And so began a session that seemed to make her use of the word ‘ease’ highly inappropriate to Brann. Relentless stretching, twisting, pulling, kneading, pressing and, worst of all, gouging with her surprisingly powerful thumbs seemed to owe more to the principles of torture than recovery. When Marlo appeared at the door more than an hour later, he felt as if he would be barely able to walk.
‘Good.’ Tyrala turned to a basin to wash oil from her hands. ‘Now you bathe as yesterday. Return here this afternoon.’
‘Return?’ He couldn’t have sounded more horrified if she had told him he was due back in the Arena.
‘You haven’t grasped yet that this is to help you.’
‘I wish it felt like it.’
‘Trust me.’
‘Do I have a choice?’ She turned and glared. He jumped from the table. ‘Didn’t think so.’
She let the door close, but not before he thought he might have glimpsed a smile ghosting onto her lips.
The hot and cold pools restored enough movement to allow him to walk with Marlo towards the courtyard where they had first met. The garden seemed even more beautiful today. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t expected to have the opportunity to be here. To be anywhere.
He looked at the young boy, ambling amiably beside him. Although they were much the same age, the events of the past year felt like they had moved him beyond the stage his companion was at. He envied him his youth. ‘Why are you here, anyway?’
‘Youngest of three brothers and father could only afford to support two.’ Marlo shrugged. ‘It seemed as good a move as any, to enrol here. It is not the worst life. While Cassian does not run one of the big schools, and while he does have a certain reputation, I had heard good things about him.’
It was not what Brann had meant by his question, but he could come back to that. His curiosity was roused. He stopped and sat on a small bench, enjoying the feel of the warm stone beneath and a slight breeze on his face. ‘Do you mind?’
The boy grinned. ‘It is your rest day.’
Brann felt himself smile back. The sun, searing when they had first started to sail into these climes and blistering when he had come ashore and away from the sea winds, was becoming more familiar. Eyes shut, he let the warmth soak into his muscles. ‘Reputation? What did you mean?’
Marlo sat beside him. ‘What is the word? Eccentric? Many call him mad, but when you are around him enough, you can see past that. He is a bit odd in many ways, but that is his way. He was in the army, earned great renown, then was captured during a campaign across the sea. They said he was dead. His body had even been paraded by his captors at the time. It was more than a year later that they came across him at the gates of a town, escaped, broken, hanging over the back of a mule.’
‘What did they do to him?’
‘Who knows? Who wants to know? He certainly didn’t. His mind shut off from his body. He sat in inns, squares, brothels, parks, but he never drank, never whored, never spoke. He collected his army pension, he paid for food, and he sat and stared. No one robbed him, not even the scum – he was Cassian, after all. But also no one spoke to him – he was Cassian the Mad, Crazy Cassian, the Insane General. The smell didn’t help, or the look in his eyes. Or so they say.’
‘But he seems content, maybe not bouncing with life, but at least chirpy. What happened?’
‘Tyrala happened. She had met him in the army, when she was working with the other physicians during one campaign and he had wounds needing tending. Whatever their relationship then, whatever the effect he had on her or the regard she held him in, it was enough to prompt her to leave her home and travel most of the length of the Empire to find him in the depths of this city. She had been conscripted to serve her time with the army, but she volunteered to serve her time with him.’
‘What did she do?’
‘Brought him here. It was a small abandoned farmhouse with failed crops on the infertile wild land beyond the city, but it was all they needed. She needed time alone with him, and he needed her. Whatever it did, it brought him back. Maybe he’s a bit bonkers now instead of the inspiring general they say he was before, but we kind of like the bonkers. And he still knows his fighting. He decided to give back what he knew, to help those who he could. So he took in fighters unwanted by the other schools, slaves down on their luck, all sorts, just as long as they wanted to work, and improve. Always to improve. And because they improved, they started winning. And that brought the means to build this place. The Big House, the quarters we need, the training areas. His school. People respected his results, but the big schools resented his presence. The Big Seven are generations old; he was a newcomer. The smaller schools are just meant to scrabble for the scraps. His fighters don’t win as much as theirs, but they win, and they hate that. It upsets the order, and you know how we like order here. Cassian doesn’t care. He just wants to give people a chance. People like me. That was what I liked; that was why I came. Even at that age, I knew he was a good man.’
‘What age were you?’
‘Six.’
‘Six?’ He was incredulous. ‘I know your family were poor, but you were sold into slavery at six?’
Marlo laughed. ‘You really do know nothing of where you are, don’t you?’ He pulled his tunic collar to one side. ‘No chain. I am no slave.’
‘But are all fighters not slaves?’
‘I am not a fighter, not yet. Next year I start training. At least two years later, if Cassian feels I am ready, I will start in the smaller contests, the ones where the merchant caravans camp or in the poorer districts. I hope to work my way to the Arena one day.’ He nudged Brann playfully. ‘Not all of us start our career there. But then, not all of us catch the eye of the Emperor on our first day in the city.’
Brann was confused. ‘That’s all very well, but as I said, is it not only slaves who fight in these contests?’
‘Of course not! Anyone can fight, though you must belong to a school. That was why you and your friend were placed here. You needed to represent a school. But usually people join a school for one of three reasons: they are bought from the slave markets, they are criminals sentenced to slavery as a fighter or they enrol as a free man or woman.’
‘Why would anyone want this?’
The boy looked at him, no lightness in his eyes this time. ‘Sometimes it is all you have got. Sometimes it is better than you have got. And fighters who are citizens keep half their prize money, whereas all of the winnings of slaves go to the schools, so it is a living. And there are worse livings, believe me.’
Brann shrugged. He had seen the truth in that, and imagined there was far worse than he had seen. ‘Do you ever think of leaving though? I mean, now that you are older, going out and finding a craft?’
The boy frowned. ‘And this is not a craft? Cassian’s school gives me almost all the memories I have in my life. I am happy here. And soon I will start learning my craft in earnest. Why leave now?’ His eyes narrowed, but a smile creased their corners. ‘What put that thought in your head? Are you thinking of taking your leave?’
Brann’s laugh was hollow. ‘I don’t have much choice at the moment, do I? But if things change, or if they don’t and an opportunity presents itself…’ He picked absently at a leaf. ‘I have friends somewhere in the city and two more held in the palace. The others may be planning something to help the two hostages, or they may not have the chance at this time, but either way I cannot stand the thought of doing nothing. It is just not me.’