The Warrior Race Trilogy BoxSet

by T. C. Edge

“Well done, old friend. I’ll look forward to seeing much more of your red-head soon…”

  Dom turned with a flash of anger in his eyes, but couldn’t reply. Lucius had already slithered away, and Vesper was about to speak again.

  “Well done to the three of you,” she said, talking now directly to the gladiators below. “You have each earned the right to join the main games, and have proven yourselves worthy of battling the higher seeded warriors. We will all look forward with great anticipation to seeing you on the sand again.”

  The man known as Deadeye performed a bow as she finished. Gwyn, seeing it, did the same. Kira merely stared up at Vesper, causing Dom’s insides to clench a little. All gladiators knew to bow to the empress when she addressed them. Kira really wasn’t making life easy for herself. Or for Dom.

  And her defiance wasn’t lost on the crowd either.

  Dom saw his mother’s eyes stiffen a little, the wrinkles closing in. She held herself firm, knowing her face was splashed across the giant screens fixed to the summit of the stands. With the eyes of the city on her, she knew it was prudent to keep her cool.

  She drew a breath and went on, lifting up her arms once more and calling out to the throng.

  “Now, let us applaud these warriors as they step from the field of battle…”

  Her words were cut off by a murmuring in the audience. It wasn’t the applause Vesper was seeking. It was different; a wave of interest fluttering in the air, starting over on the right side of the stadium and quickly spreading.

  Dom leaned forward and tried to figure out what the sudden commotion was. And then he saw it. On the ground, towards the eastern wall of the arena, a body was moving, shifting its weight and groggily climbing to its feet.

  The cameras suddenly panned over, and the large screens filled with the sight of an old seafarer clambering up onto unsteady legs, rusted armour drenched red with blood.

  “Oh…God…” whispered Dom. “Merk…”

  The caretaker’s face appeared, confused and groggy, the back of his head showing a nasty gash. He hadn’t been killed when he hit the ground, just knocked out for a little while. And from beneath the body of the vanquished gladiator, the old caretaker rose, and the crowd began to cheer.

  Their confusion had lasted moments only, before the commoner hero rose up from the dead, standing above the foe he managed to foil. Dom watched in shock as the old man looked around, clearly muddled and utterly perplexed as to what was going on.

  And so, it appeared, was Vesper. She looked at Merk in total confusion, before turning her eyes to a number of different people in the royal box as if seeking an explanation. Then they flew straight back to the old man, before turning down to the gladiators.

  “Kill that man!” she shouted out, her cool abandoning her. “His punishment was death. Whoever carries out the sentence gets a free pass through the next round!”

  Dom’s heart nearly stopped. He prepared to protest but held his tongue. He couldn’t interfere. It wasn’t his place.

  The crowd hushed once more, and the gladiators seemed to hesitate. A camera panned to each of them, displaying their expressions. Dom watched them with eagle eyes and found Kira staring up at him. She was close enough to see his face, and the concern etched across it. And close enough too, to see him shake his head and mouth, “No…”

  But then, off to the left, Deadeye suddenly flew into action. He drew a knife from his belt and, looking to the befuddled old man, stretched out his arm behind him and prepared to throw.

  What happened next caused a gasp from the crowd. As Deadeye primed to launch the blade, Kira was quick to notice. She drew her own – her final one – and just as Deadeye threw his knife, so did she.

  Only, hers didn’t go for the old man. And it didn’t go for Deadeye either. It went instead for the blade he threw, cutting it off mid-flight and flashing with a white spark as metal clattered against metal. Both blades flew off at different angles, missing Merk by a few metres and cutting into the stand instead of his flesh.

  The crowd’s gasp resulted in a silence, and many sets of eyes instinctively flew to the screens in hope and expectation of a slow-mo replay. Many others just stared at Kira, watching the little figure far below to see what she’d do. Had she stopped the knife to kill the old man herself? Did she want to claim the free pass for her own?

  Their answer came swiftly. And it was a resounding ‘no’ to both.

  As Deadeye flung himself forward, going straight for Merk and drawing his sword, Kira quickly followed. She dashed before him, intersecting his path, and the crowd were gifted with a final bout.

  The silence was torn apart, and they all leapt to their feet as Kira and Deadeye began thrashing with their blades. The ringing of metal once more filled the air, and the two combatants danced their way over bodies as they flashed here and there around the battlefield.

  It seemed Gwyn could only watch from down below, her loss of blood too great. And Vesper’s voice, calling for the old man to die, was impotent against the roar of the crowd.

  She had no power over this moment, and Dom knew that would inspire great wrath, Kira defying her once again.

  Yet he watched her in wonder and with a smile on his face, marvelling at her courage and defiance. She’d deny herself the chance to rest and get a bye through the games. She’d go against the wishes of the empress and make a terrible enemy in the process.

  She’d do it all, Dom knew, because it was inbuilt within her to act as such. She was a defender of the people, a champion for the defenceless. She’d risk her own life and put herself in great peril in order to protect those unable to protect themselves.

  She’d do it here, and she’d do it anywhere.

  Because she’d been doing it all her life.

  And as the empress’ face grew red, so did the flesh upon Deadeye’s body. Bit by bit, imbued by her need to fight against injustice, Kira slashed her opponent apart, drawing blood from each of his limbs and covering him in a crimson coat.

  The crowd grew wild as they watched, stamping and roaring in the upper tiers where the seats where cheap. Where they would look upon someone like Merk as one of their own. Where many, most likely, will have known someone cut down by Vesper’s treatment of heretics, or anyone who’d speak out against her manner of rule and mental state.

  They cheered Kira for saving Merk, and for defying the empress who they all hated so dear. And in the royal box, a deathly silence fell as eyes darted and glanced anxiously, and lords and ladies withdrew, afraid of just what Vesper might do.

  But Dom knew full well that she was hamstrung by the rules of the games. They were sacred to her, and sacred to the city, and she couldn’t alter them without losing a great deal of support. Without the entertainment of the games, distracting the people from their daily lives, they might just lose their collective patience with her. And that she couldn’t abide.

  So as Kira put the finishing touches on Deadeye, and the man sunk to the sand and joined the hundred more who’d never leave this place, Dom was quite sure that Merk would get a reprieve.

  Yes, his sentence was death, but so it was for all of those upon the sand today. The three left standing, stated the rules of the cull, would go through to the next round. And Merk, along with Kira and Gwyn, were the only ones up on their feet.

  With Deadeye’s death, the crowd seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Dom. A stillness settled over the stands, and a hundred thousand faces turned now to their ruler. She stood, her jaw shut tight, and knew there was only one choice.

  She lifted her left arm aloft, showing the crowd she wished to speak. Then, perhaps seeking to get them onside, she smiled brightly, exposing a set of white teeth that will have been visible from the top of the upper tier.

  “A fine bout!” she called out. “It looks as though we have a new hero among us.”

  She gestured her arm in Kira’s direction. The stadium cheered once more before going still.

  “This here is Kira from the city
of Haven, one of Prince Domitian’s contenders,” the empress called out. “But I think she needs another name!”

  The crowd now burst with their own ideas. Thousands of voices called, and Vesper pretended as if she was listening, looking left and right, up and down, with a glowing smile upon her lips.

  She let it go on for a while, and then the raising of her arms drew silence.

  She turned to Dom.

  He knew she wanted him to stand, and so he did.

  “What does Prince Domitian think? Can we give her another name?”

  Dom looked at Kira, her eyes swaying about and perusing the crowd.

  “Yes of course, mother,” said Dom, too quietly for most people to hear. “Name her what you wish.”

  Vesper continued the act, stroking her chin. It was a chance for her to seem more personable and she knew it. She hadn’t yet lost all her marbles.

  Then she nodded.

  “I have it!” she called out. “The Imperial Games are known among the streets as the warrior race. And Kira here has shown herself to be a fine, fine warrior today. Isn’t she striking with her red hair and robes? Oh, I have a name for her…”

  The crowd listened intently. Vesper drew out the moment.

  She took a breath, and then stretched her arm to the girl in question.

  “We shall name you…The Red Warrior!” she cried.

  The stadium showed its assent, applauding and cheering. And slowly, from the highest seats, a chant began to spread, flowing with a cadence that rumbled all the way through the city.

  “Red warrior…red warrior…red warrior…”

  Kira seemed overawed, such adulation unexpected. And Merk, still groggy, stood gazing about not quite knowing what had just happened.

  It was the greatest opening day of the games for many, many a year. Perhaps even ever.

  Yet standing there, as Vesper smiled bright and the crowd roared loud, Dom was quite aware that this was only the beginning.

  And much tougher tests awaited.

  38

  The ending of the cull was the ending of the day within the Colosseum. At least, down on the sand.

  Sometimes it went on for much longer. Sometimes it all ended rather too fast. Today had perhaps veered towards the latter, but the drama had been far more than anyone could have hoped for. In the end, the crowd very much got their money’s worth.

  Upon the balconies, and within the stadium, however, the party was set to go on. As an army of slaves came forth from the gates to clear the arena of the dead, the stands continued to flow and heave as the people recounted their favourite moments from the many bouts they’d witnessed.

  And at the summit of the top tier, the screens were already showing highlights, not only within the stadium but outside of it as well, where tens of thousands more people had gathered to watch from the plazas and squares. It would be a day long in the memory, and the perfect way to bring in the games. The warrior race had kicked off with quite a bang.

  The two most responsible for that now gathered together in a cell within the bowels of the great amphitheatre. What had once been a large chamber of many cells, filled with many gladiators, was now a ghost town. Only Gwyn, Kira, and Merk remained, all covered in blood, grit, and sweat, and two requiring speedy attention.

  The medics were already working on Gwyn’s arm as she lay on a stone bench being seen to. Merk sat on another, his head being sewn up and quickly restored. Only Kira remained uninjured, desiring only a long, cold shower and a bit of peace and quiet.

  She stood to one side of the cell, watching Merk being patched up, a number of questions in her eyes. Merk, however, was too quick on the draw in giving her his unending thanks.

  “I don’t know what to say to you, Kira,” he was mumbling. “You…you saved my life twice…”

  “Three times,” corrected Kira with a straight face that turned quickly to a grin.

  Merk did a little count in his head. He was clearly still a little fuzzy.

  Kira went ahead and explained that she’d killed the two gladiators with her throwing knives, before stopping Deadeye’s knife too. Those were the two occasions Merk was thinking off. He hadn’t considered that Deadeye was set to chop him down straight after with his sword before Kira stepped in. He’d counted all of that as one.

  Still, his gratefulness couldn’t have been more profound whether she’d saved his life once, twice, or a dozen times.

  “Why did you do it?” he asked, still in a slight state of shock from it all. “You didn’t have to save me at all…”

  Kira shrugged.

  “I recognised you from the boat. Merk the Mighty,” she said, drawing a slightly shy grin to Merk’s face. “I guessed you shouldn’t have been there. What did you do?”

  Merk’s eyes darkened. He looked at the medics working on Gwyn, and his eyes went shifty for a second. Kira could sense his nerves. He clearly didn’t want to speak with such people around.

  So she spoke for him.

  “I’m guessing you spoke out against Vesper, right? That’s what all the prisoners were – heretics and traitors. Ridiculous if you ask me. She’s even worse than the tyrant back home in Haven.”

  Merk’s eyes widened and flicked again at the medics. Kira didn’t care one bit about whether they were listening or not. She was a gladiator, and would die in the arena whatever happened. Nothing could change that now.

  “Actually,” whispered Merk. “I didn’t say anything. I just thought something bad…something I shouldn’t have.”

  Kira huffed audibly and shook her head.

  “You’re kidding me. They sent you out there to die for just thinking something bad about Vesper? What the hell…”

  Merk nodded silently. Kira’s lungs filled with a fierce breath.

  “But you saved me,” whispered Merk again. “Thank you…thank you so much…”

  Kira raised a hand.

  “It’s all right, Mighty Merk,” she said casually, “don’t mention it. I had to kill those guys anyway to survive, so…”

  “Well, no that’s not true,” countered Merk. “You could have got a bye through the next round if you’d killed me yourself at the end.”

  “Pfft. What good would that do me?” asked Kira grumpily. “It would just be delaying the inevitable, right?”

  “Maybe…maybe not,” said Merk. “You were really something out there,” he said. “You might have a chance you know.”

  Kira shook her head.

  “I’m not so sure. But you…what’ll happen to you now?”

  Merk’s shoulders and posture sunk a little.

  “I really don’t know.”

  As the medics finished off with the back of his head, the sound of footsteps came calling from the corridor outside the cell. First to appear were a small cohort of guards Kira recognised from the ludus. Then, Dom came sweeping in with a grand old smile on his face.

  He glanced at Gwyn, still lying flat, and then at Kira for a far longer moment, before finally turning to Merk. He marched quickly over, and Merk lifted himself onto old, tired, and still shaking legs.

  “Merk, my old friend, my goodness me that was tense!” came Dom’s voice. He took hold of Merk’s hand and shook it violently, before doing something completely out of character and drawing the old man into a hug.

  Merk could never have expected such a reaction. It seemed to make the whole ordeal worthwhile.

  “I cannot tell you, Merk, how happy I am to see you alive. We’ll get this mess straightened out, I promise. They’ll be no going back into the arena for you.”

  “Really, Master Domitian?”

  The old man was close to tears. He’d suspected that he’d be tossed straight to the lions to see his sentence fulfilled.

  “Fear not, Merk. You’ll be coming back to the ludus with me. I’ll set you up nice and safe, don’t you worry.”

  Merk was having trouble staying on his feet. He began to sway and looked as if he might faint from it all. Dom stepped forward and lower
ed him down to the stone bench, speaking softly as he went.

  “Rest now, Merk. You just sit there and rest.”

  As the caretaker settled in with trembling hands and shaking legs, Dom turned to Kira. She stayed steadfast by the wall, watching proceedings with a small smile that she seemed unable to suppress.

  “Kira, what a performance,” said Dom, his voice turning a little more official. “I was absolutely right to seed you at three in the first place, and you really showed my mother what for. The crowd really took to you, and that could be a great help in keeping you alive. Tremendous. Just tremendous.”

  His cool began to fade as he spoke, and as with Kira he was unable to subdue the smile. Yet while Kira’s was no more than a hovering grin, Dom was beaming, a set of perfect white teeth shining in that dim cell. Kira looked upon him, so confused. He had a charm she couldn’t deny, yet he was still a man who stole her from her homeland, from her war, from her friends.

  And he was still a man, too, who was little more than a proprietor of death. He was truly difficult to work out.

  She nodded.

  “Thank you, Dom,” she said, that smile still simmering.

  She often wore the expression to battle and found it hard to dismiss for some time after, despite the horrors and carnage she’d just participated in. She was, after all, very much used to it, and could detach herself from such things. To her, killing was no more unusual than eating or drinking or taking a nap. She lived and breathed it. And taking life, perversely, made her feel alive.

  “Right, well let’s not stay any longer than we need to in this cell,” said Dom, glancing around at the surroundings. “You all deserve a long wash, rest, and as much food as you can eat. The wagon is waiting. Be prepared for some attention from the crowd.”

  With Gwyn’s arm now put back in order and her skin appearing a little less pale, Dom led the three survivors out through the passages beneath the arena and towards the exit, surrounded by his guards. They found a huge throng gathered to greet them, cheering the name of the ‘Red Warrior’. And Merk’s name, too, was being chanted, the old man now recognised by some of the denizens of Southside.