The Road Back to Effulgia Box Set

by Justin Kauer

  Chapter Ten - Tussle at Tournament

  Suddenly, a realization came upon him as he remembered the great test ahead of him. Garrve would soon find himself in the middle of the great arena at Sacrete dan Prudencia, located in the eastern territory of the northern country of Goff. He had earned the right to fight the morning before. Should he be victorious, his freedom would be granted unto him. Though technically he was already a free man, there did still remain this last task ahead before he could leave the tournament and Goff. He figured that whether he lived through this test, or died, he would be free at last. He welcomed this fine morning with a humble gratitude that came swelling from deep in his heart.

  As long as he had been on this continent, he had been a slave. This great opportunity suddenly appeared to him when the headmaster himself had fallen into a cage filled with osotes, large great bears that make all other bears seem quite small and sheepish, even those of Garrve’s homeland. The bears were customarily fed each day unless there should be a tournament coming up. When such was the case, then they would usually stop feeding them for two days. Yesterday, however, there was a huge storm, and the games had to be postponed, so, this was day three of their deprivation of food. Now, these bears had tasted many times of human flesh. That is precisely the reason that they were kept in the arena area of the tournament. Once that happens with almost any wild animal, whether it be a bear, wolf, or large cat, they have a great propensity to become, and indelibly so, consumers of man flesh. There is nothing that they would rather eat. They will eat other animals when they must do so or starve, but man is the number one item on the menu from that time forth. Such were these osotes.

  The young slave had been waiting for such a chance; no, not to eat a man, but to earn his chance at freedom. So, when he saw that the headmaster was teetering on the walkway, and was about to fall into the cage where the osotes were kept, he took the axe that was in his hand and smashed the lock on the slave’s training area, telling the others to stay there. He was at the cage just as the shock from the clamor (made by the man falling through the top of the cage) was wearing away from the beasts and they were switching from flight mode to . . . here’s lunch. The oldest and biggest osote, which was called El Diablote, had not been frightened at all but was waiting as well. He sprang forward with a great big roar. The slave pulled out the pin that held a rope taught, which, in turn, traveled above the cage through a pulley and held open the steel barred gate which led from the outer cage to the ‘dining room’. The gate began to fall but stopped way short of cutting off the encroaching carnivore as there was a small knot in the rope that got caught in the pulley. Garrve threw the axe in his hand and cut the rope. As the gate fell shut with a boom, El Diablote crashed into its bars with a huge clanking thud.

  The massive bear let out a deep roar that rang loud of anger and desperation and curdled the blood of all within earshot, in spite of the well-known fact that he was caged. He looked at the headmaster and then at Garrve. The great bear’s gaze narrowed in defiance. It sat there, trying to stare Garrve down as it snorted and panted for breath. Garrve was unaffected and, in fact, he started walking closer to the outer cage area to look at the great beast. The advance surprised the bear. It began to shift about from side to side, and then it lowered its head and backed away.

  Garrve opened the feeding cage door and ran to the headmaster. His leg was twisted in such a way that Garrve knew right away that it was broken. As the man was unconscious, Garrve checked to see if he was still breathing. He felt that he was, but just barely. He called for help from the nearby stable boy, but the hand just ran off. Garrve thought it best to set the leg while the man was unconscious, so he pulled the leg straight, felt to see that the bones were aligned properly, and used some of the broken boards from the roof to make a splint for his leg. He yelled for help again and turned his head to see a crowd gathered in silence outside of the feeding cage.

  “Good grief!” he yelled. “Help me! This man is still alive, but I cannot move him on my own. Look, the cage is shut. They cannot harm you.”

  When no one would help, Garrve found a wide plank that had been freed from the roof of the cage. He laid it right beside him, carefully rolled the man up on his side, scooted the plank where his patient had been lying, and then rolled the unconscious man back onto it. Then he took that plank by the end and dragged him out of the cage. When he had shut the feeding cage gate, a team of physicians took him and loaded him onto an ambulance hand cart. They whisked their new patient away to attend to him as the crowd began to walk away from the cage and to disperse. Some of the guards congratulated Garrve as they walked around the corner of a nearby tent.

  The headmaster’s brother, who was second in command of the tournament, (but way down the line towards the bottom of the popularity charts with men both free and bound) came running up just then, gasping for breath.

  “What has tranthpire . . . What hath tranth . . . What happened?” Celo wheezed.

  “Your brother was in a bad accident. He had a great fall and was hurt badly, but this man has just saved your brother’s life!” said one of the guards, smiling and putting a hand on Garrve’s shoulder.

  Celo’s eyes widened upon hearing that last part and he asked, “Can you not see the collar around his neck? This is not a man; it is a slave!”

  “Boss, by tradition and by law, he is now a freed man.” continued the guard.

  “Well, what exactly happened here, anyway?” snapped Celo, noticeably perturbed.

  “Your brother was walking the inspection walkways as he does before every tournament. It seems that he fell from above onto and through the roof of one of the cages . . .”

  “Where was this man when my brother fell?” Celo continued yelling.

  “I was in the practice area.” said the slave.

  “The slaves’ practice area!” returned Celo. “How is it, then, that you were able . . .” he began again, in a huff. Then, he turned to the guard and asked, “How is it, then, that he was able to . . . to save my brother from the osotes? Tell me that!”

  “I don’t know. It all happened so fast.” the guard answered.

  “Perhaps too fast!” yelled Celo. “Maybe he was in agreement with someone else who pushed my poor brother so that he could be freed!”

  “With what could a slave possibly bargain in such a way as to buy off an accomplice?” asked the slave. “However, I do agree that there is foul play at hand. I had to cut the rope with an axe, because the rope that held the gate open had been knotted such that it could not pass through the pulley to allow the gate to shut. Also, there is the fact that none have mentioned that the headmaster fell through the roof of the osotes’ cage. I perceive, Celo, that it is you that plotted with the stable boy to tie the knot in the rope, as he ran off just after the whole incident. There also must be a third person that pushed your brother from above.”

  He paused speaking for a moment and looked down at the ground in thought. He caught a glimpse of Celo’s boots as he turned his head to look around and then quickly focused back on them. They were white on the bottom with a chalky substance. A morbid mien moved across the face of the newly freed man. He shook his head in sadness.

  “You pushed him, Celo! There was no third man! I wondered why you neither seemed at all upset nor surprised by the fact that your brother has been injured. It was only upon learning that he was not dead that you showed any type of emotion. You had time to jump down from the walkway and slide down the lime shoot in the cement mixing area. That’s why your boots are caked with lime and why you were out of breath as you came up to us. You tried to kill your own brother!”

  All looked down at Celo’s boots and . . . perhaps, they should have gasped. But all possibility of that happening was lost to the fact that in order to gasp in surprise, one should be (in all honesty) surprised. It was no secret that Celo had been dead set against the way that his brother had been pol
itically aligned since the recent death of their father. Celo was inseparably entwined with the political views of their father. The new headmaster was not. That made for many an argument due to Celo’s disapproval of the way things were being handled by his brother.

  Their father was a cruel man that had never seen men, and especially women, for that matter, as anything more than pawns — property to be used by him as he saw fit. He was also joined at the hip with the current monarchy. Perhaps for those two reasons, among others, when all other tournaments seemed to be in decline, his flourished.

  Some of the other tournament companies lived day to day and were about to lose all that they had. Others subsisted by moving from town to town in evasion of Los Deudores, the special bounty hunters sanctioned by the very Corona dacs Goff. It was not that the monarchy was in any way caring about the money owed to the recently declining merchant ranks with whom they were also at conflict; it just fit into their political fight against the tournaments and their long-running popularity with nobles and commoners alike.

  When any of the Deudores ever caught up with these tournaments, there was usually a bloodbath. All within its camp’s borders were declared guilty of treason against the Corona (Crown) by mere association and were to be taken back to the crown seat of Sangre et Alma and tried by fire or some other torture. If a confession were obtained the prisoner would be blinded and then beheaded, as a sign of mercy, of course. It was believed by the Corona that it would be better for them in the next life to be blind than completely extinct. If no confession were made, then they would be sent to receive their colgamenchio dac fogo when a temporary gallows was constructed out of wood. The victim would be placed upon the platform with arms tied and neck held in a noose, sometimes using a hangman’s knot and sometimes a mere lasso. This meant that the accused would either burn to death or hang or both. So, upon the pronunciation of the terms of surrender, even if totally surrounded and greatly outnumbered, all within the village or town would fight, almost without exception, rather than face such a brutal dealing of death.

  Celo was all for the Deudores. It was a way to get rid of the other competition. Besides, if there were companies willing to go wherever there was an audience, it could mean that they should have to do the same, leaving the territory unguarded that had been given to them by the Corona to govern. That would mean death one way or another.

  On the other hand, Celo’s brother, who was called Absalom, did not subscribe to such barbarities. Against the day that he should die and pass on the family business to his firstborn son, his father had forcibly enlisted him to the Corona as a soldier, hoping to toughen him up a bit more. Absalom felt that he was strengthened by the service, but his viewpoint made things seem different than that which his father saw and actually made the military service a catalyst in his movement away from his father and his way of seeing the world. While the Tournament did attract the best fighters from around the whole of the country and beyond as well as aid in the protection of the key strategic territory of Sacrete dan Prudencia which did lie between the Darvanian Empire to the south and the nomadic barbarian territories to the north, it also attracted many different types of undesirables. Sometimes it attracted the very peoples that they were supposed to ward off, namely Darvanians and barbarians that wanted to test their valor with the best of the best in whatever art of battle that should suit them. Such was Absalom’s view that he had expressed to the Monarchs of Goff. He also thought that the people would be better served if the games that were to the death should be slowly limited to a smaller number on fewer occasions to avoid assassination of their best and most loyal men. Celo called his ideas the weakness of a squeamish spine.

  So, when there were no gasps of surprise at the discovery of Celo’s guilt, the ex-slave stopped his explanation of what had happened.

  The guards quickly surrounded the murderously minded man, grabbed him good and tight, and took him to the cage from which Garrve had sprung himself. When they arrived there, all were amazed to see that Cedric, a slave that had been sparring with Garrve, was still there.

  “Cedric, you could have been clear off of the tournament grounds, heading for home by now!” exclaimed the freed man.

  “I owe you, Garrve. You spared my life in the arena. How could I have gone, and caused your death for setting me free?” replied Cedric in tenors of gratitude.

  “Then we are now even!” said Garrve.

  “No. Not only did you not cause my death in the arena, you saved me from being killed. The two were separate acts, and one remains unpaid.” volleyed Cedric. “Besides, I would never do such a thing to a great friend.”

  “No, I suppose that you would not.”

  The guards all seemed moved at the rare display.

  “Oh, please! ‘Is there yet honor among slaves?’” mocked Celo, quoting the work of a very famous (but very dead) abolitionist writer.

  One of the guards began in an apparently feigned tone of rapport, “You know Spearelobber, sir? He was one of my favorites! I loved his ironic use of humor. In his work ‘The Meta-Four of Pigs’ . . .”

  “There was nothing funny about anything that man ever wrote!” sneered Celo. “That Effulgian menace! I hated having to read that garbage in secondary! Everything is always so easy to prove when you write your own story. How neat and fancy!”

  “You know, I think he wrote that!” confessed another guard.

  “Well, he did write along those lines, but what he really wrote was . . .” began Cedric.

  “Shuttup, SLAVE!” roared Celo. “Nobody cares!”

  “Get in there!” said the first soldier from outside the osote cage. “You’ll have plenty of time to discuss Spearelobber while you await your trial.”

  Celo refused to enter of his own accord but was quickly persuaded by the point of a spear. Garrve was about to follow when the door was slammed shut in front of him. He looked at the guard as if he were worried that there would be trouble if he were not placed in the slave practice arena. Then Garrve thought that the guard might be thinking that he should be placed back in his sleeping quarters, so he turned to head in that direction. The soldier with the spear held it in front of Garrve, blocking his path.

  “Sir, I cannot let you go back to the slave’s quarters unless you plan to buy a slave!” was the explanation. “Do you have enough money to buy a slave?”

  “Uhhh . . . no . . . I guess I don’t.” answered Garrve.

  “Then where do you wish to go?” asked the first guard.

  “You mean that I am free to go?”

  “Well, you must stay for the trial. After that, you may do as you like. That’s the law, after all.”

  “It’s true!” confirmed the guard with the spear. “I’m Jorge del Rio, and this is Manuel. We are both pleased to meet you.”

  “I know both of you. Manuel, remember the mealtime incident when you beat me within an inch of my life because you believed Olaf over me? Well, I do. And Jorge, remember the time when you . . .”

  “That’s all behind us, now!” exclaimed Jorge.

  “Is it?” returned Garrve.

  Both men began to look at each other as if to see if there were help from the other as they awaited any possible forthcoming revenge.

  “It is!” smiled Garrve. “I am quick to forgive. Though I was unjustly enslaved, I know that you were . . . kind of . . . doing your jobs. You’ll have no troubles with me.”

  “That’s good to hear,” said Jorge, who kept a tight hold on his spear. “We’d hate to have to mess you up.” he laughed nervously.

  Garrve laughed and said, “Honestly, you have nothing to fear from me. With that said, let’s go eat something. I’m starving! Literally! You two can pay for my meal as a token of new found friendship! What a great idea I’ve just had. Don’t you agree?”

  Both thought that it was funny. Secretly, they had always admired Garrve. He was a most excellent fighter, though he fough
t with an unorthodox style. When he was to fight, there was seldom an empty seat in the stadium. He was good enough that he could toy with an opponent but still be friendly about it. For him, it was all just part of the competition. Even when he was made to fight in a death match, he only did so to save others that would be put to death should he refuse. And in most of those cases, he was able to sway the crowd to chant for the others’ lives. He had actually helped them on more occasions than they could count (which wasn’t very high) to keep order among the other slaves.

  “I have a better idea,” suggested Manuel. “You could help us with guard duty tonight and earn your keep. I was just put in charge of the evening crew. I do all of the hiring, firing, and promotions. You have officially been fired as a slave, and hired as a guard in the Sacrete dan Prudencia Tournament Guardsmen! How is that?”

  “I accept your pitiful plea. I say pitiful because I know that you are in dire need of more guards due to the death of Jarroth and Helms, and it is rumored that there are foreign spies in these parts. Furthermore, I have no other offers at the moment. So, I do oblige.” Garrve jeered.

  “I’ll see you dead, Garrve!” screamed Celo. “I have friends in high places!”

  “Mine are higher up than yours!” volleyed Garrve rolling with laughter. Then adding, “The devil lives clear down in . . .”

  “I’ll see you hang!” Celos’ interrupting voice trailed as they left the training arena behind.

  “I’ll see you later at the trial! We’re going to eat something. Can I get you anything like a knuckle sandwich or teeth soup?” Garrve chided.

  With that, Celo just started yelling obscenities incoherently.

  “This meal had better be good, too. I haven’t had a decent meal for . . . years.” continued Garrve.

  “I recall having said that you’d have to earn your keep.,” said Manuel.

  “Yeah, but can’t a guy get a bit of keep on credit around here? I am really starving.”

  “Manuel!” yelled an errand boy from down the alley a ways. “Absalom wants to see you and the man that saved his life, immediately!”

  “Alright, I’ll be right there!”

  “Celo will be madder than a wet hornet now!” said Garrve.

  “Why?” asked Jorge.

  “Well, I think his teeth soup is going to get cold.”

  They all started laughing great big belly laughs. Jorge was even snorting.

  When Manuel caught his breath he gasped out, “Wow! A few minutes ago, I feared that man. Now I can’t stop laughing at him.”

  “A few minutes ago, you laughed at me,” said Garrve in humble tones. “Then I immediately joined you in laughing at him. What would my brother say if he could see me now?”

  Jorge thought for a moment and then offered, “He might say that, though you stumbled for a minute, you got back up.”

  “That’s true,” said Garrve. “It still stings when you fall like that. I vowed that if I ever were freed, I would never treat anyone like that. Yet, the first thing I did with freedom . . .”

  “. . . was to come to your senses after a hiccup, and to teach us all a lesson.” finished Manuel.

  “I suppose that you are right. It is just that pride can be so dangerous. I’ve had these long years in captivity to think long on the subject. It can make whole great nations turn from gold to dust in no time. Even the great prophet Cadens, who blotted out the sun for a day, was given to false pride, which proved to be his downfall.”

  “Cadens? I’ve never heard of him,” remarked Manuel as Jorge nodded.

  “That is remarkable!” stated Garrve. “You haven’t heard the story of the army led by Subpartius that besieged the city of Azplane in order to bring them under captivity? They were about to attack in a battle that they deemed already won when Cadens stood outside the gates and told them to leave, or he would blot out the sun to their everlasting destruction. Subpartius mocked him and called his troops to arms. Just as he gave the order to charge, the sun was blotted out.”

  “I’ve seen that happen. Our astronomers said that the smaller moon merely moved in front of our view of the sun,” said Jorge.

  “Did it rain down great fiery stones from the heavens, destroying only one group of people and leave the other intact?” volleyed Garrve.

  “Oh! I’ve heard that story!” cried Manuel. “I had just heard that the guy’s name was Tristán! He ended up falling for a woman from another land to his undoing . . . but I heard that it was fiery arrows that had fallen from a great cloud that caused darkness to fall on the earth.”

  “I have heard it told that way before, but only here in this land. I do not mean to step on your traditions, but I know the former account to be true. I read the account of my great grandfather which my grandfather saw him write with his own hands. I have also seen the massive stones outside of the city walls at Azplane (which, incidentally, is the old language for ‘God protects those who love him’). The stones themselves are like the ones you see at and around the volcano to the north, Mt. Culebras, but they are a bit smoother, like great deep green globs of glass. There, entombed in one of the large formations, are the remnants of Subpartius. He tried to hide in a carriage, but the heat from the glassy rocks burned the entire wooden canopy away, leaving him pretty much in one piece, huddled under his shield.

  “I once passed by that city. I saw the very spot where he died. It was not a pleasant one. The glass was transparent enough that I could see his face. It was extremely well preserved. I don’t know how, but it was. Here I was, some sixty years later, almost to the day, looking into the eyes of a man that had just barely realized that an eternal destruction awaited him. As long as I live I shall never forget that look. And to think that mere minutes before he had been considered the greatest conqueror ever to have lived. Yet, there he was, preserved as a showcase of what happens spiritually as well as physically when false pride motivates one’s actions.

  “As I looked into those eyes, I felt a great stirring within me. I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that false pride must be avoided at all costs or it will cost all.”

  “I always have been told that I should take great pride in all that I do. What is wrong with that? quizzed Jorge.

  “Nothing,” replied Garrve. “Doing one’s absolute best is good, and should even be expected. Even as a slave, you have seen that I always gave my best work. It has made me a better man.

  “There was once a kingdom far, far away . . .” began Garrve.

  “Tell us later, Garrve. We must first report to Absalom.” insisted Manuel. “This is the hotel where he stays.”

  “Thank heavens!” laughed Jorge. “I thought that you were going to talk us to death. You know, there is that old saying about a man either talks a great battle or he fights one. That means that some men are unusually good at speaking, but lack the skill for fighting or vice versa. You, my friend, use an axe to smash that saying into splinters, and then tell us all about it!”

  Garrve just looked at Jorge for a few seconds. Finally, he offered, by way of a response, “We should see what the Governor wants. Something has me worried.”

  Chapter Eleven – “Judged”