by Aaron Hodges
Rydian stared after the woman, still half-thinking her words had been a joke, that this entire place was a jest played on him by the Alfur. Gladiators might hide their identities behind helmets and ring names, but everyone knew they were meant to be heroes, warriors who risked their lives in the arena for the honour of their city and the riches they earned in victory.
But…the lie to that story lay exposed all around them. Clenching the shield to his chest, Rydian looked to the others, waiting for one to speak. But the giant only stood looking after Falcon, eyes wide, while the woman was staring at the blade in her hand with a glint in her eye, as though wondering whether she might use it to escape this place.
“I…” Rydian started, then trailed off as the two looked at him. Swallowing his hesitation, he shrugged off the shield and offered his hand in its stead. “I’m Rydian,” he said hesitantly, looking from one to the other.
Arms crossed, the woman stared back at him with cold eyes and again Rydian was reminded of her threat in the field. Shoulders slumping, he allowed his hand to drop to his side. He stood awkwardly for a moment, sandals shifting in the sand.
“I’m…ah…Johanas,” the giant said, belatedly offering his hand.
A smile touched Rydian’s cheeks as he clasped palms with the giant recruit. “Nice to meet you, Johanas,” he replied, before turning to the young woman. “And that would make you…”
She glared at him for a long moment, then rolled her eyes. “Hazel,” she said shortly. Looking away from them, she turned on the spot, as though to make a complete inspection of the arena. “So, I don’t suppose either of you know anything about fighting?” she asked as her attention finally returned to the two men.
Rydian hesitated, then shook his head as alongside him, Johanas did the same.
Hazel snorted at that. “Great,” she muttered, lifting her practice blade and turning it one way, then another in her hand. “Guess we’ll just have to learn the hard way then.”
“What’s the hard way?” Rydian asked with a frown.
A smile twisted Hazel’s lips as she looked at him. “I’m glad you asked, mouse.”
8
Rydian gasped as the blunted blade struck him with the force of what felt like several wagons. The breath hissed between his teeth and he staggered back, slumping to his knees as his strength fled. Pain engulfed his chest where the sword had caught him and he opened his mouth to scream again, but all that came out was a rasping whisper.
Lights danced across his vision as he clutched at his stomach, willing his lungs to inhale, to breathe. They had found a storage locker in the corner of the yard stocked with extra blades and shields—and most importantly, thick vests that could be used for padding. The heavy cotton was constricting in the heat of the noonday sun, but at least they dulled some of the impact from one another’s blows. They’d learnt in the first hour that despite their blunted edges, the weighted blades could still do considerable damage when they struck unprotected flesh.
Or even padded flesh, Rydian couldn’t help but think as he struggled to inhale.
Tears stung his eyes, but finally a flicker of warmth came from his Manus reader, and he managed to suck in a breath. He coughed as fresh air swelled his lungs, his hands pressed against the sand. His vision swam and he scrunched his eyes closed, battling with the sick sense of despair that gripped him, against the voices that told him to stay down, to give up.
“Come on, mouse,” Hazel laughed as she stood over him, “I didn’t even hit you that hard this time!”
Snarling, Rydian pushed himself up and launched himself at the woman again, his own blade slashing for her chest. She skipped back though, feet moving easily on the sands, and Rydian stumbled as the wild swing threw him off-balance.
Hazel immediately went on the attack, her blade swiping at his side. This time Rydian managed to avoid the blow, then deflected the second as she advanced. Steel rang against steel and the blade jarred in his hand, almost tearing free of his grip. He clenched his spare fist, wishing they’d decided to train with both shield and gladius, but Hazel had suggested they practice with just swords first before complicating the task with a second weapon.
The suggestion had seemed logical to Rydian when they’d started—he just hadn’t realised how proficient the woman would prove with the blade.
She came at him again, and this time his feet failed him, sliding in the sands and slowing his retreat. Before Rydian could raise his practice sword to defend himself, the point of her blade slammed against his stomach, driving the breath from his lungs. Again.
Choking, Rydian collapsed to the ground, Hazel’s laughter ringing in his ears. A thrumming came from his palm, his Manus reader trying to heal him, but he had never called upon its abilities so many times in such a short space of time, and before its warmth could swell it flickered and died again.
A groan rasped from his throat as he finally managed to inhale. His whole body ached from the blows of the last hours—and with the sheer exhaustion of sparring with the other two. Practicing with Johanas, he’d managed to land a few blows on the giant trainee. Against Hazel though…the strange woman had offered them nothing but her name, but it had quickly become evident that this was not her first time holding a weapon.
“It helps if you shout when the blow strikes.”
Rydian started as a new voice carried across the courtyard. Still crouched on the ground, he looked around as footsteps crunched on sand and saw a man approaching. His clothing was a neutral white, and from his greying hair and swelling waist, Rydian assumed the man was no gladiator. Even so, there was a hardness to the stranger’s jade eyes, a…presence about him, one that demanded attention.
“What?” Rydian asked finally as the man came to a stop alongside them. Belatedly, he pulled himself to his feet. “Who are you?”
The newcomer ignored him and turned instead to Hazel. “You, girl, come here.”
Hazel frowned at the order, looking from the newcomer to Johanas. But the giant trainee kept his usual silence, and finally she shrugged and took a step closer to the stranger, blade still in hand.
“Hit me here,” the man ordered, gesturing to his chest.
“I…what? You’re not even wearing padding!” Hazel exclaimed.
The stranger grunted. “You won’t be wearing padding in the arena either,” he remarked.
A frown creased Hazel’s brow. This time she looked to Rydian, but he could offer her no more advice than Johanas. Shaking her head, she lifted her sword and contemplated the blade for a second, before finally making up her mind.
“Fine,” she muttered, then drawing back the weapon, she swung it at the stranger.
Watching from nearby, Rydian waited for the man to react, to leap from the blade’s path or deflect it with some mysterious technique. Instead, he stood fixed in place as the blade struck him clean in the chest.
“Hay!”
Rydian leapt half a foot in the air as the strange man unleashed a bellow loud enough to wake the dead. The shout rang from the nearby walls, causing even Hazel to recoil from the sound. She drew back, weapon raised before her, as though expecting the man to lash out now that she had struck him.
Swallowing, Rydian looked from Hazel to the stranger. He stood unmoved on the sands, hands still clasped behind his back, eyes calm as he regarded the three of them. A smile touched his cheeks as he saw their concern.
“You see,” he said softly, gesturing to his chest. “By emptying the lungs, you will not be winded by the blow. Do you understand?”
Hazel frowned, stepping closer to the man now that it seemed he would not retaliate. Rydian edged forward alongside her, impressed by the man’s resilience. Whether it had been the shout or some other part of his training, the man did not seem fazed at all by Hazel’s blow.
“I…think so?” Hazel said hesitantly, a frown still creasing her brow.
“Good,” the man replied—then abruptly he surged forward, fist lashing out at Hazel.
She
had only a second to react before he struck. To Rydian, the blow appeared languid, almost lethargic—but as his fist connected, the man suddenly appeared to speed up, hips twisting to throw his weight behind the blow.
A scream tore from Hazel’s throat as she was hurled from her feet—though whether it was because of the man’s instructions or forced out by pain, there was no telling. Regardless, it seemed to do little good, as she was still crying out when she landed flat on her back with an audible thump.
For a moment she lay there, mouth wide, a soft gasping coming from her throat. Abruptly, she sucked in a breath, followed by a desperate coughing as she curled up into a ball on the sand.
“Almost,” the stranger said coolly as he turned from them. “Try again between yourselves, you’ll get there.”
With that, he moved away to a corner of the courtyard cast in shade by the overhanging eaves. There he crouched on the cooler sand, crossed his legs and closed his eyes, as though he were about to take a nap.
Rydian looked around as a series of curses exploded from the sand where Hazel had fallen. Face pale and clasping her sword, she stumbled to her feet and swung around as though in search of her enemy. Only when she saw the stranger seated cross-legged in the corner did she pause, confusion showing in her eyes.
Her hesitation lasted only a moment, as scowling, she stamped across the sands to where the stranger sat.
“How dare…what…get up!” she spluttered, gesturing wildly with the practice sword. “Get up so I can make you pay for that!” she added, finally finding her words.
The stranger let out an exaggerated sigh as he cracked open one eye. “There’s a fire in you, girl,” he said softly. “You might yet survive the sands.” The smile faded as he continued, his face growing dark. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re ready to cross swords with me.”
At that, he closed his eyes again, indicating the conversation was over.
Rydian shivered as he watched the man, and alongside him Hazel opened her mouth, then closed it again, apparently unable to summon the courage to challenge the stranger further. Though he’d made no outwardly threatening move towards them, there was something about this man that spoke of danger, that warned Rydian that his words were no idle threat.
Swallowing, Rydian retreated back to the centre of the courtyard. It wasn’t long before Hazel did the same, though he noticed she kept flicking dark glances at the stranger as they took up their blades again. Johanas said nothing as they re-joined him, but before they could restart their practice, a fresh voice announced the arrival of more newcomers.
“Don’t tell me the three of you are still standing around like statues!”
Rydian suppressed a groan at the woman’s reappearance, but this time she was not alone. Others wearing the green uniforms of Goma followed her out onto the sands, though they took little notice of the trainees. An odd bunch of all shapes and sizes, they wandered across to the barrels placed at intervals around the courtyard and retrieved their practice weapons.
Falcon alone continued across the sands towards them. Her face was dark, leaving Rydian in no doubt that her hangover continued.
“Honestly, the way you trainees throw away your opportunities,” she snapped. “I’m beginning to wonder why Prince Levaanton doesn’t just send the lot of you straight to the execution pods!”
It was too much for Rydian. From finding himself in this awful place, to the harshness of his companions, to the pain of his injuries and now the mocking of this woman, he’d had enough.
“What opportunities?” he snarled, and around the courtyard, a dozen gladiators swung in their direction. Rydian didn’t care. Sword in hand, he took another step towards Falcon. “What chance do we stand in the arena if no one will train us? All I’ve seen since we arrived here is the promise of a bloody death. The Alfur obviously don’t care if we live or die—only that they get a spectacle for their damned games. You, though…you’re human…you’re meant to be one of us!” He shook his head, staring into the woman’s hard sapphire eyes. “But you’re just as bad as them.”
Silence fell across the courtyard as he finished, a stillness as all eyes turned on Falcon. She stared back at him, unblinking, and Rydian couldn’t help but shrink beneath that gaze. A thrumming came from his Manus reader as he swallowed, suddenly regretting his words, but it was too late to take them back now.
“You want me to train you, kid?” Falcon said, her voice low, dangerous.
She strode forward, then paused beside Hazel and extended her empty hand. The young woman hesitated, glancing at Rydian, but the Goman champion snatched the practice sword from her hands before she had a chance to withhold it. Blade in hand, she continued towards Rydian.
“Well, kid?” Falcon snarled, eyes glinting in the emerald light of day.
“I…I…”
“First lesson,” Falcon said softly. “A gladiator must know pain.”
At that she surged forward. Rydian barely had time to raise his gladius before the woman’s weapon caught him in the side. She struck with such speed and precision that he barely had time to register the impact.
“They must embrace agony, welcome it,” Falcon continued, face impassive. “For on the sands of the arena, you cannot escape it.”
Then she was coming at him again, blade angling in from the left this time. Again Rydian struggled to react, and again he failed. This time, though, he recalled the strange man’s advice as the blow struck him in the chest, and he shouted at the impact.
To his surprise, it seemed to work, for as Rydian stumbled back from the blow, he found himself still able to breathe—though pain still radiated from the twin strikes Falcon had landed. Gritting his teeth against the ache, he struggled to raise his blade to fend off her next attack.
But instead Falcon paused, her eyes flickering to a point over his shoulder. “I see you’ve met our weapons master,” she said archly. A smile touched her lips as she lowered her blade and stepped around Rydian, his insults apparently forgotten. “Marcus Aureli, don’t tell me you’ve decided to take on students again!”
Still seated cross-legged in the corner, the stranger cracked open his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “Falcon, what do you want? I’m meditating.”
“I just thought you might like to join us, Marcus!” Falcon exclaimed. “Since you felt the need to get involved with this lot. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a decent spar.”
The old man stared back at Falcon, and in that look, Rydian thought he glimpsed something, a haunted shadow, a regret, perhaps, quickly hidden.
But Marcus only shook his head. “I’m sorry, Falcon, but you know that I am retired,” he rumbled. “If you’re looking for a decent bout, I suggest you finally lay down a challenge against Rotin.”
Silence returned to the courtyard. Shivering, Rydian looked from Marcus to Falcon, and saw that the colour had drained from the woman’s face. She still stared at the man, but his eyes had already closed once more, his attention returning to his meditation.
“I…he just told us to shout when we got hit,” Johanas mumbled, shuffling on his feet in the sand.
At his words, Falcon came back to life. Shaking herself, she turned to the young giant. “Is that so?” she asked with a smile. “Well in that case, we’d best find out how well the three of you put his lessons into practice!”
With that, Falcon leapt at them, blade dancing in her hands.
9
Rydian shivered as he watched the light fading from the sky overhead, a chill breeze only adding to the aching of his body, to the pain from the beating that Falcon had given the three trainees. The warmth of his Manus reader had died long ago, its Light expended, consumed, and now he sat alone as night approached.
The soft echoes of laughter came from the Goman barracks behind him, as Falcon and the others enjoyed their evening festivities. A part of Rydian longed to stand and enter, to join them. But after the events of the day, a feeling of doom, of despair hung about him.
The other gladiators could drink, could celebrate their victories in the last games, but for Rydian there was only terror, only the knowledge of what was to come. And so instead, he found himself sitting outside in the growing dark, listening to their mirth, yet unable to join in, to ignore the hole inside him.
Earlier, Falcon and her gladiators had spent only an hour on the sands before the gladiators of Riesor had arrived. Apparently the five cities shared the facilities of the practice arena, with each city allocated an hour to themselves through the afternoon, while mornings were open to whoever cared to spend additional time on the sands.
But it had only taken an hour for Falcon to teach Rydian one thing—he was no warrior. If Hazel had dented his confidence, the Goman champion had shattered his very spirit. She had beaten them all easily, the practice blade hissing as it swept the air, deflecting their clumsy blows and finding flesh, despite their supposed padding. But at least the other two had put up a decent fight, with Johanas’s size and Hazel’s apparently innate talent.
What he’d glimpsed of the Riesoran gladiators had only added to Rydian’s sense of doom. After Falcon and her followers had retired, the Riesorans had spread out in two lines across the courtyard, then paired up to begin a series of hand-to-hand drills. Rydian and his companions had watched only a few minutes before one of the opposing gladiators noticed them and shouted for them to get out.
Even so, their performance had been enough to leave no doubt in Rydian’s mind. In a month’s time, he would step onto the sands of the arena.
And die.
After they’d left the courtyard, Johanas and Hazel and drifted away, each lost in their own thoughts. Bruised and broken, Rydian had let them go. Instead, he had wandered alone through the great buildings of the complex, back to the field where they had first arrived, where his life had changed forever.
Now he sat, watching as darkness embraced the world, as the emerald orb of the sun touched the horizon and became golden, before finally fading to red. A lump lodged in Rydian’s chest at the death of the day. It was beautiful, the brilliance of the colours, the intermingling of light, yet he felt no joy at the sight, in watching it alone.