by Jeff Gunzel
Berkeni walked over to him and put his hands on Eric’s cheeks before moving in close. “I promise you, my boy. They will see exactly what everyone else sees,” he whispered in his ear. He released him and went to stand by the door. “Now you have all seen what I needed to show you. If you will all excuse me, I must rest. I will need all my strength to prepare the gateway you will need to make the journey.” He motioned towards the door and said, “You must all prepare to leave by tomorrow.”
The queen and the three companions walked from the room in a solemn mood. Ilirra barely made it to the hall before vomiting on the floor.
Jade rushed to her side and began rubbing the Queen’s shoulders. She whispered in the Queen’s ear, “We will not fail you, I promise.”
After doing their best to shake off the supernatural experience, there was one order of business left: To attend the games and see this warrior that had haunted Jade’s memory for so long. The three friends had mixed feelings about attending such a thing, but it couldn’t possibly be worse than what they had just seen...could it?
* * *
They walked the clean-swept streets with their small escort of two soldiers. The day was hot and humid, and the sun beat down on them mercilessly. As they drew near the great arena, the crowds began to grow thick. They originally thought the two guards would be nothing more than a distraction, drawing too much attention, but now they were glad they were here, as folk were quick to part a clear path for them. No one wanted to get in the way of armored men wearing the colors of Taron.
The strangest people seemed to have come out for this event. Priests of various faiths stood on large wooden blocks outside the arena, preaching loudly to the crowds who gathered around them. They wore long, flowing robes that were always one solid color. Some had helpers who were dressed the same way, swinging smoking lanterns from a cord back and forth like a pendulum as they chanted away like they were possessed. It didn’t take long to understand the colors worn represented the deity of the priest.
Midgets wearing black leather outfits covered with shiny metal spikes ran in circles as they pretended to attack one another with purposely fake-looking wooden swords. They would stop their obnoxious game now and then only to stand behind one of the priests and mock their every word as they waved their hands in the air. When the mob began to laugh, they would run away and return to their ridiculously amateur-looking swordplay.
The soldiers were instructed to wait at the bottom of the ramp for the companions’ return and then escort them back to the palace.
Eric could not help but appreciate how massive and spectacular Moxis was up close as they ascended the ramp. That is, until they got to the top and took a few steps inside. The first thing Eric thought was that three times the entire population of Bryer had to be in here.
The friends stared in awe at the sheer size of the crowd, having never seen this many people in one place. Rows and rows of sanded wooden benches circled the whole arena. Huge, elaborate, white stone columns held up the platforms above them. Far down below, the sandy floor of the arena was being smoothed out by a horse-drawn mesh.
The benches were almost completely full with nearly naked men and women who cheered and whistled at nothing. The mob resembled a chaotic circus. These were not exactly the upper-class people of Taron, just as Ilirra had warned. It was like another world, a world with virtually no law.
Bare-breasted women were waving their hands in the air while all the men in the area groped them. The women acted as if they didn’t even notice. Everywhere the three companions’ eyes wandered, women were committing acts of fellatio to any man that presented himself. Eric considered covering Jade’s eyes for a moment, wondering how she might handle the wild scene, but she seemed quite entertained by the issuing orgy. She even pointed and laughed several times, making Eric very uncomfortable. When he looked to Jacob for support, he realized his friend was being even worse. He was grinning and pointing all over the place while elbowing Jade in the ribs constantly, begging her to look this way and that.
There was a fat bald man to their left with three women fighting to remove his pants. Three! Jade poked Eric in the ribs and pointed at the man, whose shirt was fighting a losing battle to keep his huge belly hidden. “He is either very well endowed or very rich,” she whispered in his ear. As soon as one of the girls seemed to be the clear winner, Jade leaned back over again and whispered, “Rich it is!” Even Eric couldn’t contain his laughter that time.
They found seats as close as they could get to the front. Listening to the varied conversations around them, it was clear the crowd was so big because word had already leaked that Morcel would be appearing for the last time tonight.
The folks at the other side of the arena began to stir a bit, then started clapping and whistling for some reason.
The three friends stood up like everyone else around them to see what the commotion was. To their horror, a wooden platform with wheels was being pushed to the center of the arena from that direction. It took five large men to push it through the sand, as the wheels sank in constantly. Four fat nooses were tied to the wooden beam that ran across the top.
Shortly after the platform was left at the center of the arena, the bloodthirsty crowd roared when four men were brought out, all tied together at the neck and walking in a line. Well, three men and what appeared to be a boy no older than fifteen. People in the stands threw stones and other projectiles they were able to sneak in with them as the four men were marched up onto the platform.
Cheering and whistling filled the air as the nooses were set around their necks by the executioner. The large man wore a spiked leather wristband and a sleeveless black leather vest that fit tightly over his large, broad shoulders. The man was required to also wear a black hood over his face for many reasons, not the least of which was because he had to live among the citizens in the city and no one could know his true identity. It was ironic, really. The thugs that came to these games would probably think him a hero and buy him drinks.
The ropes were set shallowly so the drop would only be a foot or so. The knots were set directly behind the heads of the four tied men as opposed to the side. If they were placed to the side, their necks would break, and the entertainment would end far too early. Placing the knots behind the head would ensure they would be strangled slowly.
Who knows what the four men had done to deserve the fate thrust upon them this day. It was probably the single least-asked question by anyone at the games. Nobody cared if the victims deserved it or not. That would just add unwanted morality to the morbid fantasy that was the games. There was no place for rational thinking here, just public sex and violence—the grand orgy of violence that had made the slavers’ trade prosperous.
Jade buried her head in Eric’s shoulder, and he and Jacob averted their eyes as well. The only way they knew the hanging was done was when they heard the roar of the mob around them.
Eric looked up too soon, his eyes going instinctively to the young boy hanging on the rope. He didn’t have the body weight of the other men, so his strangulation was slow. He continued to kick the air long after the others were no longer moving.
Eric quickly looked away again, knowing that image would surely haunt him forever. This is what the Queen warned us about.
* * *
“The maggots is been hung, Morcel,” came the high-pitched voice from the other room. “You gonna be next. I hear da boss gotta big surprise for youzz. Betta says you prayers! He not very happy with you.”
Morcel sat on his usual bench in his usual spot. Slow, rhythmic breathing followed as he concentrated on the images floating around in his mind. The raging river roared along as violent rapids sprayed high with white foam and mist when the water crashed against the rocks. Steel striking steel rang through the air as warriors charged against one another with completely reckless abandon. The sounds of primal battle echoed through the surrounding forest as screams and clanging steel became one continuous song of war. Then, one by on
e, the warriors began to disappear into thin air. As the violence slipped away into the shadows, the river began to slow its pace as well. Soon, roaring rapids became a bubbling brook as the water trickled along smooth rocks.
Morcel took a slow, deep breath. The hot, humid air filled his lungs. Then he released it, along with his fear and doubt. The river was calm now, the shoreline was peaceful. Morcel calmly opened his eyes. I am ready.
He stood up off the bench and began to flex and stretch, wearing nothing but his loincloth. The man had always been large, but his physique was shredded now from constant battles that had gone on for years. His eyes hadn’t changed a bit. They were still bright green and full of murder. He needed to find some way to survive whatever was waiting for him out there.
As he walked towards the iron gate, one of the men started clapping in a slow, steady beat. Others began to join in as the warrior marched on. Each man rose from his seat when the warrior passed by. He had fought beside these men, watched them die. They were his brothers. Soon, all were clapping in the same slow rhythm, a constant single beat that thundered through the chamber. Some picked up shields and began banging on them with swords. The public speaker was making the announcement for the upcoming battle, but no one could hear him inside the tunnel. The steady beat ended. The gladiators were now roaring wildly.
This was the last time Morcel would see his brothers. He would either be free and never return, or die in the most glorious way a warrior can. The next minutes of his life would decide all of that.
The mob in the arena roared as the iron gate rose with a grinding creak that echoed off the stone walls. Brightly colored flower petals rained like a downpour over the entrance. Morcel sprinted through the shower with his great axe hung over his shoulder. Dashing to the center of the arena, he threw it onto the sand where he stood. If this was to be his end, he would go out with a level of honor and reverence worthy of song and poetry for years to come.
He made four separate turns followed by four separate bows to acknowledge the mob that had cheered him on for years now. Each bow sent a storm of applause rising from that section, only to be outdone by the next. Some wanted to see him kill. Others wanted to see him die. But in the end, they’d all come to watch him.
His heightened sense of awareness took in everything: the smoldering heat that sent drops of sweat running down his forehead, stinging his eyes; the roaring crowd, now sounding like thunder from a distant storm rumbling low long after the hot flash of lightning cuts the air; the fly buzzing past his face in slow motion as its clear wings pumped up and down. Time moved at the speed of melting ice as his mind floated in nothingness.
He picked up his great axe, raising it slowly until it was pointing towards the other iron gate on the far side. A long second passed in what seemed an eternity before he spoke what would possibly be the last words he would ever say, words that boomed as if spoken by a god: “Send me your demon!”
The words rang through the arena with power and clarity. The mob broke into a chaotic frenzy as the iron gate slowly rose. The gears creaked, and the grinding noise screeched in the ears of all above it.
The mob, who had bordered on rioting not a moment ago, now went deathly quiet.
Morcel stared into the black tunnel. Embrace death. His rhythmic heartbeat thumped in his ears. Meet your end unblinking. Time flowed like melting ice. Every man dies. His mind floated in nothingness. But not every man chooses to face it!
The gurgling roar that echoed from the tunnel was blood-curdling. The nightmare that emerged would have taken the heart of any other warrior, but not a warrior that grinned when facing death. The gorbel was over ten feet tall. A single eye seemed to glow red against its dark, leathery face. The giant had four thick massive arms, each holding crude wooden clubs. It roared again, flexing its huge muscles on its almost human-looking torso. As its head cocked back with a bone-chilling scream, rows and rows of pointed, sharp teeth that appeared to line its entire throat gleamed in the sunlight. It wiped the long, stringy black hair from its face as it charged.
Everyone gasped at the nightmarish sight, unable to speak, including Jade, who turned her head, not wanting to see the inevitable carnage.
Morcel only grinned and let out a blood-curdling war cry of his own as he returned the charge. Neither showed hesitation; the beasts sprinted towards each other like wild animals. When they engaged, the gorbel used its reach to strike first, bringing down all four of its weapons at once.
Morcel went from a dead sprint to a sideways roll, easily avoiding the barrage that sank deep into the sand. He spun on one knee as he slashed at the beast’s leg, but was too far away, catching nothing but air. He knew he was out of range even as he missed by several feet, but he had to keep mounting some kind of offense. He needed to find a way to keep this beast honest as he looked for his opening.
The gorbel showed no signs of defending itself. It swung wildly at Morcel.
He dodged and rolled repeatedly, trying to get his feet under him so he could mount some kind of attack while club strikes pummeled the ground around him. The range was too much; he couldn’t get inside the arm length of the beast. The warrior no longer held his axe with both hands on the handle. He now had one hand on the handle and one just under the blade to reinforce the weapon so he could use it to block, but with the explosive force behind the received blows, a full parry would be a last resort.
Morcel didn’t want to become defensive, but he had no choice. Keep moving! The warrior kept backing away, rolling to the side at the last possible second.
The onslaught was coming hard and heavy now. The mob was silent. Most were half-covering their eyes, watching the warrior backpedal for his life.
The beast’s clubs were beating the ground furiously. They crushed the sand where the warrior stood a fraction of a second ago, only to keep repeating as Morcel continued to roll and dodge. This was an assassination, not a tournament!
The warrior was in a completely defensive mode, but not without purpose. As his mind floated, he could feel the attacks more than see them; he knew where they were coming from. He could feel a pattern forming. The stupid beast was lunging right at him every time and making no adjustments to his movement at all. It was beginning to slow as well. Morcel’s conditioning was superb, but he couldn’t keep this up forever. He had to take a chance sooner or later. He came up from a side roll and held his axe firmly in front of him.
The gorbel dropped his club down hard, but not as hard as earlier. It was definitely slowing.
Morcel braced and then parried the vicious blow, reeling as the hard vibration pulsed down his arms. However, he countered hard even though his arms felt numb from the impact, slashing at the beast’s arm. It howled and backed away a few steps, but its scream was nowhere near the thunderous roar that erupted from the mob. Now I am the hunter!
The warrior pressed his attack hard as the roar from the crowd exploded throughout the arena. Morcel began savagely swinging his axe in wide, looping circles, more to get in on his foe than to actually cause any damage. Time moved in slow motion as he pumped his axe over and over.
The lumbering beast blocked the incoming barrage more out of instinct than skill, simply flinching by reflex, bringing his large weapons up defensively as the heavy blows came raining in repeatedly.
Morcel struck hard, not even looking for openings, throwing all his weight behind each blow, right at the creature’s desperate shield made of crossed clubs. “I am no slave!” he screamed as he chopped away at the clubs, sending splintering pieces of wood flying with every blow. “I am as free as the day I was born!”
Blows came down harder and harder. The gorbel fell to one knee, using all its dwindling strength to hold its splintering shield of clubs in place.
No one remained seated. The mob screamed as loud as they could, jumping up and down in a crazed frenzy.
The gorbel fell on its back, still holding the nearly useless weapons desperately in front of its face as the vicious shots continu
ed to fall relentlessly on him like an avalanche of steel.
Morcel dropped blows with every word he shouted. “You…will…not…take…this…from…me!” he screamed. The final blow drove right through what was left of the clubs, sinking deep into the beast’s face. Mocel pulled the axe from the beast with a crackling sound and held it high into the air. He faintly remembered the roar of the crowd.
The mighty warrior collapsed from total exhaustion. It made no difference. He would wake a free man.
Chapter 13
The evening meal was a welcome sight for all that night. The day had been a trying ordeal for everyone. Between the unnerving images they had been forced to endure at the hands of Berkeni, to the legendary battle at Moxis that would probably be spoken of for years, everyone was simply exhausted.
Ilirra and Azek sat at their usual table, away from everyone else. They appeared to be arguing, as they did so often. Ilirra’s two giant red bodyguards stood nearby as always, appearing virtually lifeless but ready to unleash a massacre without a moment’s pause. The trio of friends sat by themselves as well. Jade had not uttered a single word since they left the arena. It was understandable, given the events of the evening.
Jacob and Eric continued to try and force uncomfortable small talk, complaining of anything they could think of, from how hot it had been throughout the day, down to the stuffed pheasant, which seemed a touch too cold. It was all just a way of distracting themselves from the reality of tomorrow.
“You two scared?” Jacob asked in a rush as his eyes bounced back and forth between his two friends. He was simply asking the burning question on everyone’s mind.
“Of course I am,” sniffed Eric, not even looking up from his plate as he pushed vegetables around in circles with his fork. “Even if we find these...crytons,” he said, shivering upon uttering the word, “what am I supposed to say to them? That they should just follow me because I told them to do so? That I’m here to make all their problems go away? That I’m—”