The First Champion

by Sandell Wall

  “No son of mine quits a task he set out to complete,” Kaiser finally said. “You will undergo the trial, and you will succeed, if you wish to remain a part of this family. Failure isn’t an option, as you’ll soon learn.”

  Saredon choked back a sob. A single tear spilled down his cheek. Mercifully, Kaiser chose to ignore it.

  “Now listen carefully, because I’m only going to say this once,” Kaiser said. “Your trial will take place in a closed labyrinth. It’s built in the shape of a square, and you’ll be placed on the opposite side from your opponent. You’ll both be required to work from the perimeter of the square into the center. At the center, you’ll find weapons. Obviously, the first to reach the heart of the maze has the advantage.

  “However, to reach the middle is the harder test than defeating your opponent. There will be no light in the labyrinth, and every passageway has a hidden trap that will kill the unwary. You must navigate without sight, relying on everything you’ve learned thus far to survive. When you reach the center and collect a weapon, you’ll also find a switch that will illuminate the labyrinth. This gives the first person to arm themselves a choice: turn on the lights and confront their opponent head-on or leave the enemy in darkness and try to ambush them.”

  Saredon’s apprehension grew as his father talked. He might be trained for such a test, but his heart was no longer in it. Oh, how he wanted to lose himself in the streets of Northmark again. At least as an orphan he had been free.

  “There are advantages to either approach,” Kaiser continued. “Those who aren’t confident in their fighting abilities will choose the ambush. It’s a risk to turn the lights on without knowing who your opponent is.”

  Who would they pit Saredon against? He imagined it would be one of the larger boys. That would be the only real test of his prowess with the sword. But if he did not reach a weapon first, he would be gutted in the dark. Saredon shuddered.

  “Any questions?” Kaiser asked. “I can’t tell you anything the others aren’t told, but I can offer advice, should you ask for it.”

  Saredon shook his head. He could not bring himself to look in his father’s eyes.

  “Very well,” Kaiser said. “Squander the advice of someone who survived this test and see how far that gets you. On your feet. It’s time to go.”

  Kaiser opened the door, and Saredon followed him into the hallway. With his father in the lead, they made their way through the warrens beneath Tarragon Cathedral. They quickly left behind the part of the catacombs that were familiar to Saredon. Kaiser walked with an unerring step. His father knew exactly where they were going.

  They turned down a long tunnel that terminated in a dead-end. Saredon’s feet grew heavy as the walls narrowed on either side. Instructor Grippen waited for them at the end of the ancient stone corridor. He stood next to a low, iron-banded wooden door. Kaiser came to a stop next to Grippen, and they both turned to face Saredon.

  “Once you go through this door, you’ll not be able to exit again, so don’t even try,” Grippen said. “If the darkness overpowers you and you decide to cower in place, remember this: tarry too long and your opponent will claim a weapon. If that happens, the trial is reduced to a game of cat and mouse, and you’ll be the prey.”

  Saredon swallowed hard.

  “I trust your father has explained the rest?” Grippen asked.

  “I have,” Kaiser said.

  “Then let’s be about it. We’ve got ten more trials today after this one.”

  Grippen knelt down and unlocked the tiny door. It swung open on squealing hinges. The dark opening was just tall enough that Saredon could crawl through. He stared into the absolute blackness, silently pleading with his father not to make him enter the labyrinth.

  “Don’t make me force you,” Kaiser said.

  Saredon got to his hands and knees and crawled through the door. Grippen closed and secured it behind him, plunging Saredon into complete darkness. Saredon shifted his legs into a sitting position. He wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked himself. Silent tears streamed down his face. Saredon stifled his sobs, just in case Grippen and Kaiser lingered on the other side of the door.

  Grippen’s warning rang loud in Saredon’s mind. Somewhere on the other side of the labyrinth, his opponent had crawled through a similar door. They probably were not wasting precious time bawling their eyes out.

  He might not want to be a reaver, but Saredon certainly did not want to die in here. After a few deep breaths, Saredon was able to slow his pounding heart. He wiped his face dry and got to his feet. On his left, he found the cold stone of a wall. Using this as a guide, Saredon took his first steps into the labyrinth.

  Saredon closed his eyes. Rather than strain to see when he could not, he relaxed and let his other senses take over. Beneath his feet, he became aware of the individual pieces of stone that made up the floor. He paused. If this place was filled with traps, he needed every piece of information he could learn about his surroundings.

  With this in mind, Saredon knelt down and pulled off his leather boots. Barefoot, he continued on, sliding his feet gently across the floor rather than taking steps. He was rewarded by his caution moments later when his toes brushed against a stone that protruded above the others.

  Saredon lowered himself to the floor next to the curious stone. He tested it with a finger—it bounced slightly. It was a pressure plate from some sort of trap hidden ahead in the darkness. Briefly, he contemplated triggering it, but he decided against it. It could be anything, and he might not be safe where he was.

  Marking the spot in his mind, Saredon carefully stepped around the raised piece of rock. He followed the wall on his left until he reached an intersection. There was no way of knowing the layout of the labyrinth or where he had been inserted into it. Saredon was going to have to risk taking turns at random until he had formed a working map in his memory.

  A few steps after rounding the corner, Saredon’s foot slipped off an edge and into nothingness. He caught himself before he went over. The ledge spanned the width of the corridor, and even stretched as far as he dared, Saredon could not find the other side. Breathing a sigh of relief that he had not fallen into the hole, he backtracked the way he had come.

  Back at the first intersection, Saredon slowly circled it, searching for another route. To his surprise, he discovered that it was not the meeting of four tunnels. Instead, it was an L-shaped turn, which must be one of the corners of the maze. While he processed this, he realized that this meant the only way forward was across the pit.

  Terrified, Saredon returned to the edge of the gap. Again, he tried to reach a leg across the hole to touch the other side, but his toes only found empty air. This was madness. Did they expect him to jump across?

  Saredon squatted on his heels and considered his options. If he waited, he would be helpless when his opponent came hunting, and light might reveal that this pit was easily circumvented. In that case, Saredon would be cornered and unarmed.

  There was no avoiding it: he had to jump.

  His mind made up, Saredon forced himself to act. If he spent too long thinking about it, he would never make the attempt. The hardest part was judging when to launch himself. He stood on the edge of the hole and took three long strides backwards and then three long strides forward to return to his original position. He repeated this maneuver three times, getting a feel for the distance.

  After walking back a fourth time, Saredon paused. It was now or never. He set his feet beneath him, took a deep breath, and sprinted forward. On the third footfall, Saredon’s toes dangled over the ledge—he launched himself off that foot into the darkness.

  Saredon sailed through the air. The instant his feet left the floor, his courage vanished. His eyes shot open and his arms flailed wildly. Saredon opened his mouth to scream, but before he could, his feet touched the floor on the other side. He skidded across the stone and smacked into a wall.

  Out of breath and dazed, Saredon clung to the wall while he wait
ed for his terror to subside. His mind was playing tricks on him. He imagined that he was stranded on a tiny platform in a sea of darkness, and that on every side a bottomless pit waited to swallow him. When his breathing slowed, Saredon forced himself to explore the surrounding floor with his bare foot. After a few minutes, he convinced himself it was safe to proceed.

  He snorted at the ridiculous thought. How could anything be safe in a labyrinth full of deadly traps?

  With the wall now on his right, Saredon moved in the direction that should take him towards the center of the maze. He quickly discerned a pattern that allowed him to navigate the darkness with confidence. Each hallway between intersections was rigged with one trap. Sometimes it was a pressure plate, a few times it was holes set in the wall that Saredon crawled under. Once, his toes brushed against nails that had been embedded upright in the stone. The tips were slimy to the touch, and he suspected they were poisoned.

  To Saredon’s relief, he did not encounter another pit. He did not think he could make another leap of faith. Saredon counted five intersections, and based on his estimate of the size of the labyrinth, he was certain he should be near the center.

  Saredon turned the next corner and stopped. He went through his routine of searching the walls and floor for signs of a trap. But this time, he found only rough stone. Alarmed, he searched again, slower this time, probing each crack and rough patch in the rock with his fingers. Still nothing.

  Disturbed by this deviation from the pattern, but determined to reach the goal before his opponent, Saredon eased himself into the hallway. He strained his senses to their limits, certain there must be a hidden trap ahead. Saredon counted his steps. Every passageway was the same length. When he neared the middle of this one, he heard the faintest of clicks in the darkness above his head.

  Instinct took over. Saredon threw himself to the floor. Inches above his back, something huge swept through the air where he had just been standing. How he had triggered it, he did not know, but it had almost crushed the life out of him. Whatever it was, it swung back and forth in the hallway. Terrified that it might drop to the floor, Saredon scrambled on his belly to get out from beneath the mysterious mass.

  When he no longer perceived the passage of the pernicious pendulum above him, Saredon lay his cheek against the floor. His heart thudded in his chest. That had been too close. Saredon forced himself to move again. His fingers searched the stone in front of him, and to his surprise, he found a strip of wood inlaid into the stone.

  Saredon felt along this line of wood as far as he could reach. It ran across the floor to his right. He sensed that it was a guide, and his breathing quickened when he realized that he must have reached the center of the labyrinth. On his hands and knees, Saredon followed the line until his head brushed against a wall.

  The wooden strip climbed the wall, and Saredon’s hands traced it upwards. At last, his fingers found a narrow slot on the stone, and above that, a sturdy wooden lever. His father’s words came back to him: this lever would fill the maze with light. Either Saredon had reached the center first, or he had snuck in without his opponent detecting him.

  The potential disadvantages no longer mattered to Saredon—he desperately wanted light. Saredon yanked down on the lever with both hands. A grinding rumble filled the darkness, and Saredon turned his gaze upwards as holes in the ceiling slid open. Sunlight streamed through these narrow chutes. Patches of light touched the floor, each one the base of a burning column that reached up towards the distant sky. Motes of dust drifted lazily through these radiant rectangles.

  Saredon scanned the now illuminated room. He was alone. In the center of the high-ceilinged space, a cruel-looking altar sat on a raised stone platform. Other than that oddity, the rest of the room was empty, save for the weapon racks that lined the walls. Saredon stepped towards the nearest rack and armed himself with a sword. He tested its edge—his finger came away bloody. This was no practice blade.

  A noise behind him caused Saredon to whirl towards the sound. He held the sword up, ready to defend himself. His opponent had not been far behind him. A slight figure stepped out of the shadows of the hallway opposite Saredon, and as it passed through a shaft of light, his heart sank.

  The face the light revealed was a familiar one. His opponent was Thyria.

  Saredon lowered his sword. What sort of insidious trick was this? They could not expect him to fight or harm Thyria. She had been his only friend and comfort during the long, torturous months of training. Not only that, but she was no match for him with a blade. This must be some sort of cruel joke.

  Thyria wasted no time in arming herself. Saredon did not move as she collected a sword. She turned towards him, and by the determined set of her face, he realized that she intended to fight him.

  “What are you doing?” Saredon said, breaking the silence. “I’m not going to fight you. I don’t want to be a reaver anyway. You win. You can have it.”

  His words had no effect on Thyria. She advanced on Saredon, sword at the ready. He parried her first clumsy swipe and stepped away.

  “Stop this!” Saredon said. “Why won’t you talk?”

  “You don’t understand,” Thyria said. “They’ll kill my family.”

  Thyria struck again, and again, Saredon expertly deflected the blow.

  “Who will?” Saredon asked. “The priesthood?”

  In answer, Thryia lunged a third time.

  Fed up with this sham, Saredon trapped her blade and twisted it from her grip. Thyria’s sword hit the stone with a dull clang. Her face crumpled.

  “I told them it was hopeless,” Thyria said. “I told them I couldn’t beat you.”

  “This is stupid,” Saredon said. “What was this supposed to prove?”

  “It wasn’t supposed to prove anything. You were always going to be named the graduate. Everyone knows it. You think a few days without your special privileges makes you like the rest of us? It doesn’t.”

  Saredon was taken aback by the vehemence in Thyria’s voice.

  “I thought… I thought we were friends,” Saredon said.

  “Because you were supposed to think that,” Thyria said. “From the very beginning, I was instructed to get close to you. Every part of our class, every student, every assignment and test, it all revolved around you. They only wanted you to succeed. The rest of us never mattered.”

  “But I saved your life! That means nothing to you?”

  Thyria shook her head angrily. “You should have let me fall. I might have survived, and I’d have been free. Either way, at least my family would be safe.”

  Saredon’s head was spinning. He had suspected the class was tailored to give him the best chance at coming out on top, but he had never considered the fact that he might be the only purpose.

  “I told you I’d surrender, and I meant it,” Saredon said. “They won’t harm your family if you pass the test.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Thyria said. “I’ve not passed a single combat challenge. They looked the other way when I failed because you had taken a liking to me. I shouldn’t even be here. There’s no way they’ll let me walk out of here the winner.”

  “Why would they do that? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Because this entire program has been created for you, and somehow, I’m a part of your final test. Only one of us is walking out of this labyrinth alive.”

  Thryia’s words contained the ring of truth, and as they wormed their way into Saredon’s brain, his blood ran cold. There was no way they would require that of him. It was horrible beyond imagining.

  “They wouldn’t dare,” Saredon said, his voice almost a whisper.

  To Saredon’s surprise, Thyria gave him a sad smile. The thought that she had only been pretending to be his friend made his heart ache, because he had grown very fond of her.

  “Even I can see that you’re not cut out for this,” Thyria said. “You’re too kind, too caring to be the killer they want you to be. I know you didn’t choose thi
s. Like me, you’re a product of the family you were born into.”

  “I… I told my father I wanted to quit,” Saredon said. “I told him I refused this test. He told me that if I failed, I’d no longer be his son.”

  “Then the stakes are the same for the both of us, but the contest was rigged from the start. I never had a chance. None of the other students did. You win, Saredon. You made your father proud.”

  Saredon raised his voice so that he was shouting. He knew Grippen must be listening from somewhere.

  “Is this what you wanted?” Saredon said. “I beat your maze and my opponent. Does that make me a reaver now?”

  “Not even close,” a voice said from behind Saredon.

  Surprised by the unexpected intruder, Saredon jerked towards the voice. Kaiser had appeared from a hidden door in the wall. The secret exit whispered shut behind him.

  “Reaching this point was only half of the test,” Kaiser said. “Now, you must kill her.”

  Even though he anticipated this command, it still stunned Saredon. He could not find his voice to respond.

  “A reaver must be able to set aside compassion, emotion, even love, to do their duty,” Kaiser said. “I won’t lie to you and say it’s not a terrible burden, but with practice, it gets easier.”

  “But she’s done nothing wrong!” Saredon said. “And even if she doesn’t think so, she’s my friend.”

  “A reaver is the final arbiter of right and wrong. His judgments are without error. And I tell you now, Thyria must die.”

  Saredon pivoted on one foot and hurled his sword across the empty room. It crashed into the wall and dropped to the floor.

  “I won’t do it,” Saredon cried.

  “So be it,” Kaiser said. “Mark this moment well, and remember it, when it comes time to taste the fruit of your disobedience.”

  At Saredon’s back, Thyria surged into motion. Saredon turned to face her. He watched in shock as Thyria plucked her sword from the floor and launched herself at him. Before she could plunge her blade into Saredon’s chest, an object flickered through the air over his shoulder. The hilt of a dagger blossomed in the middle of Thyria’s leather breastplate, and she staggered sideways.