City Of Night: Book Two of The Hand of Fire

by James Wolf

  Forgrun’s axe flew down at the grounded Claymore. Sturad rolled aside at the last moment, bringing him right to the edge of the duel disc. The crowd gasped as one. Forgrun went after the prone Sturad but, as he pursued, the Claymore thrust the butt of his baton into the charging Ironstone’s ribs, and swung a booted foot out to catch the backs of Forgrun’s ankles. The Ironstone crashed to the floor. Both were now lying parallel on the disc. Sturad swivelled over and smacked Forgrun in the stomach with his baton. The crowd shuddered, feeling every blow themselves. The Claymore tried the same strike again, but this time Forgrun turned the blow aside, his baton handle pressed close to his body. The combatants rolled away and jumped to their feet, beards flailing wildly.

  The crowd screamed louder than they had all morning. Both Rhungars ran inward and clashed on the middle of the disc. Baton met baton with a thud. Again the mock axes smashed together. And again. On the fourth meeting they remained interlocked. The two Rhungars struggled against each other with all their might, battling like two titans to cast each other from the disc. With a shove the combatants were apart once more.

  Forgrun’s baton came downward, and Sturad defended it well. At the same time as the clash of batons, Forgrun’s foot came up and lashed out to the front. Forgrun’s heavy boot landed square on the Claymore’s chest, sending Sturad sprawling. Forgrun roared, and the crowd echoed his roar. Sturad got up slowly. Macen could see Sturad was winded, as the Claymore staggered to his feet. Forgrun lunged hard for Sturad with a furious strike. The weary Claymore tried to parry the blow, but managed only to deflect it and send it slamming into his groin.

  The coliseum’s crowd let out a collective groan. Sturad lay on the disc, defenceless, wincing in pain and struggling for breath. With a huge battle cry, Forgrun hoisted his baton high into the air. The crowd went silent. Sturad closed his eyes and braced himself, but Forgrun stopped short of smashing it into his downed opponent. Forgrun let his baton drop to his side, and the full crowd stood up and gave the Ironstone a rousing applause.

  As Forgrun turned to face the crowd, looking smug and soaking up the clapping and cheering, he glimpsed Logan’s face. The Sodan Master was shaking his head at Forgrun, with disapproval. Forgrun was baffled, what had he done wrong?

  There was a thud on the back of Forgrun’s head, as Sturad’s baton landed with shuddering force. Forgrun’s eyes went blank as he toppled. The crowd booed at Sturad, pointing their thumbs to the ground.

  Forgrun should not have let his guard down, Macen thought, not until the great bell rang out.

  Forgrun rose up to his knees, his eyes were dazed as he swayed. Sturad bellowed. He swung to knock the Ironstone out cold and finish it. But this time, Forgrun was ready. He ducked and rolled as Sturad struck. Coming up fast, Forgrun cracked the Claymore across the jaw with his baton. Charging forward, Forgrun hammered into Sturad with his shoulder, following through to pick him up over his back. Forgrun ran to the edge of the disc and hurled Sturad off, down to the water, to the crowd’s deafening approval. But somehow, the Claymore grabbed Forgrun’s clothes, whilst scrabbling to catch his foot on the edge of the disc. Sturad did just enough to take Forgrun tumbling over the edge with him.

  Together, the combatants plummeted the eight-foot into the water pit below. Forgrun hit the water first, and Sturad landed on top of him. The icy chill enveloped them both, and the sound of the cheering crowd went dull to their submerged ears. Confusion washed over them. Stewards jumped into the pit and yanked the floundering pair out of the water. Both the combatants were bewildered and bruised. Macen saw the entire crowd talking amongst themselves, no one knew who had won. As their team-mates congratulated the combatants on a hard fought battle, the Gaunt Ruck bell rang out and everyone in the coliseum went silent.

  The gamesmaster spoke out, ‘Claymore do had last foot on duel disc, an’ Ironstone be hittin’ aqua first. Shield be awarded ter… Claymore!’

  The Ironstone team screamed their frustration at this, as did the crowd, and an army of stewards had to get between them and the Claymore team. The Claymores pulled their ears out with their hands, puffed up their checks, stuck out their tongues and blew raspberries at the Ironstones. The crowd yelled their disapproval. The Gaunt Ruck bell rang out anew, scything through the chaos, as everyone stopped to watch the mesmeric twirling wheel. Macen knew Claymore now led Ironstone two shields to one. The wheel glided to a halt, falling on the next challenge, which was to be:

  ‘Stones!’ The gamesmaster cried out, and the crowd went wild all over again.

  ‘Meself and Ragad be ye ones fer Stones,’ Forgrun said angrily, as he glared over at Sturad.

  ‘Forgrun,’ Pendran said, ‘ye just do compete a gruellin’ duel, yhee should rest–’

  ‘Nay!’ Forgrun roared. ‘Ye barbarian an’ me do win ye Stones!’

  ‘Yhee be ye captain,’ Harnan nodded his head at Forgrun. ‘An’ if yhee say yhee can win – then go be win!’

  ‘Aye!’ All the Ironstone Rhungars hollered.

  Macen knew his friend wanted to win this Gaunt Ruck more than anything – especially now he had lost some of his pride in the duel with Sturad.

  The stewards rushed around the arena to secure the necessary equipment for Stones. Macen saw there was a marked out loading station – from where the stones had to be moved to a treasury in the end zone, in ascending order of weight, fifty feet away. The twelve spherical stones had to be transported by heavy carts, with metal spoked wheels to bear the hefty burden. The smallest of those enormous stones must have weighed more than Macen. Each stone had to be lifted by one person. Macen could see this was a test of raw strength, and he knew he would have had no chance of completing this task. There were three heavy carts for each team – one for each run of stones.

  Forgrun was fired up as the giant bell tolled, throwing his first couple of stones on the back of the cart, quickly followed by Ragad getting his two on board. They sprinted round to the front of the cart, each grabbing either side of the yoke, and hurtled the loaded cart down the track, leaving the two Claymore Rhungars for dust. Macen could see this first run of three was more a test of speed-strength than pure strength – as the challenge went on the Stones and the carts got larger.

  As the crowd howled, the Ironstone team did not let up their terrific pace. Forgrun and Ragad dragged their loaded cart into the end zone, and sprinted back down the track to start the next load, four stones of medium weight. Macen thought those stones looked incredibly heavy. But Forgrun and Ragad made swift work of getting them on the second cart, urged on by the deafening roars of the cheering stadium. With a massive initial exertion, Forgrun and Ragad got the heavy cart rolling down the track to the end zone. As they jogged wearily back to the loading zone, they passed the well behind Claymore Rhungars, huffing and puffing as they dragged their second laden cart the other way.

  ‘Never do team complete ye final load o’ stones!’ Harnan said to Macen, as they watched Ragad and Forgrun walk over to the last four massive stones.

  ‘On come, Ragad!’ Forgrun growled, as he went down on his hunches and got his huge arms under one of the mammoth stones.

  Knowing Forgrun well, Macen was sure the Rhungar wanted the honour of completing the Stones.

  Macen could see that to lift those hulking stones required a muscle bursting effort in the arms, the legs and the back. He saw how Ragad and Forgrun each strained with every bit of their great strength. The crowd roared as the contestants wrenched with all their might. With a bellowing cry, Forgrun loaded each of his two stones up to the third cart, as Ragad silently hefted his – wordless, but the struggle and the tension could be seen in the sinews of the Croma’s face, and the quivering of his bulging muscles. The Claymore team ran back to their third loading station, but they recognised they had little chance of even completing the last run, let alone catching the blue team.

  Spurred on by the overwhelming roar of the crowd, Forgrun and Ragad wearily plodded to the front of their third massive cart, and took up
position behind the yoke. They each grabbed one side. Macen saw a determined glare pass between Forgrun and Ragad before they flung themselves against the yoke, wrenching with their whole bodies. They tried to get the huge cart rolling, giving their maximum exertion. The cart would not budge, and everyone in the audience feared that even the prodigious strength of these two was not enough. But then, with the coliseum a cauldron of raucous, heartening cheers, Forgrun cried out the loudest battle cry Macen had ever heard, and the wagon edged forward an inch.

  ‘Go on! Macen yelled, but his voice was drowned out amongst the deafening din of a hundred similar shouts.

  Once Ragad and Forgrun had the enormous cart moving, they knew they could not let it stop, and they continued to haul with everything they had. The crowd screamed them on, louder than ever.

  Inching the heavy cart forward took all of their effort but, ever so slowly, it gained momentum, and they trudged it on towards the end zone, and crossed the finish line. Forgrun and Ragad both collapsed to the floor from the exertion, their breathing deep and gasping, their muscles trembling. The crowd erupted in admiration for the warriors’ efforts. Loud and long the spectators cheered. Everyone knew that no one ever finished Stones – but these two had!

  The blue of Forgrun’s Ironstone were duly awarded the shield for their efforts, and the whole stadium dispersed for a lunch break, with the Gaunt Ruck proper scheduled to begin in the afternoon.

  Macen followed his team to a quiet room under the stands, so they could talk tactics over lunch without being disturbed. They ate quickly, to give their food time to digest before they had to start running again, and because they were famished.

  Once everyone had scoffed down their bread and meat, Forgrun ran through the rules of the Gaunt Ruck game, which would involve the entire teams of both sides. From what Macen could gather, there were three additional shields available in the Gaunt Ruck, but it was also possible for the teams to steal shields already stored in the other team’s treasury.

  ‘Ye whole stadium be ye Gaunt Ruck pitch,’ Forgrun said to Macen and Ragad. ‘There be two opposite treasuries on pitch’s circumference, an’ also two opposite tackle posts – each spaced like ye twelve, three, six an’ nine o’ a clock.’

  ‘Like the points of a compass?’ Macen said, for Ragad’s benefit.

  ‘Aye,’ Forgrun nodded. ‘Each team be startin’ with shields they collected from ye challenges in their treasuries – in today’s match it be two each. Ye remainin’ three shields be placed in centre o’ coliseum. All we have ter do is be havin’ more shields inside our treasury than theirs by time ye final bell rings out. Are yhee with me thus far?’

  Both Men nodded.

  ‘Shields do be pilfered from opponent’s treasury,’ Forgrun held up a single finger, ‘but only one shield be carried at a time. If yhee get tackled, yhee must be runnin’ ter nearest tackle post. If yhee be carryin’ shield as yhee be gettin’ tackled, yhee must be droppin’ it ter floor. That be it. They be all rules.’

  ‘How do you tackle?’ Macen asked.

  Forgrun’s eyes glinted as he smiled, ‘Be grabbin’ opp’sition player anywhere below shoulders, an’ do get him ter floor any way yhee can.’

  ‘Sounds just like when my brothers and I play Maul back home,’ Macen said.

  ‘Positions!’ Forgrun gestured for the whole team to gather round. ‘Strategy! That be beauty o’ Gaunt Ruck! Macen an’ Donval an’ I be playin’ raiders. We be hunting fer shields, an’ be getting’ ’em inside our treasury. Harnan and Ragad do be keepers – yhee defend our treasury. And Pendran, yhee be catcher.’

  Macen knew Pendran was – for a Rhungar – a fast runner.

  ‘Catchers hunt down ye opponents carryin’ shields,’ Forgrun told Macen and Ragad. ‘And yhee two do be roamers.’ Forgrun said to the two Ironstones who Macen thought were the least effective players on the team. ‘Yhee must do be both raidin’ an’ keepin’. Tis most important role,’ Forgrun said boldly, and those two Rhungars swelled up with pride.

  Macen smiled at his friend’s ability to inspire.

  With this decided, Forgrun motioned for the team to suit up. Macen felt worried when he looked at the amount of padding that was sewn into his blue uniform. The elbows, forearms, shoulders, torso and knees were all covered by cushioned pads. There was even a padded helmet to put on. Macen wondered anxiously about what kind of ordeal needed this level of protection. He was also surprised at how quickly they had fashioned a padded suit for his smaller frame.

  Forgrun turned to Macen and Ragad, ‘Ye first minute do be a mad an’ senseless free for all!’ Forgrun beamed, and Macen knew his Rhungar friend was really going to enjoy this. ‘As both teams do scrap fer ye three shields in centre. Once these be claimed, players do adopt their positions an’ set ter stealin’ opponent’s shields – whilst be protectin’ our own, o’ course.’

  As Macen’s teammates began psyching themselves up by hitting each other, he had no idea what was about to happen. But given the physicality of the preliminary challenges, Macen knew he was in for a rough ride. All too soon, a two-minute warning came and the players made their final preparations for a battle, of sorts.

  Chapter 4 – Ironstone Expects

  The Ironstone team jogged out into the arena, and headed to the blue end of the Gaunt Ruck pitch. Macen had not thought it possible, but the coliseum was more full now than it had been during the morning, with more banners draped along walls, and countless flags being waved. Macen trembled with excitement as he loped onto the pitch. The roar of the crowd was so loud he could barely hear the instructions Forgrun was shouting.

  Seeing thousands of Rhungars watching made Macen feel as light and as powerless as air. But his footfalls felt heavier than the stomp of a Dhurran horse. He tried to ignore the queasiness in his stomach, by concentrating on breathing deep and slow. Was he about to make a fool of himself? He was not worried about getting hurt, looking stupid was what bothered him. Macen’s whole body tingled as a shudder of exhilaration coursed through him. He looked up to his companions in the Lord’s booth. He smiled and waved to them, showing them he was calm, although inside he was quaking.

  Macen lined up in front of the blue treasury, alongside his padded-up fellows of the blue Ironstone team. His Rhungar teammates slapped him on the back. Macen took in a deep breath and gulped, in an attempt to settle his stomach.

  ‘Ironstone! Ironstone!’ The crowd chanted over and over again.

  Macen’s heart jolted in time with the chant. He saw the swirling movement of the crowd, and watched the opposing team smashing their chests into each other. Macen was by far the smallest player on the pitch, even though he was the second tallest. But he always did like a challenge. He knew he would have to try and run round the other team, not through them. Macen had been the fastest runner back in the village growing up, and that gave him some comfort. Speed was the only way he could survive this. Macen prayed that would be enough.

  The giant Gaunt Ruck bell rang out. Macen’s attention was on the game. Fear was forgotten, as a pack of howling Rhungars charged towards him. Macen ignored the coliseum’s raging crowd, as he and his team-mates sprinted toward the centre of the pitch, on a collision course with the Claymore Rhungars.

  Both teams reached the middle at full pelt, and the Rhungars did not even slow down as they slammed into each other. Rhungar bodies went flying as Macen dodged aside and through the Claymores’ furious charge. The Rhungars on both teams launched themselves into the fray without any regard for safety, shoulder charging each other with juddering force. They growled and roared as they thumped into one another, and tried to up end each other. Macen saw fists flying in everywhere. He knew he had to move fast, as snarling Claymores swirled all around him.

  A handful of Rhungars were already sprawled on the ground, now only semi-conscious. The conflict centred over the three shields: flat, firm discs, two hand spans across, covered in quartered red and blue felt, and stuffed with cloth. Macen slipped between the figh
ting Rhungars, eluding their strong grasping arms.

  Forgrun had wrestled the first shield free, and was heading back to the blue treasury with the spoils. Ironstone Rhungars smashed into the Claymores. One red Rhungar hung around Ragad’s neck, as another worked on tripping his legs. Macen glanced around, before scooping down to pick up a free shield. Macen caught a flash of red out the corner of his eye. It was all happening in terrible slow motion. But Macen knew he was too committed to dodge out the way. Macen stood back up, and tried to brace himself. But he was smashed by a thundering shoulder charge. Macen flew. Hit clean off his feet. He saw the ground rushing towards his eyes, and struggled to get his hands up. His head smacked into the floor. Macen’s mind dazed as he gazed up, bleary eyed, to his attacker.

  ‘Welcome ter Gaunt Ruck,’ the Claymore Rhungar sneered, down through his great beard, as he picked up the shield Macen had been holding, and sprinted off with it back to the red treasury.

  Macen stumbled up to his feet and shook himself off. All the other players had left the centre and were heading back to their treasuries to regroup, or were scampering away to one of the tackle posts if they had been knocked off their feet.

  Macen returned to the blue treasury, via a tackle post, and Forgrun was bellowing orders:

  ‘Pendran, yhee take up thy catcher’s role outside their treasury. Ragad, don’ be afrai’ ter throw thy weight around, yhee see what they just done ter Macen…’ Forgrun’s voice trailed out of earshot as Macen got to the blue treasury.

  ‘Yhee be all right, lad?’ Harnan asked. The mighty Rhungar had taken up his keeper position, defending the treasury.

  ‘Yes,’ Macen said stoically.

  Harnan smiled at the man’s courage, ‘I be seein’ thy speed, lad. Don’ try an’ compete with brute force, play ter thy strengths.’ Harnan patted Macen on the shoulder.