“Well come on then,” Henry shouted at the slaves. “What the fuck are ya waitin' fer? Get out here.”
The biggest of the slaves; a man near as tall as Thorn and thick with muscle with beady blue eyes and a large brown tattoo on the left side of his bare chest, walked forwards and reached out with his right hand, took hold of the door to his cell and pulled it back into a closed position. “Not our fight,” was all the big man said.
“Henry,” Thorn rasped out, the laugh in his voice gone, he sounded hard pushed and in need of a hand. Henry ignored him. She glanced into the next cell; the slaves there pressed themselves against the far wall to show their obedience to their owners. It was enough to make Henry want to spit, enough to make her want to stab them all.
“Then hows 'bout ya make it your fight!” she screamed at them all. “Ya all happy ta sit an' rot in ya cells till those that put collars on ya tell ya who ya supposed ta kill? Ain't no one can make ya a slave but yaself but I reckon ya all know that. Reckon ya all happy ta be told what ta do all ya lives. Easier ta live an' die by another's will, eh? That it? Ya wanna be slaves?”
The big man with his hand on the cell door looked embarrassed. Probably shamed by a woman half his size questioning the point of his existence. He took his hand away from the cell door and scratched at his face. “Ain't no one want ta be a slave.”
Henry spat on the floor and threw the cell keys at the big slave's chest. “Then fuckin' fight fer ya freedom!” she screamed at him before turning her back on all of them, drawing her twin daggers and launching herself at one of the remaining three guards.
She reversed the grip on her daggers and dodged to the side as a spear point thrust at her. The man tried to stab at her again but Henry was too quick, even with the constant pain in her leg forcing her to limp. She slipped up next to the guard and with one quick spin she slashed him three times, once on his left arm, once in his thigh and a final cut in his neck. The man dropped his spear and stumbled away clutching at the blood spurting out his neck wound. A few moments later he dropped to the floor and Henry left him to die. Only two guards left now and as Henry watched Thorn grabbed hold of a spear, snapped the shaft with his axe then planted his knife in the spear owner's eye. Henry ran up behind the final guard attacking Anders and slit his throat from behind. Anders danced out the way of the blood with a yell and then stepped forward and embraced Henry. For a horrifying instant the drunk reminded her of Swift and she almost stabbed him.
“Thank you, my lady,” Henry slurred at her. “I am, of course, forever at your assistance. That one was giving me no end of trouble.”
Henry glanced at the bodies on the floor. By the looks of things Anders had dispatched two of the men himself. Henry decided there might be more to the blooded bastard than he was letting on but now was not the time to dig deeper. More guards were starting to arrive, a lot more guards. Far more than the three of them could handle.
The biggest slave; the one with the tattooed chest pushed the door to his cell open, handed the keys to the man behind him and picked up one of the discarded spears. The man behind him rushed off to open other cells and the rest of the slaves started filtering out; picking up spears from the dead guards, or pulling the swords from the scabbards at the corpses' sides. Didn't take long before the guards were the ones outnumbered and a short skirmish later found those same guards beating a hurried retreat with Henry, Thorn, Anders and a host of slave pit fighters chasing the bastards through the corridors with more slaves joining the rebellion all the time.
The slaves burst out of the fighting pits ahead of Henry and the other two. By the time they forced their way out of the doors there was already fighting in the square. The guards had regrouped and were joined by groups of mercs that happened to be loitering nearby. No doubt more mercs would arrive in a steady stream from now on but there were hundreds of slaves all fired up and determined to fight for their freedom. Henry found herself grinning; it was going to be a bloody night in Solantis.
She felt a big three-fingered hand wrap around her arm and pull her away from the chaos. Anders hovered close by looking more and more worried by the moment.
“I don't think this is going to go down too well with the Brekovichs,” the blooded drunk said when they were far enough away from the entrance so not to be involved in the fighting.
“Aye,” Thorn agreed, he was staring into Henry's face with his one eye. “You with us, Henry?”
Henry realised the half-crazed, blood-frenzied grin was still plastered to her face. With effort she managed to calm herself. “Aye. I'm good.” She looked around the square outside the Coliseum. Hundreds of folk were fighting and dying. This wasn't just a fight anymore. It was a battle. A battle she had caused. Now she thought about it she didn't feel quite so pleased; might be she felt a little bad about it.
Thorn gripped hold of her shoulder and nodded at her. “Ya did good, Henry. Saved us all, I reckon.”
Henry just nodded in reply. Truth was she didn't feel up to talking right now. Wasn't sure what she might end up saying.
“Um...” Anders started, a panicked look on his face. “I would like to suggest slipping away before we become entangled in the night's festivities any further.”
“Eh?”
The blooded drunk sighed. “I think we should leave. Now.”
Thorn nodded. He still had a hand on Henry's shoulder, felt comforting now she thought about it. “Right you are, Anders. Let’s get back ta Henry's place quick. Figure out what the fuck we gonna do once we're back there.”
“What we're going to do?” Anders asked.
“Aye. That shit, Carlston jus' tried ta have us killed. Folk who try ta kill the Black Thorn don't tend ta live through failin'. Reckon we need ta pay him back.”
Thorn
Betrim didn't reckon any of them could have predicted how far Henry's freeing of the slaves would go. Two days later and there was still fighting everywhere. Truth was the number of slaves in Solantis outnumbered the mercs and those from the pits had broken free and were busy freeing all the other slaves they could find. Major sections of the city had become camps for free slaves, with more and more being freed all the time. The merc companies, unable to band together and work as a single force, were being outnumbered in all their encounters and were losing most of the battles. Solantis had gone from lawless shit-hole to lawless war-zone in the course of just two days and Henry had started it all, a fact she didn't seem to be taking too well if Betrim was any sort of judge.
For two days none of them had left Henry's tavern. For his part Betrim spent a lot of time either leaning or pacing or playing with his recently broken finger; funny how pain could almost be addictive at times. Anders had decided to take the downtime as a way to further his drinking habit and would only wake from his drunken stupor just long enough to get another drink. Henry, on the other hand, alternated between giving dark looks to anyone and everyone she encountered and spending generous amounts of time alone in her room upstairs.
Thankfully the fighting hadn't reached them yet. There were few places that could afford to keep slaves in this part of Solantis so there was no one to free. That didn't mean the area wouldn't turn into a battleground at some point though. If Betrim had his way they would all be long gone by the time that happened. Henry didn't seem enthusiastic about abandoning her tavern though.
There was also the matter of Carlston Barrow to deal with. The man had set them up and had tried to make certain they didn't emerge from the fighting pits alive. He had failed and the Black Thorn was well known for not letting folk have a second chance. Unfortunately Carlston Barrow commanded a small army worth of mercs and by now was almost certainly holed up behind a wall of steel and flesh. It pained Betrim but he had to admit he might have to let this one go this time, for now at least. With any luck the slave uprising would deal with the petty fixer but if not Betrim would just have to schedule a return trip to Solantis sometime in the future once everything had settled down. Not a place he wanted to visit again after he got out but some things were unavoidable. He had a reputation to maintain after all.
Anders stirred from his drunken slumber, lifted his head off the table and squinted around the tavern in a way that left Betrim in no doubt the man was pickled. With what seemed a heroic amount of effort the drunk pushed himself to his feet, knocking over his chair in the process, and lurched towards the bar where Josef stood with a stony expression that the Black Thorn would have been proud of.
“Be a good fellow and... and... and fetch... me a drank... uh... drink.... Josef,” Anders slurred out as he collapsed against the bar and grinned up at the man. In reply Josef shook his head; his wiry arms crossed firmly against his chest. “What? Cut off? Bollocks.”
“Anders,” Betrim called from his spot leaning against the wall, as far from the front door as possible and with a handy view of every nook, cranny and corner in the room. “Go upstairs an' fetch Henry. Reckon it's 'bout time we talked 'bout gettin' out of this shit-hole of a city.”
Anders turned around and squinted at the common room in general as if he wasn't sure who had spoken. Made for a right strange action given that apart from Betrim, Henry, Anders and Josef not a single soul had entered the tavern since the slaves started fighting.
“Right you are, boss,” Anders said before turning and staring at the stairs as if they were the biggest challenge the man had ever faced. He put one foot on the first step, collapsed and crawled the rest of the way up. Betrim sent a look at Josef, Josef rolled his eyes in reply. Betrim reckoned he might miss that, given time, rolling his eyes. He could still roll the one for a certainty but he reckoned it would lack the impact.
Henry and Anders took their time returning. Betrim was just about on the verge of fetching them himself when Henry sauntered down the stairs. She was dressed for leaving with her thigh-high riding boots, simple trousers, tight leather jerkin and the same hat she had worn the other day. Seems she'd taken a liking to that hat. Betrim had never liked the ideas of hats; they tended to narrow the field of vision, made it harder to tell when someone was going to try for your life. Anders stumbled down the stairs just after Henry and deposited himself at the bar.
“Josef, get Anders a drink,” Henry ordered. Josef complied but the last thing he looked was happy about it.
Henry slumped down in a chair close by to Betrim and let out a sigh, she didn't even bother looking at him.
“Right then...” Betrim started.
“Ya wanna leave,” Henry finished.
“Better that than get stabbed by a bunch o' rowdy slaves.”
Henry sniffed. “Where ya gonna go?”
“Dunno. South most likely. Kessick, the fuck that did this,” he pointed at his eye-patch, “he's somewhere in the wilds. Reckon I'm gonna look fer him, pay the bastard back. Reckon I owe that ta some folk. You stayin'?”
Henry nodded. “Ain't never owned nowhere 'fore. Reckon I might give it some sort of go. See if I can... I dunno.”
Betrim nodded. “Aye.” Wasn't much left to say, he reckoned. Times like this, in Betrim's experience, it was best just to get gone. No sense in prolonging goodbyes, especially not in this sort of crowd. He shouldered his pack, nodded once to Henry, once to Anders and third time to Josef and made for the door. He'd need to get out of Solantis as quick as possible and hope none of the escaped slaves mistook him for a merc, hope none of the mercs recognised him as being worth a bounty.
The door hadn't even closed behind him when Betrim stepped back into the
Dog's Laugh
backwards with the point of a sharp-looking long sword poking him in the chest. If any of those still in the tavern looked surprised Betrim didn't see it. Truth was he was far too busy staring at the man holding the dangerous weapon on him. There were a bunch of them; twelve in all by Betrim's count and to a man they were armed and did not look friendly. Betrim thought he recognised the one holding the sword to his chest but he couldn't be certain.
“Might be I'm not leavin' jus' yet after all,” Betrim said as he backed into the tavern and the armed folk followed him in. “These lads make a fairly pressin' argument as fer my stayin'.”
Betrim heard Henry spit. “Kain. Ain't nice entering my place armed like this. 'Specially not with them Long Tooths in tow.”
The familiar-looking one, the same one that happened to be pointing a sword at Betrim looked a little awkward. “Sorry 'bout this, Henry.”
Henry snorted out a bitter laugh. “No you ain't. If you were sorry ya wouldn't be doin' it.”
“You here fer the bounty?” Betrim asked.
“What bounty?”
Betrim shrugged and tried to look nonchalant.
“You here ta take me ta Carlston?” Henry asked.
“Carlston's gone,” said one of the other men, one of the Long Tooth mercs.
“Dead?” Betrim asked.
“Fled. Snuck out sometime in the night. Jumped on the nearest ship headin' anywhere, I reckon.”
That would make killing the bastard harder. First Betrim would have to find Carlston. First Betrim was going to have to get out of his current situation.
“Take their weapons, all of 'em. Watch out fer Henry,” ordered Kain and the other mercs complied. Henry just stared at the two men who approached her and both looked as though they were trying to disarm a dragon.
“Fancy tellin' me what's goin' on, Kain?” Henry asked after the two men had taken her daggers.
“Broken Blades is done, Commander Gurn took most of the lads ta fight the slaves an' lost. Long Tooths is done too now Carlston is gone. Black Daggers, Sun's Sons and the Ragged Flag too. All done, dead or fled. Solantis is next ta lost; be run by slaves 'fore the month is out, I reckon. We're leaving 'fore that happens. Taking you three with us.”
“Where?”
“Crucible.”
There was a loud thud as Anders fell off the bar and hit the floor in a panic stricken heap. “You gentlemen know I'm just a hostage, of course. They kidnapped me, made me do it. I'll just leave, be on my way. Thank you all so much for rescuing me.” The drunk stood; as steady as a rock and made his way towards the door. He got all of two steps before one of the mercs punched him in the gut, doubling him over.
