“You’ll have to survive this one first,” Sweet Gondolaz said, her teeth clenched. “We’ve got to cross three miles of this madness, and we haven’t gone three hundred feet yet.”
Surata raised her hand and nodded. “Huska,” she hollered, “do it.”
The large man sprung to his feet with surprising alacrity, ran toward the right wall, stopped, stomped his feet, and smiled.
“Follow him,” Ahiram said. “Our plan starts there.”
The crowd began to stomp their feet and clap their hands impatiently.
“It’s blood lust,” Mango Karthal remarked. “They want more.”
“We’re about to disappoint them,” Quiet Surata snarled. “Open it, Huska, go ahead.”
Huska bent down and swept the dirt with both hands to reveal a flat stony surface. He lifted the armor up and gave it to Ahiram.
“Stone-shield,” Slippery Slued observed. “Very strong. What do you plan to do with it?”
“Hold it before someone else decides to come down and kill us. Hold it quickly!”
Huska lifted a second stone-shield, and the Silent placed it next to the first. The others understood what was going on and soon, a small stone-shield wall hid the players from view.
“Is this your plan?” Mango Karthal grumbled. “These shields are too heavy and can’t protect us from the maces. That won’t work.”
Quiet Surata threw a bundle to Mango. “Put these on. Everyone else, do the same.”
They slipped into ample thobes of the Desert Legion.
“Is this legal?” Sweet Gondolaz said.
“Anything we can pick up on the track is fair game,” Slued replied.
“Huska,” Ahiram said, “the masks. Quickly.”
Eight identical masks were distributed, and now Quiet Surata and Ahiram’s plan dawned on the rest of the team, who had been kept in the dark. Quiet Surata had the general outline of the plan, and Ahiram supplied important details.
Slippery Slued chuckled. “So simple, how come I didn’t think of it?”
“Dhat what you might call hiddin’ in plain sight,” Huska chuckled.
They were wearing identical thobes that covered them from head to toe. Gloves hid their hands and masks concealed their features.
“Huska,” Quiet Surata said, “ear plugs in, now.”
“What for?” Mango asked.
“That’s just for him,” Ahiram explained. “He’s bound to stop and bow if he hears the crowd cheering him. Huska, my bag and sword. There are swords and daggers for everyone, and Bow’s weapons are in there too.”
“That’s where our weapons went, then,” Mango Karthal said, strapping his set of daggers around his waist and under the thobe. “I feel better know.”
Quiet Surata inspected the team and confirmed that there were no distinguishing features that would tell the racers apart. Satisfied, she gave the signal and they all took off running.
“The glory of the Marada stands and falls on magnanimity. As long as we remain generous and forgiving, so long as we uphold the highest virtues of abnegation, sacrifice, and the good of all, we shall stand. We fall when we allow our moral standards to fall into depravity and abuse.”
–Annals of the Marada, by Lord Aron Keril, Counselor to the Malekian House, the 3rd Dynasty of the Marada.
The partisans roared in excitement and rose to their feet, weapons at the ready. They began chanting the names of the racers in a sort of ferocious verbal joust that then died out slowly as more and more spectators noticed that the racers were not fighting.
“What are they doing?” someone shouted.
“Fight, fight!”
“We can’t tell them apart,” complained another. “They all look alike.”
“Not fair. Fight, fight, fight.”
Partisans who were eager to protect their champion stood paralyzed; they were afraid of hurting the players on whom their masters had gambled. The crowd grew restless and started booing the racers.
“Krom, kill them all,” a giant shouted, “You’re the strongest.”
“Gondolaz, hack them hackingly to piecing pieces!” a dwarf screamed.
“Huska, Huska, Huska,” a group of young giants chanted. Huska heard the praises and grinned. Mango elbowed him.
“Keep your focus on the road,” the wrestler yelled.
“But da saluting me,” Huska protested.
“They want you dead,” Slippery Slued replied.
“Duck,” Ahiram yelled as he shoved them down. An arrow whizzed by and struck Krom’s boot; fortunately, he was not hurt. Ahiram looked up and saw an archer standing high up in the crowd.
“Could someone have gambled that we’d all be dead?” he asked.
“Possible,” replied Slippery Slued. “Unusual, but possible.”
Ahiram wished that Bow could take out the archer, but that would blow his cover. A second archer shot at them from the opposite side. Luckily, this one was clumsy and the arrow fell short, but more archers were appearing now.
“How come no one is coming to our defense?” asked Ahiram. “Where are all the partisans?”
“They’re all there, but I guess they’re willing to take this risk to force us to get rid of our covers,” replied Slippery Slued. “The race is all about calculated gambles.”
“Form a circle,” he ordered. “Sweet Gondolaz in the middle.”
Seven of them locked arms. Sweet Gondolaz raised her hands up and let out a scream that caused Ahiram’s hair to stand on end. Her voice carried a deep rasp and a high-pitched screech that intertwined into a tight ululation. She screamed again, and there was now a third voice added to the mix, that sounded like an old woman pronouncing horrible imprecations.
“A curse I lay on you. A curse I pronounce against you,” she told the crowd. “May your hands fail, your quiver empty, your eyes dim, and your bow fling from your hands.”
She reproduced the same eerie scream and Huska gasped. “Da bows in da hands of the archers. They are falling.”
Four bows flew violently from the hands of archers. Suddenly, thick smoke engulfed the young woman. She raised her hands and shrieked, “You are all cursed, you will die in these bleachers!”
By the time the smoke had dissipated, Sweet Gondolaz had vanished.
“She’s a witch, a witch, and we are cursed!” someone yelled in horror. “We’re cursed, cursed!” Alarmed, the other partisans got to their feet, and the man screamed again in sheer terror. He pointed a trembling finger at a partisan standing in the opposite bleachers. “Look, look,” he uttered, barely able to speak. “Look at him!”
The crowd gasped. Paralyzed with fear, a partisan stood, transfixed, watching his clothes melt away. They dissolved into green, oozing blotches that slowly slid down his limbs. Someone from the other side screamed, and all eyes turned once more. The garments of a giant were also melting.
The first man screamed, “The curse, the witch! She disappeared. We are cursed, we are cursed!”
He bolted down the stairwell. Panic ensued.
Ahiram stowed away his double-dart bows. While Sweet Gondolaz was doing her theatrical display, he had shot chemically-loaded darts. The first volley exploded quietly, while the second liquefied the clothes.
“These darts of yours are mighty good,” Krom said appreciatively.
“Nothing like a bit of superstition mixed with a little trickery to create a scare. Now, walk,” said Ahiram. They passed a bleacher filled with gamblers, but the next two had been decimated in a bloody battle.
“Run! Now!”
“Down!” Krom the Hunter shouted. A boulder whizzed over their heads and smashed into the opposite wall. A second one followed and Ahiram rolled to avoid being hit. He stood up and saw a giant about to hurl a third rock in their directions. “Kill you all,” he screamed, “kill you all!” A second giant leapt up behind the first one, slid a heavy chain around his neck and dragged their attacker out of the bleachers.
“Run,” Quiet Surata snapped.
&n
bsp; They sprinted forward and crossed deserted bleachers. Where is everyone? wondered Ahiram. They kept running unhindered, disbelieving their luck until they saw a confusing dark mass in the middle of the track. They slowed down to a trot, and then to a walk as the clamor of a colossal fight reached them.
“This is bad,” Krom the Hunter said. “We’re not going to make it through this.”
“What’s going on?” Ahiram asked.
“An all-out elimination battle between large groups of partisans. Gamblers are trying to get rid of the competition. We won’t manage to cross this mess without fighting.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Ahiram replied. “Everyone, flip your thobes inside out.”
“Eh?” Huska the Fat said.
Slippery Slued removed his thobe. “Huska, take your thobe off and turn it inside out, then put it back on.”
“Dhat I know,” Huska said, struggling to pull the thobe over his head, “but why?”
“Line up against the wall,” the Silent ordered. He glanced behind him and looked up to see if partisans were after them, but a prior battle had emptied the bleachers. “Good, this will work,” he added.
“What will work?” asked Mango Karthal.
“You’re practically invisible,” Ahiram explained. “The color of the thobe matches that of the wall. Walk your backs to this wall …”
“You mean like da slugs?” Huska clarified.
“Something like that, yes,” Ahiram said. “When we’re really close, I’ll create a diversion along the opposite wall.”
“But we will be noticed. We’re in full view,” Mango said.
“People see what they’re looking for,” Ahiram replied. “In a battle like this, no one expects the racers to slide slowly along the wall. You’ll take one step. Pause for three heartbeats, and repeat. No one walks like that. Those fighting have tunnel vision; they can’t focus on their surroundings. We’ll be in plain sight, but effectively invisible.”
“What of the masks?” Quiet Surata asked.
“We’re going to replace these masks with more suitable ones.” Ahiram stowed his mask in his leather bag, pulled his dagger from his Silent Belt, made a small incision on his thumb, and smeared blood on his nose, under his eyes, and on his forehead and his cheeks. “If someone notices you, they’ll see blood. Since you’re unarmed, they’ll assume you’re wounded and they will leave you alone. Besides, they won’t recognize us because they’ve seen us in black thobes or in our initial clothing. No one expects us dressed in white with a bloody face. Let’s go.”
It took them the better part of two hours to reach the battle scene. Ahiram’s companions were tired and on edge. Their muscles were not used to this move-and-hold motion, and hugging a wall continuously was much harder than they had expected. The muscles of their thighs, lower backs, shoulders, arms, and necks were on fire by the time they reached the edge of the fight. There, Ahiram forced everyone to stay motionless, even though they were less than fifty feet away from the mayhem. Exposed and feeling vulnerable at standing so close to the deadly battle, they barely controlled the irrepressible urge to flee the scene. They’re good fighters, but they’re not members of the Silent Corps, thought Ahiram. I hope they don’t lose it and run away. Nearly three thousand armed men, women, dwarfs and she-dwarfs, giants and she-giants were fighting one another on the bleachers and inside the track. Ahiram could tell that most of them were not trained soldiers. The battle was a chaotic mess with no leadership. A group of ten fighters broke off and came running in their direction; three she-dwarfs were being pursued by men and giants.
“Domnina? Lilith?” Ahiram said, recognizing two of the young she-dwarfs. He stood stunned, watching them run away. “What are they doing here?”
Ahiram noticed then that the giants walked briskly but never ran.
“Come back here, you brats,” yelled one of them. “Give it to me.”
“I knew they had it,” lashed one of the men. “I’ll pry it open from their dead hands,” he said as he stopped near the camouflaged racers.
Seeing the man stop to load an arrow into a crossbow, Ahiram shot a smoking dart in his direction. It exploded near the man’s face and released a nauseous cloud. The arrow shot up harmlessly in the air.
“They’re taking off with the token,” the giant yelled. “After them.”
The small group sped away, yelling curses and imprecations against the she-dwarfs. Ahiram was about to run after them when Quiet Surata grabbed his arm.
“Friends of yours? The she-dwarfs?”
“Yes, sort of.”
“You can’t save them,” she said, teeth clenched. “You’ve already risked our lives to help them. Anything more and we’re all dead.”
Ahiram tightened his jaw and nodded slowly. Reluctantly, he relaxed his stance and slumped against the wall. “I guess I can’t save everyone.”
“They weren’t forced here. They came on their own,” Quiet Surata added softly. “You did what you could, but now we’ve got to make it alive through this nightmare.”
Ahiram nodded. “Alright, now start moving like I showed you and nobody will see you.”
I hope, he thought.
Slowly, inch by inch, they entered the battle zone. They felt like flies stuck to a wall, about to be consumed by a lizard. The battle was intense with swords, axes, chains, javelins, and maces wielded about in every direction. Fortunately, no arrows were loosed, either because all arrows had been spent or because the archers deemed it impossible to aim with any accuracy in the middle of the melee. Giants towered over dwarfs and swung their maces like windmills, but dwarfs, nimbler and faster, used daggers against the giants’ legs. A group of men were fighting for their lives against axe-wielding she-giants, and in the middle of the race, wearied combatants trudged through blood-soaked ground.
Step. Stop. Scan.
Let three heartbeats go by.
Creep up. Clamp down. Count the dead.
One heartbeat, two men die,
Two heartbeats, three women cry,
Three heartbeats and Quiet Surata sighs.
Move. Mime. Mourn.
Be a marionette on the wall.
Imitate the dead.
Let the living forget you.
Let them kill one another.
Snip. Snap. Snow.
The words resonated in Ahiram’s mind. Harsh, cold as steel. Where is this coming from now? He thought. Is Shadow here? But the dog was nowhere to be seen. Sweet Gondolaz jerked to avoid a dagger. A mace, as big as a watermelon, whizzed by Mango’s face and missed by a mere inch. The fighter saw a caterpillar pinned to one of the mace’s spikes. It was still alive.
Creep up,
Cast a shadow,
Count down.
A tendon creaks.
Attention freaks,
Spill your blood,
Spill your blood.
Flee. Flap. Flop.
In a minute
your head will pop.
Crick. Crack. Crock.
Death, so sudden and violent
For the stupid little Silent.
The last verse was said with such malice, with a hatred so profound, that it tore through Ahiram’s consciousness like a sword through flesh. He reeled back under the shock.
“Watch out,” Slippery Slued hissed.
Ahiram, in extremis, tilted his head to avoid an incoming javelin. In the reflection of the blade he saw Ibromaliöm glaring at him with an inhuman grin. Frantic, he searched around for the former judge but could not find him. I must be imagining things, he thought. But why am I thinking about him now?
A man slammed into Huska the Fat and died. A she-dwarf fell into Krom’s arms, dead. Three dwarfs slammed against the wall between Quiet Surata and Slippery Slued and fell dead to the ground. A giant toppled from the bleachers above and nearly crushed Sweet Gondolaz. Three men, swords drawn, jumped and landed on the giant’s body. One of them glanced at Sweet Gondolaz, saw her bloodied face, smiled, winked, and attacked a she-giant. M
ove. Stop. Count. Move. Stop. Count. From across the track, a giant pointed an accusing finger directly at them. He turned to scream something when another well-aimed smoking dart exploded in his face. He inhaled the nauseous smoke, dropped his mace, staggered back, and fell on top of two dwarfs trying to strangle one another.
Cling, clang, bang. Two more dwarfs fell dead. Move, stop, count. Three giants staggered. Smash, crash, hit. Men dropped to their knees in a howl of pain. Move, stop, count. Hit, swipe, swish. Like ants on an impossibly long journey, the eight racers inched their way through the madness. With every few steps they took, more bodies dropped from the bleachers above, and still more partisans came and joined the fray as if they were all possessed by hysteria. The eight racers were forced to watch the unfolding destruction, unable to help the wounded or protect them, until finally, they extricated themselves from the heat of the battle.
“Stop,” Ahiram ordered. “Don’t move. Let them get used to seeing us here. Then, as we creep away, they won’t realize that something has changed.”
Two hours later, they had managed to move a couple hundred feet and were now standing beneath vacant bleachers, for all their occupants were fighting in the arena. Quiet Surata craned her neck to see the carvings on the awnings.
“What are you looking for?” Sweet Gondolaz asked.
“A battle scene with five giants and a chariot.”
“It must be a bit further ahead,” Slippery Slued replied.
Quiet Surata nodded. “How far, do you know?”
“I’d say a few bleachers up.”
They started walking carefully, even though the bleachers were mostly deserted. Suddenly two lizards peered over the railing, caught sight of them, and ran back inside the stairwell.
“We’ve been spotted,” Slippery Slued exclaimed.
After a feverish search, Krom found the spot Quiet Surata was looking for. “Over there.”
Ahiram ran up to examine the wall and identified a discrete cut at its base. He knelt down, cleared the dirt with his hands, and revealed yet another stone shield. “Huska, come over here and give me a hand.”
The Kartagenan grunted and lifted the shield stone, revealing a dug-up hole. Ahiram jumped in, removed a thick cover, and gave Krom a bundle of steel pipes with leather straps, then he began lifting steel shields three at a time and passed them to Krom. Sometime later, twenty-six steel shields were lined-up against the wall. Ahiram leaped out of the hole, grabbed a pipe and locked one of its ends into a groove on the inner side of a shield. Similarly, he affixed the other end of the pole to a second shield so that the two shields were attached and facing each other. He lifted them to check that they were securely locked. Working quickly, he used a few more pieces and a third shield to form a box.
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 63