Scott Kirkman Books

Barquark tilted his head back and let the cool water splash into his face and run down his aching body.

The water poured from a huge barrel suspended above the cobbled yard behind the stables. Designed to wash down the master’s many horses, the barrel was one of the few joys in Barkquark’s life. He liked nothing more than to wash off the grime and blood after a fight. The cold water also helped to sooth his many and frequent injuries from the pit. He wore only a rough spun linen loincloth now soaked with water.

He raised his arms to pull back his thin shoulder length hair and winced. This left arm and shoulder throbbed with pain as did his ribs on that side from the giant’s tremendous blow. Barquark shook his head. Lucky the shield had stuck to that ax or I would be in two separate pieces now. He shifted his weight to let the water fall on his back and winced again at the pain in his ankle. It was swollen and he could see angry bruises already forming in the shape of giant’s fingers.

Barquark gripped the slippery cobble stones with the dexterous toes of his wide, leather tough feet. Unlike a human, he could grip and manipulate things well with his feet. Not so good as an ape, but it was a skill that frequently came in handy. His legs were shorter than most human’s, but stockier and more powerfully built. His arms, by contrast, were much longer than a human’s and hands much bigger. If it wasn’t for his long torso, his muscular arms would hang nearly to the ground when he walked. All in all, he stood shorter than, but outweighed, most humans. His head was large with a thick brow and a wide flat nose, crooked from many breaks. It was an appearance that made most humans think him dim witted, something he did nothing to dissuade. Most of the time it was an advantage to be underestimated.

Barquark continued to let the cool water trickle onto his back and studied the activity in the courtyard. People moved about their work, slaves mostly, but a few were free workers. They tended the horses and their gear or were busy with the constant cleaning and maintenance of a place so busy with the beautiful animals. All were familiar faces. Some had greeted him upon his arrival or congratulated his victory but most ignored him.

Victory. Barquark scoffed to himself then heaved a heavy sign. His fights were getting decidedly more difficult. Not because of age. For a troll, he was still relatively young. Not even because of injury, although after eight years in the pits his list was indeed long. It was simply the quality of his opponents: the giant had been the toughest yet, although his last three had been nearly has bad.

He was a champion, a top draw in the capital city, and his opponents could be no less. Among fighters at his level, a fight could go either way. Despite what most humans though, Barquark was no fool. He knew his days were numbered.

There were advantages to fighting at his level. He had his own modest quarters, and these days he rarely fought more than two or three times per moon cycle. In the border territories, he had sometimes fought three times a night.

“Barquark, there you are.”

Barquark’s heart skipped a beat with the sound of the voice. He released the water chain and glanced up only for a moment to see Johan Slate approaching before turning his eyes downward as was appropriate for a slave in the presence of his master.

Slate was flanked by his body guards and chief enforcers. On his right, wearing only a wrap around, knee height, linen kilt, belted at the waist, was Runick Barns. He was a giant of a man, with arms like tree trunks and a chest like an draft horse. For all his size, he moved well, walking with easy, economic strides.

On Barns’ left, in a similar belted kilt, slid Thomas Bracknal. Where Barns was brute force and shear power, Bracknal was lithe grace and blinding speed. A fencing champion of no small renown in years past, he was deadly with any type of blade, in hand or thrown. He also had a reputation for cruelty bordering on sadistic.

Both men were former military from the officer ranks. Second, third, or possibly fourth sons of noble houses, they were well educated, but with no chance of inheritance, they had joined the military at young ages. This was common among the nobility and provided the pharaoh’s armies with a strong pool of potential leaders.

Slate approached Barquark, his two guards a step behind. Nearly as tall as Barns, but skeletal thin, he also wore only a linen kilt belted at the waist. Barns’ kilt, however, was pleated and hung to his calves. It was a fine garment and hinted at his wealth. Still, it bore no jewels, colors, or other finery like some of the garments favored by many in Barns’ circle. As one of the top pit promoters and slave dealers, as well as the master mind of a criminal empire, he was one of the most powerful men in the empire. Still, one would never guess by his appearance.

Barns looked down at the top of Barquarks bowed head. A smile cracked his thin face, which showed every contour of the skull underneath. He ran one long, boney fingered hand through shoulder length gray hair. He had a sharp widows peak that had not receded so much as an inch in all of his sixty years.

“Barquark, you magnificent, drooling beast!”

Again with the drool. thought Barquark wryly. It’s a medical condition. You try growing four inch tusks from your lower jaw and see if you can keep the spit in your mouth.

“Do you know how much coin you made me today?!”

Again, Barquark did not answer. He simply stood rigid, eyes downcast. He knew that his master expected no answers.

“Another excellent match,” Slate said, “and the finish! What daring, what panache to risk the choke out instead of just going for the quick kill. Fabulous! The crowd went insane, eh?” He paused to slap Barns in the ribs with the back of his hand. The big man nodded with a grin.

“But I’m curious, Barquark.” he lifted the troll’s head with a bony finger to the chin and locked steel blue eyes on Barquark’s, “Why not just bash in its skull?”

Barquark flinched inwardly. This was not one of the master’s rhetorical questions. Although he had been expecting this, still his mouth went dry.

His first thought had been to tell Slate that he’d done it to make for better theater, but he knew his master would see through that lie in an instant. Barquark had never been known for playing to the crowd.

“Master,” Barquark said, returning his gaze to the cobbles, “I thought it best for business in the long run, master.”

“How so?”

“Master,” Barquark said, inwardly cursing the human tongue as he struggled to form the words with thick lips around jutting tusks. “The giant is also a top draw and very popular with the people. I thought a rematch might net even higher profits. Provided he recovers sufficiently, master.”

“And? I suspect you’re still holding something back, troll. Don’t presume too much on my good mood.”

Barquark nodded. “Master, aye…Master Regek loves that giant nearly as much as his favorite hunting dog. I thought he might feel he owes you a favor once he learns of your…instructions to spare its life if possible, master.”

“I see. A highly lucrative rematch and a powerful man’s favor, is it?” Slate paused and fixed Barquark with another cool stare. “And a favor that just might save your skin one day, eh, troll?”

Barquark shrugged.

“Very well, Barquark. Some say you’re a dumb beast, but don’t ever forget that I know better. So long as your motivation was not mercy. You’ve been around long enough to know what happens to slaves in the pits who show mercy.”

Barquark nodded, and memory flashed again of a human boy facing him in the pits, so terrified he simply dropped his weapon and rolled into a ball on the killing ground. Barquark, still new to the pits, had refused to kill him. He shuddered internally, remembering the pain as the lash ripped into his back. It was more pain than he thought possible, then it got worse with the other forty-nine. Later, face down in the muddy straw of the slave pens, nearly delirious with pain and fever, his masters had made sure he knew that the boy had died a long and horrible death.“Yes, master. No mercy, master.”

End – Barquark: Troll pit fighter – Episode 2

Keep an eye out for the next exciting episode!