Deliverance: Book Three Finale (Gods and Slaves Series 3)

by Nicholas Bella

  “What do you propose, Dominus?”

  “That maybe Titus shall not be in his best form when he faces Mateo on the sands,” Rama said.

  “Poison him, Dominus?”

  “Weaken him, but not enough that the crowd should take notice. More importantly, I do not want the god, Kijani, to notice.”

  “Rochelle’s Bane will weaken him enough, make his moves sluggish enough for Mateo to take advantage. Titus will still be able to fight, the crowd will be pleased as well as the gods that the show they will put on will not show that he is drugged,” Cervantes stated.

  Rama nodded. “Good, hopefully when Titus falls, the crowd will spare him for the years of entertainment he has given them. That is if Mateo does not deliver a killing blow. I am hoping the cock he has been receiving from Titus will soften his heart when they battle.”

  “Mateo will not want to kill Titus, the two are lovers. If he can spare Titus’ life once he takes advantage, I’m sure he will, Dominus,” Cervantes said.

  “They must not know that they will face each other until the Prime Round is announced. Have Titus drink the Rochelle’s Bane before his match, I want it to take effect as he fights,” Rama instructed.

  Cervantes nodded. “Yes, Dominus, I will make sure of it.”

  “Good.”

  “One question, Dominus, if I may?”

  “What is it?”

  “When Mateo takes Titus down, he will then become your Champion. How will you avoid not putting him in future fights to appease the god, Eloy, when this happens, Dominus?”

  “One problem at a time. Maybe Mateo takes ill before the next Games and cannot perform. That will buy some time and hopefully the god, Eloy, will take this human he is so infatuated with off my hands. I hope that he rewards me for keeping him safe.”

  “Titus may just regain his Champion status once again with Mateo gone. The crowd does love a comeback story, a phoenix rising from the ashes, Dominus.”

  “And we will peddle them such a tale to rival all stories to restore Titus to his former glory,” Rama agreed. “The Games are in two days, how long will it take you to acquire the Rochelle’s Bane?”

  “I already have some, Dominus. It comes in handy to counter the effects of a well-earned hangover,” Cervantes half-stated, half-joked.

  Rama chuckled. “Good. This is the best way to appease both gods and not incur their wrath.”

  “The god, Eloy, will be disappointed to see Mateo on the sands, Dominus.”

  Rama nodded. “That will be unavoidable. But he will be more pleased once Mateo is victorious.”

  Then the god, Kijani, will be disappointed, Dominus.”

  “He will, but I would have at least kept to his command to pit the two against each other.”

  Cervantes nodded. “I understand, Sir.”

  “Go, it is late and I have stressed enough for one night.” Rama dismissed his doctore.

  Cervantes rose and left his office, before he returned to where the gladiators rested for the night, he paused to lean against the wall. It was as if the weight of Rama’s words had finally hit him. He was being asked to poison their best gladiator and hope that he did not die in the arena as a result. Never had he done something so devious, especially not to men he had trained, whom he respected. Who was Mateo that he should cause such an uproar? He had slept with the young man on several occasions and though his mouth and ass were the sweetest of pleasures, he didn’t think they should bring two gods to quarrel.

  It wasn’t up to him to decide their fates, Titus and Mateo. He would do as he was commanded and let the cards fall where they may. He gathered himself and took a deep breath before returning to his own bed to rest for the night.

  Cervantes watched the gladiators get settled in their area of the arena. The journey had been long as always and some of the men were filling their plates with the delicious food that had been provided for the house with the Champion. Four men would fight, and only two of them would be facing each other, yet they had no idea. He stood there, cutting unnoticeable glances at Titus, and wondered when it would be a good time to slip him the drug.

  Titus was a gladiator who was strict to ritual and rarely ate heavily for his match. He would only drink an hour before his match as to not have liquid sloshing around in his belly as he battled. He would need to imbibe the Rochelle’s Bane right before his match, which meant Cervantes would have him break ritual. He may suspect something was afoul during the match, and if so, would he have the wherewithal to warn Mateo? Cervantes knew the importance of having the match not raise the suspicion of the gods first and foremost. He was going to have to be his most cunning to pull this off.

  He made sure not to do anything out of the ordinary as he thought about the perfect plan. When each of his gladiators went out to face their opponent, he gave them pointers as always and handed them their weapons. They all cheered Shian and Haraka on during their matches. Both men were victorious, but not without sustaining some wounds of their own, which Cervantes tended to. Other matches went on for the pleasure of the audience.

  Cervantes took a gander at the gods as they sat in their elevated box above the arena. The mood among them was different, one he could not put his finger on. Eloy’s was the most noticeable, as he didn’t seem to be taking as much pleasure in the Games as he once had. There was great talk about him growing bored of the Games since he had walked out on the last one. Kijani, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the matches more. Normally, he’d look down upon them with indifference, but tonight, he was obviously engaged. Leaning forward, hands resting on the guardrail as he stared intently as the men and women fighting to the death below.

  Another hour passed before it was time for the Prime Round. Cervantes then walked over to the table where the food and drinks were and poured three glasses of wine. In one, he slipped the Rochelle’s Bane, then he gathered the goblets and approached both Mateo and Titus, who had been sitting beside each other in deep conversation. He handed each man a goblet.

  “I do not drink before my matches, doctore,” Titus reminded his trainer.

  “Make an exception for this one. It is cause for what I hope may be celebration?” Cervantes said.

  Titus cocked an eyebrow. “Celebration?”

  Cervantes nodded. “You did not hear this from me and I will kill you myself if you spill what I now tell you.”

  “I am good with secrets, doctore,” Titus said.

  “As am I, sir,” Mateo added.

  Cervantes could see that his plan might just work as both men seemed eager to know what good news he had to share. “I spoke with the Dominus a few days ago and he hinted that he might be ready to give you the grandest of rewards for your years of service and entertainment,” he lied.

  Titus’ eyes widened. “Do you mean this?”

  Cervantes nodded. “He did not specify what that reward would be… but we can only hope it would mean your freedom.” He hoped his lie would be enough to persuade the gladiator to break his ritual just this once.

  “This is wonderful news, doctore, gratitude,” Titus said.

  “So, let us toast to what could be,” Cervantes said. His plan worked and the three clanked their goblets together before they downed the small amount of wine. He gathered the goblets, then sighed. “I am afraid that I have news not so grand.”

  “Can it wait until after my match, doctore?” Titus asked.

  “Your opponent tonight will be Mateo,” Cervantes stated.

  “No, why?” Titus asked, his face contorted with a mixture of confusion and rage.

  Mateo’s smile, the one he had for Titus’ good fortune, now faded, replaced by a blank canvas as he absorbed Cervantes’ words.

  “It is what has been arranged. The crowd shall have its grand match,” Cervantes said.

  “This is not right,” Titus argued.

  Cervantes reached out, grabbing Titus’ chin in a powerful grip. “You forget your place, slave. Just because you shove your cock in his ass does
not make him exempt from facing anyone our Dominus deems fit to fight and or die in the arena.” He gave the gladiator a little shove as he released his chin. “We are all but slaves, do not force me to remind you again.”

  Titus swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. He then nodded. “I understand my place, doctore.”

  “Good. And you?” Cervantes presented the question to Mateo, who had been silent.

  “As you said, doctore, we are slaves. Our fates are not our own,” he said, then he rose and walked toward the door that faced the arena.

  Titus joined him and the two shared words that Cervantes couldn’t hear. He felt the least he could do would be to give them their final moment before thrusting them into battle. The horn blared for the announcement of the final match, and the time had come. He walked over to both men, handing them their weapons.

  Cervantes looked them both in their eyes. “May the best man win. May the gods bless you.”

  “Thank you, doctore,” they said in unison.

  “Honor house Rama,” Cervantes said before opening the door for them.

  “Yes, doctore,” they said, which was tradition.

  Mateo appeared first, stepping out as his name was announced to the roar of the crowd. He raised his weapons in the air, pumping the energy of the crowd up to another level. Next, Titus walked onto the sands at the mention of his name and the crowd went crazy. Cervantes watched as Titus egged the audience on. Soon, the drug would take effect and he wondered would the crowd who cheered for their Champion now, also show him mercy when the time came? For the first time in a long time, Cervantes hated the Games.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mateo’s heart was beating a mile a minute as he watched Titus work the crowd as he always did. He had never felt so nervous, almost to the point of vomiting the delicious meal he’d foolishly consumed earlier. His stomach rolled and he swallowed hard to force back the nausea. He could feel beads of sweat running down his temple, dripping onto his shoulder. This was the moment he feared, for he knew he was no match for Titus. And after hearing that Titus may be freed soon, he knew the gladiator would not spare him. Not with such a reward hanging in the balance.

  He looked up at the gods who were watching from their position of privilege. Kijani’s expression had never been so full of joy, whereas Eloy’s had never been so full of anguish. Even Odessa seemed to be pleased with the match’s pairing, whereas Simeon’s expression mirrored that of Eloy’s. Mateo turned away, he couldn’t look at Eloy, not now when his life hung in the balance. It was his greatest fear that he would die in this arena before he got to taste the life Eloy was promising. As much danger as he had been in the first time he had stepped onto the sands, never had he felt such despair and hope at the same time.

  He fixed his gaze upon Titus now, the man whose bed he shared. The man who had trained him better than even their doctore. The man who had told him he loved him several times, though, he knew in his heart, the feeling wasn’t mutual. Mateo didn’t love Titus, not like Titus wanted him to. Always, for Mateo, Titus was a way of survival, only because he knew Titus’ affections came with heavy conditions. Mateo had played the role Titus wanted of him, and they had become friends, but never lovers as far as Mateo was concerned. Just friends with benefits.

  Still, his heart ached at what was to come. Either Titus would kill him or he would kill Titus. Could he kill Titus? The gladiator was highly skilled and never made the same mistake twice. They had trained daily and knew much of each other’s fighting strategies. This wouldn’t be like any other fight Mateo or Titus had ever had.

  Mateo gripped the hilts of his swords tighter as Titus approached to the roar of the crowd. Titus stood before him now, all pretenses of love gone from his eyes and replaced with sheer determination.

  “What I do to you now is not personal, Mateo. It is survival. May the gods be merciful to us both,” Titus said. “And may the crowd be merciful as well.”

  Mateo licked his lips and swallowed hard, then nodded. “May the gods’ blessings be upon us.”

  With that, Titus nodded, then attacked with the same ferociousness Mateo had witnessed him display against all his other opponents. Mateo barely had enough time to block the swing of Titus’ mighty sword. The crowd erupted into applause and cheers as the fight commenced. Mateo rolled out of the way of another powerful swing, then blocked with both swords to protect his head from another blow. Titus was relentless in his assault, as if he and Mateo had not been friends at all. The memory of Mateo’s body beneath his held no sway over him now. Nor Mateo’s lips or gentle strokes, none of that mattered except the freedom he’d been promised. Or the possibility of it if he survived.

  Both men created a great balance between offensive and defensive attacks. Mateo remembered every lesson Titus and Cervantes had taught him along with the pearls of wisdom he’d gathered from other gladiators like Feilong and Haraka. He put them all to the test now. Blocking with one blade while slicing at Titus with the other. Titus jumped back, barely dodging the tip of Mateo’s blade.

  With a roar, he came at Mateo with an intensity meant for his greatest enemy. Mateo used his agility to his best advantage, dodging, rolling, and leaping out of the way of Titus’ vicious attacks, one after the other. Titus grinned as he closed the distance between them, shield and sword at the ready. Mateo didn’t know if that grin was because he was proud of his ability to survive this long or because he was ready to end his life. He knew he couldn’t let his guard down, not for any reason.

  Titus lunged for Mateo, slamming his shield into Mateo’s face, then cutting Mateo’s thigh before the other man could jump back. With Mateo injured, he continued his attack, charging and swinging his sword as Mateo blocked each blow. It was during this barrage of attacks when Titus’ vision begin to blur. He faltered for a second, but that was all Mateo needed to dodge his attack and slice him down his back with a powerful blow of his own.

  Titus growled as he arched from the pain that seared his flesh. He turned quickly, blocking Mateo’s next blow and getting another attack in by slicing Mateo’s arm. Blood ran from their new wounds, but neither man paid the pain any mind as they kept their eyes on each other. They circled now, getting closer with each round until they clashed again, steel striking steel, sparks flying, and the crowd cheered even louder as the stakes were raised.

  Mateo’s chest heaved as he took in as much air as his lungs could handle. For the first time since the match had started, he felt he actually had a chance of winning. Getting that blow on Titus was unexpected, he only hoped he could have followed up on it before the gladiator had a chance to counter. They came to blows again, grunting and growling as they battled. Again, Titus stumbled and Mateo capitalized, stabbing his blade into Titus’ leg through and through. Titus roared in pain, then slashed at Mateo, striking Mateo’s leather chest plate, cutting it, but not his flesh, before he jumped back.

  Titus fell to one knee, grimacing as he tried his best to absorb the pain in his leg. Mateo was on him again, swinging high, and he blocked with his shield. The crowd was in pure rapture, cheering for either man. They applauded Mateo’s prowess even as their cheered on Titus’ death. Titus forced himself to rise to both feet, but he knew he had been greatly affected by the blow. Mateo charged him once more. Titus blocked with his shield, but before he could counter, his vision blurred again and Mateo took the advantage. This time, he felt the blade pierce his stomach, then twist. He cried out as blood poured from the wound, then gushed as Mateo pulled his sword free. The world seemed to tilt, then fade in and out as Titus fell to both knees, falling face forward on the sands. He could feel his blood pooling beneath him as it slipped between his fingers. He applied pressure to his wound, but he knew this match was over.

  The crowd rose to its feet, clapping and cheering as Mateo stood over Titus, ready to deliver the final blow. He straddled Titus’ back, placing his sword at the gladiator’s throat. Before he made the slice, he looked up to the gods and prayed they would spare T
itus’ life. The crowd began to chant, but the arena was split. Some called for Titus’ death while others demanded the gladiator live. Mateo drowned out the roar of the crowd and stared hard at the four gods who looked down upon them from their perch.

  Eloy’s expression was unreadable to Mateo, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the god was thinking. Kijani’s was full of anger and disappointment, and he began to raise his hand to deliver the final judgement. Before he could, Odessa jumped up in an uncharacteristic fashion and raised both hands.

  “He lives!” she declared.

  The crowd was split by her decision. Those who wanted Titus to live cheered, while those disappointed by his loss booed. The three gods were staring at her now in the same fashion as Mateo. Their mouths hanging open in amazement, shocked by the female god’s defense of Titus. In all the times Mateo had been to the Games, never had he seen her swayed one way or the other to save or damn a gladiator. Was Titus special to her? In any case, his shoulders slumped in relief and he removed his blade from Titus’ throat.

  “It is over, my friend,” Mateo whispered to Titus, who was too weak to move. “Come, let me help you.” Mateo reached down to assist Titus to his knees first. He frowned at the amount of blood that had seeped on the sand beneath Titus and hoped the gladiator would survive the wound. Both men grunted as they rose to their feet. The crowd cheered and booed as they made their way back to their gate.

  Odessa settled back into her throne and watched carefully as Mateo helped Titus limp back to their station. She hoped the human male, whose cock had given her such pleasure, would live to please her again. Maybe in this new world Eloy and Simeon wanted, she would take Titus for herself.

  “You would spare him for his failure?” Kijani growled.

  Odessa looked at him. She knew why he was angry, for they had both plotted to have Mateo killed by Titus in the arena. They had been mistaken, apparently, in thinking that Titus was the superior gladiator and would easily take Mateo’s life. Both men fought gallantly and she realized at the moment of Titus’ death that she didn’t want to see his blood spill onto the sands, ending his life. The moment she saw Titus speared by Mateo’s blade, she felt something she didn’t know she was capable of feeling. Fear for a human’s life. More importantly…loss.