o-----
“Do you think it was wild magic?” asked Cleothera. She had guessed that the lanky Ogre was a Blackcloak, the militant arm of The Deliberative, and an understanding had passed between them. “These poor people were obviously under some form of compulsion.”
“Maybe,” said Sax. He paused a moment, thinking about the encounter. He had not sensed any tainted magic before the attack. The remnants of the uncontrolled magic of The Reckoning usually had a distinct pattern. “We'll need to inform the authorities.”
“Could a Chosen be behind this?” asked Gavin.
“No,” said Sax. “Not directly. We'd be dead if that was the case. A Heretic I'd wager.”
“Not even Moltar would dare attack us in another Chosen's Domain.” added Ravius.
“Maybe some old weapon from The Reckoning that has been unearthed,” said Gavin.
“I hope not,” said Sax. “Some things are best left buried.”
“We'll get to the bottom of this,” said Cleothera. “We know bandits don't fight to the death; it doesn't make sense.”
“And then forget all about it the next day...” said Gavin. He eyed the frightened looking band they were leading through the forest. He couldn't believe these were the same people who'd attacked them last night.
o-----
After they reported the event to The Deliberative, Sax left them to meet with the Chosen of the Domain, Mordhawk. It was wise policy to inform the master of the Domain of any disturbances within his borders.
The Grey-Robes investigated the attack. They interrogated Gavin, Ravius, and Cleothera at length. They asked about the nature of the assault, any impressions of magic before the attack, and if the Gladiators had been trying to cast any spells. Gavin felt that the Grey-Robes were naturally inclined to blame the Gladiators, at least at first. After two days of questions they were finally cleared to return to the road.
They also scoured the area for signs of heresy or tainted magic. The official ruling was a surge of wild magic. Several of the dead were actual bandits, the rest were groups of travellers, possibly the bandit's next victims. The official ruling was close to the truth.
o-----
They stopped in a village a day from Dun Mordhawk. The houses were picturesque with their fitted stone walls and snow-capped roofs. Gavin made his way to the property of the smith, Liam Valcoeur. He left Ravius at the inn, bringing Cleothera with him. He wished Master Sax was with them; he knew the smith.
The smith's home was built on a hill. A low stone wall surrounded the garden and the out buildings with the woods cleared for a bow-shot all around... Smoke curled from the chimneys of a large smithy attached to the house. Gavin could see a man working at an anvil, deep in concentration, his hammer rising and falling, pounding out rhythmically.
Gavin hesitated. His carefully prepared words died in his throat as he took a clear look at the smith. The eyes of the Gifted are sharper than most. There was no mistaking the familiar patterns of the face, even hidden in a beard. The brown hair was a little sandier; the blue eyes were a little lighter. Beside him Cleothera's eyes went wide and Gavin could tell that she had come to the same conclusion. The smith, Liam Valcoeur, was his father.
Gavin's thoughts fractured. The mysterious smith, the reclusive weapon-maker in whom Sax seemed to put so much faith, the man who had made his own war-spear, appeared to be his father.
Gladiators cannot keep their children, even the ungifted ones. They are free to establish relationships with them once they have grown, but many do not. It was a complexity that he and Sadira discussed often.
It could be that Valcoeur had no desire to meet his long lost son. The man had never tried to contact him, after all. Gavin had much to be proud of: he was skilled in Cogimancy, the magic of the mind and senses, one of the most difficult of the forms taught in the Domains. He carried the laurels of a Faction Champion, won in Scorpion's Oasis. Skilled in defence, a master of shield and spear, he was courageous and thoughtful, though he would not claim so out loud. He has come far.
And the spear... was Gavin's choice of a spear made by his own father just a cruel trick of fate or did his father arrange to have the weapon make its way to him? The possibilities clashed in Gavin's head.
Will Valcoeur have heard of Sadira, he wondered? Most people have by now. Will this man who-is-likely his father look down on him because of the rumours surrounding his lover? Or will he be impressed that his son has the love of one who will soon be a Grand Champion soon?
Liam had left the arena... how did he feel about The Great Games?
And what of his mother?
Gavin drowned himself in questions while he stared distantly at the smith. It is a weakness of the thoughtful, this kind of hesitation. After a moment, he turned to Cleothera.
“I'm going to wait until Sax can make a proper introduction,” he said.
“Gavin,” said Cleothera, with the urgency of someone who knows the pain of having no family. “Look at him. You cannot lose this chance.”
“Now is not the time,” replied Gavin, impatiently.
Cleothera shrugged, putting on the impassive mask of her profession. She tried not to let her exasperation show. Sometimes Gavin over-thought things.
The smith watched them go, eyes sharp, memorizing every detail.
o-----
“Are you sure you’re ready to fight again?”
Gavin felt a surge of irritation at pale Cleothera’s question. Behind him, Ravius chuckled. Despite the time he had spent away from the arena, Gavin's frustration had only grown. Being forced apart from Sadira gnawed at him still; he wanted to change his circumstances, but felt helpless to do so. Now he felt foolish for squandering his opportunity to meet with the smith. Cleothera’s mothering tone reminded him of his weakness. Ravius’ amusement did not help his mood.
“When did I become so angry?” he asked himself, struggling to overcome his inner storm. His friends were acting as they always did; he had no right to take his anger out on them.
“I can’t say…,” he responded, after taking deep breath. “But, if I am going to make a name for myself I have to start somewhere.”
“Come now, little brother, we’ve already achieved some degree of fame with our victory at the Oasis,” interjected Ravius. “People are still talking about it, even up here.”
“That’s true,” added Cleothera. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself Gavin.”
Gavin shrugged. As far as he was concerned, his Victory Laurels from the Faction Games belonged to Sadira; she had assumed the mantle of leadership and dragged them all forward. They were the supporting cast to her storybook hero. Now he felt like he was offstage, no longer truly part of the legend she was weaving. It was a gloomy thought, and he knew she would mock him for it, but he could not help himself.
His beloved reached out to him as often as she could, given the strictures on Gladiator communications. He was glad he still had her affections, but part of him felt unworthy. He needed to prove himself, to win his way back to her. Think of how proud she would be if he were a Grand Champion as well.
He shook his head. He was getting caught up in dark thoughts, as usual.
“Look, I don’t want to make a mountain out of this,” he said. “We’ve been training hard since we got here, and it might be months before they hold another entrance trial for the Free Leagues.”
“Truth,” said Ravius, sombrely. “Besides, a match could hardly be more painful than training with Sax. The old bastard's been getting pretty creative with his lessons lately…”
o-----
Although being separated from Sadira pained him, eight months of travel had been a revelation to Gavin.
After leaving Scorpion’s Oasis, and Sadira, he and his companions had taken the well-travelled imperial roads as they travelled north out of Chosen Giselle’s Domain.
Cleothera bought a horse, a massive white Aradian Stallion; the Gladiators went on foot.
They stopped at old rui
ns and monuments, places of significance in history or natural beauty, whenever Gavin could persuade Cleothera, Ravius, and Sax to do so. Although nominally still fighters for the Red Faction, they had not been assigned to any Faction leagues and thus were no longer under the constant pressure they’d faced in their winning season at the Oasis. Gavin made the best of this; exploring and seeking out new experiences whenever he could. He felt less constrained than ever before, but still far from free.
After more than a month’s travel with heavily guarded merchant caravans through the Sea of Sands, they arrived in Grandia’s Landing, spending their festival days there. A bustling port city built on the southern shores of the Serpent’s Bay that bisects the middle of the Domains; Grandia’s Landing was one of the first colonies of the Domains founded after The Reckoning. Like the Capital, it was ruled by the people instead of falling under the rule of one of The Chosen.
The city, although not without its rough edges, had a friendly feel to it that Gavin wanted to attribute to the freedom its citizens enjoyed. The markets were full of travellers and the arena had a grand view of the bay.
Still Gavin felt a little melancholy at not being able to connect with Sadira, even briefly, for the holiday, but the great gusto with which the people of the Landing celebrated won him over quickly enough.
From Grandia they sailed north and east along the Serpent Gulf to Krass. Despite growing up in the city Gavin had never seen the Capital from this perspective. The great walls closed off the harbour as well, hiding his initial view of the ports. He could still see the great mass of columns and arches that was the Grand Arena with the roof of the Assembly of the Covenant just visible beyond it. Thrusting above them both was the towering obsidian pillar which housed the Halls of The Chosen, not nearly as massive, but far taller.
“Looks like it wants to have its way with the clouds, doesn't it little brother?” said Ravius beside him.
Gavin shook his head while Cleothera made a sour face. Ravius laughed.
After spending some time in the Capital, Cleothera decided that they would continue by ship. Crossing the mountains in winter was a risky proposition at the best of times, while the enchanted ships of the Domains feared not ice nor snow.
They passed through Mazurinhold on their way north, spending a day among the fortress-university on the coast. Soon after leaving, they rounded the tip of the continent. The iron ship shed ice as it formed and cut its way through treacherous waters with the aid of steam and magic. They sighted a polar Kraken hugging an iceberg from underneath, but it was too wary of the loud ship to come close.
They did not stop in the Trapholds heading straight down into Frostbay. Gain cursed the ice then, for it denied him a chance to look into the clear waters of the bay at the ruins deep under the water. He had heard that they were spectacular.
o-----
“Names?” The Free Leagues clerk was strangely informal, even for a junior officer of The Deliberative. His attitude was akin to that of a man tallying grain stocks instead of taking the names of fighters for a league qualifier.
“Ravius Vergerus,” said Ravius, teeth gleaming in the sun as he grinned.
The clerk, deftly recording this, suddenly looked up at Ravius, irritated and expectant, before Gavin could utter his own name.
Ravius paused for effect, drawing it out. The clerk's stylus hovered impatiently above his tablet, involuntarily still. “Arena name: Ravishing Rude Ravius.”
The clerk frowned, unable to tell if the Gladiator had forgotten or was merely jesting at her expense. This robbed him of his chance to be superior and he quickly turned to Gavin.
“Gavin Orphanus,” said Gavin evenly. “Lionfang.”
The clerk paused, gazing at the information in the crystal of his link tablet.
“I see,” he said. “You're both Gladiators, ranked six... Faction Champions, albeit from a small town in the south... Decent records... Still in good standing with the Reds. I see no problems here, honoured Gladiators. Do you wish to join the Free Leagues?”
“We do,” Gavin answered, cutting off any chance for Ravius to exercise his wit. They had, after all, stood outside in the rain and mud for several hours for this very reason, but the clerk still needed their official acquiescence.
“Agreed,” said Ravius.
They both touched their thumbs to the clerk’s link device to finalize their agreement.
“Very well,” said the clerk after a few more minutes of fiddling with his link. “The trials are tomorrow. It will count as a regular match for your career ranking purposes. We will be taking two fighters from each trial, win or lose. I have entered you both in the trials appropriate to your training. Please feel free to browse through the trial rules on your way out.”
Ravius smiled brightly at the clerk, but his expression quickly darkened after they stepped outside.
“Champions of a small town?” he grumbled. “That’s more than he’ll ever be. I’ve been poisoned, cut, set on fire, stabbed, and stepped on by a giant. I’m damn proud of what we have accomplished!”
“You can get your revenge by winning, my friend,” said Gavin
“Truth, little brother,” nodded Ravius. “The best vengeance is a life full of sex, wine, and victory.”
“Something like that,” said Gavin, rolling his eyes. “Now let’s go find Sax and Cleo and find out what we can expect from these trials...”
o-----
“Things are less complicated in the Free Leagues than the Faction Games.” said Sax.
“We know, Old Wolf,” interjected Ravius, earning himself a glare from Sax. “No need to wax poetic. We’d like to know about the trials…”
Sax sighed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at Ravius before continuing; the skirmisher merely grinned in response.
“Gavin, you can expect a survival match; it will be tough but the rules will be familiar. As for you,” he turned to Ravius. “You get to put all that clowning to good use.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ravius.
“Well you may have noticed that we're in cattle country up here,” Sax gestured to the ranches beyond the town. The wiry ogre paused for effect.
“…and?” said Ravius, fidgeting and impatient.
“Well the people of Bullstock raise cattle,” drawled Sax, becoming unusually expansive in order to savour the skirmisher’s discomfort. “Cattle-folk are truly proud of their prize bulls; they used to pit them against each other in fights to the death to show who had the best stock, but the loss of a bull or sometimes both is too expensive.”
“I see,” said Ravius, calming himself. “I’m sorry I interrupted you, Master Sax. I’d like to know about the actual trial.”
“Well, you get to do a little bull baiting,” said Sax with obvious relish.
“Oh, I think I’ve been to a match like that.” Cleothera exclaimed. “On the plateau in the Giant’s Teeth Mountains…”
“Shepherd’s Reach?” volunteered Gavin.
“Yes, that sounds right,” she continued. “They’d get the bulls to charge them, jump over them and dodge around them. It was surprisingly entertaining.”
“The same basic idea,” said Sax. “Although the bulls they grow here are about twice the size of the ones you saw on the plateau. Very aggressive too; they grew strong to protect their herds from Beastmen and frost wolves after The Reckoning. They also feed 'em all kinds of strange concoctions before the match; makes 'em even stronger and more territorial.”
“Sound like great fun,” muttered Ravius.
Gavin chuckled.
“Actually they feed the same stuff to the Beastmen that you will likely be fighting, Gavin,” added Sax. “It can’t make 'em any crazier, of course, but it does make 'em a bit more deadly…”
“Lovely,” said Gavin, not quite as amused now. “Any good news?”
“Are you tired of fighting on sand?” said the Ogre, breaking into a broad grin at their expressions.
o-----
The Bullsto
ck arena was a sturdy corral commonly used to hold livestock, filled with mud and what looked suspiciously like manure. A series of ingenious folding stands made of steel and polished wood were quickly erected around the huge pen. Runed posts were then placed around the fence to prevent stray spells from hitting the spectators and keep any monsters from leaving the fighting grounds. It was impressive, but rather depressing after the opulence of Scorpion's Oasis.
Gavin's trial was held mid-morning. As usual, Gavin arrived early, escorted by a yawning Cleothera.
The stands were slowly filling with spectators. The makeshift arena looked like it could hold a decent sized audience. A festival atmosphere accompanied the event, with vendors, food pits, and games set up around the arena. The [people were surprisingly friendly.
The Gladiator’s arming rooms were large, framed tents near one of the entrances to the pens. The tents were not as luxurious as the facilities in most small arenas, let alone the gilded marble rooms of the arena at Scorpion’s Oasis, where he’d won victory laurels, at Sadira’s side. Nonetheless they were well-crafted and private.
His weapons were waiting for him in the tent. Bullstock did not have a large enough Deliberative presence to form a Gladiator’s quarter, and being allowed to carry his own weapons through the streets was apparently out of the question. This restriction made Gavin frown; every civilian that he’d seen thus far in the Northlands carried a large knife at the very least, and many openly carried powerful weapons like spike-throwers. He felt like a second class citizen.
“I had better get used to it,” he thought. Free leagues matches were often held in places where there were no Gladiator’s quarters or even a permanent arena. The idea of being a wandering Gladiator, not tied down to a particular arena had appealed to Gavin, who wanted to see the world and be among the people of the Domains. It was not without its disadvantages however, something he felt foolish for not considering before.
Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power Page 2