The City of Ashes Read online

  Unlike John Mead, I had no signature moves. As a fighter, I was a relative unknown. Nobody here was quite sure what I could do in the arena but they knew by now that I was not to be taken lightly.

  Aziz arrived a few moments later, along with the referee. I continued to lean against the ropes as he walked in, bounced a few times on his feet and raised his arms to the crowd. The crowd responded with a roar but it wasn’t as loud a roar as it might have been. Aziz was their guy by default but he wasn’t popular. They would rather see him win it than me, but they weren’t about to go crazy for him.

  Finally, he stopped bouncing, gave me a hard stare and stalked to the center of the ring. We both listened to the referee’s pro forma instructions, and then the referee dropped his arm and Aziz charged straight ahead, his arms spread. I spun and my foot cracked against the side of Aziz’ head but he was already moving in the direction of the kick. He went with the force, somersaulted to the side and rolled back to his feet. Then he smiled.

  I hadn’t hurt him. We both knew it but then, I hadn’t expected to. He laughed softly, a low, throaty chuckle. He was letting me know that he could take whatever I could throw at him and still be standing there, undamaged.

  I hoped he was bluffing.

  I moved in, flicking punches at his head. His head jerked smoothly, hands in synch with mine, faster and faster until we stood in front of each other, trading blows. I got through his guard once and snapped his head to the side. He got through mine twice and my ribs ached but none of them seemed to be broken.

  Kilo for kilo, I might have been stronger than him, but he had a lot more kilos. I might have been a touch faster. I might not. Maybe I had more stamina. Maybe I could last longer, tire him out and then pounce, but I had no reason to think so. He had lasted eight brutal rounds with Allessandro Abruzzi and I wasn’t sure that I could do the same. It was going to come down to technique. Which of us was better trained in the art? Which of us could pull off a move that the other couldn’t counter?

  He might have been stronger but I was strong enough to knock him out if I could land the right punch. Not likely, though. He had the reach on me and his defense was excellent. Trading punches might be entertaining the crowd but wasn’t doing either of us much good.

  I dropped, swept my foot out and connected with his leading leg. He fell but rolled and bounced back up before I could take advantage. He tried to do the same thing to me but I jumped away before the sweep could connect.

  The bell rang. We each returned to our corner and I tried to take stock. The crowd was happy. A lot of action but not much damage on either side. Aside from Master Chen (and I wasn’t too sure even of Master Chen), I had never fought anybody better than Errol Aziz.

  The bell rang. This time, Aziz was more cautious. We circled, neither attacking, not at first, both of us looking for that one moment, that one tiny opening when the other’s defense might offer an opportunity. For almost a minute, we kept it up, circle, then pause, circle, pause.

  I almost missed the attack when it came. One instant, he was standing, his attention focused on my center, the next, he was charging across the ring. I slid to the side, turned, elbowed him in the ribs, then turned, grabbed his wrist, dropped and pulled, kicking upward at his abdomen. It was a classic Tomoe-nage and it almost worked. He flew over me but instead of landing flat on his back, hopefully dazed, he managed to wrench his wrist from my grasp, went with the momentum, rolled forward, flipped off his hands and landed back on his feet, bouncing lightly. He grinned at me. “Good move,” he said, then he charged, throwing punches.

  I met him in the center of the ring but by now, I knew better than to stand there and let myself be battered. He was bigger, heavier, probably as fast and had a longer reach. He was far more likely to land a knock-out blow than I was. I twisted to the side, slid across his body and grabbed his wrist. I pulled him forward, slid to the mat with my right leg hooked around his left ankle and drove up and forward. Suddenly, he was down, with me on top.

  My advantage lasted less than a second. He continued the roll and flipped me over. I went with it, landed on my feet and turned. He was already up, glaring.

  The glare surprised me. It had been a routine enough move and he had countered it easily enough. And then I realized something…I was smaller than John Mead and Alessandro Abruzzi. I had no reputation as a fighter. Aziz had watched my bout with Akmet Sen but Sen hadn’t been good enough to really push me.

  I was better than he had expected. That surprised him. He had thought it would be easy. I smiled.

  He gave a small nod of his head, smiled back and charged across the ring. I braced myself...but the bell suddenly rang. Aziz stopped, took a slow, deep breath and moved smoothly back to his corner.

  A minute passed. The bell rang. Aziz moved out slowly, threw a few jabs, circling. I flicked away his punches, tried to move inside, then feinted left. He tried a snap kick that I evaded and he swept toward my head with an open palm. I moved my head back a centimeter and his hand went past. I smelled something, acrid and sharp. I blinked my eyes, then blinked them again…and my sight faded.

  I was blind.

  My hearing is almost as good as my sight. Bats and whales and dolphins, some birds, even tiny shrews have the ability to echo-locate and humans, even those without enhanced senses, have been known to learn the technique. I, however, had never bothered to learn it. I had never needed to.

  Still, I could hear him, and my ability to sense auras depended on electrocytes under my skin, like those of an electric eel, not vision. He stood in front of me, gathering himself. I could hear the slither of his boots against the canvas. I could sense his aura against my skin. I could feel the soft rush of air as he moved forward. I did nothing. I stood there, blinking my useless eyes. I set aside my sudden desperation and I let him come. It was my only chance.

  He wasn’t subtle about it. His guard was no longer up. He no longer needed to guard himself, or so he thought. He threw a punch that started at his knees, his whole body behind it, aimed at my head. I could feel it. I could hear it. If that punch landed, it would be all over. I could hear the whoosh as his fist came flying at my face.

  I moved my head back, just the smallest bit, and I stepped inside and he was there, just as I had known he would be. I wrapped both arms around his chest and drove forward. That, he was not expecting. He was startled and off-balance and we went crashing to the mat, with me on top. No time for niceties. No time for a second chance. I let the energy flow and a thousand watts of current snapped from my hands into his torso.

  He screamed, his body spasming. It wouldn’t last long. Once the current stopped, he would recover quickly and I had no way of knowing how long my blindness would last. Maybe forever. I had to end this and I had to end it now.

  I slithered up his convulsing body, grabbed his head in both arms and twisted to the side. Errol Aziz shuddered once as his neck audibly snapped and then he lay still.

  The crowd roared. I opened my mouth and I roared back as I staggered to my feet.

  Fuck you, I thought. Fuck you all.

  The ship’s doctor examined me as soon as we returned to the hotel. There was nothing physically wrong with my eyes. The optic nerve was paralyzed. “It should wear off,” he said, though he sounded uncertain, but indeed it did within a couple of hours. Jennifer fussed over me and I was happy to let her.

  By the time I could see again, I wanted nothing more than a good dinner and a good night’s sleep, except that I had trouble sleeping. I kept feeling Errol Aziz’ vertebrae crunching under my fingers.

  I kept wondering if I really had to kill him, but in the end, I knew that I had no choice. I was blind, and he had already killed Allesandro Abruzzi and at least temporarily crippled John Mead. I couldn’t give him the chance to recover. I couldn’t. It was possible, of course, that the referee would have declared him unfit to continue, but that was not likely. I knew my own capabilities. His muscles had been temporarily short-circuited but he wasn’t truly u
nconscious. The electricity had been applied to his torso, not his head. No, if I hadn’t killed him, he would have been back on his feet within seconds.

  I would be glad when this was all over. I wanted to go home.

  Chapter 6

  The field had been winnowed. After the personal combat portion of the Grand Tournament, only twenty-five of us remained, twenty-three men and two women. We had an off day to recover, before the final challenge was to begin, and our generous hosts had something special in store for the evening. We were going to a party house, which served an important purpose in Gathian society. Similar to a private nightclub, with overtones of an ancient Geisha house, a bordello and an excellent restaurant and bar, such establishments were usually open only to government officials and military elite. They reminded me of Meridien’s Guild houses but were considerably more exclusive in their clientele. And of course, none of the Guild houses had a bordello.

  We were supposed to feel honored and somewhere, vaguely, I did, but mostly I just felt tired. No way to get out of it though, not without insulting our hosts.

  “Watch out,” Captain Jones said. “They’ll probably try to seduce you or poison you. Maybe both.”

  Guild Master Anderson had said much the same thing. Glad to know we were all in agreement. Either or both did seem likely, and I really was not looking forward to this. Three Meridien soldiers were assigned to go along with me but there was only so much they could do if things turned ugly.

  Jennifer, after all the points were tallied, had come in fourth in the knife tournament, more than respectable, but she hadn’t been entered in the grand competition and was not invited to tonight’s festivities. She didn’t seem to mind. “I’ll read a book,” she said. “Have fun.” Then she grinned. “A little fun. We wouldn’t want you all tuckered out before tomorrow, now would we?”

  And so, as night fell, my three guards and I walked through an arched gate into a small courtyard filled with stone walkways, flowers, a small, meandering stream and comfortable, carved stone benches. The walkway led to another arch, which opened into an enormous room filled with gaming tables, flashing lights, three raised stages and two trapeze artists flying back and forth overhead, with no net to catch them if they fell. None of the crowd seemed to pay them any attention.

  On the wall above the door hung two framed pictures. The first was Atif Erdogan, the former head of the Presidium. He was large, middle-aged, a little stout, with a wide smile and bright shining eyes. He looked out of the portrait as if inviting the onlooker to participate in some great adventure. Next to him was a picture of Idris Kartal, the current head. Kartal was younger and thinner, with thick black hair, a trim black moustache and an intense look around the eyes. Kartal was not smiling. Kartal’s look was a challenge, a demand, even. Join me, it seemed to say. Kartal did not look like a man given to compromise.

  My guards were professionals. They surveyed the scene with dispassionate interest, gauging possible threats, but in reality, if our hosts decided to kill me, we could all be quickly overwhelmed. “Might as well get yourselves a drink,” I said. “There’s not much for you to do here.”

  The Sergeant in charge, Ben Franks, gave me a disapproving smile. “Not while we’re on duty.”

  I shrugged. At that moment, a pleasant looking, middle-aged man, accompanied by four guards of his own, walked up to us. “Mr. Oliver,” he said, and held out his hand for me to shake. “Gentlemen. I am Altan Deniz, the manager of Club Menagerie. You’ll find your fellow competitors scattered throughout the room. All of us in our wonderful city have watched your exploits over the past few days with great admiration. No foreigner has ever risen so high in our competition. You are to be praised and congratulated.” His smile thinned. “You might perhaps wish to know that the betting favorite is Celim Bakar, whose brother won the last grand tournament and is now a highly placed member of our ruling council.”

  I did know that. I had not yet encountered Celim Bakar but I had seen him fight. He was ten centimeters taller than me and twenty kilograms heavier and now that Errol Aziz was no longer with us, Celim Bakar’s score in personal combat had been the highest, beating my total by a fraction. He had also beaten my score on the obstacle course and was currently leading the competition.

  I also knew that the populace did not know what to make of my challenge. Newscasts were tightly controlled by the government. Little mention had been made of the attacks on Meridien and none at all regarding any speculative involvement by Gath. The Grand Tournament, however, was open to the public and was televised all over the world. They had not been able to keep my successes a secret and so they had chosen to present me as a sort of exotic curiosity. Despite my current standing, nobody seemed to think that I might actually win.

  I smiled at Altan Deniz and said, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Celim Bakar has no chance.”

  He blinked. His guards shuffled their feet. One of them frowned. “Well,” Altan Deniz said, “we will wish you the very best of luck.” He waved his hand at one of the stages, where an almost nude woman was singing a song with a lilting melody and a driving beat. “Please be aware that all costs and charges that you incur tonight are entirely to be borne by our government. Enjoy yourselves.”

  He nodded, smiled and walked away, to greet another customer.

  “And fuck you, too,” I muttered.

  “They’re not exactly into subtle here,” Sergeant Franks said.

  I shrugged. “Yeah. You can do what you want but I’m getting a drink.”

  The rank and file of Gath wore bland, gray uniforms, like a flock of dowdy pigeons. Their ruling class dressed like peacocks: gauze in all colors, sheer, see-through fabrics. They drank without restraint and danced with enthusiasm. In the darkened corners, I could see men caressing women and a few women slipping the clothes off their men. All three stages were occupied, one with a woman singer, one with a troupe of acrobats and one with a live sex show. I thought it curious that the acrobatic troupe had more spectators than the sex show.

  The bar was crowded but I managed to squeeze my way up to the counter. The bartender, a tiny blonde dressed in a wisp of silk that allowed frequent glimpses of her rouged nipples, asked, “What will it be?”

  “Whiskey,” I said. “The best you’ve got.”

  She grinned, poured a generous shot into a crystal glass and set it in front of me. She didn’t ask me for payment.

  “Buy me a drink?”

  I turned. Standing next to me was perhaps the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her hair was a rich chestnut and flowed in waves halfway down her back. Her face was shaped like a heart, with large eyes, full lips and a small, straight nose. Her body was spectacular. She wore a very short skirt and an almost transparent blouse.

  “Sure,” I said.

  She grinned. “My name is Diamond.”

  She turned to the bartender and ordered a drink that I had never heard of. The bartender frowned but said nothing. She poured three different types of liquor into a shaker, added a few dashes of flavoring and a splash of soda and handed it to Diamond, who took a small sip and smiled. “I know who you are,” she said. “I’ve been watching you on the holo.”

  A large man was suddenly standing next to Diamond. He glanced at me, his lips thinned and he said something in a foreign language to Diamond, which startled me. All nations on Illyria use Basic, a derivation of old Earth English. Few countries even have a language of their own. She didn’t even look at him. She said something back in the same tongue and smiled into my eyes. The big man turned to me. “I am Celim Bakar,” he said. “I know who you are. You should stay away from this one. She is trouble.”

  I studied him. His concern for me seemed real, which was entirely unexpected. “Thank you,” I said. “I shall do my best to stay out of trouble.”

  He shook his head. “You have done well in the games. You are a worthy opponent.” He glanced again at Diamond, who continued to ignore him.

  Celim Bakar sighed. “Good luck,�
� he said. He gave me a small, twisted smile. “I hope you survive the night.”

  “Thank you again.” I looked at him. “I appreciate the advice.”

  He shook his head and walked off without another word.

  “You two know each other?”

  Her smile grew wider. “My ex,” she said. “He is jealous.”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t sure what was going on but I did not think that Celim Bakar was jealous, or at least not very jealous.

  “Let us find a table and sit down,” Diamond said. “I wish to know you better.”

  She took my hand and pulled me along to a dark booth in the corner. We placed our drinks down on the table. She leaned close, rubbed her breasts against my chest and licked my ear. I drew a deep breath. “I am not wearing anything under my skirt,” she whispered. “Touch me.”

  My nostrils flared. I could smell her arousal, and something else. I reached down under her skirt. Her folds were slick and she caught her breath. I grinned and inserted a finger. She gasped and spread her legs wider. I pushed the finger a little deeper, moved it back and forth. “Use two fingers,” she whispered. I took my finger out, placed it under my nose and sniffed; at least three different alkaloids along with her own scent.

  There was a word for what she was, Venefica, I think, poison woman. In ancient Rome, they took young girls and fed them small doses of poison until they became immune to the poison, and then they slowly, steadily increased the dose until their bodies were imbued with it. The Venefica were weapons. Anyone who had sex with them would die.

  I didn’t think that they wanted me to die. It would be too suspicious, too obvious. Gath would lose face. One of the alkaloids that I smelled was the same one my brother Jimmy had asked me to sample, back at his bar. Hallucinogenic, not addictive and relatively short-acting, but then, there were three distinct scents…they meant to drug me. They wanted me to be sluggish, hung over and slow. They wanted me to lose.