Odyssey mgc-1

by Vance Moore

  "The match hasn't started?" he asked, taking a seat next to the Cabal minion. Chainer was eating olives and cheese as he sipped from a cup. The barbarian nodded to a servant who supplied him with a small loaf of bread and a goblet of wine. Kamahl drank, noticing a sour taste and looking toward the servant. Chainer noticed his look.

  "Someone delivered lower-quality food to the kitchens stocking the boxes," the young man explained. "They're scrambling to find decent food for the important patrons." He snorted and gestured around as if to comment that the actual pit fighters were obviously low on the list of the powerful. Kamahl drank the wine without further comment, though deep inside the slight rankled.

  "It's all maneuvering to embarrass the current Master of the Games." Chainer said, sounding conspiratorial. "Someone is trying to displace him and his connections."

  The barbarian listened with little interest.

  The crowd stirred excitedly as the fighters' gate opened. Turg strode forth, the massive Mer champion glistening as if his skin had been freshly moistened. The placards naming the opponents were not posted, and Chainer straightened as the frog stalked the empty pit. A concealed gate opened, far from the crowd. With a wild bray, an ass ran into the pit, its hooves flying with wild kicks as it tore around the sides of the arena.

  The crowd exploded in laughter as Turg swelled up, his hands closed up in fists. The amphibian shook with rage as the audience continued to laugh. Many of the Cabal servants appeared stunned. The frog ran to intercept the donkey.

  "I can't believe someone would try to disrupt the games!" Chainer exclaimed as the Mer champion raced to his ridiculous opponent. "This prank will offend the ambassador and the Master of the Games."

  The frog reached the donkey, and it spun and let fly. The sharp hooves laid open the skin, and the laughter increased. Kamahl smiled slightly, though the other fighters' grins showed half-moons of teeth.

  Turg darted in and grabbed the ass's skull. He turned, throwing the donkey in a circle. The animal's neck snapped, its body falling limp to the ground. A light smattering of contemptuous applause greeted the amphibian. He kept his grip on the head, and his muscles bunched, rotating the skull and tearing it free. Blood poured onto the sand, splashing up against Turg's legs. He cocked back his arms and hurled his opponent's head up into the crowd. The spells that protected the seats flared, and the lights dimmed as power flowed to intercept the bloody projectile. The skull rotted away, diminished by the forces of accelerated decay until it fell over the seats in a spray of foulness. The sound of retching competed with nervous laughter. The ambassador was standing in his box, outrage visible on his aristocratic features. The Master of the Games gestured wildly to the gatekeepers down in the pit.

  "He's sending out another beast," Chainer said, settling back into the seat. "He'll try to write it off as a mistake, but the patriarch will have a head before the end of the day."

  A six-legged reptile rushed into the arena, soldiers driving it forth with jabs from tridents. Its legs churned, and it froze in the center, its head turning in quick jerks.

  "A Krosan dragonette," Chainer said, clucking his tongue. "A decent fighting animal but not one with stature enough to balance the insult of the ass."

  The dragonette saw the amphibian but did not charge. "They need to be driven to battle," Chainer said sadly as the Master of the Games went into a new spat of shouting and arm waving. The gates opened again, and more animals spilled into the arena. Great hounds milled, their foamy jaws hinting at madness as they bit at each other before the sight of the dragonette and the frog set them running.

  The six-legged beast tore into the pack as they came close. The reptile jaws snapped at the leg of a dog several times, leaving it a bloody mass. The rest of the pack piled on, but the beast thrashed. Howls of pain echoed in the arena as the dragonette's rough hide stripped fur and flesh away. The amphibian closed, and half the pack turned on him. There was a wave of magic, and the frog seemed to fade. Around each of the hounds the outline of the mer champion appeared, his legs dragging as if hamstrung. The pack fell on each other as the spell turned their instincts against them. A biting, dying circle spun between the frog and the reptile.

  The dragonette bled from multiple bites, the blood pulsing down its hide. Its long whip of a tail rose and then lashed into the dogs. A high yelp sounded as the reptile strruck again and again. Each strike left an animal with shattered bones. The cripples were killed in an instant as the other ensorcelled animals fell upon them. Soon only the dragonette, frog, and a single bleeding hound remained. Turg snapped into focus and struck the last dog, his heavy fist destroying the skull. The dragonette lashed its tail, but the amphibian leaped to the side, once more fading as multiple images moved away from its landing place. The dragonette roared in bestial fury, its cry echoing up over the arena walls. Its tongue flickering widely, it stalked one image exclusively, ignoring the others even as several versions of Turg made short rushes against it.

  The illusions faded as the mer warrior realized the beast's sense of smell made the illusions useless. Catcalls rose from the benches at the turn of events. The frog crouched, its arms spread wide. Power crackled along its arms, and small streamers of lightning trailed from the tips of the frog's claws. The two monsters leaped at each other, the crowd rising to its feet. The reptile caught the skin of Turg's thigh and lacerated it as hands closed over the beast's eyes. Both the frog and dragonette screamed now, but the cries of the ocean warrior's opponent were full of pain and despair. The calls grew shriller as the six-legged beast tried to escape, its bellows becoming more plaintive and fearful.

  Kamahl's magical senses could detect Turg's power forming a circuit between the reptile and the amphibian's own flesh. The frog's own magic made its flesh shake, but the surge of energy increased as the frog cooked its enemy from the inside out. The Mer champion shouted its triumph as it fed off its own pain. The ambassador across the arena shook in sympathy as his champion bellowed in a self-inflicted orgy of pain.

  Some of the crowd threw down tokens of appreciation, the valuables reaching the sand floor as the Cabal servants curbed the defensive spells protecting the stands. Turg ripped a hunk of steaming flesh free and swallowed the meat, reaching for another handful as the applause slackened. The mutter of the crowd asking for the next fighter was heard as Cabal minions posted new placards. Then a cry was heard.

  Kamahl stood, and the bellow repeated. The echoing call was filled with rage and came over the arena wall. The sound beat against the barbarian's skull as it grew louder. He looked to Chainer, but the youth seemed as confused as any. The barbarian made his way for the exit, pushing his way through the other fighters, the cries continuing unabated. Kamahl slowed as he recognized the sounds. Though louder and far deeper, they were much like those Turg's dead opponent gave forth. Though the dragonette lay dismembered, a response to its dying cries filled the arena and perhaps the rest of the city.

  CHAPTER 5

  "Something is breaking into the city!" screamed a voice in the ambassador's ear. Laquatus struggled from the depths of his trance, his senses assaulted by the troubled noises of the crowd. The merman shook his head, still confused. On the sands below, Turg bellowed and fell into a feeding frenzy, losing any sign of civilized restraint. Again a cry filled the air. The rage and despair in its tone gave the ambassador's spirit a little burst of joy. Something was in great pain, and Laquatus could always smile at the pain of others. The erstwhile town crier moved on and shouts continued down the line of boxes. "See what the noise is about," the ambassador said to a guard standing nearby. The mercenary nodded and left at a run. The merman stood, shaking the stiffness from his muscles. The amphibian continued to eat voraciously and Laquatus saw the difficulty in reining Turg in. Better to let the amphibian feed. Usually, the ambassador lost himself in the frog's sensations when the opportunity presented itself. However, the tumult outside continued as crowds drifted out of the pits.

  "See about getting the arena gates ope
n," he directed a Cabal servant who came into the box, looking for a way to please the ambassador. "Tell the Master of the Games that while I blame him for nothing, I want my jack allowed to leave the field." Laquatus paused for a second.

  "Right now," he said emphatically as the servant stood there stupidly. The servant left at a run, his sandals loudly drumming on the stone floor.

  "I wonder if the fools think I will forgive the insults offered me?" Laquatus asked himself pensively. The assault on his dignity burned, lying like a bed of temporarily banked coals, ready to flare up at any moment. Whoever drove the ass out onto the field would pay a hideous price. As would the person that gave the order, their households, and any with close connections. Laquatus idly wondered if the city should be razed to assuage his honor?

  Perhaps not, after all he had plans for the Cabal and the pits. But the image of burning buildings and corpses seemed very attractive. Turg's savage appetite bled into his consciousness. Perhaps a minute passed before new events broke his reverie. Messengers returned with news, the one sent to the Master of the Games speaking first.

  "The official is gone, and all the Cabal servants are called away," he explained, bowing in humiliation. "There is no one with authority to order the gates opened on the arena floor." Laquatus smiled slightly and walked to the refreshments laid to the side. A variety of seafood imported at great expense lay cooling in shaved ice. Laquatus reached for metal tongs used to crack claws. He grabbed the man's hand and grasped a finger quickly. The muscles beneath his aristocratic facade showed themselves as he broke the finger like a twig. The servant went white as the ambassador stepped back to the table. Laquatus picked up a lobster claw and some bread to feed the echo of his jack's hunger.

  "I sent you to get Turg out," he said merrily, cracking the chitin to get to the meat. The servant turned even paler at the sound. "I have confidence that you will get my frog free before I run out of fingers." The man swayed, and Laqua-tus's personal retainer gave him a wide berth, waiting for him to go down.

  "Now, now, now," Laquatus clucked, lightly rapping the man's cheek with the metal tongs. "You don't want me breaking more bones to wake you up."

  The servant shook his head rapidly, bowing and backing away as he stumbled to the door. The ambassador smiled and motioned to the retainer. The man smiled as nastily as his master, his bald head flushed with excitement at the cruelty.

  "Follow along, and if he collapses make sure he receives medical attention." At the disappointed look Laquatus chuckled and waved the man away. How could he punish someone for failure if he died from shock? These landsmen were such unthinking brutes. They had no sense of style. He invited the other messenger forward with a wave of his hand.

  "And what is the commotion outside?" the merman asked. "A riot? A revolution? Come, come," he said, as the Cabal servant gathered his composure. "Use your tongue, or I'll have it out."

  "A monstrous beast has broken through the city wall and is making its way through the town," gushed the man. The ambassador briefly considered using the crushing tongs again, but business before pleasure.

  "Why the excitement?" Laquatus asked. "The arena teems with monsters every day. Surely one more should not provoke such disarray."

  "The beast, my lord," the servant said quickly, "is huge. It overtops buildings and can be clearly seen from outside the arena."

  The ambassador nodded, intrigued enough that he decided to see the monster for himself.

  The runner screwed up his will enough to speak once more before making for the exit. "It also resembles the beast your champion just killed." Then his nerve broke, and he left at a run.

  The guards made as if to block him, but the ambassador stopped them with a barely perceptible motion. The messenger was of no importance though his words were intriguing. He waved to a skybox, calling it down. The pilot promptly complied, and the merman soon stepped into the small floating craft with a single guard. He looked to the rest of his household. "Go back to the embassy," Laquatus said and dismissed them from his mind.

  The skybox was one of the smaller ones but any affording such luxury were rich and important. The seats were of the finest leather. Though it had no buffet, there was a collection of rare liquors stowed against the side. The mage directing the craft was clad in black regalia while the obvious patron of the box wore an understated tunic and trousers of deep purple and black.

  "I am so glad I could give aid," the owner said, moving to the side to grant the merman more room. "I am Toustos, an importer of animals for the games."

  "I thank you for your courtesy," Laquatus smiled back, wondering if he should send the two over the side. "I am the ambassador from the Mer Empire. In the excitement there seems to have been a mistake. My jack, Turg, has been abandoned on the field of victory." He shook his head sadly. "If you could direct this box to pick him up, I would be very appreciative." The importer nodded and, with a look, directed the box down.

  "There is a chance," he said, "that the protective field over the fighting area may be quiescent. If not, your fighter is trapped until the guards let him out." The ambassador nodded in agreement but thought that Turg could escape if he must. The box slowed suddenly as it neared the field.

  "Warning spell," said the importer unnecessarily. The merman could detect the roused energies waiting to destroy anything that trespassed their vigilant watch. The amphibian below tore more flesh from the dragonette, and some of the six limbs lay amputated. The frog had eaten itself nearly immobile, and Laquatus cursed the indulgence of appetite.

  "There's no way we can get through the stand defenses, Your Excellency. Is there some other service I might provide?"

  Laquatus curbed his temper. "There," he said, pointing to the open air above. "Lift us up that I might see this beast that draws the rabble so far from their posts." The box began to rise toward the opening. The curving galleries and conduits of power loomed over the field, and the conveyance drifted further to the side. The rate of ascent slowed as they neared the limits of the arena. Finally they peeked over the wall and saw the madness outside.

  The merman enhanced his senses, his suddenly sharp eyes and ears bringing the scene into crystal focus.

  "Krosan dragon," whispered the importer at the ambassador's side.

  Laquatus slapped the patron, his burning gaze demanding absolute silence.

  The dragon was Turg's opponent grown one hundredfold. The six-legged beast looked down on the buildings it passed. The city guardsmen ran screaming before it, breaking down doors to hide inside. Its head ducked, and the monster gulped down a flagging sergeant as a snack. The other guardsmen put on another burst of speed. They slowed immediately, exhausted from their crazed run from the city walls. Laquatus could see soldiers converging from other parts of the city, but he doubted that many would arrive in time. The dragon's huge tail lashed behind it. A steady rain of debris from tumbling walls filled the street as the beast came on.

  The area in front of the arena was bedlam as carriages and palanquins disbursed. Patrons rushed to waiting bearers, the servants trembling with fright and frustration. It said something for the brutality of the city elite that transport waited. But the outskirts of the crowd were fraying away; some chased by their screaming masters. A clump of officials rallied the Cabal arena guards and handlers into formation. It seemed a forlorn hope against the approaching juggernaut.

  Laquatus felt satisfaction at their impending doom. A terrible death by monster might salve away the wound to his dignity. He thought of Turg below, a slumbering fool in someone's scheme, and he hoped the entire Cabal would be slowly eaten alive.

  A dementia caster below opened reality to her madness, and a stream of undead stumbled up the street. They formed a parade and advanced laughing, their clothes trailing rags showing hints of past color. Rusty bells rattled, and a chorus of tinny horns sounded as more approached the dragon. Unholy mirth dragged sodden laughter from their rotting chests.

  One bellowing voice overrode the noise below
, and the ambassador looked down to see Lieutenant Kirtar directing the action. The Order representative oversaw the retreat of those patrons still trapped back into the arena.

  "If necessary escape through the rear exits," Laquatus heard through his enhanced hearing. The officer waved pit fighters to join the city guards as noncombatants retreated inside. Down the avenue, the corpses' merriment reached its peak as the parade met the beast.

  The street opened into a square, and the zombies surrounded the dragon, throwing themselves at it. The monster's tail began to sweep in rapid strikes, each movement leaving a trailing bundle of rotting flesh. Some zombies seemed to explode as they thudded into thick building walls. Others disappeared inside weak facades, though the sound of collapsing walls suggested they were not spared destruction. Those undead that missed buildings entirely skidded along the cobblestones, shedding flesh and bones until the remains looked as tattered and strewn as the moldering grave-clothes. Some avoided the tail and reached the beast.

  The giant body thrashed from side to side as a wave of guardsmen followed the undead and reached the great reptile. Spears leading, they charged in support of the merry corpses. They appeared to battle their way onto the monster's hide, and Laquatus for a second increased his sight a magnitude before it blurred back to simple enhancement.

  The green fur that seemed to cover the reptile was in fact a blanket of vines. Wrapping the huge beast in innumerable strands, the greenery protected it by a thick covering of long thorns. The figures Laquatus saw clinging to the animal's side were nailed there as solidly as any crucified slave. The zombies tried to crawl to the dragon's head and left a trail of their few remaining threads, then what remained of their skin. Still the summoned corpses laughed and trembled in crazed mirth.

  The lieutenant and his supporters advanced, power creeping along their limbs and armoring them against thorns. Axes and swords glowed as they were enhanced, golden flames running along the metal. Spears and javelins arced high in the air, then pierced the dragon's hide. Enchanted metal cut deep, and the monster paused.