Green light washed over me from my own glowing form. All around me, the souls of the dead journeyed with apathy or grim determination toward a place on the horizon that looked like a metropolis made of green light and wire models. I went to take a step forward with the throng, but my body wouldn’t move.

Pain, nausea, weakness, and dry mouth. I blearily opened my eyes to see Bia leaning over me. For a moment, I thought I saw a look of sympathy and caring flit across her features before her usual impassivity reasserted itself… and a blue window, perfect.

You are victorious!

Your team has successfully defeated Anger and Myrkai.

You have gained 500 experience.

“You’re awake, my Lord, good,” Bia said. She continued to pour healing magic into me and I felt better by the moment. Under her slightly luminous hands, my wounds visibly closed. I noticed it wasn’t instantaneous and I could see it taking a toll on Bia as well. Maybe it was more of a health transfer with a beneficial exchange rate?

“Thank you, Bia’Keres,” I said when she finished. I could still feel the remnants of my wounds, but I climbed to my feet anyway. We were still in the anteroom of the arena it seemed. “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?” I asked.

“No, my Lord, it’s only been a few minutes.”

I nodded. “I suppose we should get to that sparring, then,” I said. I figured in between bouts, I could try to pinpoint the aura of death that was my true reason for joining the arena.

The two of us wandered through the corridors for a nearly an hour trying to track down a training hall. During that time, I found that the source of death energy was below and towards one end of the arena, although it was too diffuse to truly be centered there, I could safely call that ground zero or something similar. I tried communicating with several of the spirits wandering the halls, but they proved shy and cautious, retreating rapidly from me when I impinged upon their reality. I suppose that's not unreasonable behavior for a ghost that died a violent death after getting locked into a giant deadly con game. Hopefully, my plans don't lead me in their footsteps.

We eventually located a training room on a lower floor, accessed from a staircase in a secondary hallway. The training hall was simply a space a bit smaller than a gymnasium lined with racks of wooden weapons and slightly padded to lessen the damage from falls. The walls were simple stone, like everything else in the Arena and several oil lanterns were hung throughout the room to make evenly spaced and unbiased lighting; however, none of them were lit and it was apparent that this room hadn’t been used recently. The only light came from Bia’s staff, which she conjured as soon as we entered the room.

“It doesn’t look like there’s any oil Bia,” I commented, after pulling down one of the lanterns. “I guess they don’t really encourage the arena contestants to use this place.”

“I can create light, my lord, or I can use magic to see for myself. I don’t think you have any difficulty seeing in the dark, my Lord?” I noticed that she didn’t immediately correct my misuse of her name, but noticing I reminded myself to use her full name in the future.

I nodded, “That’s true,” I affirmed. “Why don’t you just upgrade your own vision and we’ll get started. This evening we’ll by some oil when we’re out getting dinner.”

“Very well, my Lord. Shall we begin?” Bia asked.

“Sure.”

We each took up positions opposite each other and I dropped into what I thought of as my fighting stance. Bia focused her magic to enhance her vision and her conjured light faded, plunging the room into grey scale.

“Are you prepared, my Lord?” she asked. I nodded. An instant later I was laying on my back looking at the ceiling struggling to breath and I hurt in places I hadn’t even realized I was being hit. I close my eyes and played back the last half a second.

As soon as I nodded, Bia poked me in the solar plexus, then hooked the staff under my arm and somehow exerted enough leverage to twirl me around like a rag doll and dump me on my head on the floor of the training hall, at which point my body had undergone a minor seizure while I gasped and trembled. Thankfully, I wasn’t as susceptible to things like being violently ill, because getting slammed right there normally would have had me tossing my lunch, too.

I crawled back to my feet while I ran through the possible responses. It was time to eat a humble sandwich and admit I new absolutely nothing about fighting.

*Cough* “Bia, per-“

“Bia’Keres, my Lord,” she corrected. I suppose given the disparity in combat ability, I ought to be calling her whatever the hell she wanted.

“Bia’Keres, perhaps we could start with something a little more basic,” I asked.

“As you say, my Lord.”

Bia’Keres watched as he took up his ‘stance’. Normally, she would ridicule such a person, but as her Lord was a blooded warrior and possessed of unfathomable power, she would strive for more decorum. She put him on the ground, instead of making commentary.

“Bia’Keres, perhaps we could start with something a little more basic,” he commanded.

“As you say, my Lord,” Bia’Keres answered.

For the next several hours, I strove to teach him the basics of how to stand, how to fall, how to parry, how to counter attack, how to maintain distance, and how to fight, in general. At first, she thought that he was deliberately holding back, and indeed, he never manifested any of his power during the sparring session. Still, she couldn’t help a growing feeling of disgust which translated into making his falls a little harder and punctuating his errors a little more forcefully with the butt of her staff, which lead to having to heal his bruises and bleeding more and more often.

It was only after the second hour elapsed that she was certain this wasn’t some ploy to measure her abilities. He really was simply this pathetic at fighting. It took the next four hours for her to realize that he wasn’t likely to improve any time in the near future, either. Her latest deliberately telegraphed swing caught him in the arm and shoulder and flipped his body end for end before he crashed into the ground.

He was lying on the ground gasping like a landed fish once again when the first hint of blasphemy tracked across her mind. How can this be Ker’Haros, the Chosen of Death, the one true Necromancer? He was pathetic. He had the fighting ability of a one legged peasant and the reaction speed of a slug.

“Get up,” she ordered impatiently, then immediately felt disturbed that she had dared to give an order to her master.

He immediately struggled to his feet and assumed a much better looking stance than the nonsense he attempted when they first started. However, his ready obedience threw Bia’Keres into even greater emotional conflict. How could a being supposedly possessed of such deific powers so readily obey? He should be proud, imperious, and infallible, not this… this…

In her distraction, his full force right hook smashed into her face and literally lifted her off the ground and blew her through the air a half dozen feet before she tumbled to a stop. Only deeply ingrained reflexes caused her to catch the ground with one hand, allowing her to slide to a stop in a crouch. Her vision was suddenly fuzzy and blackness rippled around the edges of her enhanced sight. She shook her head and took up the guard position while she forced her magic and her vision to settle down enough to see her opponent. Ker’Haros hadn’t moved, still partially posed from throwing the punch in the first place.

“Let’s break for dinner,” he commanded. Was that concern on his face? How could the Lord of Death be concerned for a mere mortal servant? She pushed her confusion down and struggled to once again adopt an appropriate façade of impassiveness.

“As you wish, my Lord,” she replied. She was grateful just to look away from him. The rush of contradictions every time she looked at him - torn between loathing, disappointment, worship, and her unbreakable oaths - had her wanting to lash out at him and force the issue one way or the other.

I stood up again, pushing past my body’s crying need for oxygen and the pain in almost every inch of my body from being repeatedly pummeled. Bia’s impression of “something a little more basic” seemed to mostly consist of telling me what I had done wrong and what she was about to do to me if I didn’t fix it. Following those nuggets of gnomic wisdom, I inevitably had done to me the things she threatened for not getting it right. As of my last count, initiated so that I could try to keep my mind off my growing physical misery, she had put me on the ground 736 times, healed me 21 times, and I’d managed to hit her exactly zero times. The healing seemed to make me functional once again, but after each time, I felt a little less fit. There was something going on there that departed from the fantasy cure all magic I had mostly expected once I saw it.

I readied myself, again and watched as Bia swung into a powerful spinning horizontal smash. Sure, I saw it coming, but my mind went blank as I realized how much it was going to hurt. I did manage to crouch and get my arm up to block, otherwise I was pretty sure that hit would have taken out more than a couple of my ribs. I did a full revolution and a half before I smacked into the floor, which was just soft enough that it didn’t cause any permanent damage. With a strangled groan, I rolled over and tried to regain my bearings and the air in my lungs.

Initially, I thought that Bia was pulling her blows, but more and more, it felt like I was getting full powered smashes and several times prior to now I had wondered what would have happened to me without my impromptu blocks. Her expression was still controlled every time I looked, but her hits told me she was upset with me.

“Get up,” she ordered. I immediately responded to the crack of command in her voice, but part of me noted that this was certainly a departure from the norm. She hadn’t once been forward enough to even suggest I do something, much less give me an order.

I got back to my ready position and Bia seemed set as well, so I struck out with a strong right, aiming for a point just past her head. I wasn’t expecting to hit anything, since Bia routinely took these kinds of swings and used them to toss me around. Just as my fist slammed into her full force, I truly realized that although her eyes were open and looking at me, she wasn’t paying an ounce of attention. I was horrified as I slammed the gorgeous woman so hard she flew backwards. That seemed to wake her up as one hand shot out and dabbed the ground, pushing her spin around to land her on her feet. The pure venom in her eyes as her gaze met mine made me wonder if I would survive her next attack. Thankfully, she didn’t instantly attack and I used that window of opportunity the best way I knew how.

“Let’s break for dinner,” I suggested. Her stance relaxed and she straightened up fully.

“As you wish, my Lord,” she answered. Once again, her gaze turned downward.

I sighed. I just wasn’t getting this girl. First she’s an unstoppable warrior maiden, trouncing everything in her path, then she’s submissive. It’s like there was some little monkey with his hand on her emotion switches and he was hitting buttons just for the fun of it.

“Is there someplace to clean up, first?” I asked.

“There is a bath nearby,” she answered. I gestured for her to lead the way. After grabbing a change of clothes for us both, she took us out of the arena. I idly dodged the ghosts in the corridor on our way out. There were always a couple roaming around here, so I mostly paid them no mind. Now I again remembered that I was supposed to be searching for a way to find the death energy, and I hadn't had any time to concentrate on it during the sparring match. Well, there was time tomorrow and the sparring was useful.

There were once again throngs of people filling the plaza around the arena. Although, I stank of sweat and exertion, there were plenty of people running around who weren’t any cleaner. There were day laborers and merchants and performers all interspersed with the crowd who wouldn’t bath today or possibly tomorrow or the next day, either. We pushed through the crowd onto a street name Molo, an old word for water. Sure enough, we didn’t go even a block before we came a large public bath. The building was dedicated to some goddess of waters and there was a priestess receiving entry fees and handing out towels. The building itself was nearly Romanesque with arches and columns in white stone throughout the building.

Bia led the way and paid for both of us. The problem came when we arrived at the bath itself. It seemed that it was a mixed bath, and bath wasn’t a euphemism. There were old men, old women, whole families with their children, and couples all naked and bathing in a pool larger than an Olympic swimming pool. The water was nearly green with minerals and seemed to flow from one end of the bath to the other, so things like soap, hair, lost clothing, and toddlers all tended to accumulate at the bottom end of the pool.

Bia lead the way directly to the edge of pool and shed her robes. Time seemed to slow down for me as she took off her belt and unclasped a large broach at her shoulder. Just like that, her clothing slid off her body and puddled at her feet and for a few glorious seconds I was looking at the backside of a truly gorgeous and athletic woman. Bia promptly dropped into the water, concealing the divine sight beneath the verdigris waters.

“Oh, I forgot to buy soap,” she observed and moved to get back out.

“Ah, no problem. I’ll get it,” I said. She seemed confused by my lack of composure, but simply dug out a coin from her belt pouch, showing a tantalizing expanse of bosom in the process. Part of me wanted to see her traipsing through the crowd with nothing but a towel on, but it felt like such a thing would cheapen the religious experience I had just had.

“Here, this should be enough for two bars and then some, my Lord,” she informed me.

I nodded and tracked down the soap seller, a little girl in priestess robes once again. Was this place a convent on the side, I wondered? She gave me my soap efficiently, only I ended up with three bars of soap and no change. Ah well, I’m sure we’d use it up eventually, right?

I returned to the bath and steeled myself. I rapidly divested myself of my clothing, again leaving a pile of my belongings within easy reach as Bia’Keres had done, then slipped into the water and hid in its green depths. The soreness in my body immediately began to leach away in the warm water of the bath and I felt like even my bones were relaxing into jelly as I floated. The water was about 5’ deep here. It became shallower and hotter toward the top of the pool and deeper and cooler at the bottom of the pool, although there were frequent shelves and sitting pools around the edges of the bath. The water was so high in mineral content that it was almost hard to sink.

After a few minutes of blissful soaking, I decided I’d better get a move on, as I saw Bia already soaping everything and washing. I grabbed my own bar of soap and proceeded to wash as well, careful to keep a generous distance beyond arms length from Bia’s position and my entire body carefully turned away from her.

I focused on washing and I was done in record time, but a glance at Bia showed her half asleep in the water meditating or something. I almost didn’t dare look in the first place and I looked away again immediately since she didn’t always stay completely submerged and certain parts of her were more buoyant than others. Instead, I tried to distract myself from the gorgeous naked woman who had already proven herself capable of breaking all my bones. What lovely architecture they have here? I suppose this must be a natural spring? Is that a naked hairy fat man or a naked hairy fat woman? Nope, that’s it. Time to go.

“Let’s go, Bia’Keres,” I said. I suited action to words and climbed out. I dressed faster than I ever had in my life and secretly vowed to visit this place at 3 am or just get used to cleaning myself with a basin of water and a washcloth. I steadfastly watched the crowd of people entering and leaving. It was probably 10 minutes before I realized that Bia was back to her old ways. I turned around and found her dressed and sitting in a meditative pose, for all the world looking like she was prepared to wait until hell froze over before she so much as had an impatient thought. “Come,” I said peremptorily. She rose smoothly to her feet and I led the way out of the bath house and/or temple.

The cool air of the street was a relief, as well as escaping from the hordes of nude or soon to be nude bathers. I hadn’t gone 20 yards down the street before I was intercepted, however. A brilliantly white catman wearing a black leather harness and loincloth pushed through the crowd abruptly and took a knee before me.

“I, Myrkai of Ka’Azar, swear fealty to Ker’Haros of Ak’Har. Life for life, blood for blood, until my debt of honor is paid, and may the powers strike me down if I am foresworn,” the catman said, clearly and loudly.

I peripherally noticed that a lot of people were paying attention to this. I also got a flood of relevant information from Ham, Eric, and Samantha. First off, Ak’Har was this city, which I hadn’t bothered to even question prior to now, what with crazy warrior women and unscheduled arena fights. As for this – this was a formal declaration of fealty done in a formal place which was legally binding. If I accepted, Myrkai would become my liegeman and I would be responsible for his upkeep, much like a noble and his knight or a movie star and his bodyguard. If I refused, it would be the gravest insult to Myrkai’s honor and he would become a laughingstock. Typically, these kinds of formal declarations were done in a controlled environment with prepared witnesses, not by surprise in the middle of a busy street.

Although it took several seconds to filter the information, I realized one very glaring flaw to this whole scenario. I was currently depending on Bia’Keres for my daily upkeep. On the other hand, she kept telling me that what’s hers is mine and what’s mine is mine. Time to bite the bullet and test the truth of that before we drew more of a crowd.

“I accept, Myrkai of Kazar. Rise and follow me.” After my simple order, he fell in behind me next to Bia’Keres. It wasn’t lost on me that he was to slightly my left and she was slightly to my right. The order indicated tacit acceptance that she was a more senior servant and deserving of being my right hand. Great, now I was holding court. I felt a collective murmur of amusement from my peanut gallery of souls.

Myrkai of Kazar has become your vassel!

You have gained +1 Leadership!

Oh joy, another cute little blue window. Funny, I wonder why I didn’t get one of those for Bia? I pushed the thought and the window away and started walking again. I turned onto a side street as soon as I had the opportunity. The press of people was lighter here, thankfully. I stopped at the first diner I spotted and claimed a table. My two vassals, I thought sarcastically, just stood there having some sort of contest of decorum.

“Sit down, both of you,” I growled. They pulled out chairs and I could only sigh as they claimed seats with Bia to my right and Myrkai to my left. Bia even seated herself slightly ahead of Myrkai. This was going to be a major source of culture shock for me, I could tell already. If this kind of one-upmanship and etiquette was so ingrained as to be instinctual it would be a headache and if it wasn’t and they were deliberately staking their claims to my imaginary nobility, it could be even worse.

“Okay, Myrkai, explain,” I ordered. I didn’t particularly like being called out in the middle of the street like that. I was actually trying to stay under the radar, despite the whole gladiator thing. Gathering followers in the middle of the street was counter to staying inconspicuous.

“My Lord,” Myrkai began, “I need not tell you that I am of the Bast who live far to the East. I was born into the Shadowed, a caste for those that are lithe and quick warriors and scouts. I trained throughout my youth in anticipation of joining one of the many warriors societies of our people. However, this,” he gestured, displaying his brilliant white fur and pinkish eyes, “brought me scorn and refusal on every hand. There is a law among the Bast that those with no place cannot remain. When I reached my 18th year without succeeding in joining a warrior society of the Shadowed, I was exiled.”

I had a feeling there was a lot of misery and sadness bound up in that final sentence. Myrkai did not lose his composure, but he paused, sorting his thoughts.

“Soon after I left the lands of the Bast, I fell into slavery. Traveling alone, I was captured and sold. I changed hands several times, but I proved to make a poor slave.” Myrkai smiled as he said this. It was obviously a point of pride for him, I thought. “I changed hands several times” he continued, “until Anger bought me at a discount. Unable to trust me past the end of a leash, even with the magical control device, he vowed to make some money off of me if it killed him. He dragged me here to fight in the arena, as you saw. With the destruction of the control device, my status became that of a run away slave, but Q E D, an arena slave is one fit for combat. That we won the qualifying rounds indicates that I might be dangerous. Combat slaves have certain special laws attached, which would be bad for Anger. I don’t expect he’ll involve the law. It would cost him more than I’m worth. On the other hand, Anger, or nearly anyone else, could simply recapture me and no one would say a word in opposition.”

“So you sought me out,” I said, tracing the path of his logic. Eric’s knowledge of the legal system nicely filled in the blanks here. Anger would be looking at fines far in excess of Myrkai’s value if he notified the authorities. By the same token, now that Myrkai had sworn fealty to me, public law essentially resorted to trial by combat. I suspected that either I or Bia could quite easily trounce Anger a second time, if necessary. For all intents and purposes, it was a scenario of finders keepers, although I wasn’t required to make Myrkai my slave.

“Yes, if Anger-“

“I’m familiar with the relevant laws, but that doesn’t answer all my questions,” I interrupted.

Myrkai grew solemn under my steady gaze. “My Lord, you have bested me in combat. You freed me from slavery. You have proven yourself to be a man of surprising knowledge. What’s more, you already have a vassal. For my part, you are worthy of my allegiance.”

“There are other oaths you could have sworn less binding and equally suited to your cause,” I pressed.

“I did not swear fealty for my cause,” he hissed, literally. “Life for life, blood for blood, until my debt of honor is paid, until death or beyond, for you have saved me from a worse fate,” he swore once again.

I didn’t quite agree with him, but Myrkai was adamant. “Very well,” I yielded, “Myrkai, this is Bia’Keres. She looks after me.”

Myrkai looked askance at me as I introduced Bia. Such informality was atypical for the culture here. I mentally shrugged. They could like it or lump it, but I wasn’t likely to ever grow laces straight enough to suit them. The two of them remained awkwardly silent throughout dinner, then it was time to return to the arena and take care of some other matters.

As we walked back to the entrance of the arena, I couldn’t spot the clerk and the shutters were closed on the window where I had originally signed up as an arena combatant. I looked around and saw the guard from the other day and walked over to talk to him.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said, respectfully.

“Clyde,” he answered.

“Uh, Clyde, then,” I stuttered, “do you know where the clerk has gone? I wanted to discuss some details of my contract.”

“Oi, tha’s Ric an’ ‘e gots reglar hours. ‘e goes ‘ome ever’ day afore dinner,” Clyde replied.

I resorted to Ham to helpfully sort out Clyde's thick accent. Apparently, Ric was already gone to supper. “Naturally,” I muttered. “I guess I’ll have to catch up with him in the morning.”

“Oi, so ya will,” Clyde answered. “’e’ll be around fer yer fight.”

I blinked. “We have another fight tomorrow?”

“Didn’t tell ya?” Clyde asked rhetorically. “I saw Lem ‘ead over wit’ the notice hours ago.”

I grimaced. “We only just got back from town. It’s probably waiting for us.”

Clyde grinned broadly, displaying snaggleteeth. “Oi, I don’t work den, so I’ll be watchin’.”

I forced a smile. “Won’t that be nice. Well, thank you for everything. We’ve got an early day in the morning, so we’ll be turning in.”

“Sure, sure,” Clyde replied, as we turned away.

Myrkai had his own room, at least until someone showed up to kick him out of it. Hopefully, we’d be able to remedy that tomorrow, since I intended to add him to the combat team. We returned to our quarters, and I laid down on the bed while Bia’Keres sank into her typical meditative pose. Tomorrow promised to be another long day.