Snippet #2650546

Klang! A stranger in a strange bar.

Klang! The hell does she mean, “Red Wind”?

Klang! What is happening to her now? Klang!

Klang! Where did she go?

Klang! Klang! Klang!

The echo of metal on metal rang in the air, stirring with the multitude of sound that rose from the inner ring of the colosseum. Thank the Creator for the din, as it drown out the ever pulsing thoughts that resounded in the tired mind of the youth putting hammer to steel at the time. A young Niessen, fair of hair and fair of skin, toiled at the anvil that was placed just inside the last gate before the actual arena floor spread forth in a field of blood soaked sand. Sweat rolled down the young man’s distinguished features as he plied his trade, mending a gladiator’s fractured shield with a slow weld along an outer crack. He’d told the man that it would be best to just use another, but the fighter claimed he has sentimental attachment and she the young man worked to mend it as best he could, sure any flaw would spell the end of the shield and thus the end of the gladiator’s life.

That was his trade now. Where other blacksmith’s dealt in steel and iron to till the fields and harvest the grain he deal in life and death, in blood and bone. A dagger he crafted yesterday may be used to cut a throat a few days later. At the same time the shield he mended my ford off a lethal strike from that same dagger if he did his job well. There was a new duality to his work that the boy had never considered, never conceived, never even dreamed on a drunken night he would face. To be honest he absolutely despised it.

“Caspian, careful with the leather!” a loud rumble of a voice called form across the forge. Looking up the youth found the deep resonance to have originated in the bulging belly of his new master, a man named Amon who was the head blacksmith at the Colosseum.

“Aye, sir!” he replied curtly and made doubly sure of his next few strikes. The young man was a journeyman as a blacksmith and was doing well by all accounts, but this new job was far from easy. In the past Caspian, as he was called, worked at his father’s shop by day, tending they family tavern with his mother at night, and was ne’er the aware of such a brutal reality as he found in these sandstone walls that surrounded him. But now he had a benefit that his father’s shop lacked, a front row seat to the effect of that sword that he had fired a fortnight past. Caspian redoubled his effort on his work, trying to drown out the images he’d seen weapons of his hand cause in recent weeks. This apprenticeship could not end soon enough.


Klang!

The sound coming from the arena swam with the sway of the crowd as the exhibition bout being fought within took a sudden turn. Caspian could have glanced over through the wooden slats of his station on the sidelines but he didn’t feel the need. These kind of sports never interested him, even as a child, and on the few holidays that the family had made the attempt to trek the few days between the Colosseum and his home town he had never come to the imposing structure to see a fight but rather one of the non-violent performances of a circus or some religious reenactment. His father didn’t like the bloodshed either, saying he’d seen enough in his old days during the war. Apparently, however, Master Amon hadn’t. He glanced up through the slats and whistled through his teeth; “Huo’s having trouble!” he called swiftly as another roar erupted from the crowd.

Caspian continued with his work, stoking another band of thin metal in the fire to be applied to reinforce the cracked shield yet again, he didn’t want to watch these matches any more than he had too; although the thuds of the large weapon being used within were useful in drowning out the nagging and bodiless vocalizations running through his head. Until he heard another Thud! followed by a short cry just a few dozen yards behind him. That didn’t come from the arena… he thought with a sigh as he slowly turned to see if his suspicions were correct. “Damn it.” of course they were.

“Gah!” a another guttural cry escaped the small body of a young boy before being cut short by another kick to his side from one of the three tall guards that surrounded him. The boy wore a ragged cloth tunic and couldn’t have been more than ten years old, a slave brought in to do the menial chores of the grand Colosseum, one of many similar youths that serviced the massive walls. The three guards were also no rare sight, and their current actions of kicking one of the slaves was equally (and disgustingly) common, as they were part of the brigade employed here to simply keep the public under control and ensure that things ran smoothly. To call them guards was being far more generous than those swine deserved. They were thugs dressed up and paraded around for the public showing little to no truth like every other part of this charade. Just trappings on shit sprayed with perfume to make the patrons forget the stench.

“Get up, swine!” one of the guards called with a grin to the boy, who was struggling to even breathe, “when we say stop you stop!” he demanded as he delivered another kick to the boys abdomen with a chuckle from him and his mates. “Get up!” once again he demanded the impossible of the boy he was abusing while his chuckles turned slowly into an angry grimace. “I said, Get up!”

Caspian understood what the guard was feeling, impatience, anger, and frustration against another human being; but the boy just coughed and the guards just stared with their anger growing at the child’s noncompliance and their frustration was coming to a head. When he first arrived Caspian had failed to let his own anger boil over in time to help someone in the same straits, that would not happen again. “If you won’t obey orders I’ll give you a reason to lie down!”

The guard raised his spear, aiming the blunted end for the boys back and plunged. He would have taken their little abuse to a whole new level, as they usually did, had his swing not caught a few inched above the boy’s spine. “Guh!” the guard grunted against the excursion of his one handed strike as his wrist was caught in the grasp of the young blacksmith. Snarling at the interloper as his comrades took a step back in surprise the guard made to wrench his arm form the youth’s grasp. It was a pathetic showing; he tugged once, twice, three times, each with more force until he was bodily pulling himself away from the one handed grip of the smith. Caspian held firm, and as the guard demanded that he release him the blacksmith reached up and unclasp the man’s wrist guard expertly, sending the guard wheeling away and stumbling to find purchase on the dirt as his own force throw him back, “You bastard! The hell do you think you’re doing!?”

It wasn’t even a fight; the guards before Caspian were just for show, like ninety percent of the guards in the Colosseum. They looked big in their padded leather uniforms and their slightly shortened spears to give the illusion of size however these men barely worked at all and couldn’t possibly hope to out muscle a blacksmith who worked with hard steel all day long. As if to prove his point Caspian tightened his grip on the thin metal sleeved leather guard in his hand, bending the entire piece sharply inward while he took a step toward the men, “I’ve been waiting for this kid for the past half hour, you the reason he’s been delayed?” the youth demanded in as deep a voice as he could muster.

The guards were taken aback at first but sneered as they regained their balance, “The hell you talking about, there’s plenty of slaves around, why would you call for this shrimp!?” the man who was the clear ring leader wheezed through clenched teeth at Caspian. “Just cause you say it’s so doesn’t make it true, you’re a liar!”

Taking the initiative had given Caspian an advantage, but even having dealt with countless aggressive drunks at his family’s tavern wasn’t enough to steel him beyond his initial attack. He was flat footed; he’d muscled his way in but had no exit strategy and was easily in way over his head. He stammered for a second until a deep booming voice came from over his shoulder, “An’ wha’ if I say it’s true, eh?” stepping to the side Caspian gave his master a grateful glance and looked to the guards as the blood drained form their faces. “Ya boys go’ a problem with it?” Amon demanded. The tides had shifted again as the child gasped for air holding his stomach looking up at the battle raging in glares and glance above him, “You ther’, boy, ge’ up and ge’ to work!” Amon demanded stone faced.

Slowly the youth managed to brace himself on his arms and knees until he was able to get to a height where Caspian grabbed hold of him and pulled him to his feet. He was dirty and bruised, blood pouring form a small cut on his forehead as a black eye formed slowly on the left of his face as his upper lip swelled but there was a sparkle of defiance in his eyes still that Caspian inwardly cheered. He gave the boy a light shove to stand beside him as Amon stepped into the middle of the guards to chastise them as was his right. Caspian had learned swiftly that this place, like all businesses, ran on a hierarchy of value. Caspian wouldn’t have dared intervene when he had first arrived, thinking he was lowest on the totem pole, however he had learned since that skilled craftsmen that were necessary, like Amon, were far harder to find and replace than a few thugs in tights like the three before him. Caspian was just above the guards himself but having Amon here put the whole situation down in a moment. He would have to thank his mentor in the very near future. “You three, there, what do you think you’re doing?” a voice called form the seating section above; a voice that sent a chill running down Caspian’s spine.

Looking up Caspian felt a cold rush of fury well inside of him as he saw the breastplate of the captain of the guard, the leader of these three thugs, and the only person that Caspian had met in his life yet that he could honestly say he hated with his very soul. The guards looked expectantly at Amon and his pupil, waiting for them to answer their bosses call, though Amon seemed unconcerned as his grin grew wider. After a few moments of mock silence, the crowd was still watching the fight intently oblivious to the tension at the rear of the Colosseum in the ‘back stage’ of it, Amon smiled cheekily at the guards and gestured to their captain, “He means you!” looking up to find their boss glaring angrily at them the guards began to babble excuses and explanations to their commander who just grew visibly more aggravated by the moment.

“Shut it! Get back to your stations now!” he commanded. With a swift snap and a sprint away the guards obeyed, fleeing their defeat in due haste.

Amon chuckled to himself as he came over to Caspian, avoiding the glare that the Captain shot off in their direction, “Thanks ‘or the hand, Vin!” he called over his shoulder to the man who jut grunted. Amon took the bracer still held in Caspian’s hand and gave it a once over, “Ya sure did a number on it, eh?” he handed the piece back to Caspian and looked to the two boys, “Go ge’ her fixed then, an’ you, give ‘em a hand!” Amon ordered to Caspian and the slave. Relief filled Caspian’s mind but he would not show it before Vin. Turning and looking at the slave boy he motioned him forward toward the forge and walked behind the boy who was limping, gently guiding the tired youth with a hand on the back, he was shivering. Amon turned to converse with the man on the balcony, “Thanks again, Vin.”

“Watch that boy o’ yours, Amon, you won’t always be around and I can’t be held accountable for what those idiots do when their prides hurt.”

“Their pride? Or yours?”

The conversation continued but Caspian caught no more of it. Once they reached the forge he moved the boy to beside the bellows, “What’s your name?”

“N-Nomire.” The boy replied, still wheezing. “Th-ugh-thanks for the help.” He managed.

Caspian shrugged as he pumped the bellows twice before retrieving another sheet of metal with his tongs, “I only wish I’d been there sooner. Anyway, I can’t just let you lie down, those three will be watching, you going to have to work for a bit.” He looked sheepishly to the young boy who nodded between deep breaths, crestfallen but understanding, “After that I’ll try and get you some good food, and maybe find someone to mend your wounds a bit. Just hang in there.” He encouraged. The boy’s face lit up, slightly, at the thought of decent food. One of the perks of his station was Caspian and his master were not tied to this hell hole, they were free, unlike the others.; Unlike this boy; Unlike that girl had been. As the boy got to work stoking the fire, his think arms struggling to lift the coal and press the bellows Caspian could stop himself form remembering his first week at the Colosseum nearly a half a year past now. He glanced at Vin, still conversing with Amon, and his fury returned. An image was burned into his mind, shoving the dream from his mind and the voices from his head. All he heard was that last gasp, all he saw was that crimson red, and all he felt was that cold hand. Placing the white hot plate against the shield once again he turned to his work and placed an image of that day, of Vin’s blank expression onto the steel. He brought his hammer down.

Klang!