The announcer read the rules. Like most faction battles they would be fighting against monstrous opponents, accumulating points. They would face three challenges over three matches with the team with the most points being awarded the victory. The rules for the first round were relatively simple. Points were awarded for killing monsters and deducted for each Gladiator unable to stand under his own power at the end of the match. The audience and the tournament judges could award extra points for spectacular or entertaining moments.
Teams were sequestered while they waited for their turn each day, so the trio did not know what opponent would be fighting. Gavin doubted that they would be facing any living enemies this round; the costs of transporting that many beasts to a small arena would be prohibitive for a private tournament of this size. He could see the scores of two Red teams, a Blue, and an Orange team listed on a large board underneath the announcer's box opposite the keep. Their score, resting at zero would change as the match progressed.
The trumpets rang out, a little longer than usual, ending with a slight flourish. Doors opened all over the arena. A score or more of the leather-skinned zombies referred to as the Stitched and armoured skeletons wielding a vicious assortment of sharp, heavy swords shambled onto the field. Two larger figures, bigger than Omodo, followed them in, fearsome in thick black armour. One bore a shield taller than Gavin and a spear the size of a young pine; the other carried a massive axe.
“Bone golems: I'll take the one with the spear,” said Gavin. It seemed unlikely that they would have time to kill everything. Better to get the bulk of the points first.
“I can distract the other; just keep the little ones away from me,” said Ravius.
“Easy enough,” said Omodo. “Follow me in, my brothers.”
The Armodon charged. The Greens in the crowd let out a ferocious cheer as he trampled over the first skeleton in his path, crunching armour plates and splintering bone. “HAMMERHORN”. His swinging maul scattered foes as he lay about him with broad swings.
Gavin wove two quick spells as he advanced, gifting his brothers with focus.
Ravius engaged the first of the massive iron-clad figures. Ducking under a swinging axe blade bigger than his chest, he jammed his trident into a vulnerable looking knee joint. The figure swayed but no blood came forth. He sensed no telltale vulnerabilities in its pattern and was forced to back off, seeking a better plan of attack.
Stalking towards Omodo, the spear-wielding figure did not notice Gavin approach. He threw his full weight behind his shield, staggering it as he slammed into its knee. It recovered more gracefully than he expected; he sensed that the spell guiding the golem must be more complex; perhaps it had a spirit bound to it. He stabbed it twice; his spear punching through its armour, before it could whirled around. He sensed power gathering around it and braced himself.
“Look out!” he linked to Ravius and Omodo.
A wave of shadow erupted from the two bone golems as huge, garish, grinning, blue skulls appeared above their heads, letting out an ear-splitting scream. The skulls were just for show, an effect added to entertain the crowd, but the noise and darkness washed over the two Gladiators numbing them. Ravius felt his limbs go leaden as the axe descended.
Move, move, MOVE, he thought, a silent plea to his unresponsive body. The axe fell but veered away before it could strike him as Omodo hooked the golem's arm with the back spike of his war-maul. The move left the Armodon open to attack from the skeletons and zombies around him, but his heavy armour and tremendous strength protected him. He shook himself like a dog emerging from the water, and they fell off him, as Ravius regained control of his body.
Gavin managed to get his shield up before the spell overwhelmed him. The bone golem's giant spear slammed against him; he flew back from the impact, landing hard in the sand, but his shield warded him from the worst of the damage. He recovered faster than Ravius, getting to his feet just in time to defend himself from a Stitched wearing a horned helm, ridiculously askew. He tripped the zombie with a deft swipe of his spear and then stomped on its head, crushing the helm and the skull beneath like a rotten melon. Then he turned to the Bone golem again, just in time to duck under a thrust from its spear.
Omodo powered through the lesser undead, pounding them with his maul, stomping them, and crushing them on his horn. New Stitched and skeletons were released into the arena to replace those he destroyed. He racked up points for the team, while Gavin and Ravius held their own against the two bone golems, occasionally scoring a point or two when the opportunity to annihilate one of the smaller undead presented itself. They did not waste time trying to destroy the bone golems; it seemed more efficient just to lure them away from Omodo and let him run up their score unopposed.
Late in the match Gavin looked up at the scoreboard and realized that they had exceeded all of the listed totals. He felt elated. They finished the rest of the fight in business-like fashion.
The approval of the crowd washed over them as they gave their salute. Theirs was the score to beat now.
o-----
They did not see the Gold's fight, but they heard about it later from the other Greens after the first round was finished. Valaran and his team attacked the bone golems first, destroying them quickly in a bold gambit and then running amok among the lesser undead. Their score was significantly higher than that of any of the other teams, including the Greens. Still the trio came in fourth, with two Red teams slightly ahead of them and the Golds in first.
Everywhere they went that night they heard tales of Valaran's prowess.
Interlude Five: Rivalry
(1150/07/17 AR, The Grand Arena in Krass)
“Nothing quite touches the crowd like the death of a beautiful Gladiatrix,” Baron Bones, Death-Leagues Announcer
"Time to die bitch," shrieked Karmal, heaving her seven foot war-cleaver into the air while Sadira burned from the inside out.
The sight of that terrible blade getting ready to descend cut through the mad pain of her insides now being consumed by heat and her own boiling blood. Karmal was serious. The descent of that blade would mean death. Real death. Sadira would never hear the roar of the crowd again if she died. She would never see her sisters live through their vain and beautiful dramas if she let the magic consume her. She would never feel Gavin's arms around her if she let that blade crash into her.
Pattern is the basis of reality. Weaving is the creation and modification of pattern. Strand is the threads of that weave. Power is energy through which the strands are moved and woven. The essence of Power is will. Magic is the will made real.
There are few desires stronger than the will to live. The essence of Sadira's being was life, verdant and unchained. Her ambition, her savagery, her lust, her vanity, her sensuality, her anger, and her love were all bound to this. It was not fear of death that drove her to resist that dread spell and raise her blades to catch Karmal's weapon, it was her love of life and her will to survive.
Power surged through Sadira, and she tapped into the energy of the crowd, expunging the flames and restoring her body. She threw her blades at Karmal, cutting her cheek with one of them. The other clanged against her shoulder armour. This bought Sadira time, and she drew Bellasdoom, her greatsword.
Karmal snarled. The fresh laceration on her face angered her. Demonic rage fuelled her strength and the scent of blood and cooking meat filled her with power. She was a living engine of Pyrrhic destruction and she would not be denied this day. Leaping forward, she attacked eagerly, roaring as her blade descended. Her voice was inhuman. It was the sound of the inferno itself.
Her massive war-cleaver met Sadira's greatsword, sweeping up to deflect it. When the two blades met, to the crowd it sounded as if a great bell had been dropped.
The weapons used by the Gladiators of the Domains are made from the finest materials. Mithril, Adamant, Dragon Scale, Ironwood. They are forged by master smiths and enchanted with great runes. They are nigh unbreakable. But magic is will and Karmal's was
a rage that would not be denied.
Sadira's sword shattered. Hot glittering metal shards rained down on her.
The crowd shouted in awe and gasped in dismay.
Karmal's blade kept driving down, cleaving through Sadira's shoulder armour and into the flesh and muscle underneath.
And blood, glorious, sweet blood filled the flame-haired demon's senses.
o-----
Karmal couldn't believe it. She had never been beaten before. The other trainees feared to face her. And yet some half-pint, Shadow-Elf, pretty girl had managed to elude her. It was humiliating. She felt confused and angry, wondering how such a thing was even possible. Tears of frustration dripped down her face as she sat outside the baths letting her wounds heal. One might be forgiven for seeing her simply as a frustrated girl on the cusp of adulthood at that moment, vulnerable and far too young for such brutality.
Karmal slammed her fist into the wall. The tiles were magicked to resist breakage and so her hand broke instead. She stifled a sob, feeling stupid.
Sadira attracted by the noise, walked into the room. She was surprised to see Karmal there, crying. The big red-head had been a real challenge for her. She motioned for her companion, a small blond haired girl with big eyes to go on without her. She felt a stab of sympathy for the other fighter. She knew the pain of losing a training fight. Shadow-Elves matured slower than most of the other races and she had barely been able to hold her own until a recent growth spurt had helped fill her frame.
Karmal had a fearsome reputation among the other fighters in their year, even able to humble Ogres and Quicklings, but the red-head had few friends due to her temper and caustic tongue.
"Hi," said Sadira. She pretended to ignore Karmal's tears, placing her own feet in a ready stance, just in case.
Karmal's emerald eyes snapped to hers, bristling with anger and defiance. She was shockingly beautiful to Sadira with her strange freckled face, striking eyes, and curling hair like a cascade of fire.
"Here to mock me, spike-ears?" said Karmal, her hands balled into fists. Sadira ignored the insult. Triumph made her placid. She could see the naked bone where Karmal's blow against the wall had scraped the flesh right off.
"No, I just wanted to thank you for the fight," said Sadira. "We both got an S rank, you know"
Karmal was suspicious of this. Winners in the arena did not have friends.
"I was just thinking," continued Sadira, kneeling down in front of Karmal, taking the bigger girl's hand and weaving a spell to mend the flesh. "Maybe we could practise together. My mother always said that you should make friends with the people who challenge you. Rivalry leads to greatness. Think of how much stronger we would be if we honed our talents against each other."
Karmal considered this. It made a certain sense. It would also give her another chance to thump this little bitch.
Chapter Forty-Nine: Fighting Time
1147/06/03 AR, Dun Loryn Tournament. Golds 58, Greens 37 (4th place) after the first round.
“First, worry about what you can change. Some things are beyond our reach.” Omodo's Journal.
“Chosen Loryn died in the Wirn incursion of 786 AR. Dun Loryn became a Legion settlement after the war. The Chosen's old stronghold now serves as a hotel and arena, but is kept battle-worthy in case of attack.” Plaque on Dun Loryn Stronghold.
“I guess Valaran's Deathmatch only rule has been tossed out the window,” said Gavin. Thoughts of the Golden Giant embittered him, but the cheerful atmosphere of the little food tent they were gathered in blunted his ire. The townsfolk seemed so genuinely happy and accepting. They plied the Gladiators with homemade food, delicious meat pies and stewed rhubarb. Very few of them seemed afraid of the Gladiators, although they all held them in a kind of awe that was nearly as bad. His comment sounded more exasperated than angry.
“Seems so,” said Sax.
“Even Valaran must answer to others,” said Cleothera.
“Agreed, little sister,” affirmed Ravius. “Valaran gains little and risks much in this tournament. So he must be acting as a foil on someone's behalf.”
“The politics drive me crazy,” complained Gavin. “Why can't they just let us fight?”
“Good training for a Chosen, though,” said Sax. “Politics is a Chosen's lifeblood.”
“Very true,” said Cleothera. “The Chosen always seek to check the influences of their rivals. Each prevents the others from becoming too dominant. Some say it is by design. The Chosen striving against each other limits any one of them from gaining absolute dominion. I can say that my organization wouldn't have survived this long without playing The Chosen against each other.”
“I would hate to meet the person behind that idea,” said Gavin. He shook his head. The contrivances of the Domains frustrated him. He felt that as a Gladiator he could feel the machinery of his society running but could not see enough of it to judge for himself. The brutality of The Great Games and the politics of the Domains were certainly ugly, but the folk of Dun Loryn seemed happy enough.
“I agree,” said Omodo. “But there's no sense in worrying about things that we can't change right now. Instead let us focus on relaxation and try to figure out how we can pull ahead of the Golds tomorrow.”
o-----
“Can we beat that?” asked Gavin. He gazed up at the score listings. Valaran's Golds were in the lead with one-hundred points. Gavin felt his heart sink. They were at thirty-seven.
“All that matters is that we give it our best,” said Omodo. He felt resolute, calm. He would give his best, regardless of the likely outcome. “Even if we don't take the lead from them, we can stay competitive the closer we get.”
“Maybe we'll get lucky and get a survival match this round,” joked Ravius as the announcer began to read the rules.
“Points will be awarded based on time. The longer the Gladiators last, the more points they will earn. The Gladiators may end the fight at any time, keeping the points that they earn. Fifteen points will be lost for each Gladiator who cannot stand under his own power at the end of the match. Points will also be deducted if the Gladiators go for more than thirty seconds without scoring a touch on an opponent, using Eastern standard rules.”
Gavin and Omodo looked at the grinning Ravius, who shrugged. “I have developed a talent for prophecy, don't be jealous, my bothers.”
“You do realize we don't have any healing magic,” said Gavin. He felt hopeful nonetheless. Defence was his strength. “It won't be like our matches in Scorpion's Oasis. We don't have Sadira's life magic.”
“Then we shall have to be more careful.” said Omodo. “In may not be as good with my magic as with Sadira's, but if you two keep them off me I can provide us with a bit of stoneskin armour and some healing. We can do this; we just have to last long enough to beat the Golds.”
“I do love survival matches,” sighed Gavin, taking heart despite himself.
“That's the spirit!” coaxed Omodo.
“By the Ancestors I have a good feeling about this day,” continued Ravius.
“And hey, he has a hundred-percent prediction rate so far.” said Omodo to Gavin, with a wink.
They laughed. The trumpets rang. The match began. The audience was a sea of green, erupting into loud cheers of “Hammerhorn” and “Greens, Greens, Greens”. Doors around the arena opened and three large, heavily armoured trolls strode onto the sand. Steel plates covered their entire bodies and they wore imposing honed helms with full face protection. They carried thick shields and heavy spiked clubs.
Gavin began channelling immediately. Trolls might be resistant to magic, but unlike constructs and the undead, they still relied on their eyes and ears to target their enemies. This gave him a few options.
Ravius moved towards the nearest troll, whirling his net. He felt Omodo's stoneskin spell take effect on him, his skin becoming less sensitive as the magic took hold. He made eye contact, challenging his target with a disparaging remark about its mother, in perfectly spoken Trollish. Wi
th only three enemies on the fighting grounds so far, his mobility would be a tremendous defensive advantage.
The remaining two trolls moved towards Omodo and Gavin advanced to place himself in their path. Both towered over him, ponderous but confident in their nearly flawless armour. He ducked under a club swing, darting in to test their armour with his spear. The armour was thick and his spear barely scored it. He would have to aim for joints or apply far more force if he wanted to draw blood from these behemoths.
Omodo wove a stoneskin spell to protect Gavin and then himself, and began to move forward cautiously. Beyond avoiding the penalty there was little reason to blitz the trolls in this match. His war maul could puncture their armour, but it would take some luck, or time, to take one out of the fight. Omodo trotted past Gavin, drawing one of the trolls with him. He caught a swing of its club on the haft of his weapon and pushed into it, driving the troll slowly backwards with his superior strength and mass. The crowd shouted encouragement. Omodo dug his feet into the sand, leaning into his opponent. With a swift shove and a loud shout he powered forward, toppling the troll. As it lay on the ground, struggling to rise, he lifted his heavy war-maul and brought it down in a tremendous overhand swing.
Omodo did not aim for the troll's head. Tapping the troll out would likely bring in a fresh replacement. Survival matches aimed to keep pressure on the Gladiators. Instead he smashed the troll's knee, hobbling it. The troll grunted and went rigid with pain as its armour bent and buckled under the hammerhead's crushing blow. The broken armour would likely hamper its regeneration as well. The crowd roared.
Ravius continued to taunt his opponent, waiting for the troll to swing and then quickly sliding around it to jab at weak-spots in its armour.
Two trolls with long-bladed polearms entered the arena and lumbered towards the fray, both moving straight towards Omodo.
Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power Page 22