“The war will go on until only sixteen combatants remain able to fight!” continued the old minotaur.
Zylor observed his temporary allies and those of his enemies as he went to the left side of the arena. There were over fifty combatants in all. The crowd watched eagerly as Tornado strode confidently to the right side. Zylor figured Tornado’s allies were bigger and stronger, but he figured his allies would do alright even so. They all had honour on their minds or they wouldn’t be here in the first place. He also saw several dishonoured minotaurs among the combatants. He was sure they would fight hard as well.
“Choose one opponent and fight him until he is eliminated before moving onto the next,” ordered the old minotaur. “Choose only an opponent not otherwise engaged with an ally of yours.”
Some young minotaurs came into the arena carrying long, equally cut staves. They handed one to each minotaur. A second set of minotaurs appeared and handed coloured ribbons to the combatants, green for Zylor’s team, and red for Tornado’s side.
“The staves and your bodies are the only weapons you are permitted to use,” said the old minotaur. “Any minotaur caught fighting with two staves will be disqualified. The ribbons are to be tied around your upper arms to indicate which side you are on.”
The combatants were given a moment to prepare themselves.
“When the horn blows,” continued the old minotaur, “begin fighting at once. When it blows again, cease fighting immediately.” He paused. “You may now move toward the center of the arena.”
The fighters complied. Zylor noted that Tornado was far to the side, well away from him. He would have to keep an eye on the crowd’s favourite.
The crowd began to murmur in anticipation as the contestants prepared to fight. Then the horn sounded and the crowd and fighters roared in frenzy.
Harran watched as the minotaurs clashed. The howling and bellowing of the combatants was overshadowed only by the clamour of the spectators themselves. Harran held his hands over his ears to block out the initial cacophony. The cloud of dust generated by the clashing minotaurs became so thick Harran had to shield his eyes from the encroaching grit, thereby suffering an earful of minotaur excitement. Unimpressed by his poor vantage point, he returned to the bench in Zylor’s hole and sat down and covered his ears as best as he could.
Zylor charged at his nearest minotaur opponent. They exchanged a few blows and Zylor used some of Sherman’s techniques to circle behind his opponent. Once in position, Zylor brought his staff down hard on the back of his opponent’s head. The enemy went down in a heap.
While still in motion, Zylor spotted two enemy minotaurs standing back from the fighting, content on letting the others knock each other out of contention. Zylor didn’t give them much time to relax. Within moments, they were knocked senseless themselves.
Two large, experienced minotaurs, both on the red team, spotted Zylor through the choking dust. They had both knocked down their first opponents and were surprised to see that Zylor had already finished off his third. Zylor was now free and both opponents took it upon themselves to deal with the new threat simultaneously.
Some of the crowd on Zylor’s side of the arena sensed the resulting clash. The crowd roared, Zylor’s opponents roared, the minotaur bloodlust roared in Zylor’s ears, and finally, Zylor roared, the bloodlust raging in his veins.
The three minotaurs clashed violently, slashing, kicking, and clawing as though to the death. Zylor fought desperately against the combined assault of his opponents, and was suddenly knocked off his feet. After nearly being kicked in the head by a stray foot, and then avoiding several pummelling blows, which landed on an unfortunate minotaur beside him, he regained his feet. His staff was gone.
He clobbered one of his original opponents with his huge fist and the offender went down in a flurry of activity. For whatever reason, a large group of minotaurs had drifted over to Zylor’s location, making fighting cramped and difficult. The melee in the dust made it difficult to see who was on whose side. Zylor didn’t mind. His bloodlust felt good. He exchanged blows with a shorter minotaur and won that match easily. Then he spotted the second of his former attackers in the dust ahead and engaged him in combat. He never finished that fight before the horn sounded abruptly.
It took a moment for the dust to settle and for some heavily armed minotaurs to break apart any fighters unwilling to stop. When that was done, the crowd’s cheering died down.
Zylor observed the carnage around him. Many minotaurs lay on the ground, injured, bleeding, and, judging by the stretchers being brought out onto the field, dead.
Not many combatants were left standing of the original fifty or so. The old minotaur went around counting the minotaurs still on their feet. He returned to the officials waiting on their platform and announced his count. “Nineteen.”
While the officials put their heads together in discussion, Zylor curiously looked at the remaining minotaurs. With a quick count, he realized that his side was only down by one fighter.
The officials ceased their discussion and their spokesman came out into the arena. He scrutinized each of the minotaurs carefully. When that was done, he pointed at each of three injured minotaurs and told them they were out of contention.
Two, both from the green team, growled in dissatisfaction at the decision but left the field without incident. A third, from the red team, with the mark of dishonour on his horn, protested angrily and started forward threateningly. Some armed minotaurs sprang out to restrain him. As they dragged him from the field, he cursed and threatened to come back and show them he had more honour than anyone.
Zylor didn’t doubt he would be back eventually. It was obvious that the minotaur considered his honour important enough to fight for.
The official returned to his seat.
The old minotaur faced the crowd. “The red team has won by two fighters!”
Tornado, who was still among those standing, raised his arms victoriously. The crowd roared excitedly.
When the clamour died down a little, the old minotaur continued. “The remaining sixteen fighters will take part in one-on-one competitions until there is only one remaining. Numbers will be drawn to determine who fights whom. Straws will be drawn before each fight to determine who gets choice of weapons. Fights will go on until one combatant can no longer fight due to injuries, unconsciousness, death, or surrender.”
At the mention of the last option some in the crowd laughed and jeered.
The minotaur fighters were sent over to the official’s platform and told to draw their numbers.
“The smallest number will always fight the largest available number,” explained one official when they had gathered. “The next smallest fights the next highest and so on.”
Tornado walked past Zylor and gave him an appraising glance. “I hope we meet, chum,” he said with a vicious grin. “You could use a beating that’ll put you in your place.”
Zylor snorted. “Obviously you won’t be the one to do that!”
Some nearby minotaurs laughed at the comment and Tornado’s face became sinister. “You’ll regret those words, youngling!”
“Save your threats for later,” ordered an official. He signalled a young minotaur who came out with a basket. “Draw your numbers,” said the youth breathlessly. He was excited to have been chosen for this task and be allowed so near to the combatants. When he came up to Tornado, he whisked out a poster and asked the arena champion to sign it.
Tornado growled irritably but signed it anyway. Then he drew his number.
After everyone including Zylor had drawn their numbers, they were told to return to their holes. On the way back to his hole, Zylor crossed paths with Tornado again.
“I wonder why the youngling didn’t want your autograph?” asked Tornado tauntingly. “Maybe he doesn’t consider his peers to be true fighters!”
<
br /> “If that were the case,” said Zylor, “he wouldn’t have bothered asking you for your autograph in the first place.”
Tornado laughed over his shoulder. “I’ll enjoy pulverizing your head, chum. They don’t call me Tornado for nothing.”
“Tornado’s twist,” called Zylor after him. “All that twisting must have gone to your head!”
Tornado kept walking but didn’t acknowledge Zylor’s comment.
“Nice going, Zylor!” said Harran when the minotaur returned to the hole.
“Thanks,” said Zylor.
“There are only four more fights to go,” added the dwarf.
“Yes,” said Zylor. “Then the real battle begins.”
“I just hope you don’t have to fight with that Tornado character,” said Harran. “I hope he slips up somewhere along the way.”
“He’ll lose, alright,” said Zylor, “but I hope it’s to me.”
“What number did you pick?” asked Harran.
Zylor looked at his number. “Eleven.”
Harran counted on his fingers. “That means you fight whoever has number six.”
“I hope Tornado has that number,” said Zylor.
“Hopefully not,” said Harran. “You’re going to need your strength for the battle with your—.”
“Shhh!” interrupted Zylor. “Not so loud.”
“Sorry,” said Harran. Suddenly the dwarf pulled out some herbs and a cloth.
“What’s up?” asked the minotaur.
“You’ve been cut in the arm, Zylor. Since I’m here and Milena’s not, I’ll tend to your wounds.”
“It’s just a scratch!” protested Zylor.
“It could get infected or aggravated in that filthy dust you guys insist on fighting in,” said Harran firmly. “Hold still.” He grabbed Zylor’s arm and applied the ointment.
Zylor flinched and then sighed and rolled his eyes in resignation. “You’re no druid, that’s for sure!”
“I told you I would be an annoying servant,” drawled the dwarf.
“Funny,” said Zylor. “Very funny.”
From up in the balcony a set of reptilian eyes watched as the dwarf treated Zylor’s wounds. He had seen Zylor’s exceptional fighting skills and movement in the arena fight. Where had this fighter come from? All would-be threats to the emperor should have been hired for the war and sent to the front lines by now. How was this one missed? He had to find a way to prevent this possible threat from becoming a reality. He chanted a spell under his breath and conveyed his thoughts to a lizardmage near the arena holes. The lizardmage confirmed Farg’s message and agreed to take action on the matter.
Farg relaxed. It would be taken care of, he thought satisfactorily.
Chapter 57
Zylor watched the first four battles intently. When the fifth battle commenced, the crowd roared in excitement. Tornado was up. That battle was over almost before it began, as Tornado gave his opponent a sound beating with a war hammer, which he had chosen as his instrument of destruction. The crowd cheered and applauded the big fighter as he left the field victoriously and returned to his hole.
Zylor’s first opponent was a minotaur who he remembered had been on the red team earlier. The opponent was well built, but his horns were far shorter than Zylor’s. They drew straws and Zylor lost. “As usual,” he muttered.
The opponent selected an axe as the weapon of choice and Zylor grinned. He would have chosen that weapon as well. He selected an axe with a solid handle and a sturdy grip.
The horn sounded and the cries from Zylor’s supporters barely rang above the din of the crowd. Zylor parried several well-placed blows by his opponent but struck back when he saw the minotaur standing in one place while attacking; something Zylor had a habit of doing not so long ago.
Zylor almost danced away from his opponent’s blows and easily found an opening. Taking his axe broadside, he clobbered the minotaur on the side of the head. The axe rang as it struck. The opponent staggered for a moment and then fell to the ground in a heap. He was unconscious.
Zylor’s supporters cheered and chanted his name. A few others in the crowd were also impressed and cheered as well.
Zylor left the field victorious and Harran slapped his big friend on the back. “Great match!” exclaimed the dwarf. “If you keep that up, you won’t even break a sweat!”
“It’ll get tougher,” said Zylor.
There were no injuries this time and Zylor splashed some water on his face to cool himself off. The summer sun was nearing its zenith, and there was no refreshing breeze in the arena.
The dwarf and minotaur waited for the remaining two battles to conclude.
“I wonder what the others are up to?” asked Harran absently.
“No doubt they are in position,” responded the minotaur.
Results were posted on a board and the old minotaur came by to inform them to prepare for the next round of battles.
“You’ll be fighting number three next,” said Harran.
“He is dishonoured,” said Zylor calmly. “He will fight hard, despite the fact that he has already regained his honour by being in the top eight.”
Zylor watched the first two battles of the second round, the second of which was waged with maces by Tornado and a strong but slow opponent. Tornado moved swiftly and soon gained the upper hand. He landed several crippling blows on his opponent and the match was concluded shortly afterwards, the opponent unable to rise to his feet.
The crowd cheered loudly and the arena rang with Tornado’s name. Zylor noticed the emperor rise and applaud openly. He was pleased with the result of that battle and showed it. The crowd, seeing this, cheered even louder.
Only the lizardmage with the emperor seemed concerned. He suspiciously eyed Zylor, who was already out in the battle field to face his opponent.
The cry of, “Tornado! Tornado!” continued to reverberate throughout the arena. Even Zylor’s supporters were drowned out.
The combatants drew straws and the dishonoured minotaur got choice. He selected a mace. Zylor barely heard the sound of the horn as it sounded to start the battle. As a result, Zylor was unprepared. He was struck in the arm with a stinging blow. He staggered sideways and nearly lost his footing. The opponent pressed his attack and was caught by surprise himself as Zylor dropped his mace and ducked under him, lifting him high into the air.
Seeing this tremendous feat of strength, the crowd ceased their chanting and watched in amazement as Zylor threw his opponent several feet away. The opponent landed heavily but rose determinedly to face his powerful foe. Now chanting could be heard again, but it was not ‘Tornado’ they were chanting. It was ‘Zylor’.
Zylor waited for the minotaur to retrieve his mace before lunging at him. The dishonoured minotaur moved slowly due to his momentary pain and Zylor landed some hard blows with his arms and legs. The opponent valiantly fought back but Zylor was too quick. Zylor landed blow after blow and the dishonoured minotaur finally collapsed from weakness and injury. The battle was concluded.
There were far more in the crowd now who chanted Zylor’s name as he left the field. It was not as deafening as the shouts for Tornado previously, but it came close.
Harran hurried to treat and clean Zylor’s mace wound, and reprimanded him for not paying attention to the horn.
Zylor shrugged it off. He knew he would suffer more injuries before the day was out.
The last battle of round two concluded and the results were posted.
“You’re against number nine,” said Harran. “He’ll be a cinch.”
“He is extremely agile,” said Zylor. “He is a serious threat to any large minotaur.”
“But he’s way smaller than you!” objected Harran.
“And he defeated some large, muscular minotaurs to make
it to the top four,” added Zylor. “Do not dismiss him out of hand. He is dubbed ‘Flying Squirrel’ for a reason.”
“Then you’d better hold still while I clean up your wound,” said Harran. “You’ll need to move rapidly in the next battle.”
This time Zylor didn’t object.
Tornado won his match again to the delight of the crowd and on his way off the field he pointed at Zylor, mouthing the words, ‘you’re next’.
Zylor confidently marched out onto the field and the fans, still cheering from the last battle, changed their chant to call out Zylor’s name. They were favouring him in this fight and hoping to see him duel with Tornado in the finals.
Even Harran was keenly interested in this match and left the confines of the hole a short distance to see the battle in better detail.
Meanwhile, a shadowy form slunk along the holes and furtively glanced at the dwarf’s back as he slipped into Zylor’s hole. Once inside, he quickly withdrew a vial of clear liquid from his cloak and un-stoppered the cork.
“Can I help you?” said a voice behind him suddenly.
The lizardmage started and turned quickly, but to his astonishment, no one was there.
Suddenly, and even more surprisingly, an invisible hand grasped his scaly hand holding the vial and pushed it toward his lips. Another hand held him tightly by the waist.
The lizardmage struggled hard against the powerful grip but couldn’t break free.
“It’s hot today,” growled a voice in his ear. “You should drink.”
“No!” screamed the lizardmage finally. His scream was drowned out by the crowd and not even Harran heard it.
The vial moved closer and closer to the lizardmage’s lips and he clamped his mouth tightly shut to prevent the liquid from going in. The vial shook within the grasp of the lizardmage but continued its course. The lizardmage squeezed his eyes shut helplessly as the liquid poured onto his face.
Then the lizardmage let out a blood curdling scream and broke free of his assailant’s grip. This time Harran heard and turned in alarm.
In Zylor’s hole, a lizardmage grasped at his face in agony. His hands lowered for just a moment and Harran was appalled at the horrible sight. The lizardmage’s face was puffing out like a balloon and bubbling like a cauldron of boiling water. The creature opened its mouth to scream but suddenly its face exploded in a burst of greenish ichor.
Kazin's Quest: Book I of The Dragon Mage Trilogy Page 57