The Warrior Race Trilogy BoxSet

by T. C. Edge

  Here, there was no balcony as there was on the floor below, and yet he could still get a good view of the action if he wanted it. And, in addition, his viewing would be private as well. The window was blacked out from the outside, letting him watch the goings on within the yard without anyone knowing he was there.

  He had plenty on his mind, of course, and so had chosen to spend much of the day alone. His desk was littered with books on ancient and more recent history, taken from his private library down the hall. Great tomes sat there, some now gathering dust and others more recently flipped through. Some were old enough for the pages to be quite delicate, and Dom took great care when handling them. As with his desire for space, his learnings of the past was a habit ingrained by his mother.

  He sat now, looking over some old stories she used to tell him, some of which he'd skated over the previous evening with Kira. Some were ancient tales of old Emperors, others stories of more modern warriors to have graced the hallowed sand.

  Right before him, one book was open, entitled 'Heroes of the Colosseum'. It described many of the greatest fighters to have stepped into the arena since the days of its rebirth under his mother, listing their many victories and feats. He'd turn to the book every year before and during the games, as well as others written to analyse how certain fighters triumphed and others failed. As much as he was a student of history, he was a student of war within the arena. And this year, in particular, he was growing consumed by it.

  It was, perhaps, all in vain, but he was always searching for some competitive advantage to pass down to his contenders. His discussions with Rufus would often involve the use of such books, his instructor helping to devise strategies based on any warrior's specific power set, as well as the power set of the fighter they were facing. In doing so, Dom would often look to similar bouts over the previous years to see if he could find some useful nugget of information that would help his gladiator win.

  It was all part of the complicated matrix that Dom employed. Along with Rufus' expertise in working out a fighter's particular strengths and weaknesses, and Dom's ability to sense power levels, they would look to find if there was any historical precedence that might help. In many ways, that was precisely how Rufus had managed to win the warrior race himself when he was up against more powerful opponents. His ability to seek out an opponent's weaknesses, and then exploit them with his own strengths, was invaluable both when he was a gladiator, and now as an instructor.

  So, Dom flicked through the old manuals and books as he always did, stopping when he came upon the many pages dedicated to Ares' feats. No other gladiator took up so much real estate, and Heroes of the Colosseum, in particular, gave the head of the Imperial Guard a fairly extensive section all to himself.

  His achievements merited it, of course, and Dom could probably recite all his previous fights, opponents, and wondrous feats without ever checking the tome. Still, he enjoyed letting his eyes roll over them all the same, yet in the back of his mind his concerns continued to bubble. After all, Ares was his mother's loyal bodyguard, and with things as they were, he might yet be forced to employ his considerable powers once again. Only this time, it wouldn't be upon the sands...

  He turned from the pages, flicking backwards as he searched further into the past. Dom's main focus, now, was trying to find bouts that involved fighters with Kira's capabilities, and those with the capabilities of Jaeger, Tomahawk, Shadow, and Oom. As he saw it, only those four were sufficiently powerful to defeat her, and if he could somehow find a few old bouts between fighters with similar abilities, he could, possibly, discover a way for her to win.

  It was a long shot, of course, and it did enter his mind that he was firmly favouring Kira now over his own top seeds. After all, if Kira was to come up against Shadow or Oom, what would he do? He'd asked himself that question, and the answer had been immediately forthcoming.

  He would, without hesitation, command Rufus to work with Kira, and Kira alone. He'd inform him to devise a strategy for her to win. He'd even consider doing the very opposite with the others, passing them poor information in order to give her an advantage.

  He was, and he very well knew it, hopelessly biased towards the red-head now. And though it was very much against the spirit of his role as a lanista, he didn't care one bit. This would be his last year in the role. And damn it, he'd play it however he wanted.

  His search, however, yielded little fruit. Frankly, fighters like Kira were rare, and though he was quite aware of what Shadow and Oom could do, Tomahawk and Jaeger remained cloaked in a certain amount of mystery.

  Still, he searched high and low, turning the pages right towards the earliest years of the games when telepaths like him were allowed to fight. They were, of course, outlawed soon after by Vesper owing to the risks they posed her, and the manner in which they fought. While many were easily cut down before they could manipulate any of their opponents, some were so wildly powerful that they could quickly assume control of any foe they came up against. In the end, those who had both telepathic powers, and supreme speed, were almost unbeatable, and were thus disallowed from entering the games, with some former gladiators exiled from the city too.

  It was, perhaps, an early indication that Vesper had little tolerance for any threat to her power and rule, however unlikely.

  As Dom flicked through the book, there came a knock at the door. His eyes lifted quickly across his desk, and his voice, which had been unused for several hours now, croaked out of him.

  "Yes," he said.

  The door half opened, and Claudius stepped in.

  "What is it, Claud?" Dom said absentmindedly.

  "It's your guest, sir. He wishes to speak with you," said the old attendant.

  Dom lifted his eyes.

  "Merk?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well," Dom smiled. "Send him right in."

  "Of course, sir."

  Claud swivelled and shut the door, before moving back off down the stone steps. Dom quickly stood from his chair and moved across the room, where a finely carved wooden table sat against the wall, topped with sparkling goblets and handsome decanters of wine. He was already pouring out two cups when the door knocked again.

  "Come on in, Merk," he said.

  The door opened, and Dom lifted the two freshly poured cups. He moved back to his desk, and set one down before him, and the other on the other side, nestled between several piles of books.

  "Good afternoon, Master Domitian," said Merk, standing in the threshold as he always used to do on the boat.

  Dom waved him forward.

  "When we're alone, just call me Dom," he said, as he always did with Rufus. And, like with Rufus, he suspected the old man would have some trouble following through.

  "Um, yes, Dom," said Merk, clearly uncomfortable.

  He moved in towards the desk, and Dom took a seat.

  "Sorry about the mess, Merk. I've poured you a cup of wine."

  "Thank...thank you, sir," said Merk, hovering by the desk.

  Dom let out a breath of exasperation.

  "Merk, calling me sir isn't much different to calling me Master Domitian now is it? This is my private floor of the residence. There's no need to stand on ceremony here. Now please, do just call me Dom."

  Merk nodded, but didn't otherwise move.

  "And...take a seat," added Dom.

  Merk shifted into the chair in front of the desk.

  "Good," smiled Dom, sipping his wine. "Now, Merk, what would you like to talk about?"

  Merk entered his master's private office with a firm plan of action.

  He'd considered his path and had now committed to it. He needed to be strong. He needed to avoid the urge to weaken and rat out the girl who'd saved his life. Here, right now, was where it started.

  He took the wine offered to him and sat. Ahead of him, Master Domitian's desk was covered in books and papers. A quick glance told Merk that he was doing some sort of research, no doubt as part of his role as a lanista here. He s
potted the book immediately in front of his master, who appeared quite adamant that Merk refer to him with the abbreviated version of his name.

  It didn't sit easily on Merk's tongue, but disobeying orders didn't either.

  "Is that Heroes of the Colosseum?" he asked, side-stepping Dom's query in order to give himself time to relax.

  Dom nodded.

  "You have a good eye, Merk."

  "Well, it's one of my favourites," said the old caretaker. "I've read it all the way through many times. Though, not the most recently updated version."

  "Hmmm, no kidding," said Dom. "To be fair, the most recent champions aren't that great. Not worth buying the book again just to add their exploits to the list."

  Dom smirked, and Merk did the same. It was something of a veiled insult to Dom's rival. Lucius had, after all, had the better warriors for several years in a row now. Any updated manuscript would primarily include his men.

  "Any favourites then, Merk?" asked Dom, sitting back and sipping his wine.

  Merk considered it for a moment.

  "Well, Ares can never be overlooked," he said, drawing an approving nod from his master. "He's the greatest. At least, the greatest non-telepath."

  "Ah, you're one of those are you, Merk," smirked Dom.

  Merk nodded, understanding the reference. In Neorome, the people were generally divided into two groups when it came to discussing the greatest ever champions. There were those who only considered the non-telepaths as permissible within the conversation, and those who believed the earlier warriors with telepathic powers should be included too. Merk was firmly in the second camp.

  "I am," he said. "I think anyone who took to the sand should be involved in the debate."

  "And so you think there's someone greater than Ares?"

  Merk took another moment to think, but only for effect. He knew who his favourite was.

  "Polus," he said. "He never even had to raise his sword if he didn't want to. I know it's not what the people want to see, so I understand why they were outlawed, but still..."

  "He was something, huh?" smiled Dom.

  "Oh, quite something," said Merk, knowing his favourite was before Dom's time. "All the stories in the book...they're true. Some even say he's still alive."

  Dom raised an eyebrow.

  "You believe that?"

  "Oh yes, sir. He was banished, but never reported to have been killed. At least, not as far as I know..."

  Merk looked at Dom expectantly, as if the Prince might have some insight. It was, after all, his mother who banished Polus in the first place. He knew the two had their disagreements, and that Polus was hunted for a time. But he didn't believe anyone could have caught him.

  "That's what I heard too," nodded Dom. "I suppose, when someone disappears like that, I tend to think the worst. I guess I'm somewhat embittered by my role here."

  "Of course," said Merk. "It's understandable. I did actually meet Polus once, you know."

  "Oh, really? Do tell."

  "Um, well, it was after one of his early bouts. I was waiting outside with my daughter. She loved him, and wanted to meet him," he smiled. "I put her on my shoulders, and his carriage came right by us. It slowed in the traffic, and I managed to get to the front. He was right there, sir, right there in front of us. He looked right at us both. His eyes, they were something...something like I've never seen before."

  His voice faded as his eyes swum off into the middle-distance. When they returned to Dom, they found him looking on sympathetically.

  "That sounds wonderful, Merk," he said softly. "I didn't know you had a daughter."

  "Yes...yes, sir. She's no longer with us, I'm afraid."

  Merk dipped his eyes. He didn't intend to seek any condolence from his master. He didn't wish to get too personal.

  "I'm terribly sorry, Merk. I can tell you'd rather not speak of it."

  Merk nodded silently.

  "It was a long time ago," he said. "A lifetime."

  Then he lifted his gaze back to Dom, who took his wine back up. His master enjoyed a long sip to give Merk a moment, and then altered the course of the conversation back onto its original trajectory.

  "Right, Merk. So what exactly can I do for you? As much as I'd love to continue chatting about the old champions, I feel you have a request lined up for me?"

  Merk drew a breath and turned his mind back to his task. He had spent the day ensuring he was mentally prepared for this moment. As a telepath, Dom could quite easily sneak into his mind and reveal the truth of his intentions, if he saw fit. Merk needed to ensure he didn't do so.

  "It's, um...well, sir, it's about my current situation."

  "I thought as much. Go on."

  "You've been incredibly generous, letting me stay here. And I'd like..."

  "I'm not sure it's quite safe enough yet, Merk," cut in Dom. "I think you should stay here for now."

  Merk nodded hastily.

  "Yes, of course. I wasn't suggesting I leave."

  "Oh, my apologies. Then, what is it?"

  "I want to help, Master Domitian." Merk couldn't avoid tripping up and falling into old habits. It just felt more natural, issuing his proper title.

  Dom frowned and started shaking his head.

  "Merk, that really isn't necessary. You're here as my guest, and I'm happy to keep you well for as long as is required. You do not have to lift a finger around here. I have plenty of others for that."

  "But, I really would like to, sir. It would make me feel a whole lot better if I could enter your service again, in some manner. It's my life's pride, Master Domitian."

  Merk didn't have to lie at this point. Everything he was saying was true.

  "Oh, Merk, always the charmer," smiled Dom. "You've been one of my most faithful aids for a long time. But really, here it isn't necessary. I'm not even sure what task you could accomplish."

  "I'd like to help the gladiators," said Merk, causing Dom to raise his brows. "Just as I do on the boat."

  "Truly? There isn't much you can do for them here."

  "I could resume my post as caretaker," came Merk's voice again, growing in insistence. "I really feel no purpose on land, sir. I miss the sea terribly when we return, but at least, here, I can perform certain duties that make me feel...needed."

  "But there is no such role here, Merk. The gladiators are tended by Rufus during the day, and are otherwise brought food and their changes of clothing by my guards and servants."

  "Then I could do that," said Merk. "I could at least bring them their rations. Please, sir, let me help. It would be my pleasure, truly, and would free your servants up for other work..."

  As he spoke, Dom began nodding. Merk felt his heart soar, as if he was about to grant approval. Then he simply said, "Ah, I understand. You'd like to visit with Kira again, wouldn't you?"

  Now his heart was pacing for another reason. Was his duplicity being found out?

  But Dom was smiling.

  "Yes, yes, I understand Merk," his master went on. "She saved your life, several times actually, and you'd like to help her out in some manner. Perhaps you'd even sneak her down a little bit of wine, or some tasty treat for dinner. Oh, I'm onto you, Merk," laughed Dom. "There's no pulling the wool over my eyes!"

  Merk was feeling a little anxious, but hid it with a couple of raised hands and a chuckle of his own.

  "OK, sir, you got me," came a crooked, yellow-toothed grin. "But truly, Kira did save my life, and I feel as if I should contribute around here. I promise I won't sneak her down anything. Just the rations that the gladiators are assigned, and their tunics and other clothes."

  Merk was getting to the limits of his begging now. Anything further might appear suspicious. He left it there, and sipped his wine, waiting for his master to make his decision.

  It took a second or two, but eventually Dom was laughing and providing his consent.

  "Well, Merk, if it'll make you happy around here, then who am I to stand in your way! I'll have a word with Claudius, an
d he'll set you to the task. It'll be very little work, Merk, but will allow you to stretch your legs a little bit. For the rest of the time, the villa is yours to enjoy. But, just to further clarify the dangers of going beyond it. You are, of course, entitled to do so if you truly wish it. But, old friend, I'd much prefer if you didn't."

  Merk smiled and bowed.

  "Thank you so much, Master Domitian. Your support really does mean the world to me."

  Dom leaned back once more in his chair.

  "It's my pleasure, Merk," he grinned. "And I know it's hard, but please, when we're alone, do just call me Dom!"

  59

  Down in the cells, the whispered conversation between Kira and Finn was just concluding when the sound of footsteps came spilling down the stone steps above. They both turned their eyes down the passage as the footsteps grew louder, and the gate was unlocked by the incoming guards.

  Two stepped forward, as usual, before a figure came shuffling in carrying a large tray with bowls of stew and gruel and a platter of assorted bread and fruit. Watching from down the passage, Kira's eyes almost popped out of her skull. She turned immediately to Finn, who recognised the old figure too.

  "Merk?" he whispered.

  She nodded hurriedly, and the two began creeping forward.

  "OK, dinner's served," croaked Merk, his body now draped in a cloak that did much to conceal the fragility of his frame. "Come now, while it's hot."

  He placed the tray onto a little table to one side of the dungeon, as the two guards stood back. Kira and Finn quickly moved into the central room, and saw the rest of the gladiators doing the same, including Lee who was just emerging from the shower with only a loincloth adoring what Kira took to be a fairly impressive body.

  The gladiators quickly converged on the food and Merk stood back to give them room. As Oom stamped forward, he retreated a little further, his experience of the men on the boat making him wary. Here, however, they'd grown accustomed to their surroundings and, now that they were no longer kept in the dark, metaphorically speaking at least, had grown conditioned to getting on with things without causing a great deal of fuss.