Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power

by C. P. D. Harris

  Rather than launch itself at him again, the beast regarded the Gladiator with alien eyes. Gavin took the time to catch his breath and weave a spell. He knew what was coming next. He released his spell. The beast drew back and spewed a stream of glass shards.

  The same ward screens that protect the audience from magic and stray projectiles help them see illusions and magics that would be invisible to the unaided eye. Thus the cheering spectators could tell that the Gladiator had conjured an image of himself. He sent it running in one direction while he dove in the other. The spider-thing had no such advantage. It could only perceive the image Gavin conjured. Thus it vomited glass shards at Gavin's phantom.

  Gavin, willing himself to move quickly despite his blood loss, closed with the creature while it scuttled in confusion. He threw his weight behind his shield, crashing into it. The glass carapace crunched, fracturing as he connected. The beast whirled away in a blur of limbs, trying to position itself to aim another spray of deadly shards at the Gladiator.

  Gavin did not think he could take another blast; none of his cuts were healing. He was covered in sheen of sweat and blood.

  The Gladiator shadowed the creature as it scuttled away, ducking a side-swipe of a bladed limb. Stabbing his spear at the fracture caused by his shield slam, he found himself wishing he had a hammer or mace. A heavy bludgeoning weapon would crush its glass body much easier than his spear thrusts. His shield would have to do. Perhaps he could crush it into the side of the arena.

  The creature reached the wall, but did not stop. It scuttled nimbly up, using the spikes in the wall as footholds and flapping its wings. The crowd gasped and a few of the more panic-prone members cringed away from the edge of the pit or leapt from their seats as it danced up the wall and then launched itself into the air above Gavin.

  The Gladiator skidded to a stop and reversed direction. The creature flew over him. Each breath burned now. It would be so easy to just give in to fatigue and blood-loss. He felt weighed down. The creature landed, green carapace glistening, facing him, gathering itself to fire another lethal salvo. Gavin was two steps too far away to ram it. It drew back. He threw his spear underarm, a quick, but inaccurate toss. The creature reflexively flinched away from the heavy, flying spear as it spat, fouling its aim. Some shards hit Gavin, leaving deep red furrows on his flesh where his armour did not protect him, but most of the spray missed. The stalwart Gladiator let out a war-shout, tapping into pure primal adrenaline and pain fuelled fury to find the strength to continue. He surged into the creature, shield-first, as it turned to run.

  The thick glass-like carapace splintered against the wall with a sound not unlike ice breaking under-foot. He pinned it, crushing it into the stone with his shield. Leaning into the beast, he drew his short blade. Two spiky limbs lifted and speared at him as the creature tried to use its weight to topple him. Gavin swung his sword at one of the claws. The blade struck true, smashing the spindly limb. Shards rained down on him, threatening his eyes. He flinched. The other limb skidded off his thick shoulder armour. He felt something slice into his abdomen. He bellowed and pushed harder.

  The beast was heavy, but not overly powerful; it could not match Gavin's supernatural strength, nor his superior leverage. He kept pushing and hacking with his sword. A broken glass limb fell to the sand. The crowd cheered. The beast swivelled its monstrous maw towards the Gladiator, seeking to spit its deadly shards. Gavin smashed the thick pommel of his sword into its head. A black eye burst into tiny slivers. Two more limbs slammed against his shield. Another speared him through his leg. Gavin shouted in pain and anger, staggering back. The creature slipped out. Desperately, Gavin hacked off the offending limb in a single blow, sending glass shards flying everywhere. Unbalanced, the creature skidded to the ground.

  Before it could regain its feet Gavin slammed the edge of his shield into its head. His caught the fracture caused by his pulverizing pommel smash. Adrenaline replaced the energy that blood-loss had stolen. Splinters of green glass flew, almost blinding him. Gavin didn't care; he just wanted to end it. He did not need to see to strike again. Raising his shield again, in both hands, he slammed it down at the squirming green blur with all the force he could muster. CRUNCH. The creature's limbs stopped flailing. He repeated the attack again for good measure. CRUNCH. He staggered, suddenly feeling the weight of his wounds. Blackness threatened. The crowd cheered.

  Gavin hefted his shield and brought it down thrice more, rewarded with a brutal splintering impact each time. He was too tired for a fourth. Standing took a titanic effort. The beast was finished. Had it suddenly sprung back to life he would not even have enough energy to raise his shield. He was sweating, bloody, and dizzy. His vision was blurring. His ears rang. He staggered to his feet. Exhaustion dragged at him. The fight had taken every measure of endurance from him. He wanted to rest.

  His sword felt as if it weighed more than a sack full of rocks as he lifted it to salute the crowd, but victory felt somehow sweeter. The crowd was on its feet. Pride kept Gavin upright as he walked out of the arena leaving a trail of blood and glass.

  o-----

  “Sounds like a great fight, beloved,” said Sadira to the ghostly image of her too distant lover, conjured forth from her link crystal. “I wish I could have been there to cheer for you.”

  “It would have helped, I’m sure,” he said with a half-smile. “Once I realized that the wounds weren’t going to heal, it really changed my strategy. It was an interesting test, I guess. I think they were trying to see how we reacted to having our healing taken away. I had to draw upon anger, pride, every last bit of energy and will that I could marshal just to finish.”

  “That sounds like my kind of fight,” Sadira responded, relishing the thought of such a contest. It was not the type of test that The Deliberative would give to her though. Most Gladiators felt ranking matches tested their weaknesses, and bloody-minded endurance was Sadira's best defence. Gavin was smart, but prone to over-thinking. They had set him up against a foe who had foiled his plans and forced him into uncharacteristic aggression. She had to admit it was a good lesson for him. “My last ranking match was an unmitigated disaster.”

  “Really? I thought you won?” said Gavin. “I do follow about your matches love, even here in the Free Leagues. Am I missing something?”

  “We won the match and I passed my Rank,” she responded, looking at the Grey-Robe nearby, overseeing their conversation; a precautionary measure, relic of the many Gladiator’s rebellions in the history of the Domains. “Karmal did not get hers, however, and she blames me for that. We have not exchanged polite words for a while now. She actually tried to flatten me in training and earned herself a blackout from the Grey-Robes.”

  “I hadn’t heard that,” responded Gavin. His concern showed in his voice. Sadira could see he was already getting angry on her behalf; Gavin had a tense relationship with Karmal. “What happened?”

  Sadira sank back into the pile luxurious silk cushions, taking a moment to compose her thoughts; the truth was she had trouble sorting the event out herself.

  “Our ranking fight was a pairs match, fighting Sand Slayer serpents,” she began, pausing for a moment when Karmal’s face, twisted with anger, flashed into her mind. Their friendship was based on rivalry; perhaps she it was time to show Karmal who led the pack, once again.

  “Big constrictors that spit acidic venom, and have scales that can deflect an axe-blow?” prompted Gavin.

  “Three prime specimens,” said Sadira. “We worked out a loose strategy before the match. I was to distract our opponents while Karmal burned whatever we were fighting down with her spells. Problem is that the Sand Slayers proved very resistant to Karmal’s main attack spells; our plan did not survive contact with the enemy. Sand Slayers are very resistant to fire. I improvised. Karmal… did not react well to the change in plan. After, she accused me of something crazy like bribing The Deliberative. You know her temper. We won the match but she failed the ranking test.”

&nbs
p; She looked up sharply at the Grey-Robe listening in on her conversation. Gavin would have Cleothera with him most likely; whereas she had one of the many Officers of The Deliberative who cycled through Chosen Giselle’s private stables: a stranger. The Grey-Robe, a young ogre woman, looked away studiously. Sadira frowned and turned her attention back to Gavin’s ghostly image.

  “I think they failed her on teamwork,” she said. “They know she relies heavily on her Pyromancy. Regardless, after the match she blamed it all on me. She ranted incoherently and threw things. Typical Karmal behaviour. She said I wanted to steal her glory. Then she accused me of always stealing the show from her, whatever that means. I told her to grow up. Worse things were said after that. She tried to mangle me in training a week later; we've not spoken since… It will sort itself out, but things will be unpleasant here until she calms down.”

  “Sadira, a true friend would not blame you for her own mistakes,” he said, “You know my opinion of Karmal…”

  “Gavin, she’s my oldest friend,” Sadira’s voice hardened imperceptibly. “She's always been like this; she's just competitive.”

  “People change, Sadira,” said Gavin. “You have made quite a name for yourself; Karmal might very well see you as an obstacle to her own destiny now. I think she is jealous, not just a rival.”

  “I don't know,” she said. “… Karmal is just acting like Karmal. I can't see anything different. Besides she's the only one of my old team that I still have with me. I miss them; I miss you.”

  “I miss you too,” he said.

  Gavin steered the conversation to more pleasant ground. He felt that pushing Sadira further on the topic of Karmal would not do any good. Besides they were rarely allowed to speak to each other in this fashion, a legacy of a Glad rebellion long before they were even born, and he did not want to waste the opportunity. They talked late into the night, until fatigue forced them to part and seek their lonely beds.

  Interlude Two: Parlay

  (1150/07/17 AR, the Grand Arena in Krass, Semi-Final of the Grand Championships)

  “Rivalries are encouraged among Gladiators. We are told that a good rival drives us to train harder, fight better, and focus on the arena. This may be true, but the real reason is that the crowd loves watching two rivals fight.” Vulluriel Valcoeur

  “Gladiatrix, Gladiatrix

  Sword in her hand, blood on the Sand!

  Death in her eyes, she's battle-wise!

  Gladiatrix, Gladiatrix

  Come see her fight, the crowd's delight!

  Head in her hand, blood on the Sand!” An old arena cheer.

  "Long time no see, Red Scorpion," said Karmal. The flame-haired woman smiled, revealing too-sharp teeth. “You're a long way from the whorehouse. Having fun with those two little harlots you `rescued' from Dregs? Do they fill the void now that Lina's worn out?”

  Sadira answered with a gesture. Looking into Karmal’s eyes, she found it difficult to force herself to see beyond past friendship and acknowledge the hatred burning in those emerald depths. Memory and reality battled within her.

  The crowd was quiet now, listening to the voices of the two Gladiatrices, amplified by magic. The trumpets would not sound until the verbal sparring ended; this was widely considered to be the best match of the Grand Championships, two lifelong friends turned bitter rivals.

  Sadira thought about putting on a show, returning Karmal’s taunt and concealing how she felt from the crowd; it would be easier that way. But she did not hate her former team-mate; instead she felt a deep sense of loss where their friendship had been severed. She spoke from the heart, not caring how the fans would react.

  “Why the insults Karmal?” she asked, her crisp voice carrying her sorrow to one-hundred thousand people. “We were friends once..."

  “Champions cannot be friends,” said Karmal. She smiled, displaying a predator's teeth. In truth she looked inhuman now, horned and fanged; a creature of power and daemonic allure; yet Sadira still saw the woman underneath, the friend from her youth. "Only one can be Chosen. If you want my friendship so badly then forfeit to me. Show the people who is the better woman."

  “You know I would never do that,” said Sadira. "But just because we're rivals on the fighting ground doesn't mean we need to treat each other bitterly. Those two 'harlots' are kids I rescued from Dregs and you know it. If you need to fight me, fine. We've been down this road before. I don't mind crossing blades with you any more than I do with Minerva. We'll fight and then the winner can buy the loser a drink and we'll be friends again. You don't need to repeat that crap they print about me. You know it’s beneath you. Why the anger?"

  "I lived in your shadow for years,” growled Karmal, runes on her war-cleaver flickering; Sadira could sense ripples of magic from the weapon, as well as the some more exotic disciplines taught to Karmal. She measured them as they talked. "I never really realized how much you were using me until you cost me that ranking match in Brightsands.”

  “We won the match, remember?” said Sadira, a touch of icy impatience creeping into her voice. “You just failed the ranking part. I passed it. Does that not tell you something?”

  “It tells me that you are a spoiled little slut who gets what she wants because everyone wants to fuck her.” snarled Karmal, hands tightening on her blade, muscles heaving with anger, “You get easy treatment because you're everyone's favourite, Sadira, you always have been. Even the Grey-Robes treat you better. Tell me, does you little man-toy know what you’ve been doing behind his back? Is he too weak and pathetic even to bring it up?”

  "Oh please Karmal, I never expected you to believe that kind of gossip-mongering," said Sadira. She shook her head.

  "Girl I've watched you take three at a time," said Karmal. Some of the crowd jeered and leered at this. "I doubt little Lionfang can measure up to some of the experiences we shared."

  "I outgrew that long ago Karmal," said Sadira. "Gavin and I share a special bond. Don't you understand love?"

  "How could you love someone like that: he's a fucking weakling," spat Karmal.

  "Gavin is not weak," countered Sadira, blazing with anger. “Watch your mouth.”

  "He's no Valaran," said Karmal, smirking. "It took me a long time to figure out why you'd stick with someone like Gavin over Valaran. You just can't abide anyone who threatens your place in the pack."

  “You mistake his protective nature for weakness,” said Sadira, “Take it up with him on the fighting grounds; you will be surprised by the outcome. Just like Valaran was when they met in Dregs. As for the rest of it, you should mind your own actions instead of mine; maybe if you did you would have passed that test the first time. They put you up against something your spells were weak against for a reason Karmal. Why can't you see that? I thought the Blues taught personal responsibility?”

  Flame haired Karmal’s eyes flashed. Her crimson lips twisted into a bestial snarl. “You think you're better than me Sadira. I will prove you wrong. After I cut you down, everyone watching us will see you for what you are: a spoiled little war-whore.”

  “The truth is this Karmal,” replied Sadira, her voice steady and cold. “When we were companions, I never cared which of us was better; I only worried about improving my own skills, winning my own matches, and helping the team advance. Anything else you read into it is a fabrication of your own jealousy. You should walk away right now, and reconsider why you want to face me.”

  "I'll think about it after I split you open from cunt to collar," said Karmal, sneering. "And I don't think anyone believes I'd be jealous of a whore who fucked and strutted her way to the top!"

  “Enough...” snapped Sadira, drawing her swords to signal her readiness to begin. She felt rage suffuse her. Karmal was exceptionally acidic today. “If you need to prove that you are better than me, do so with fire and steel, old friend.”

  “Very well,” said Karmal tartly. “I just have one little point of order to take care of.”

  She turned to the arena master's box.<
br />
  “I CALL FOR UT NEX!” she roared.

  A stunned silence descended over the arena as the echoes of her voice rolled like thunder from the mountain top.

  Chapter Thirty-Six: The Maze

  1145/10/19 AR, Dun Mordhawk

  “I see the arena as a way to hone the Gifted into better servants of the Domains. Every Gladiator is a potential Chosen, but also a potential Warbound or Hearthbound. Some may become teachers or even found a new discipline. Even those who are sundered and choose the life of a vassal can bring the experiences learned in the arena to bear on their new lives. A weaponsmith who has been a Gladiator makes better weapons, for example. This is why I advocate for new matches, new arena types, and new training methods. We must prepare them.” Chosen Mordhawk

  The invitation to meet with Chosen Mordhawk took Gavin by surprise; he was pleased, but like many who are not certain of their own worth, or buoyed by overconfidence, he was suspicious of the attention of such a powerful man, and therefore, also rather nervous. One cannot fathom the minds of The Chosen, he thought.

  Chosen Mordhawk was not as well-known as most of his peers. Elder Chosen, like Chosen Marius or Chosen Moltar, are famed throughout the Domains: they are living historical figures who predate the founding of the civilization they lead, legends one and all. Even the most reclusive of the Elder Chosen, like Chosen Eudora, are so deeply woven into the tapestry of history and myth in the Domains that they are never forgotten. They walked with Ezuis, the mortal philosopher who sealed the covenant. They are living ancestors. Many of the Successor Chosen, those who replaced or were added to the original ranks of the immortal rulers of the Domains, are widely known because of their exploits in the arena or the cult of celebrity. But a few of the successor Chosen, those who are inclined to privacy, can fade into the background. Mordhawk was one of these; it was in his nature to seek the shadows and the wild places.