The Warrior Race Trilogy BoxSet

by T. C. Edge

  His chin slumped to his chest, then lifted straight up again. No, he wasn't giving in that easily.

  "We have to try," came his voice again. "I'm not letting you die out there. I'd sooner we both die trying to escape than you step back onto the sand."

  Kira shook her head and moved towards Dom. She lifted her palm to his cheek, her touch calming.

  "I wouldn't," she whispered. Her gaze turned out through the cell door, and her countenance darkened. "Shadow. On the sand, I get a chance to kill him. A final battle for my home, right here across the sea."

  She smiled wistfully, and Dom's heart broke. She'd never get to see her home now. He'd ruined her life, and his own too. Yet he didn't care for himself. If he were to be hanged, or killed by some other horrible method of execution, he deserved it. Kira didn't. She was a hero. She deserved to be free.

  "We...have to try," he said, his voice now falling into tatters. "Maybe we can..."

  Kira leaned in and kissed him. Her lips shut off his voice, and a pulse of endless longing stripped away Dom's anger and fear, if only for a second. He held her into his arms, and she did the same. And down the corridor, the echoing sound of feet could be heard.

  He drew back, though he didn't want to. He wanted to stay like that forever, but a thought came to mind.

  "I can give you today at least," he said, nodding forcefully. "I can do what Lucius did with Tomahawk. I can make sure Shadow loses..."

  Kira's fingers lifted to Dom's lips. She leaned in once again, and kissed him softly, fleetingly.

  "No," she whispered. "You'll let us fight, warrior against warrior." She smiled nostalgically. "Stalker against rebel. Subjugation...against freedom."

  Dom's eyes were starting to glisten. These were the last words they'd share, the last moments they'd have. He felt a swell of pain as he looked at her, and hid them behind another kiss, hugging her tighter than ever.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry..."

  The hurrying of footsteps continued. Voices joined them, bounding along and down the passage.

  "Don't be," whispered Kira in reply. "At least I met you."

  A figure appeared, drawing dust in his wake, to find Dom and Kira locked together in that dank and dreary cell. The two pulled away from each other, and found Ares standing before them. His eyes held a mixture of anger, disappointment, and sorrow.

  "Prince Domitian," he said, "I believe you're expected in the gallery. The semi finals are about to start."

  Dom's head dipped.

  "They're going ahead then..."

  "Indeed," said Ares. "Your mother, regrettably, couldn't be here today. She had other urgent business to see to. She assures me, however, that she will be watching from the palace, and was adamant that her personal business didn't conflict with the games' schedule."

  Ares' calm countenance was amazing. For someone who'd just been involved in such a battle, who'd just taken so many lives. He didn't seem off balance at all.

  Dom was silent. He had no words to say.

  "I will escort you to the gallery personally, Prince Domitian," continued Ares. "And afterwards, I believe your mother would like to see you in the palace."

  The great gladiator looked to Kira.

  "Red Warrior," he said. "Your fight is up second. The very best of luck to you." He smiled, a genuine look of kinship, and nodded to her in respect. "Now, my Prince, please come with me. We cannot delay any further."

  Dom looked at Kira once more, his heart shattered. It was the cruelest thing, to find such a girl in such circumstances. To fall for someone so unique, from so far away. And, to have been the very person to doom her to her death.

  It was a guilt he'd bear until his dying breath. A breath that would come soon.

  They drew each other into another soft embrace. Their last.

  No words were needed. None were given.

  And as Dom was escorted up to the balcony, Kira drifted back to her bench, turning her mind to a single, final purpose.

  Kill Shadow.

  Win my war.

  113

  Kira looked out through the bars of her cell upon the giant form of Oom. He'd been permitted a moment, and a moment only, to stop before her prior to being summoned to the sand. His huge great body stooped low, bending to one knee. His frame was caught within a shadow, little hope in his eyes.

  Kira reached forward and took his chin. His head, like a great boulder atop a mountain, lifted up so that his eyes linked directly with her own.

  "You can do this, Oom," she said, nodding with all the support and confidence she could muster. "Kira believes in Oom. Kira believes Oom will win."

  Oom's words were momentarily delayed. Then his lips spread wider, drawing a grimace of resolution. He began to nod.

  "And Oom believes in Kira," boomed his voice. "Oom believes in The Red Warrior."

  He smiled at her, and behind him one of the guards spoke, telling him that time was up.

  "Come on now, big fella. Time to play in the sandpit."

  The giant reached to the bars, only able to press a single finger through. Kira gripped it like a newborn baby grasping at her father's hand. She shook it firmly, and a silent pact was made. Both would try. They'd face death, and fight to live. And should they win, and enter the final against one another, neither would draw a blade.

  Then the lumbering titan was drawn off, and Kira moved to her bench once more, trying her best to set her mind back on her own fight. Yet she was distracted by it all. By Dom. By his fate. By her magnificent friend now stepping out to fight Jaeger.

  Behind her raging thoughts, Shadow lingered, ever stalking her from the shady depths of her mind. She kept him at bay, refusing to submit to the urge to think of their recent fight within the yard, when he'd attacked her with such speed and ferocity that she quickly succumbed to his might. Only Rufus' whip had saved her, and ever since she'd shuddered at the thought of stepping before him again.

  Not now.

  Now, she needed to wish for it, and believe as Oom had said. This might be her last chance to do some good for her rebellion back home. She couldn't allow a man like Shadow to win the contest, win the games. She couldn't let him return home to add his power to Director Cromwell's army.

  Above, the crowd began to rumble, though less raucously than before. No doubt the trouble outside of the arena had frightened many people away, the stadium only half full and dotted with more empty seats than ever. Kira sat on her bench, and set her hand to the stone, activating the sight and building an impression of the arena. She scanned the tiers and let the heaving crowd set some shape to the stadium. And into the hallowed space at its centre she could hear and see Oom come, and his opponent too.

  She drew herself back, and looked to the weapons rack, her trusty scimitars and throwing knives polished and ready for action. She stood and began walking, trying to distract herself as her friend's fight began above. Pacing from side to side, she worked from the bars to the weapons, wondering each time she arrived whether she should abandon her normal choice and go with something else. Bring something new to the party that Shadow might not expect.

  She thought of Rufus, and what he might say.

  "Stick to what you know, Kira," he'd tell her. "Stick to your strengths. Use your passion. Think of your friends and your home. They will give you what you need."

  So she did. She thought of her loved ones, her friends, her war. She thought of her parents, long dead now, both killed by a black-clad Stalker. Behind their cloaks, all Stalkers in Haven looked the same, barring the odd disparity in height or shape. And here, Shadow had been draped in black armour and robes, a slight deviation from his outfit back home but enough to set him out as one of Cromwell's most ruthless servants.

  For some days now, Kira's mind had been on this new conflict here across the sea. She'd thought of her new friends, and the innocent people under the boot of Vesper. She wished to do all she could to save this city, drawn into its need for heroes.

  Yet now, she cas
t all such thoughts aside. She centred her focus on Shadow and him alone. On what he represented. On the fate of her rebellion, the one true cause that gave her life purpose and meaning.

  Here, across the world, she'd fight once more for home and the freedom of her own people. Shadow was the manifestation of slavery and subjugation, one of many tools the rulers of Haven used to keep the people in line. He was without choice himself, a vessel empty of emotions, and filled with the single need to vanquish his master's enemies, and destroy all who stood to oppose him.

  Here, that was Kira. She was a rebel, one of the Nameless, those seeking to overthrow Director Cromwell and his Consortium, to free the people of the bonds he'd cast around their ankles. She and Shadow were the champions of the two sides. One fighting for light and the other for darkness.

  And before the people of Neorome, their private war would conclude.

  So went Kira's thoughts, hurrying along until she stopped once more, and focused on the bout above. And as she did, her heart sank as she heard the crowd's cheers turning to gasps, and the supporters of Jaeger call out his name in one, triumphant voice.

  She shut her eyes once more, and moved to the wall, setting her palm to the stone. The reverberations of the gathered thousands flowed through the arena and into her body, once more giving the structure shape. And right there above her, lying still upon the sand, the great frame of Oom lay, a pool of warm blood spreading from beneath his body.

  Kira felt a stab of grief and turned it to anger.

  The mighty Oom was dead.

  Dom sat in his seat, Ares right behind him. He wasn't shackled in place, but he might as well have been. He felt numb and empty, blank eyes staring now as the frame of Oom was cut apart by a violent fusillade of shocking blows, delivered by Jaeger's dual swords.

  Across from him, his mother's throne sat empty. He could imagine her now, watching from the palace, a great smile splitting her detestable face. Her new heir may well have been born by now, and her one true son's treachery had been discovered. And now, Kira was set to step out to meet her fate.

  It was a glorious day of victory for Vesper.

  And the worst of his life for Dom.

  The rest of the gallery was mostly full, with Pontius in his position of prominence. Though the man had captured Dom, tortured him, and was about to have him killed, Dom took some pleasure in the knowledge, and hope, that Pontius' own plot against Vesper hadn't yet been discovered. He was, as Dom saw it, the lesser of two evils, and though he'd planned to kill Dom, the prince could understand his reasoning why. He was a cruel man, but one of logic, and would be a huge improvement on Vesper as a ruler, if such a thing came to pass.

  In a fashion, Dom's involvement had drawn the spotlight to him alone, letting Pontius continue to operate against Vesper without hindrance. It was some solace for Dom, knowing that Pontius may soon destroy her, with Lucius following soon after with his father.

  He looked at his friend now, as Oom's body was cleared from the sand, and Jaeger marched off in his metronomic style to the cheers of certain portions of the sparsely gathered crowd. Lucius glanced back, and the subtlest of nods drew down his chin, his eyes falling briefly into grief at their failure, and yet making sure to maintain the careful ruse he'd fashioned by drawing back into an arrogant sneer.

  Lucius knew now what to do. It was down to him to save Neorome.

  "Bravo, Lucius," called one of the nobles. "Your Jaeger is marching to the title!"

  Lucius improved his snigger.

  "It was always going to be the case," came his manufactured conceit. "Now let's see which one of Prince Domitian's lambs will proceed to the slaughter. Neither have a chance in the final." He laughed, and the sycophants laughed with him.

  But Dom could see through the act now, and wondered how long he'd been playing it. He wondered if he'd always had designs to turn on his father, to work against him from within. He wondered if the part he'd been playing for years now was merely a cover for his hate and grief. For the loss of the girl he loved.

  But above all, he was happy that Lucius had stepped back into the light, revealing his true nature to Dom once more. He was his best friend, his brother. And now, with Dom set to fall, Lucius would need to stand tall. For the both of them.

  Down below, the sand was cleared, and Pontius stood to draw the eyes of the people. With Vesper absent, the task had fallen to him to introduce the bouts. He smiled bright, and Dom imagined how tempted he must be to assume the throne. Soon, he was probably thinking. Soon...

  His voice rang out, extolling the previous fighters, both the fallen and victorious. And then his deep tones spread, calling for the next two to come. The gates opened, and one by one the combatants were announced.

  And seeing Kira step forward, Dom had a single, heartbreaking thought in mind.

  I think I love this girl.

  114

  Kira looked out upon the crowds as she came, noticing how empty the vast stands seemed to be. As the tournament had gone on, more deserted had the stadium become. It was like a public spit in the face to Vesper, her revered Imperial Games now brushed aside as a secondary distraction.

  The people had real concerns. This ridiculous, barbaric pageant was as doomed as the woman who devised it.

  The idea gave Kira some late joy as she stepped into position, watching her opponent step towards her. Unlike her foes in previous bouts, she'd grown accustomed to Shadow's presence and was fully aware of his capabilities. She'd lived alongside him, trained alongside him. She knew the manner in which he fought, ever efficient in his style and wishing only to destroy anyone set before him as quickly as he could.

  The same would be true of today, only heightened by a compelling need. Though Kira's hatred for Shadow was driven by emotion, and was more a reflection of her detest for his master, Shadow's needs were shaped by his programming alone. There was no real emotion in him, no hate. Just a requirement to see through his function. And Kira, unlike those he'd fought before, was a true enemy of his lord.

  He would want to kill her quick, Kira knew. In his mind, he was looking at a threat to his master who needed to be swiftly executed and erased. His function was to search and destroy. And the search element was redundant.

  They stood now, face to face, as Pontius announced them and went through the motions. Kira refused to look to the gallery for want of finding weakness. She didn't want to see Dom up there, his eyes hooded and concerned. She didn't even imagine herself here in this arena, in this city, in this vast land across the sea. She thought, instead, of herself back home, fighting in the grim alleys and dirty streets. Sneaking around in the shadows, and assassinating threats from the dark.

  If ever she came face to face with a Stalker back in Haven, it wouldn't be in these circumstances. Open ground wasn't her ally against such foes. Her gifts were suited to stealth and sneaking, not direct combat.

  But here she was, out in the open. And as the weeks had gone by, she'd grown used to the battleground.

  Above, Pontius continued his preamble, and Kira stared directly into Shadow's eyes. They didn't blink or move away from her. They just stared, like little circles of ice, hiding in the gloom of his spectral countenance. His skin, so pale, hadn't been affected by the blazing sunlight here in the city. The pallor was offset so strikingly by his black robes and light armour, his outfit very similar to Kira's in function and appearance.

  Yet the two were opposites. Kira, red locks flowing and crimson attire to match. Shadow, head topped with a neat arrangement of jet black hair and armour just as lightless. One, loved by the people, her name already being chanted among the stands. The other, hated for his style, his lack of emotion, his status that of villain against their great new hero.

  They faced one another, and Kira felt her anger swell anew as she saw the face of her enemy. She looked beyond Shadow himself and saw all that she'd been fighting against. He was one of many, and so was she. One driven by his conditioning, the other by her emotion, her past, her d
uty to those in chains.

  And beyond her sight, Pontius' voice faded away, and Kira cared not to listen or wait any longer. No one had the right to tell her when to strike, to force her to wait for the bell before acting. In her head, she was in Haven now. And there, there were no bells, no announcements, when the rebels met their enemy.

  She had only her instinct to survive. Her instinct to fight.

  So before the bell even rang, and as Pontius' continued to call out and pontificate, Kira decided enough was enough. She drew her scimitars, and saw Shadow doing the same with his own, single sword.

  And cutting Pontius short, she rushed right for her foe.

  The two warriors, stolen from Haven, met with a clash of steel that shattered the air within the stadium into a thousand piercing shards of noise. Kira's two scimitars came at her rival with as much force as she'd ever drawn up, crashing right into Shadow's rising sword as he lifted it in defence. So strong was the attack that it pressed him back, forcing him to take a stride to his rear. The resulting clang was enough to rise above and beyond the high stadium walls, like a great swell of water spilling off over a dam and drenching those below in a deafening ring.

  What crowd there was reacted with a roar. They leapt to their feet as Kira's blades unloaded upon her enemy. Her training had done her the world of good. She and her curved scimitars were now allies, bonded together into a single entity. They felt like extensions to her arms, instinctively moving in attack and defence as she and Shadow began to spar.

  They stayed to the centre of the arena, two of the most skilled fighters of the games, highly trained in all manner of weaponry. Blades weren't their usual fare, particularly swords, and yet they both demonstrated a proficiency and ability to alter and adapt their style that so few could ever accomplish. Only the very greatest fighters had such potential, to not only learn quickly, but to adapt on the fly, analysing their opponent's technique in order to counter it.