Odyssey mgc-1

by Vance Moore

  Kamahl ignored the Master of the Games' speech. The light from the flaring torches along the rim of the arena made it almost impossible to see the crowd. The viewing pods floated down from high above the wall as a few of the important game patrons watched the bout. Kamahl could see the ambassador from the Mer Empire and his champion taking their ease. The ambassador gave him a languid wave, and the barbarian gritted his teeth, feeling his color darken. The Order champion Kirtar was in the box as well and laughed at Kamahl's discomfiture. The lights brightened as Cabal mages fed more power to the torches, and the crowds and boxes were washed away in the flood of light. The barbarian focused, ignoring the sound of the crowds, blocking out superfluous noise until it seemed as quiet as the highlands of his youth.

  The Cabal fighter was a woman, her hair braided with beads and bones. She looked disinterested even as Seton bellowed a challenge, waiting for the fight to commence. Whatever the signal to commence the bout had been, Kamahl missed it in the charge of the centaur. His club spinning, the giant advanced in great bounds, hoping to close before the dementia caster could react, but his charge proved too slow as groups of fighters congealed in front of the Cabal fighter and her flag. Though humanoid, the creatures showed buglike qualities. Their dark exoskeletons rasped, and Kamahl could hear their pincers and mandibles working as he closed at a run.

  Seton arrived first, the club falling like an avalanche on an evoked fighter. The armor broke with a wet crunch that reminded Kamahl of a lobster he saw devoured at an inn. Seton was tearing through the defenders, his club squashing them like the bugs they resembled. More and more flickered into being even as their unnatural ichor discolored the sand.

  Kamahl arrived, and his massive sword cut out a great half-circle among the defenders. The barbarian did not even call forth energy to feed the blade, husbanding his power until more worthy adversaries appeared.

  The Cabal magic user began to appear more interested, her eyes growing brighter as Kamahl and Seton approached, coming closer together as they neared the stand. The centaur swung his club less wildly, though the creatures still exploded at every strike. Kamahl cleared the caster's minions from his path with the same amount of energy and speed, his smooth swings showing no signs of slowing. The caster motioned, and the creatures tried to close on the pair of fighters from behind. Her tactics proved futile as the centaur roused himself and with great leaps and bounds prevented any from closing with him.

  The barbarian responded to the new attack with wider swings and footwork. His mind and spirit cleared, and he appeared almost to dance inside the lethal circle of steel. The creatures drew closer but died before they could close. The barbarian worried more about tripping over a smashed or dismembered corpse than one of the monsters breaking through his defense. Seton was proving faster as his great leaps took him around the fighters, who then closed on Kamahl. The centaur's breath could be seen as great gouts of vapor blew out through the giant's nostrils.

  Now the Cabal fighter smiled slightly, and new horrors issued from her mind. Kamahl could see a delicate and beautiful face coming into being. The eyes opened as the rest of the summoning took shape. The eyes were slit like a snake's, and from the torso down, that was what the monster appeared to be. As more of the creatures flickered into existence, the first attacked. The upper arms appeared normal, but from the elbows down, her arms were great blades of bone. The leader attacked, and Kamahl dodged one strike and blocked another. Though his sword cut through the insectile drones like a knife through butter, this new creature's arm rang like fine steel. The scrape of the edge along the bone made Kamahl's teeth ache. His return strike left only a small cut that began to ooze an oily liquid even as Seton joined the attack.

  The centaur seemed to swell beyond his already prodigious size, muscles writhing under his fur. The club whistled through the air, the head a blur as it struck at the monster in front of him. Bone cleavers, raised to intercept the blow, were amputated as the forest giant literally disarmed the summoning. Seton turned to another enemy, but the first was not yet done. Pulses of blood jetted out of the form, covering the centaur's chest and head. Seton's manic energy leaked out of him as he screamed in pain.

  The barbarian ran to intercept the caster's minions falling upon his temporary ally. His sword ran with power, the metal glowing as Kamahl fed it more energy. He struck at the creatures' backs, the enchanted blade once again shearing through his enemies. The limbs that fell did not release streams of corrosive blood, for the fire of his blade burned its way through the creatures' bodies. The corpses piled up; streams of fire burning through the skin as they raced through the veins and arteries.

  Seton slowly rose as the barbarian protected him. The scream that he gave was deep and filled with pain, but the centaur could move. The club rose and fell weakly, but it freed Kamahl to act more aggressively. He chopped his way through three of the demons and came back to protect Seton's flank.

  The centaur wove like a drunken horse, the fur on his chest slowly growing back through bloody strips of skin. But it took too much time, and Kamahl realized that centaur was a liability. The fight needed to end soon or the centaur might yet fall to the Cabal warrior. Kamahl looked to the platform. The flag flapped loosely as a new creature came into being.

  It was the smell that hit the barbarian first. His nostrils curled, and he breathed through his mouth. The creature was enormous, taller at the shoulder than the great buffalo that roamed the plains. In appearance, it reminded Kamahl of a great mole. Its sharp snout quested in the air even as it moved toward Seton and the barbarian. Kamahl ascribed the hesitation to its lack of eyes. Empty sockets set in rotted flesh and exposed bone left the monster without a means to see. Whether it had ever had fur Kamahl could not tell, but it had none now. Its skin seemed gone, leaving only rotting meat and a thick layer of mold. Each step of the creature left a mark of foulness.

  Seton performed his own summoning. The whine of insects could be dimly heard though cries of the crowd and the movement of the Cabal castings. A cloud formed, growing thick as insects came into being. One landed on the barbarian's arm, and he flicked it away before it could do any harm. The green locusts fell upon the dark minions. The barbarian absently killed the few creatures still in reach as he considered the centaur and the Cabal mage. The bodies of the fallen were covered in a moving carpet that flattened as the insects devoured the flesh. Bone peeked out briefly, but the enchanted mandibles of the insect swarm ground down even that.

  Seton raised his arms, his giant club held loosely in one hand. The cloud of locusts rose together, then fell upon the giant mole. The centaur moved toward the platform, ready to kill. Kamahl came as well, walking around the locusts that orbited the main mound.

  The attack on Seton was unexpected by the two allies. The insect-covered mole lurched into action, leaving a trail of twitching bugs. The creature humped itself up, its spine breaking through the layer of dead flesh and dying locusts. The huge animal left the ground in a prodigious leap that equaled anything Seton had shown so far. The shock of the bodies meeting sprayed the remains of the insect swarm across the arena. A thick cloud hung around the pair as the centaur tried to grapple. The claws of the mole carved hunks of flesh from the shoulders and flanks of the forest dweller. Showing unexpected flexibility, Seton ducked under the attack, scrambling clear. But only a few yards away he fell, his features slack with astonishment.

  The mole twitched, each shake spraying spores into the arena. The remaining locusts cascaded from the air with each gust of the agents of decay. The spores came from the thick ropes of purple on the mole's back. The locusts' attack had served only to unmask a more deadly response. The mole swung its head from side to side as it made for the fallen centaur.

  Kamahl stamped his foot loudly, sending an irregular rhythm into the sand. The monster paused, its head swinging and its feet shifting. The Cabal caster took her ease, and the barbarian could see her discounting the centaur and focusing on him. A smile lit her face as Kama
hl drove his sword deep into the sand. The shock of the tip striking into the rock of the arena floor was a signal to the creature. It charged, each lunge releasing another cloud of death. It passed the platform as the barbarian stamped his feet. The Cabal fighter ignored the spores as her summoning closed. Kamahl's hands blurred as he moved-but not for the sword stuck into the ground.

  The barbarian plucked a throwing axe from his belt and cocked it back to his ear. Like a great sigh, power poured into the steel and leather-wrapped handle. The head flashed brilliantly, and then, as a comet, it flew toward the mole. The metal glanced off the massive skull, and Kamahl saw the Cabal warrior becoming still, summoning additional creatures. The barbarian closed his eyes as the axe reached the apex of its deflected flight.

  The detonation rocked Kamahl back. The light was bright enough that he could see through his eyelids as the edge of the energy brushed him. The crowd was stunned into silence. The magic ignited the spore cloud, and the explosion sped back to the mole, devouring it as the molds detonated in sympathy with Kamahl's attack. The dementia caster rolled on the ground, unable to stand. She had been flung back several yards, and the sand stripped most of her clothes off as well as much of her skin. Her teeth bared and bloody, she stood, gathering herself to summon more monstrosities. Kamahl did not take his newly gained advantage, though his other axe was in his hand. He pointed to the platform with the metal head. Scraps of the flag still fluttered to the ground, signaling the Cabal fighter's defeat.

  *****

  "You won more than five hundred!" Chainer said excitedly. The young man gripped the bag of coins tightly, proclaiming to all in sight that he held riches in his hand. Kamahl only smiled thinly as he waited with the other victorious fighters in the winners' box. The arena attendants seated those victors needing no medical attention. The winning fighters watched the remaining fights and were observed in turn by the crowd. A steady stream of visitors and dignitaries cycled in and out, some of them obviously trying to steal some of the fighters' glory. Chainer had come from the bet-monger with Kamahl's winnings. The barbarian held out his hand and was surprised by the weight of the purse. It felt much greater than the victory that had won it.

  "The bettors know you now," Chainer said. "You will get much lower odds now that you have won."

  A voice interrupted the pair.

  "That is because the servants of the Cabal mistake luck for skill," taunted Kirtar. The lieutenant strode arrogantly through the other fighters, pushing some out of the way. Kamahl noticed how the others took it and realized that the Order champion must be even more powerful than the barbarian thought. Perhaps the lieutenant's lop-sided victory had prevented Kamahl from seeing the bird warrior at his best.

  "Most of the fighters here don't realize how lucky they are to be competing with their better," Kirtar continued. His pale skin flushed as he drank more deeply from the goblet of wine in his hand.

  "I am surprised that you fight at all in these contests," Kamahl said slowly. "Surely you must realize how unequal you are to those who fight here."

  Kirtar nodded his head and then realizing that the comment was more easily read as an insult advanced angrily. A massive webbed hand deflected his path. Turg patted the champion on the back as he led him over to the food, the ambassador smiling at Kamahl and Chainer.

  "You must excuse our friend," Laquatus said. "He fights out of duty. The Order considers it their task to rid the world of the symbols of past evil. Many of the prizes that he wins will be destroyed at the Order's headquarters."

  "He is not my friend," Kamahl said flatly. Chainer nodded slightly, a grim look on his face. "And when he faces me in the arena, he will discover that I don't need luck to win."

  Laquatus, still smiling, bowed his head, but his eyes were serious, not merry. Kamahl turned as he felt a threat directed at him. Across the room Turg looked at him even as he shepherded Kirtar toward a bar. The amphibian's eyes held the same look of deadly concentration as the ambassador's.

  CHAPTER 4

  "Hail the conquering hero!" Seton bellowed, ignoring the catcalls that quickly followed. Kamahl only nodded, as if accepting his due. The centaur snorted as he saw the shadow of a smile on the barbarian's face. The other patients in the hospital could not read the mountain fighter, and their catcalls continued.

  Seton had been taken to the hospital to recover from his wounds. Though the druids of the forest were known for their healing skills, the punishment they endured to access those energies reserved them for life-threatening injuries only. Though the poison mold laid the centaur low, Cabal servitors administered an antidote within minutes of the fight's end. Those who survived the games were taken to the healing halls behind the waiting chambers. Kamahl was told to return the next day.

  The centaur lay in a shallow pit, his side against a move-able board that allowed him to lie as if on a hillside. Other than a tendency to turn one's head to match up with the patient's orientation, it allowed for ease of access for the nursing staff. It also made conversation more convenient.

  The barbarian's eyes swung over some of the patients, and his worries for his friend continued. Amputations were common and many fighters lay as if dead, their stumps leaking blood around the seams of their new limbs. Metal seemed the most common substitute, though mismatched furred limbs suggested other sources. Mold covered the wounds of some. Kamahl watched a caregiver spreading thick mud over the weeping sores of a dwarf whose eyes wandered with pain. The barbarian hoped the Cabal was trying to help instead of preparing a fresh round of victims for rumored rituals. He renewed his vow to avoid injury or at least care for himself.

  Seton looked well. His coat was clean, and the patchwork of new fur covered the worst of the stitches. The forest dweller still made few movements, and Kamahl realized the giant was in pain despite his apparent high spirits.

  "I am surprised that you have not already escaped," the barbarian quipped awkwardly. He wondered how the centaur stood the enclosed environment.

  "I will leave here as soon as her 'majesty' says that I may," the forest dweller said, rolling his eyes. The barbarian turned, seeing an approaching healer. She stood wrapped in armor, and her haughty stare curled his lip. She went past, her robe clinking softly with the sound of chain mail.

  "I am surprised to see a representative of the Order here," Kamahl said, turning his eyes away from the martial maid back to his acquaintance.

  "As healers, some of the Order's party feel compelled to offer their services here," the centaur replied. "Though we pay a stiff price for their services, being constrained to listen to them rail against the pit fights." The centaur spoke with some amusement, but Kamahl remembered the snubs offered by the lieutenant and now one of his retinue.

  "Rather self-serving to urge competitors of their champion to withdraw," the barbarian observed. "I am surprised that you do not tell them so." Kamahl came to win honor and respect. That other fighters would belittle the contests was extremely irritating.

  "We all come for our own reasons," the centaur said. He rolled further against the support board. He tripped a lever, and the clink of the mechanism sounded as he brought his side down. "The Order fights to destroy the prizes. I fight so I can meet the Masters of the Games." Seton lowered his voice.

  "I am not here on a lark," he said darkly. "What drives me is serious." Seton looked to see if any were listening.

  "The forests are violated and their inhabitants stolen to feed the pits." He said softly. "Creatures vanish from under the trees and nothing is done to stop them." The centaur shifted to bring his head closer to Kamahl.

  "The forest will not suffer these raids forever. I know that one day the pit system will have to change, or it will fall. The wild will not allow itself to be bled dry."

  "I respect your convictions," Kamahl said, keeping his voice even. "But I am not here to become part of your crusade. The pit provides the opponents I need to test myself." He turned and gestured to the crowds of injured.

  "I have no
wish to be hurt, but it is a risk 1 take to win a place in this world." The barbarian lowered his hands and hooked his thumbs in his belt. His eyes looked inward as he paused. "The mountains became too small. Winning a duel meant that a village or a family gave you your due. Victory is sweet, but the portions were too small." Kamahl shook his head sadly as he thought of his many victories.

  "And you think the repast will be so much better in the pits?" Seton said crossly. "You think that the crowd will remember you for longer than your next fight?" The centaur's voice grew louder and other recuperating fighters looked toward the pair.

  "I think that it is better we each do as we think best," Kamahl said, his voice growing tight. He did not believe his victory meaningless.

  "I apologize, Kamahl," Seton answered. "I should not let my current injuries make me rude." The centaur waved his hand and only lightly groaned at the pain of the movement. "I have you to thank for the all this." He laughed. "But truly, I owe you my life," Seton said seriously. "I was paralyzed and sure I would die when you destroyed the mole. My debt to you is more than gold or words can pay."

  Kamahl nodded, accepting the gratitude with same equanimity he had accepted the crowd's adulation.

  "I fought for myself, but whatever debt you owe to me can be repaid by your friendship." The barbarian extended his hand, and the two gripped arms, united as they were in the arena.

  *****

  "Over here, Kamahl," Chainer called.

  The barbarian looked to the front of the champions' box. He had returned to the arena to see the Mer champion fight. There was no posted opponent, and the barbarian wondered who would battle the dangerous-looking amphibian.