Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power

by C. P. D. Harris

  “Few fighters would ever see it that way,” said Lina. “They're like Sadira, Karmal, or Minerva for the most part.

  “Good point, Lina,” said Cleothera. “I guess we should let you drink more often! Gladiators are like most citizens in that they're just too involved with their own daily lives, the thrills of arena and the fighting culture, to step back and question the structure of the games.”

  “This is what we do,” said Gavin.

  “Indeed,” responded Cleothera.

  Lina smiled and took another sip while Cleothera and Gavin continued talking. The scent of the wine hinted at harvest time and sunshine, helping drive away thoughts of Dregs. Secretly, she felt that that while Cleothera and Gavin played at being cynical, they were really both dreamers at heart.

  o-----

  As Gavin entered the fighting grounds of the Killer's Circle he could feel the crowd's hostility. All Gladiators are sensitive to the crowd in some measure, although Gavin was much more wary of drawing on power from that source than fighters like Sadira or Ravius.

  As always his gaze was drawn to the forest of gory body parts that hung on chains from the shadowed ceiling above him. He thought he detected a whiff of rot amidst the perfumed air.

  “Welcome Lionfang,” said Madame Chloe diSilk, the arena mistress and announcer for the Killer's Circle. She was resplendent in a formal gown and gleaming jewelry that was utterly at odds with the abattoir above them. “Despite your lack of respect for their traditions, the sponsors of the Death-Leagues have decided to allow you to fight in front of them once again. Just between you and me, darling, I think that our beloved audience wants to watch you die... screaming, of course”

  Gavin shrugged. He could actually sense a tremor of excitement run through the audience at the thought of his death. There was also a slight uptake in the volume of the murmur from the private boxes, but he could not hear anything specific. In truth, he almost preferred the screaming vitriol of the Supplicant's Arena to the whispers of the Killer's Circle.

  “Don't worry, my dears,” sighed Madame Chloe. “I have a lovely rabble match lined up afterwards, just in case Lionfang is not accommodating today. As an added bonus honoured Gladiator, if you feel like playing the martyr I will stay the rabble match if you die. You could save lives...”

  Gavin clenched his jaw but said nothing. He had no control over the rabble matches. The rabble were volunteers, driven by desperation and greed. He tried not to think about it.

  “You're welcome,” said Madame Chloe. “As for our other fighter, fate has gifted us with a feline theme today.”

  The trumpets sounded, punctuating her sentence.

  A lean human woman, slightly smaller than Gavin, stalked into the arena. Her face was covered in an armoured half mask in the shape of a sabre-toothed skull. Her weapons were vicious looking ten inch claws sprouting from oversized gauntlets that could easily serve as shield-like bracers, and her tertiary weapon was a saw-toothed long knife, which seemed like a strange addition to her arsenal. The medium class green and gold armour she wore was at odds with the ivory of her cat-skull mask. Something about the armour and weapons struck a note of familiarity with Gavin.

  “Welcome Gladiatrix Deathcat,” said Madame Chloe, “second only to Valaran in the Killer's Circle. I must say I was pleasantly surprised that you threw your name into the draw. What makes someone like you interested in fighting a man like Lionfang?”

  Deathcat turned to Gavin, pointing at him with her clawed gauntlet. She made a cut-throat motion with her other claw.

  “Oh, I see it's personal,” said Madame Chloe. “Very interesting. I don't suppose you'd favour us with the story of what noble Lionfang did to make you so angry, darling?”

  Deathcat locked eyes with Gavin. He did not need to use a spell to feel the hate emanating from her brown orbs. And then, he realized: Deathcat... Cat..., the fighting partner of Bella, the Gladiatrix that Sadira had so ruthlessly killed long ago in Dreadwood. Gavin had saved Cat from a similar fate. It appeared that she did not appreciate his efforts.

  “Your bitch, Sadira, killed my Bella,” said Deathcat, voice low and full of menace. “I am going to return the favour by killing you, Lionfang. Then I'll get a match against Sadira and either kill her or die at her hand. Either way I'll see her suffer!”

  Her words aroused the attention of the audience. Deathcat rarely spoke, and her history of silence added to weight to her voice.

  “But I saved your life,” protested Gavin.

  “You saved me?” said Deathcat. Her voice crackled with intensity. “I am a Gladiatrix! I don't fear death in battle. You didn't save me, you humiliated me... You held me down and made me watch as my best friend, the woman I loved, got butchered by your whore. Every day of my life since then has been empty. I am going to slice your balls off before I kill you and send them to Sadira. Then she'll know how I feel.”

  Gavin opened his mouth to retort; after all Bella had instigated the fight with Sadira. Then he thought of Omodo and his own desire for vengeance against Valaran.

  “I'm sorry,” said Gavin.

  “I don't want your sympathy, I just want your steel or your blood,” said Deathcat. She launched herself at him. The trumpets sounded.

  “A grudge match! Isn't this fun?” purred Madame Chloe as Deathcat's claws raked Gavin's shield. The hooked end of the weapons caught the razored rim and she pulled the shield aside just enough to swipe her other claw at his abdomen. Gavin stepped in, letting his armoured hip absorb the impact. Claws have many disadvantages, but they have very fine control, and so Deathcat was able to sink her blades into Gavin even after they bounced of the armour, leaving bloody gashes on his side. She leapt back as he slashed at her with the broad-bladed tip of his spear.

  Gavin drew power and attacked Deathcat with a mental blast spell. She took it, grit her teeth and charged him. He hit her with another spell as she leapt. She wobbled and fell. Gavin took the bait, thrusting his spear at her leg. Deathcat arched over his thrust, springing up in a fluid motion and landing behind him. Gavin ducked, which was the only thing that kept him from losing his head. Instead she just cut off a chunk of his scalp, leaving him bloodied. She moved in mercilessly, raking him with two quick swipes before he pushed her back. He lashed out with another mental blast, feeling a sense of satisfaction as she grunted with pain.

  They circled warily. Gavin was bleeding from several wounds. Deathcat was not a strong spell user, and she knew Gavin well enough to avoid offensive magic that he could unravel. Instead it seemed like she was focusing on powering several exotic weapon runes. Gavin was sure at least one of these was slowing his healing.

  “Killing me won't bring Bella back,” said Gavin.

  Deathcat's eyes widened and she sprang forward, shrieking her rage.

  Gavin tossed his spear, an underhand throw, quickly weaving his mind=grip spell as he did. Deathcat dove under the spear, tumbling along the sand. Gavin kicked at her as she rolled, catching her shoulder. Deathcat twisted with the impact, grabbing Gavin's foot and throwing him off balance while she came to her feet. Kicking his captured leg to force her to let go before she could hamstring him with her claw, he cast a mental blast to foil her next move. Both fighters ended up reeling and off balance for a moment.

  Deathcat recovered first. She charged, eyes burning. Her hands blurred, launching into a flurry of jabs and slashes. Gavin blocked most of them and yet he felt the claws slice into his leg and upper arm. She caught and brushed his sword aside, cutting him again. He pushed her back with his shield. While they struggled he mind blasted her again and called his flying spear around, getting ready to attack her blind spots.

  Then Gavin thrust his sword at Deathcat's eyes, hoping to distract her while willing his spear towards her back. She caught his sword with a claw and ducked, sweeping his leg out from under him as the spear thrust into the air above her head. He cursed and rolled back over his shoulder and to his feet. She recovered from dodging the spear with incredible alacri
ty, knocking it aside, and then pouncing on Gavin before he could set himself. The two of them grappled for a moment, kicking, punching, grabbing, and slashing. Gavin was stronger, and Deathcat wisely opted to withdraw before he could take advantage of this, ducking a sweep of his shield and raking his ribs with her claws as she moved away. Gavin felt dizzy; he was losing too much blood.

  Deathcat avoided direct magical attacks, knowing that she was no match for Gavin in spell combat. Instead she channelled her power into runes and small enchantments, enhancing her battle prowess and abilities to survive Gavin's mental assaults. Meanwhile she analyzed Gavin's footwork, shield placement, his reactions to her attacks, and all the vagaries of how he fought, looking for weaknesses she could exploit. She was constantly in motion, and always seeking flaws. Until she found what she was looking for she was content to land minor attacks, covering his arms and legs with claw marks, bleeding him.

  Gavin, on the other hand, could not quite get a handle on Deathcat's technique. She had improved greatly since they were both second rankers, making liberal use of the sweeping dual attacks of the Sun and Moon school, the swift counters of the Thousand Steps, and the postures and bearing taught by the Seven Stances school. She avoided his flying spear with ease for the most part, although he was able to deal her a few glancing blows when he managed to corner her between his spear and sword after a close dodge. He had more success with mental blasts and his mind vice spell, and while he leaked from dozens of small cuts Deathcat bled from her nose and ears.

  The fight stretched on. Deathcat was swift and ferocious, but Gavin's defence was very good. She made him bleed, but she did not bring him to his knees. It was not enough in Deathcat's mind. She had imagined this fight so many times, but she had never considered failure before.

  “You've improved greatly,” admitted Gavin. “Bella...”

  Gavin's utterance of that sacred name angered Deathcat, her deep hatred of him overwhelming her otherwise perfect technique. She flew into a rage. She attacked in a relentless, wild frenzy, slashing with her claws and lashing out with kicks. Gavin was barely able to defend himself initially, taking several minor wounds, but her attacks lacked her previous measure of his weaknesses and he was able to assert himself defensively and counter-attack, landing a sword-thrust, hidden by a shield-feint, just above Deathcat's hip.

  The pain of the thrust brought Deathcat back to her senses. She backed off, raking her claws on his arm as he withdrew, whirling away from his flying spear as he tried to pin her leg with it.

  It came to Gavin that her behaviour was the key to victory. Her reverence for Bella was a soft spot, the kind of weakness he could exploit, to get under her skin. A riled Gladiator made mistakes. In Gavin's mind it was a dishonourable strategy, but she might cut him to pieces otherwise. Sometimes principles had to bend in the arena. He put his theory to the test.

  “Bella would be proud,” taunted Gavin. It sounded tawdry to him, but he could see that it worked. Her eyes grew wide.

  Rage took hold of Deathcat. She leapt in, screaming, all vestiges of reason vanishing as Gavin violated that sacred name. This time though, he was ready: he met Deathcat's attack with a swift counter of his own instead of concentrating entirely on defence. Although her blows were quick and vicious but unfocused and inaccurate. His sword thrust was perfectly executed, a short stab towards her centre of mass. Claws bit into Gavin's side and raked across his left pauldron near his throat. He willed his flying spear towards her. As he felt his sword connect, Gavin he surged forward, powering into the thrust. He saw the horror in Deathcat's eyes as her mistake dawned on her, too late. The sword slid under her breastplate, punching through her body. She was no berserker but nonetheless grit her teeth and fought on with desperate resolve, raking a claw across his face, bringing blindness to one eye. And then they both felt the impact as his flying spear slammed into Deathcat from behind. Her eyes widened as her strength failed.

  Gavin let go of his sword, leaving it buried to the hilt in her vitals, and stood back.

  Deathcat fell to her knees. How it galled her to be beaten by this man. This is my fault, she thought. He played me and I lost control. I failed Bella, once again.

  “Well,” said Mistress Chloe. “That was either a rather sub-par performance from one of our better killers or our soft-hearted defender is better than we'd like to admit. It looks like you will be facing Valaran next, Lionfang. Feel free to kill her.”

  Gavin bowed politely, but most of his attention was on Deathcat. He looked deeply into her eyes. She faced him bravely, holding herself with as much dignity as her injuries would allow. He was thinking back to Scorpion's Oasis, and how Shield Splitter had beaten him.

  “I had planned for this match for years,” said Deathcat. Her voice was quiet and sad. “I trained, I fought, and I became cold inside. I have killed a dozen Gladiators on these sands, just to get my chance for vengeance. But when I heard you say her name... It brought me back to that moment, back to when everything went wrong.”

  “I understand, believe me,” said Gavin. “I had a good friend make sure I was ready to go after Valaran. It took me a long time to take control of my anger. I could introduce you to him if you wish.”

  “Aren't you going to kill me?” Deathcat asked.

  “No,” said Gavin. “And my choice has nothing to do with pity, or denying you an honourable death. I'm just tired of... needless bloodshed. Even Beastmen have families.”

  Deathcat laughed; it hurt. She raised her claw to her throat, eyes on his. She wondered how much it would hurt him to take her life in front of him. Unexpectedly, Gavin smiled.

  “If you feel you have to die, do it,” said Gavin. He looked over to the Gladiator's entrance. “You're the one who has to decide if you want to leave the Killer's Circle alive, or not. I have won the reward that I desire and I care little for the pleasure of the audience in this venue. There has to be more to your life than vengeance, Deathcat. Would Bella really want you to die in Dregs?”

  She posed the question to herself. In her weakened state, she could easily end her own life. With vengeance denied to her, did she have anything to live for? Would it be worth opening her throat in one last act of defiance, just to spite Gavin? Would Bella have wanted that?

  Dreadwood was a long time ago.

  She let her hand drop. Perhaps it was time to live for herself.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine: Nemesis

  1149/09/13 AR Dregs, Killer's Circle.

  “Power is the only worthy goal of a true man.” Valaran diVolcanus

  “Power is a burden for everyone but the short-sighted.” Gavin Orphanus

  Eight days before Gavin's match with Valaran, he found Chosen Moltar's emissary waiting for him in his quarters.

  Thoughts of Valaran loomed large, overshadowing his excitement at Sadira coming to watch the fight. He tried to drown his anxiety in the fatigue caused by gruelling fourteen hour training sessions with Razorthorn and Green Sting. He was surprised when Lina met him in the corridor on the way to the apartment they shared. She seemed agitated as she rushed to meet him.

  “He wants to meet you,” said Lina. She stepped close to him, holding up a sealed letter, her eyes wide.

  “Valaran?” asked Gavin. His fists clenched.

  “No... Chosen Moltar,” said Lina. “He has invited you to meet with him, I'm sure of it. That's the only time he sends a letter like this.”

  Gavin paused. His hands relaxed. It wasn't Valaran. Chosen Moltar wanted to speak to him. He felt more curiosity than trepidation. One could not refuse an invitation from a Chosen. The letter was written on black paper with gold edging and script, complete with an archaic wax spell-seal bearing the Chosen's iconography, a watchful eye over an armoured fist. Gavin broke the seal and read the flowing script.

  “You're right Lina,” said Gavin, handing her the letter after he finished. “He's invited me to attend him in his personal box at the Killer's Circle tomorrow. Alone.”

  “Sadira won't be happy a
bout that,” said Lina. She was glad that her presence was not required. She feared the Lord of the Domain in which she was born.

  “Neither will Cleothera,” said Gavin. “The Deliberative are never happy to leave a Gladiator alone with a Chosen.”

  “Don't go, Gavin,” said Lina. She looked him in the eye, gaze intense. “The Chosen is... I have a bad feeling. I'll pretend I lost the invitation.”

  “I appreciate that offer Lina,” said Gavin. A servant who lost an invitation in Volcanus could be punished by whipping. “But it is better I go to meet with the Chosen. Much as I dislike Chosen Moltar, and dislike him more every time I see the people on the streets of Dregs, I cannot afford to defy him. You and Cleothera can distract Sadira for me.”

  “Distracting your grumpy Gladiatrix girlfriend while stuck in Dregs is sure to be a grand pleasure,” grumbled Lina, making a sour face, trying to hide her relief.

  o-----

  Gavin's heart skipped a beat as he settled into the cavernous passenger compartment of the huge carriage. His nose caught a familiar perfume, raw and primal like the distilled essence of particularly wild orgy mixed with a field of captive flowers. Flamina's amber eyes and golden skin flashed in the shadows as the soft velvet and silk interior of the carriage engulfed him. He was struck dumb with surprise.

  Flamina smiled and leaned out the doorway, her eyes meeting those of the three women standing outside. Her teeth flashed as Sadira's dark eyes flashed violet with raw fury.

  “Don't worry love,” said Flamina. “I'll take good care of him.”

  Sadira held her tongue, trying to kill the dancer with a glare. Flamina's throaty laughter drifted out of the carriage as the door slid closed. She watched, fists clenched while the massive, gift-made horses pulled the vehicle away, until the fouls mists enveloped it.

  “So...,” said Cleothera, watching Sadira out of the corner of her eye. “Shall we head straight to the alcohol? The less time we spend in the streets the better.”