021: The First Tome of Nigel Part 12

Ishbosheth sat at a long dark brown wooden table, shackled with chains to the legs of a tall chair. His feet didn't even touch the ground, just swung in midair. Across the table from Ishbosheth sat Ana, or as they were calling her, Gea.

Ana's hair was greasy and her ringlets hung limp around her shoulders. Her eyes and nose were rosy from rubbing them, probably the result of excess crying. And her wings, which she once held high and proud, were now hanging low, tied together with leather straps. She was similarly shackled to her chair.

Torres, the slave trader, leaned up again the wall next to the table. This was the main reason the two hadn't spoken yet. Ishbosheth was just staring at her, happy she seemed to be ok. Torres kept sighing and shifting his weight between feet, taking turns putting one of his feet on the wall behind him to prop him up.

Ishbosheth moved in his seat to get more comfortable and the chains on his ankles clinked and clanked. He rubbed his hands together, "I... uh, punched a lion." The phrase sounded absurd coming out of his mouth.

Ana simply nodded, staring at the wood of the table. Ishbosheth expected more than a nod! He just said that he had punched a lion! Ana breathed out, saying, "I was there, up in the deck."

Ishbosheth lit up, "You were? You saw me? Was I good?"

Ana nodded again, still not moving her eyes off the table. "He snuck up on you. It wasn't fair. It wasn't like Alexander at all."

"What are you talking about?" Ishbosheth asked.

Finally, Ana looked at him, "He's usually a more honorable fighter, lets his opponent defend themselves. When he snuck up on you he didn't let you."

"You've seen him fight before?"

"Yes, a few times. He's Luther's son, so he fights a lot. He has three, Alexander, Nigel and Maverick. Nigel was trained in physical combat only, so he usually fights Stark and other strong fighters. Maverick is a mage, so he doesn't fight often, but does tricks. He wants to fight some Wizard some time, but Luther says not yet."

"How do you know so much about them?" Ishbosheth asked.

"Antony sent me to work in their home a couple days a week, so I've gotten to know them, Luther, the three cubs, and Raura, Luther's wife."

"I didn't know Luther had a wife." Ishbosheth said.

"Well, she's not been well, ever since the cubs where born she's been dying."

Torres stood up, "You are not to disclose this information," he said, drawing his whip out at its full length.

Ana quickly withdrew and went back to staring at the one spot on the the table, "Yes, sir," she said sheepishly.

Ishbosheth looked at Torres as he wrapped his whip up again. "I'm just glad you're ok," Ishbosheth said to Ana.

Ana sighed and gave a reluctant grin and a quick glance up at Ishbosheth. "Then we're done," Ana said, "I'll try and see if Antony will let us do this again."

"I'd like that," Ishbosheth said, as Torres unlocked his shackles and let him out of the room.

020: The First Tome of Nigel Part 11

Ishbosheth stood against the wall, right outside the arena where he had just beaten a lion unconscious. His chest was heaving, his throat felt like he had swallowed razors and his hands couldn't stop shaking. The door into the arena swung open and there stood Stark, his broad shoulders taking up the entire door frame. A smile crept onto Stark's face. "That's the way I taught you!" he said, slapping Ishbosheth on the shoulder. He felt like a feather and that caused him to fall to the ground.

Stark laughed and pulled Ishbosheth back up to his feet. This made him shake more, even with the strong man's arm holding his shoulder. He looked up at Stark as the man spoke again, "You're wanted by the princess, so stand yourself up."

Ishbosheth had to prop himself up against the wall to keep himself stable. When he made his way back into the arena, he found it to be much colder than it was before. The lion was still laying in the middle of the room, but Luther was standing over it, slowly passing his staff over the lion's body.

Ishbosheth walked over to the stairs that had the gate guarding them during the fight, but was now hanging open as most of the onlookers had shuffled out. He placed his hand on the rail, which felt strangely warm compared to the coolness of the large room. Making his way up to the observation deck, he saw Killian from a distance.

She came a few steps toward him as he approached and put out her hand for him to kiss. He knelt down and kissed her petite fingers. "You did well Dorian, you won for me."

Ishbosheth stayed kneeling because he felt too dizzy to stand, but also felt it'd be most appropriate. "How might I reward my champion?" he heard Killian's voice ask.

He didn't think for a second, "I'd like to see my cousin."

She was silent.

"Milady." Ishbosheth added, forgetting his propriety. He looked up at her and she was just looking back at him. "She's a work girl in Ant- your father's- house. Her name is Ana, but I don't know what her slave name is. She's a Shehawk."

Killian's eyebrows raised as if you say she knew exactly who Ishbosheth was talking about. "I'll see what I can arrange." Then she turned on her heel and went out the door at the very top of the observation deck, her flowing green dress billowing behind her.

Ishbosheth looked down at the arena from the edge of the deck. Where the lion used to be laying there was just a divot in the dirt floor, the lion was nowhere to be seen. Then Ishbosheth spotted him, coming up the stairs he had just ascended, heading toward him. Luther was trumping up behind the lion. The lion walked right up to Ishbosheth and got so close to his face he could feel the hot breath on his face.

"Alexander!" Luther yelled with his shaky voice.

The lion stood down, harrumphing. Luther came and put his hand on the lion's shoulder, "You were beaten, you must train more."

Alexander growled at Ishbosheth and turned around, heading back down the stairs.

Ishbosheth shouted down to Alexander as he ran, "You would've won! I was lucky!"

Alexander roared as he ran.

Luther turned to Ishbosheth again, "Alexander is my son. My primal son, the first, he cannot tolerate defeat. Please forgive his actions, he's quite upset."

Ishbosheth nodded.

Luther hobbled back over to the steps, saying over his shoulder, "You two will fight again, so prepare to feel his wrath again."

019: The First Tome of Nigel Part 10

Ishbosheth stood in a long corridor with doors on either side. He had just come through the one behind him, now being guarded by a man with a fur wrapped around his neck like a lion's mane.

Ishbosheth had his knuckles taped up again, just like in sparring practice, and had been put into a thick leather belt which was wrapped around his waist. He grabbed the ring handle on the door in front of him and pulled.

The room behind the door was a wide arena with an observation deck being held up by two tall pillars. Three large rocks were scattered in the middle of the arena floor. Ishbosheth took in the scene, and looked up at all the people seated on the upper deck. There were people lining the steps up to the deck, but there were some up there that caught Ishbosheth's eye. The first person Ishbosheth saw was Stark, standing in the very back corner, his broad shoulders hiding the fact that he had a neck. After him, on the opposite side, on the back wall was Luther, standing up, leaning on his staff, his graying mane framing his face. Finally Ishbosheth saw Killian, at the very front of the upper deck, leaning forward with her hands on the railing.

As he was looking around, Ishbosheth wandered further into the arena, between the two closest rocks. He could hear the crowd emit a few small laughs. Thinking this somewhat strange, Ishbosheth continued further into the center of the floor. The crowd's laughter became louder. Ishbosheth became a little more cautious and creeped into the very center. He heard some strange noises coming from behind him, like sacks of flour falling onto pavement. He turned around to see a lion, standing on its hind legs, between the two rocks he had just walked between, standing right in his own footprints. The lion threw back its head and let out a roar which shook Ishbosheth to the core.

The two stood there staring at each other in silence for a few moments. Then Ishbosheth ran. The crowd burst out in applause and cheers. The lion chased after Ishbosheth, switching between running on two and four legs, teeth bared all the while.

Ishbosheth ran behind the last rock on the opposite side of the stadium, but the lion followed and jumped on top of the rock. Ishbosheth took off toward the gate leading up to the upper deck, but it was locked. He turned just in time to see the lion jump off the rock and start running toward him.

Ishbosheth started running along the wall, keeping his hand on it to keep his balance, but the lion chased right behind him. Ishbosheth felt his foot slip beneath him and he fell to the ground. He turned around on the ground just as the lion jumped on top of him and, with balled, furry fists, began punching his face and chest.

Ishbosheth wriggled with all his might, flailing his arms and legs, until finally broke free from the lion's grip. From his position lying on his back on the ground, Ishbosheth raised one foot and planted it firmly into the lion's face.

The lion reeled backward and stumbled to his feet. When the lion had gotten to its full height, shaking from the blow to the head, Ishbosheth jumped on its back and began punching the back of the its skull. It reminded him of beating the brick wall, thick and hard. He punched with all his might until the lion fell to the ground and went limp.

Shaking with fear and adrenaline, Ishbosheth rose up, fists still clenched. The crowd was silent. Killian stood, took her hands off the railing and began clapping quietly. Soon the whole crowd was clapping. Ishbosheth even saw Torres slapping his monstrous hands together. Ishbosheth felt proud as he stood over the lion, its back slowly rising as it breathed in and out, unconscious.

018: The First Tome of Nigel pt 9

It hadn't taken long once Ishbosheth found the right angle and strength needed to wear the paint off the brick wall. The day after he had gotten the paint off, the men were paired up with sparring partners with their gloves on again. The day after that they paired up with sparring partners again, except the men were put on small pedestals to practice their balance.

The day before the fights they didn't practice, but instead were shackled and paraded in front of the guests of honor one by one. The men were introduced by their slave name and then if they saw fit, the guest would tell them their own name.

Ishbosheth saw one young girl in a long green dress walking toward the men. Torres went from man to man, giving the girl their names. Once he came to Ishbosheth, Torres grabbed the back of his head, and pulled it up so he was facing the girl. "This, highness, is Dorian."

The girl had big green eyes that matched her dress. She smiled at Ishbosheth and his stomach fluttered. She took out a piece of green fabric, with a "K" embroidered on it. "Win tomorrow for me, Dorian."

"What's your name?" Ishbosheth said.

Torres took his whip and cracked it over Ishbosheth's back. "That's for speaking out of turn."

The girl looked sad, and then put a hand on Ishbosheth's shoulder, "I'm Killian, Antony's daughter."

Ishbosheth smiled at her and she eventually moved on to meet the next man in line.

017: The First Tome of Nigel pt 8

Only a few days had passed before Torres and Stark barged into the hospital wing. Torres held his small whip and had a blue bandana wrapped around his head. Both men had several scars on their bare chests and backs, that Ishbosheth could see as they marched passed all the beds, ripping all the sheets from the recovering patients.

"On your feet all of you!" Torres yelled, cracking his whip in the air. "There are only four days until you all fight Stark again, this time for a royal audience. You're going to be trained to fight so they will get a show. If you go down with one punch you'll be no use to anyone and will be killed. If the fight goes on too long, Stark will tire, and he's much more valuable than you, so the fight will be stopped and you will be flogged. A fight should last between five and ten minutes. Is that clear?"

There were mixed responses, which made for a muddled, "Yes sir..."

Torres cracked his whip again, "IS THAT CLEAR?"

"Yes sir!" the men all said in unison.

The men where shackled and led into a room with a floor of sand. Torres picked up a handful of sand and sprinkled it in front of the men's feet. "This is where you'll be fighting in a few days, which is why we'll be practicing in here daily. Each of you will take two small burlap bags and proceed to either Stark or myself."

Ishbosheth did as was instructed and got two small burlap bags from a barrel near the middle of the room and then went over to Torres, who had a big roll of cloth in his hands. Ishbosheth came up to Torres and he looked down on the small boy. "Hold out your hands," Torres said, as he unrolled some of the cloth. He started wrapping each of Ishbosheth's hands individually, about ten times around each hand. Torres then picked up one of the small bags and put it around Ishbosheth's large, cloth covered, balled fist. He did the same with the other fist.

Once all the men had their padded fists covered in the rough fabric, Torres stood on top of the barrel and started pointing around the room. "You will find a red mark on the wall for each of you. Go to the nearest red mark, stand next to it, and await my instructions."

Ishbosheth, again, was obedient and found a large red circle painted on the brick wall surrounding the courtyard. He turned to face Torres as he continued his instructions. "Practice your punching by hitting the red mark until you wear the paint away and can see the brick wall beneath. Begin now."

Ishbosheth turned back to the wall, slowly. He lifted his fists and took a look at them. Rough enough to pretty easily scrape away the paint, he figured. Stepping into a fighting position, one foot ahead of the other one, he cocked his fist behind his head and drove his fist straight into the wall. Pain shot up his arm, and he could barely lift his hand up again.

He used his left hand to cover his hurting right shoulder as he looked around the room at the men, jabbing at the red mark with angled blows. He tried that. One quick punch at the wall with his left hand hurt a lot less, and when he looked at his left fist again, he saw a little red dust on the cloth. Motivated, he lifted his right fist and kept on punching.

016: The First Tome of Nigel pt 7

When Ishbosheth woke up again, Luther was pushing a cart from bed to bed, placing a bowl on each man's table as he passed. As Luther came to his table, Ishbosheth sat up, noticing he couldn't open his right eye, due to the swelling in his temple. Through his one eye, he could see that Luther was bringing him a bowl of soup, steaming, with a silver spoon in it. Luther set the bowl down, then drew up a chair to sit on next to Ishbosheth's bed.

The Lion stared at Ishbosheth, with bandages on his head. A few moments passed, the two staring at each other in silence. Finally, Luther cleared his throat and said, "She's here."

Ishbosheth rubbed his head, "What?"

"The girl you were asking about. She's been kept by Antony as a house worker. She won't be sold to another trader. Not yet anyway."

Ishbosheth felt more relieved than he ever had in his life.

"As for you," Luther continued, "You've been chosen to be a house fighter."

Ishbosheth patted the bandages on his temple, "Because I'm obviously so good at it."

"No, you were chosen because you failed so terribly. That's how Antony decides which fighters he choses. If Stark has to work too hard to knock them down, he sells them for a big price to some slave trader to become gladiators, or to be killed by gladiators. He just wants to give a show, not a blood bath. We're going to start training you all once you begin to heal, and then you'll be thrown into a fight next week. So, rest up, and we'll start training tomorrow." Luther got up and scooted his cart over to the next bed.

015: The First Tome of Nigel pt 6

Ishbosheth followed the rest of the men into the main chamber. There he had expected to meet the women, but they were nowhere to be found. Instead, Antony stood in the middle of the room with a very muscular man wearing only black pants, his arms crossed, tattoos on his biceps. Antony, who had seemed so warm and welcoming last night, now stood with his hands behind his back and a stern expression on his face. He motioned to the muscular man, "This is Stark, my prized house fighter. He's never lost a fight for me."

Stark turned and walked through an open door into an adjacent room. Once he was gone, Antony scanned the crowd of men and pointed to one of them, then motioned him with a finger to come forward. Then he pointed to the door Stark had just gone through. The man cautiously glanced at the door, back at Antony, and then, seeing the insistent look on his master's face, slowly stepped toward the door. Antony followed him through, and shut the door behind him.

Torres put his hand up in the air as he yelled, "Sit down!" The men sat as one. Behind the door they could hear cheering and the faint sound of bodies pounding together. The sounds didn't last very long at all until there was sudden loud cheering and after it died down, Antony escorted Stark back out into the main hall. Stark had blood on his knuckles.

Shortly after the two men had come out of the other room, two more men came out of the room, carrying the other man in their arms, limp and bloodied. Ishbosheth watched the men carrying the man with a bloody face out. When he looked back up at Antony he was terrified to see Antony pointing at him, motioning him to approach him. Nervously, he watched as Stark reentered the fighting room, as he stepped closer to Antony. Antony's face didn't change at all as he pointed after Stark.

Ishbosheth trudged toward the door and entered the room, with Antony following him. He was surprised. It was more like a hallway than a room. The walls on either side were very tall, the ground was sand and there were observation decks on top of both walls. The decks were filled with people, beginning to cheer as Stark reached down and rubbed some sand between his hands. Stark's back was toward Ishbosheth, and he could see that Stark had many stripes on his back from a whip.

A bell sounded and Stark spun around faster than Ishbosheth had seen anyone move. Sand flew from his hands as he began to run toward Ishbosheth, his hands open, high over his head. The crowd cheered loudly. Ishbosheth quickly ducked and ran underneath his arms. Ishbosheth turned to look at Stark, just as he spun around again, clenched his right fist and punched Ishbosheth in his left ear. Everything echoed and the world seemed to move slower for the few split seconds of travel between where Ishbosheth's head was and where it struck the wall. He blacked out.

***

Slowly his vision became unclouded. He was laying on a bed in a room he hadn't seen before. He recognized the man on his left as the one who had faced Stark just before him. Bandages covered his face, with some blood seeping through.

Everything still echoed. Ishboseth reached up and felt a thick bandage over his ear that had been struck, and an even thicker one on his right temple, where it had hit the wall. He hadn't lasted very long, yet, he spied his name on a piece of parchment on the table next to his bed. On it, it read, "Given Name: Ishbosheth. Slave Name: Dorian. Class: House Fighter."

Ishbosheth's head boomed and felt as though his eyes were being pushed out of their sockets. He laid back down and fell back asleep.