their eyes glossed over. They'll warn us with a simple bird call—death is coming.

As for Bren and Tesha, they cut right to hug along the charred and ruined buildings. The residents of the slums picked this place apart and used the stone and any building supplies for their own manors. If I saw them, I doubt they'd be in better shape than what we pass. The loose, dry stone cracks and skids underneath our boots, but it's not loud enough to draw any attention for someone brave enough to sleep inside the tattered remains of these buildings.

This is the beginning of getting Silas out alive. The first step.

We've made it this far. My heart is pounding in my chest, I can hardly see straight other than to stare at the middle of Renit's back and hope I don't trip over anything.

Crouching low, Binx tags along behind me, twin swords drawn. His eyes, after serving in war and being at the king's side, are more aware than my own. From the rumors I heard those months at the castle, he was a strong fighter and an even stronger spy. Infiltrated the enemy camp and gathered enough information before a witch of deflection spotted him through the illusion and almost shot him dead. Binx was quicker, though. Has always been quicker.

The glory of timing our arrival at nightfall is the lack of bodies to acknowledge us. We slink into the shadows upon watching Mailan residents open wooden doors, turn left and right, and strut out onto the street. I wonder what they could be doing underneath the presence of cold candlelight. Serenading a forbidden lover, trading one illegal good for the next, gathering information for their masters back at another shady residence.