Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power

by C. P. D. Harris

  Each of the Gladiators wore a mask: Gavin's was a silver lion half-mask, Omodo's a dark green executioner's hood that seemed out of sorts with his grin; Ravius wore the golden face of a fool; while Vintia wore a half-mask designed to look like a Legionnaire's helmet.

  The buildings of the town cast long shadows in the growing dark, but the light from within made them seem even more cheerful. Not so, the entrance to the dragon's lair where the masquerade would be held, which seemed like the gaping maw of some malformed monstrosity. The cave inside was shadowed, swallowing those who went before them within a few steps. Magic seemed to seep from the darkness around the maw. The presence of so many Grey-Robes at the threshold, wearing simple grey masks, seemed oddly appropriate.

  They showed their invitations and crossed into the cavern. The first few steps were uncomfortable as the echoes of old dragon-magic, wards designed to scare away unwanted visitors assaulted them. Gavin could sense the power flowing through them, but the patterns of Dragon-weaves, like many forms of pre-Reckoning magic, were difficult for him to read. Perhaps he would return to study them one day.

  The Darkness abruptly cleared and they found themselves in a wide, gradually ascending passageway. The stone was worn smooth. Crystal torches, regularly placed along the wall gave off a soft, flickering light. Their footsteps echoed, and they could hear the sound of many voices, music, and laughter up ahead.

  Abruptly the passage levelled off and widened into an enormous cavern. The rock was carved, creating a space as level as any palace floor. Chandeliers of raw crystal hung from ancient fingers of stone, creating a forest of shifting shadows on the ceiling of the brightly lit room. Rich red carpets and artful furniture from around the Domains gave the room a sumptuous, formal feeling. Musicians played from the corner, a pleasant tune that drifted through the cavern.

  Ravius grinned. The room was full of people clustered in various groups: Gladiators in their armour and simple masks, The Chosen and the elite of the Domains in elaborate, daring costumes. He was in his element now.

  Omodo searched for the Dragon's Voice, a woman who represented a patron he wished to proposition, although he lingered for a moment to listen to the sweet sounds of string and voice.

  Vintia's eyes were drawn to a place where the stone was melted like wax, a remnant of the Dragon's battle against the Chosen, long ago. Gavin started to follow her, but a heavily laden tray of food caught his attention. Soon he was devouring crispy scythe-beetle wings covered in crystallized semi-sweet fae-honey and wrapped in bacon. The savoury salty sweetness was so delicious he stood oblivious, simply enjoying the mix of exotic flavours.

  “Should I throw one at you?” said a familiar voice, close behind him, and the sultry tone sending a shiver down his spine. He turned to face Karmal. Her mask was a shimmering veil of tiny rubies, each dancing with a spark of enchanted flame. A much larger ruby dangled in the valley between her ostentatious breasts, now uncomfortably close, its warm light playing off her creamy skin. Her emerald eyes, fever-bright, regarded him with naked intent. He wanted to step away but knew the predatory Gladiatrix would take it as a sign of weakness.

  Karmal's crimson lips curved into an amused smile. She did not find Gavin especially attractive in his own right, but the thought of taking him from Sadira filled her with heat. Sadira was too close to the people around her, not smart enough to see them as tools and not ruthless enough to discard those that were weighing her down. Karmal knew better. “Don't worry; she's not here yet; besides we both know she trusts you...”

  Gavin took a deep breath and squared his gaze with hers. “Karmal, I don't want any part of your game. You act as if nothing's happened but you have insulted my friends. Unless you are going to make amends for your ugly behaviour, we don't have anything to say to each other.”

  Karmal laughed with wicked gusto. “Who cares about hurt feelings? I'm here to conquer. You will do well to remember that. When I am Chosen, I will act upon how you treated me...!”

  “How have I ever been anything but fair to you?” he said, ice in his voice.

  “Oh, please,” she protested. “Drop the righteous act, Gavin. There are no good men in the winner's circle. Your precious books are lies for children, honey for those who cannot stomach the raw truth of power. I know your kind though. You cling to Sadira because she is strong and you call it love to trap her.”

  “Love,” said Gavin. “Do you even know what that means, Karmal?”

  “Better than you, bookworm,” she said, smirking. “All true beauty and all proper desire is a reflection of my love for my life. True love is the strong recognizing the strong. Desire is a celebration of power. I would never have dared challenge Sadira until she attached herself to you.”

  “You see her love for me as some sort of weakness?” said Gavin.

  “I see it as an indication of a flaw. What else could it be?” Karmal shook her head, her hair like curling flames, the rubies of her mask chiming like delicate bells. She sighed, genuinely frustrated. Could the weak even understand the language of the powerful? “What could she possibly gain from being with you?”

  Gavin smiled. Not so long ago he might have agreed with Karmal, but he knew himself and his lover better now. Sadira had gained control of her anger because of him and he had helped her through the trials of leading them in the Oasis. He both challenged her and soothed her. She had unyielding faith in him. When they were together they were both greater than when they were apart. He thought of the times their magics had joined in the arena. Even Sadira, powerful as she was, could grow with the right support. It was something that he could never make Karmal understand; she was blind to any greatness beyond the efforts of the individual. “Perhaps she sees something in me that you can't.”

  “You're right Gavin,” said Karmal. “She sees something that doesn't exist, though. I see through your noble facade. I see the weakness and the cowardice beneath it all. Gavin the sensitive Gladiator, a hero who is too noble for the vicious bloodshed of the arena. You pretend to hold yourself above what we do, but I know you are just too weak to partake. Sadira carries you because of a misguided sense of pity and self-sacrifice. You've seduced her into thinking that if she supports you she is a 'good' person, doing the righteous deed. You have taken something beautiful and strong and spoiled it, like the worm in an apple. What will you do when she's gone?”

  “Sometimes I agree with you,” said Gavin. “I look over at the woman next to me and wonder how I could possibly ever be worthy of someone so great. I tell her this and she laughs. Why is it so hard for you to understand that she loves me, Karmal?

  “Because love is the way the mighty show their zest for life,” said Karmal. “What you have is an illusion based on lies and pity. Besides, I've known Sadira longer than you. I've experienced her appetites first-hand. A man like you couldn't possibly satisfy someone like that.”

  “You have a very barren view of the world Karmal,” said Gavin. “We shall see where it takes you. I meant what I said. We have nothing to say to each other. But I do owe the woman who once fought by my side an answer: if Sadira falls before I do, I will seek to avenge her, as she will do with me. If you somehow kill her, I will be glad to face you, be you Gladiatrix or be you Chosen.”

  Gavin turned and walked away. Karmal's mocking laughter followed him.

  o-----

  Chosen Moltar attended the Masquerade dressed as a Knight of the Kingdom of the Seven Suns, a civilization that had died long before The Reckoning. The elaborate knight's armour was made from shaped metal plates covered in Seven Suns iconography, gold and diamond sunbursts, and barely visible runes. Few realized that the armour was genuine; despite the Chosen's massive size the suit fit him perfectly. He did not wear a helm, revealing his perfect facial features.

  o-----

  Omodo gathered Ravius and Gavin together for a parlay with the Dragon's Voice, a representative of the Green Faction's most prominent backer. Meetings like this were the real reason for the continued prom
inence of the Veteran's Masquerade. Gladiators, The Chosen, and the other players in The Great Games could gather, negotiate, take each other's measure, and seal pacts in an informal setting. The masquerade provided a screen of sorts. While it was common knowledge that alliances were being made that night, the sheer volume of socialization made it easier for a devious dealers to obfuscate their true goals. If a Chosen was to invite a Gladiator to visit him at his palace it would be taken as a sure sign of some form of collusion; but if he showed the Gladiator favour at a party like the Masquerade it could be written off as politeness or a false move. Astute players of the game were well known for bestowing their favours at such events in a way that would confuse those who are watching them. A false favour is the player's feint, they would say.

  The woman they met with, although not Gifted, emanated magic nonetheless. The servants of a Dragon are bound to them, gaining some of the Dragon's magic and longevity. Dragons often employ a 'voice' to facilitate communication, since their massive forms make many interactions with the smaller races difficult. The Dragon could speak directly through her even though he was nowhere near, and listen to their conversation as well. She was a sharp-featured Light-Elf with golden-brown skin and clear amber eyes.

  Omodo bowed to her as he approached. Once he would have been worried by such a dramatic gesture in a public place, but he was at ease with himself now. Ravius and Gavin followed suit, making him feel somewhat ostentatious.

  Ithera smiled. “Greetings, Honoured Gladiators. I am Ithera, Voice of Crimvidinn. My Dragon speaks through me and can hear your words as they are spoken to me.”

  “Greetings Lady,” said Omodo. He took a deep breath and spoke his next sentence in the tongue of Dragons, his tongue buzzing with the power of their words. “Hail Crimvidinn, Lord of the Spire.”

  “Well spoken,” said The Voice. It was clear from the change in intonation that it was the Dragon speaking through her now. They could sense the power within her vibrate as she carried the Dragon's words to them. “You have served the Faction well, Hammerhorn, and I will use my influence to help you if I can. What would you have of us?”

  “Your backing to enter next year's Free Leagues tournament in Dun Loryn on behalf of the Greens,” said Omodo simply.

  “I see,” said The Voice. She paused for a moment, calculating. “I will back you without reservation, Hammerhorn. However you will need two skilled team-mates for that tournament.”

  “Gavin and Ravius are known to you, I'm sure” said Omodo. “They will gladly fight for the Greens in this.”

  “Interesting,” said The Voice. “I am not sure I can do this. It will be seen as unfair. Other Gladiators, who have been loyal to our Faction for some time, also seek to enter the tournament. It would be an insult to these loyal Greens just to choose these two because they are your friends.”

  Gavin felt a surge of disappointment, but he could not fault the Dragon's reasoning.

  “Perhaps we could prove ourselves in a contest,” said Ravius lightly, putting his hand on Omodo's shoulder before the Armodon could protest. “If we won a small tournament of our own against the other Greens who wish to enter the tournament, it would ensure the proceedings are fair.”

  “An excellent idea,” said The Voice. “I was just about to suggest something along those lines. Are you willing to risk your own place Omodo? We can gather more support if we put all of the spots up for grabs.”

  “Yes,” said Omodo without hesitation. He knew that this was an equitable trade. Crimvidinn was powerful within the Faction, but hoarded his favours. This deal would allow the Dragon to use up less of his precious influence to get them into the tournament and then gain the benefits of backing them if they won.

  “Done,” said The Voice. In truth the Dragon was much pleased by this idea. The leadership of the Greens had been arguing for some time over which of their veterans they should send to Dun Loryn. This tournament would allow the Gladiators to settle it amongst themselves and end the petty infighting.

  o-----

  Sadira and Chosen Giselle arrived together. Sadira wore a mask of black lace, and her hair was spiked into a magnificent crown, tall and regal. She walked hand in hand with the Chosen, who outshone her, wrapped in a garment of living green vines. Thorns bit into her flesh as she moved and flowers bloomed over her breasts, throat, and loins; emphasizing, not concealing her lithe form. Her mask was made to look like a blindfold. A low murmur passed through those who watched them entering, as people tried to interpret her attire. Chosen Giselle smiled, betraying no discomfort.

  Lina followed a little behind them. She was dressed like a storybook Pirate queen with Sunrise the peacock phoenix perched upon her shoulder. People marvelled at the rare bird as it strutted on her shoulders, throwing off light.

  Handsome Valaran, as always, was enraptured by Sadira's physical charms. He stared longingly at her, frustrating the small cadre of women vying for his attentions, including Karmal. When his eyes fell upon Lina and her phoenix, his lips curled into a sneer.

  o-----

  Valaran stalked Sadira throughout the evening, watching her from a distance. The way she cavorted with Gavin stoked his anger. Why should she waste her time on a man so far beneath her; it was akin to wallowing in a sewer.

  “By all rights Sadira should be at my side,” he thought. “I am the only Gladiator here worthy of her attention. She should be adding to my glory!”

  o-----

  The Veteran's Masquerade, like most social events attended by The Chosen, is famed for its exotic entertainment. Chosen Brightloch brought a band of energetic dancers from near lost Ithal'duin; they used complex steps to create a pounding noise not unlike a chorus of powerful drums, combined with ululating throat-singing. Sadira was captivated by them, their lively motions called to her, and she drew some of the women aside after their performance. Gavin had no doubt she was thinking up a new war-dance.

  Chosen Silvius brought his famous acrobats, nimble vassals chosen for their beauty. Their sensual and sexual contortions, performed nude and oiled, attracted both Karmal and Ravius to the side room where they cavorted, which was once the Dragon's pantry.

  There were blade-jugglers, painters, storytellers, image-magickers and more.

  The most anticipated act of all, however, was Flamina, the famed Blue Faction dancer. The slender performer entered the room wearing a mask of living fire that cast her eyes in flickering shadows. Her sinuous body was studded with red gems which caught the firelight and made it seem as if her naked skin was radiating flames. The dancer's movements were full of liquid grace and bold swagger, like a Gladiatrix taking to the fighting grounds before a roaring crowd.

  Any simple arousal over flesh and form quickly turned to awe as a pipe began to play and Flamina danced. Her hips undulated to the music, slowly at first, her long legs seeming to glide effortlessly despite the wild gyrations of the her body. Her head remained mostly still, her lips curving into a smile that was half invitation and all challenge. As drums joined the pipe her dance became more inflamed. She swayed and shook, her entire figure vibrating with the intensity of her efforts. Her hair became a wild halo, highlighted by flame. The music kept increasing in tempo, and the dancer seemed to blur, a constant wave of motion.

  She kept dancing longer than any of those watching thought possible, faster and faster without losing any of her grace or her sensuous smile. Heat seemed to radiate from her now. The Gladiators and The Chosen watched, entranced by the performance. The musicians reached the limit of their tempo and held it. Flamina became a blur, as if they watched a tongue of fire dancing for them. The tempo held. Flamina danced, graceful and passionate.

  When the music stopped, Gavin realized he had been holding his breath. Flamina wound down gracefully, swaying and gyrating, smiling all the while, proving that it was the musicians who had reached their limit and not the dancer.

  When she swayed to a halt, her eyes fixed on Gavin and Sadira, for just a moment, and then she tuned and gest
ured to a hulking figure, beckoning Valaran to her. The crowd closed around them, eager to bask in her glory.

  Gavin turned to find Sadira. She looked impressed.

  “What did you think?” he asked.

  “I can't believe she made it through all ten thousand steps in so little time,” said Sadira. “And not a single mistake. I don't know what to say...”

  “High praise,” said Flamina, drifting around Gavin to face Sadira. She brushed up against Gavin, her hand lightly caressing against the small of his back. “From a mistress of the art.”

  “Your performance made me feel like a brute,” said Sadira. “Really, I've never seen anything like it. Even Chosen Giselle would be hard pressed to compete with that.”

  “Thank you,” purred Flamina. Her hand drifted down Gavin's backside. He shifted away. He did not want Sadira getting angry. “But you do yourself wrong. War-dance is a different style than the step-dances; with War-dance you must be prepared to flow into any one of a dozen motions depending on the needs of combat. You're very good, I watched you at Grandia's Landing two months ago. You were phenomenal Sadira.”

  As she spoke she drifted away from Gavin, brazenly advancing towards Sadira. Her eyes caressed the larger woman's curves and muscles.

  “I wish I had a body like yours,” said Flamina, “and could move as gracefully as you do. I could watch you all day. Sadly I'm no good with swords. Maybe you could teach me.”

  Her hand touched the pommel of one of Sadira's blades. It was an intimate gesture among Gladiators.

  “Too bad they are peace-bound,” pouted Flamina dramatically. Her eyes came to rest on Sadira's breasts. “I'd love to play with them.”

  Gavin froze; ready to intervene if his beloved became angry, instead he sensed her amusement.

  Sadira laughed. “Gavin doesn't do threesomes I'm afraid, and I am a committed woman. You are a lethal weapon Flamina, but the man who aimed you at us does not understand our love. Even someone as magnificent and graceful as yourself could not tempt us to part.”