Bloodlust: A Gladiator's Tale

by C. P. D. Harris

  "I do like the idea of extending food programs though," Sadira said, thinking. "But you would run into opposition from the Blues as well; they don't support spending public funds unless it helps the Chosen and the Merchants, right? And they might have a point, too; farmers do need to make money."

  Ravius shrugged. "I know, it is a complicated and contentious issue; but as a Chosen you have a lot of time to spread your influence; and that's something I am good at... Besides if we shy away from problems just because they don't have easy solutions then our best days as a society are behind us. That's how I feel. How about the rest of you, what will you do if... when you take your place among the Chosen?

  No one answered immediately, so Ravius pointed at Karmal.

  "Well, I'd like to introduce greater oversight into private arenas," Karmal responded, brow furrowing. The rest of them listened intently. "Men like Meady Mox should not be allowed to have any say at all in other people's lives. Ever. He only got to that position because he was well-connected. Think of all the careers people like him have ruined; It just isn't right to let that continue. They may grumble about lost profits, but in the end I think it would be better for private arena owners as well; people like Mox give them all a bad name and make it hard for the Factions to work with them."

  Mox was a touchy subject with Karmal; none of them had heard the full story about how and why she had killed the Dreadwood Arena Master, and why the Deliberative let her get away with it. She had shrugged off detailed questioning from Sadira and Vintia many times, saying she didn't want to talk about it. Sadira wondered if their new friend, Cleothera might know. They all nodded in agreement; it was the most Karmal had spoken to any of them about Mox since leaving Dreadwood. The red-haired Gladiatrix seemed on the verge of saying something else for a moment, but then it passed.

  "That's a good idea," intoned Gavin, remembering Sadira holding up Bella's head in triumph. Bella and Cat had been willing pawns in Mox's game; a senseless Deathmatch that might have been avoided if more regulations had been in place.

  "I would also make my Domain in the north, in the Sky Islands." Karmal added, changing the subject. "I visited them once with my father... they were so beautiful. Crystal waters, rocky coasts... we even saw a sea serpent!"

  "Frigid as a frost-blade though," noted Ravius innocently. "Although, that should suit you…"

  Karmal made a rude gesture.

  "I'd make my Domain in the hills beyond the Brighthoof plains," Omodo said after Karmal declined to continue. "A place like that appeals to my people. My parents would have loved it there."

  "It would also open up another front against the Beastmen in the south," Vintia noted. "It’s not a bad idea, as long as you don't mind building some fortresses."

  "Just because I am a charger, do not think I have not learned the value of protection," responded the Armodon, winking at her while tapping his heavy breastplate. Vintia smiled. "I would also make it easier for outsiders to gain citizenship in the Domains; the manpower and exposure to new ideas make increased immigration worth the risk, especially since we are founding new Domains and expanding," he shrugged. "I could go on, but I think you get the idea."

  "I would make it harder for low-ranking Gladiators to get into a Deathmatch." Vintia spoke, pinching her lower lip. "Too many lives are ended, too early. You can earn a lot of glory from an early Deathmatch victory, but very few new Gladiators are able to assess that kind of risk properly. We all think we are unbeatable when we first leave training. I'd like to limit Deathmatches to rank two and higher."

  "I'd support that idea if they allowed executions in normal matches," Sadira added, even though her first Deathmatch kill had been before the second Rank. "The fans love the extra drama and audience participation of a good execution. The risk of lasting damage or death is not any higher than getting tapped out any other way."

  "I'd bet you could get the popular assembly to vote that in," noted Cleothera, dryly.

  "I would also end the manpower tithe," said Vintia. "The soldiers here are all in favour of a full volunteer army; it makes sense if you think about it. Krass and most of the progressive Domains have done away with the draft. It seems wrong to take children away from their mothers and fathers to send them to war or labour camps."

  They all nodded silently. Most of the Gifted know the pain of being taken from their families all too well, even those like Sadira who are lucky enough to re-connect after training.

  Vintia noted several other, very technical changes she would make; they were all well thought out, as she had a mind for details. Then she passed the floor to Sadira while they all refilled their mugs with pleasantly hot beverages. Gladiators may not suffer from the cold like the ungifted do, but they still enjoy a hot drink on a frigid winter's day.

  "I would make laws to preserve some of our wild spaces," said Sadira thoughtfully. "With the advances in artifice and alchemy magics, we can harvest resources so much more quickly than before, but we also have a much greater need for them; we need to be careful if we don't want our forests and parks to end up as barren wastelands, as they have in some Domains."

  "That would ruffle some feathers in the Council of the Chosen!" said Cleothera with a smile.

  "No serious decision ever satisfies absolutely everyone," said Sadira with a shrug. "I would also seek to end a lot of the abuses against Vassals in some Domains. The plight of a young girl with the Gift, who chooses not to become a Gladiatrix, in Volcanus is quite horrible I've heard. The Grey-Robes should protect them as well."

  Gavin looked at Ravius, remembering the two broken-eyed women in Valaran diVolcanus's shadow.

  "I wish we could," said Cleothera sadly. "Last time we tried to force that issue it almost led to the dissolution of the Deliberative though. The Chosen don't like us interfering in their Domains; even those who abhor the way Moltar treats his people side with him against us on that issue."

  "Sure, some of them even rebelled when it was decided that the Deliberative would supervise the training of Gladiators," said Gavin, "but I doubt any of the current Chosen would voice a desire to return to the old, corrupt system of training and schooling now; at least in public."

  "That doesn't mean they aren't trying, behind the scenes," said Cleothera, her pale eyes piercing as she turned to him "What about you Gavin?"

  He laughed. "I doubt I have much chance of becoming a Champion, much less a Chosen. I might retire and teach."

  "You can found your School in my domain, beloved," said Sadira softly, putting her hand on Gavin's shoulder.

  Ravius laughed. "Come on now, don't be so serious, little brother. Let us say you beat Valaran in a glorious battle at the Championships. What then?"

  "Well, purely hypothetically," he paused, thinking. "I would work to heal the wounds of the Reckoning; I'd strive to make sure that one day the Gifted and regular people will be able to live in harmony with each other. No more choosing to become a Gladiator or a Vassal at a young age; the Gifted should be tested and taught to use their abilities for the betterment of everyone, without the threat of Heresy held over our heads. I desire freedom from this great machine that has been put in place around our kind, and when I am free, I will work to free others. No one should have to waste their lives in the arena just to avoid being cut off from their magic. No one should be labelled a traitor because they don't want to give up Gifted child. No one should be called a Heretic because they chose the wrong path. There has to be a better way. That's what I would work toward if I were a Chosen."

  In questioning the unquestionable, he had given voice to an unstated desire that they all shared. They stared at him, taken aback by his frankness. A few patrons at nearby tables turned their heads to him as well. He gazed back, his eyes steady. It was a child's fantasy, akin to ending poverty or disease; the Gifted were too dangerous to be free in most people's eyes. And yet it was also true; they all wanted to live their lives according to their own wishes. He had given voice to the dichotomy of desires that most Gifte
d shared, to be accepted and respected as Gifted while also being accepted by the rest of society without fear or reservation. A child's dream, and yet it was something that they should all strive for, even if it could never truly be achieved.

  Silence reigned for a long moment until Cleothera took her delicate crystal wineglass in her pale, graceful hand and raised it toward Gavin. She alone did not seem shocked. "To the future," she said, softly. One by one, they raised their glasses and echoed her.

  -----o

  Sadira was silent as she and Gavin made their way to the arena. Halfway there she took his hand, lacing her fingers into his. He is such a dreamer, she thought, but I love him for this, more than anything.

  Gavin was deep in thought, wondering what sort of test they would face this ranking match, but he smiled at her, drawing her close to enjoy her warmth.

  -----o

  The wind spoke of winter as the two Gladiators entered the arena. A hint of snow and a whisper of frost caressed them as they left the shadowed doorway of the Gladiator's entrance. There was no snow on the fighting grounds; the white sands were warm as always in spite of the winter outside. Sadira smiled, thinking of the approaching spring.

  The audience, many of whom had been waiting to see Sadira fight all day, belted out their warm greeting as the beautiful Shadow-Elf broke into her customary acrobatics, tumbling across the broad expanse of the fighting grounds, leaping impossibly high, drawing her curved obsidian swords at the apex of her leap. Gavin, trotting in her wake, stopped moving as she fell. She dropped out of the air to land on his armoured shoulders. Such was her grace that he barely felt the impact.

  Sadira smiled happily as the adoring fans of Camp Valorous shouted her name. She saluted them with her twin obsidian blades and then dropped lightly to the ground beside her beloved, kissing him fiercely. She was still thinking of the dream he had voiced in the tavern earlier that day, the beautiful idea that the Gifted could one day be fully accepted among the people of the Domains. The trumpets sounded, their bright brass call shattering her reverie.

  A wave of cold hit the two Gladiators as the largest gate of the arena yawned open across from them, wood and brass doors shaking off a crust of ice. A monstrous manlike form, huge and menacing, stirred in the cloud of frost and shadow. The giant emerged onto the fighting ground and Gavin felt the light wane as if the bright sun itself had gone pale with dread at the sight of their foe. This creature seemed different than the last giant they had fought; its eyes shone with a cold malevolent intelligence that the one in Dreadwood had lacked. It had pale blue skin, long white hair and beard, and it carried an immense, frost-kissed greatsword. A haze of cold air surrounded the creature, causing a shimmer in the air. As it moved, ice cracked and reformed on its skin.

  Gavin could see his own breath now, and he felt a gnawing dread take hold of him. The giant's rheumy, ice-coloured eyes gazed balefully at the duo. A shiver of fear ran up their spines. Gavin thought he saw something else moving in the creature's shadow. He shook his head as it began moving toward them, shaking the earth with its heavy tread, growing bigger and more menacing with each long stride, its frosted sword massive and terrible in the feeble light.

  The audience, protected by magical barriers, still felt enough of the cold and fear emanating from the giant to send a thrill of terror through them.

  Sadira breathed out, calming herself. She felt something unnatural at work, a nameless dread trying to worm its way into her mind; instinctively she grasped that this was part of the test. Gavin watched as she sprang forward. Her customary war-cry seemed strangely muted to him, her colours faded and washed out. He willed himself forward but did not move; his joints seemed frozen. Had cowardice claimed him at last? He felt ice on his feet and legs.

  Sadira charged forward. The cold washed over her, sharp and numbing, as she neared the giant, but her desire for battle was all the warmth she needed. The giant swung its massive sword at her, leaving a train of snowflakes as it rent the air; she skipped aside without stopping, running through its legs, her own blades slashing out at the giant's knees.

  Gavin pushed forward slowly. Ice formed thickly on him, slowing his progress and filling his body with numb agony as it threatened to envelop him. He could not escape the fact that he was afraid: afraid of being a coward; afraid of being laughed at by the audience; afraid that he might fail Sadira. His fear was ice and he felt as if he were trapped in a terrible blizzard. He could no longer see the giant clearly, nor Sadira, nor the audience. He was lost; alone. He had no family; his friends did not really care about him. The cold closed around him, robbing him of energy and vitality.

  Sadira danced around the giant. She could sense that Gavin was in trouble but did not understand why, saw he was covered in frost, but the giant's merciless sword sought her out wherever she moved. Her attacks were drawing blood, bright red crimson dripping down pale blue skin, steaming in the cold; but none of them were deep enough to seriously wound the giant. She fought on, looking for an opening. Perhaps if she wounded the giant, its magic would falter and Gavin would be free. She began to shimmer as the frost melted around her.

  Gavin stopped moving, overwhelmed with fear, crippled with self-loathing. The cold consumed him, drawing strength from his fear and dread. He wrestled with his despair, but could not push forward. He was afraid of being afraid. Everything was grey and cold to him, and hungry shadows closed in all around. The silence was deafening, the silence of a winter without end, the barren white graveyard of his many failures. Some part of him understood that his fear was one of the giant's weapons and kept struggling while the rest of him froze.

  The audience saw the Gladiator slow, frost and ice covering his body. They saw that his partner was hard pressed and could not help him. They began to shout at him, trying to rouse him.

  Gavin heard a distant voice. It sounded like Ravius. He heard others. Karmal, Omodo, Vintia, Arena Master Druth, Cleothera. They sounded distant, but it was enough encouragement that a small spark of courage flared. He took heart and resumed his struggle; he would not let Sadira down. I am not alone, he thought, and the ice stopped growing on his body. I am not a coward, he told himself, I will overcome my fear! His vision cleared; he saw Sadira and stumbled toward her.

  "Your fear will not consume me!" he shouted at the Giant, and warmth flowed into his frost bitten limbs as the shouts of the audience spurred him to action. The sun seemed to brighten as he shouted his defiance, throwing of the pall of dread that had come upon him.

  Sadira laughed out loud as the giant chased her. She felt like spring incarnate, fighting a war with recalcitrant winter, shouting with primal joy as her victory loomed. She stalked the beast, diving at it, sidestepping its hungry sword; wetting the ground all around it with red blood as she cut it with her graceful blades.

  Gavin heard Sadira's laugh and suddenly the frost giant loomed large before him. The beast was sweeping its weapon low to the ground, trying to hit his beloved. She rolled gracefully under the blade and the giant turned its back on him as it swung at her again. Anger surged through Gavin and he moved behind its massive form. The Gladiator stepped under the giant's huge legs, thrusting his spear up with all his might. The brutal barbed spear point sank deep into its leg just below the groin, right into the thick artery for which he aimed. A great gout of hot blood splashed onto the ground, steaming. The giant kicked him away, sending him flying through the air to smash into the arena wall; he felt his bones crunch, some breaking under the impact, but he felt a savage surge of triumph as he saw his foe falter and watched Sadira move in for the kill. He struggled to his feet, raising his spear defiantly; the men and women in the stands joined him, shouting like warriors about to charge.

  Savage Sadira made the giant pay for ignoring her and kicking Gavin. She channelled verdant power into a spell-weave and pointed her swords at the Giant's back. A thick spay of inch long thorns erupted into being, each one flying forth and sinking into the giant's thick hide with surprising ease. It bell
owed in pain and turned to face her. Sadira smiled; the spell was not normally so effective, but it seemed this winter giant could not stomach the taste of the magic of growth and life that she wielded.

  The great shaggy frost giant trembled in fear as cruel Sadira moved in. It stumbled, weak with blood loss and overcome by the agony from the living thorns taking root in its back. The unnatural cold dispersed, and everything seemed warmer and brighter. Sadira smiled, her red lips cruel in the bright light of the sun. She breathed in, moving fast as she exhaled.

  She ducked the clumsy swing of the giant's heavy sword, running forward to drive one of her swords through the beast's foot and into the sand beneath, channelling green magic and weaving a grasping roots spell to tug at its other foot. Off balance from its swing and weak from its afflictions the creature could not resist her energetic assault. It fell backwards, crashing on to the ground, the last of its ice shaking loose to melt, steaming in the hot bloody sand. She let go of the blade in its foot, darted around a huge arm that lashed out at her as the beast flailed. The giant tried to sit up, but the cruel Gladiatrix slid her blade between its ribs, deep into its chest, finding its heart. Cruel and deadly, she twisted the blade, and the beast howled and she let loose a victorious war-scream drowning out its death-rattle. The crowd roared approval.

  Gavin watched all of this unfold as he painfully picked himself up; he realized that a creature of fear and cold could never conquer Sadira. She was fearless, not afraid to fail, filled with verdant strength, and not worried about how others saw her. He smiled at her as she looked to him from where she was posing on the dead giant's chest, the very picture of triumph. She smiled back, vivacious joy written all over her features, then turned to the roaring crowd and saluted them with her elegant, gore covered blades.

  As he left the arena, a little later, Gavin considered how close he had come to failure. He felt a little shiver, his breath clouding the air, for just a moment. He hurried on to the warmth of the baths and the arms of his love.