Book I of III: The Swords of the Sultan (37 page)

Of course, can’t forget to mention the
dozen-or-so drunk patrons standing around a well-lit forty-foot
circular pit located in the center of the room, calling off bets
and swapping money. It was solely because of all the light
emanating from the pit that prevented this basement from being very
poorly lit.

As he walked over to the edge of the pit, and
leaned over on the safety steel railing in between two sailors, he
saw four torches spread halfway between the top and the bottom at
each of the four quadrants. At the very bottom, about thirty feet
below, two dogs viciously tore into each other with fangs and
claws! Currently, this pit had two small entryways on opposite
sides that were both open, as well a human-sized gated door that
was shut.

Baltor thought,
My parents’ murderers
either come to watch things fight and kill, or do it themselves,
for violence is their nature
.

From the other side of the pit, a beam of
light flashed in Baltor’s eyes, though only for a split second. His
eyes quickly scanned in that direction, but saw nothing out of the
ordinary, except for a large bunch of the Sultan’s soldiers—two of
them were now leaning slightly over on the far side of the pit to
watch the fight close up, while the rest sat behind them at two
tables, drinking and laughing away. There were no signs of anything
glinting.

Even after several more minutes that he spent
watching them, and counting fifteen soldiers in total, he still
didn’t see anything else glinting. However, he knew one of them had
to be the owner of the white horse outside, though he didn’t know
which guard.

He next started to check out another group of
people sitting near the far left corner of the room. In that
corner, there was another concrete stairwell leading down, this
once spiral. Yet another flash of light caught his eye, and he
gazed back over.

His binocular-vision instantly zoomed in on
the source of the light, observing that it was actually two
prismatic lights that reflected off two diamonds set in a golden
hawk-headed pommel. With growing excitement and anger, Baltor
realized that this sword had to be his grandfather’s sword!

Just then, his vampire hearing radically
increased, and he listened as one of the two guards leaning over
the pit looked back over at the man who donned his grandfather’s
sword, and say with excitement, “Major Briggs, you’ve got to check
this out! I told you that the pit-bull was going to take out the
rottweiler, and I was right. I mean, please, sir, come and take a
look-see!”

This Major Briggs, a rather powerful-looking
officer with angular eyebrows and a thick, graying goatee, finished
drinking a swig from his mug of ale, laughed, and then said, “I’ll
be right there, Lieutenant Harshem. I’m kind of in the middle of an
important discussion right now with Captain Lowell.”

Baltor immediately began to approach, but
upon drawing several feet from them all, this soldier turned to
look at him with great suspicion.

Without a word, he walked past the first, and
was about to pass the remaining soldiers in order to reach Briggs,
but found swords pointed at him from all directions.

“Identify yourself and state your business,”
Harshem was the first to say though he did not have his weapon
drawn.

“My name is Baltor. I am a messenger from the
Sultan, and I bear a message solely for Major Briggs! I shouldn’t
be saying this to you, but I think that he plans on promoting him
to colonel.”

Harshem asked, “How come I haven’t seen you
before?”

“I have just started, good sirs. May I please
speak with the major so that I can be on my way, sir?”

“Lower your swords, men,” Harshem ordered. He
next looked over at his major and stated, “Major Briggs, there is a
man here who says that he bears a message for you, directly from
the Sultan.”

Briggs stood up from his seat, approached a
bit closer until he was about fifteen feet away, and then asked,
“What is the message?”

Without hesitation, Baltor answered, “You
have a possession that belongs to me—you must give it back, or
else.”

Looking confused, Briggs asked, “The Sultan
said this?”

“No….I did!”

Briggs laughed, put his hands on his hips,
and in a mocking tone, asked, “Well then. What possession do I need
to give back to you, and what are you going to do about it if I
don’t?”

Despite the fact that Baltor once again had
swords pointed in his face, he still calmly said, “Give me back my
grandfather’s sword, or else I will be forced to kill you.”

Briggs straightened up with a serious look to
his face, while his right hand cupped very protectively over the
sword’s pommel. He ordered, “Men—”

With a wag of his index finger from side to
side, Baltor interrupted, “I wouldn’t issue that command if I were
you!”

Even though Briggs had just about enough, he
still asked with an incredulous tone of voice, “Why not?”

Baltor answered, “According to the law of the
Sultan, thievery and murder are not crimes to be tolerated within
this city, all here knows these laws to be true—yet it was you,
Major, who stole my family’s sword more than a decade ago and
murdered my parents!

“If I were you now, however, I’d fight me in
the dog pit below. After all, who am I but a skinny punk pitted up
against an ultimate warrior like you?” As Baltor had asked this
question, his voice had not only gotten very sarcastic, yet snotty
sounding.

Seething with uncontrolled rage, Briggs
roughly shoved his way through his men—the soldiers hurriedly moved
their swords out of their major’s way.

Without pause, Briggs grabbed and yanked the
front of Baltor’s shirt with both of his fists, which caused both
Baltor’s body and face to be less than an inch from his own, as
well make him quite unbalanced: The major hissed, “Let’s go!”

Abruptly, Briggs let go of Baltor’s shirt,
which caused Baltor to drop to his knees, and then he stared at the
boy who did not try to stand back up onto his feet, while mentally
daring him to do so.

After a short chuckle, Briggs looked back
around at all of his men standing around.

He then ordered almost pleasantly, “As this
snotty punk and I are about to fight to the death, I’d like to
place my entire life savings on the duel—eighty five thousand
parsecs for me to win! Anyone want to match my bet?”

Briggs then began to look around the room,
but not a single person said a word, especially for the fact that
Baltor continued to remain on his knees.

“Come on—is there not one single person
amongst you who wants to take on my bet against….what was your
name, punk?”

It was only after he had asked that question
that he looked back down at the kid who remained on his knees.

Baltor apparently loved to push buttons, as
he first smiled up at the major, and answered, “My name’s not
important. I’ve got a very good suggestion that would make this
fight even more interesting.”

After a short laugh, Briggs then asked, “What
would you suggest?”

“Let’s add some fresh dogs to the pit, during
the course of our battle to the death,” Baltor suggested quite
calmly.

For a split moment, Briggs looked quite a bit
nervous at that suggestion, but he could also see the eyes of his
men, and everyone else, looking directly at him, so he nodded
confidently while answering in the form of a question, “Why
not?”

Even though Baltor had just slowly stood back
onto his feet, he heard an unrecognizable, old woman’s voice
declare, “I’ll match your bet, Major Briggs. The house knows I’m
good for it!”

Everyone in the room turned to look at the
woman who said it with quite a bit of surprise. All, except for
Baltor, knew that the old crone’s name was Sessy, and that she was
indeed good for it. After all, Sessy not only owned the gambling
house, yet the entire bar.

Briggs looked over at her in surprise, as
well with some agitation.

Instead of displaying any emotions that might
make him seem a coward, however, he glanced over at his captain,
nodded his head, and said, “You heard Sessy.”

Lowell replied, “Yes, sir.”

Briggs then began to walk toward the
stairwell in the corner of the room. Baltor followed right
behind.

Two soldiers followed behind them, and
Harshem and Lowell followed behind them in the rear of the
formation—all made their way down the stairwell, just in case
Baltor should try to do something underhanded to their beloved
major.

Baltor observed—in the basement’s
basement—there was a door open to his left that led into another
room filled with various-sized dog cages of all sorts, mostly
filled with yapping dogs. He also observed that the remainder of
this room surrounded the entire perimeters of the pit, which also
lay to his left.

From where he stood, he could see one
human-sized door and one of the doggy doors. Seconds later, a dirty
old man with a whip in his hand walked out of the room to his left,
and then closed the door behind him.

Without pause, Briggs ordered the old man,
“Remove the two dogs in the pit, and prepare three fresh dogs to
enter three minutes after we commence with our battle to the
death.”

After delivering a toothless smile, the old
man nodded his head, opened the door he had just come through,
re-entered it, and then closed that door behind him.

A few seconds later, Baltor watched as the
old man came back with his whip, followed by two of his assistants
carrying beating sticks.

The three entered the pit through the
human-sized door, and once inside, they beat the dogs senseless,
and then they quickly cleared the unconscious bodies out of the
pit. Only a few of the betting people groaned from up above.

Once done, Briggs entered the pit, walked to
the far side of the pit and turned around. With a wicked-looking
smile, he quickly drew out the hawk-headed sword from a special
sheath attached to his belt that caused the sword to literally sing
for a moment!

Meanwhile, Harshem turned to one of the two
guards, and ordered, “Give this man your sword, Private
Simons.”

Even though Simons said, “Yes, sir,” he still
reluctantly extended his sword to Baltor—Baltor took the sword, and
without a word of thanks, he entered the dog pit.

Lowell next ordered the other guard, “Shut
and lock the door, and only open it once the winner has declared
his victory over the dead loser, Corporal.”

After the corporal had replied, “Yes, sir,”
he then shut and locked the door.

Upon completion of this task five seconds
later, Lowell ordered his three underlings including Harshem, “I
want you all to stand guard here—understood?”

“Yes, captain!” all three men snapped. Lowell
turned and proceeded back toward the staircase.

At that moment, a slight look of hope crossed
Harshem’s face, just before he asked, “Sir? Can I please watch the
fight upstairs?”

Lowell turned around, and said, “Sure, but
you two other men must stay here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lowell and Harshem next headed back upstairs
to watch the fight—all the while Baltor had been gazing up to see a
packed crowd leaning over the side of the edge, and looking back
down.

This was a show, and the bets were on, though
all but one was betting on Briggs to win.

With a cocky smile, Briggs looked over to his
opponent that was still looking up at the crowds, and then he
asked, “So should I say ready-set-go, or should we just
battle?”

Without waiting for a response, Briggs angled
an attack with his sword—Baltor easily deflected the incoming sword
away, by taking several steps back.

Baltor replied nonchalantly, “Just
battle.”

“Have it your way,” Briggs growled as he
jabbed in with his sword—however, Baltor had already rolled away
and resumed a defensive position.

Briggs delivered quite a few more thrusts and
slashing attacks, though he was never able to get one in, nor had
his opponent made a single offensive strike.

Briggs finally stood back, and while
breathing a bit heavily, he commented, “You’re pretty quick, aren’t
you?”

Upon seeing that Baltor hadn’t even broken a
sweat these last couple of minutes of combat, several of the
patrons began shifting their betting from Briggs to Baltor. For,
despite the fact that they hadn’t seen Baltor make a single
offensive strike, they were quite aware that he was extraordinarily
handy with the sword.

As for Baltor, he did not respond, but
listened as the dog gates had slowly begun to rise up on both
sides, and after throwing a quick smile, he made his first
offensive strike throughout the whole duel, which was a roundhouse
type of swing with his sword.

Briggs not only parried with his own sword,
yet he immediately launched an offensive counterstrike—only by an
inch did Baltor manage to roll safely out of the blade’s way!

As for the crowd, they were seriously getting
frenzied and quite loud, as some were booing while others were
cheering—the remainder of the crowd was screaming their bets to the
man taking all the bets, as they wanted to ensure that their bets
were set before the climactic part of this duel was over!

Just a nanosecond after the gates had opened
at the very same time, three violent dogs rushed into the pit with
fangs bared, and the roar of the crowd from up above became
deafening!

Baltor was the first to leap at Briggs in
order to make a sword attack, but found out “the hard way” that a
dog had already grabbed a hold of his right pants leg with its
teeth—his sword flew out of his hands and slid across the
floor!

As for his knee, that also crashed hard onto
the ground, though it fortunately only caused pain for a single
moment!

Taking the advantage of the situation, Briggs
began to swing his sword directly for Baltor’s neck, figuring to
end the battle quickly. However, he discovered with frustration and
anger that the second dog’s teeth had just ensnared the sleeve of
his shirt, and that he couldn’t deliver that attack!