by Prior, D. P.
It was the name of the legendary baresark, and a mark of respect to the reigning champion. Currently, that was a big bastard called Kallos the Crusher, on account of his shovel-sized hands that could snap a dwarf’s windpipe, and frequently had.
Kallos was strutting his stuff, flexing and growling, every now and again roaring at the crowd, and soaking up the roars they gave in return. He was naked, save for a blood-soaked loin-cloth. His head was clean-shaven, smooth as an egg, but his beard was braided into three thick ropes and bound with leather. The tattoo of a fractured skull with blazing fire-pits for eyes adorned his thickly muscled chest, and when he turned, he gave the crowd a look at the bare-breasted strumpet on his back. He was half a head taller than any dwarf Carnifex had ever seen, and half again as wide. Muscle upon muscle was how he would have described Kallos: ridged, dense, armor-plated, even. But it was his eyes that were his most intimidating feature: black holes without the slightest shred of white. Either his pupils were dilated from too much somnificus, or they were the eyes of a demon: soulless, and empty as the Void.
A raucous cheer went up from one of the fringe circles, and an announcer called out the winner:
“Jaym the Unstoppable! Jaym the Brutal!”
“Jaym the Uncrowned Champion!” someone heckled.
Carnifex scanned the crowd till he found the culprit, a skinny runt with a straggly beard and hair. He had a notebook in hand and was going from dwarf to dwarf, taking bets.
“Then send him in here with me!” Kallos bellowed. He pounded his chest with meaty fists, and the crowd around the central ring began to yell “Kunaga!” even louder than before.
A red-bearded dwarf pushed his way through the onlookers. He wasn’t as tall as Kallos, but he was broader, a real brute of a baresark. He was foaming at the mouth, and his eyes were crimson with rage. The blood of his most recent opponent spattered him head to foot.
“You called?” said the newcomer.
“No, Jaym,” the scrawny dwarf taking bets said, hurrying over and grabbing his arm. “Not now. We wait, remember. Goad him, threaten him, mock him, but timing is everything in this game.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
“I want him now!” Jaym roared, striding toward the raised circle.
“Oh, yeah?” Kallos said. “Then come and get it.”
Cheers went up from another circle, and the winner was announced as Hagrock the Invincible.
“Now that’s the fight you want to see,” the scrawny dwarf yelled to the people, turning a circle to see who wanted to place a wager. “Hagrock versus Kallos! The fight of the century!”
Dwarves swarmed around him, handing over tokens, and Jaym, all but forgotten, slunk away into the crowd.
Hagrock’s invincibility obviously didn’t extend to his left ear. It was hanging by a thread as he made his weary way from his circle to the central ring. He looked utterly spent to Carnifex, drenched in the blood of his vanquished opponent, and a fair amount of his own. Like all baresarks, he was brawny and fairly muscled, and his torso was a canvas of various mismatched tattoos. About his most arresting feature was his teeth: they were capped with rusty iron points. Judging by the gore that spattered his mouth and beard, it looked like he’d been making good use of them.
Those gathered around the platform supporting the central ring jeered as Hagrock took the three short steps up. The baresarks in the trough around the fighting circle parted so he could leap across, then they closed the gap behind him.
The combatants met in the middle and touched knuckles, then stepped back till they were up against the wooden shields on opposite sides of the ring. That was the cue for the fight to begin.
Kallos moved to claim the center of the ring, and Hagrock seemed content to let him have it. As Hagrock circled him like a predator, Kallos pivoted in place to track his movements. Hagrock picked up his pace, his growls and his rage increasing with the speed of his steps. He was working himself up into the frenzy baresarks were known for. Ordinarily, his opponent would have done the same, but Kallos looked like he couldn’t be bothered. Maybe he didn’t need to draw upon a semi-crazed state to get the job done.
Hagrock grew rabid. Froth flew from his mouth. He bared his lips, showing his gruesome metal teeth to full effect. His eyes rolled into his head, came down bloodshot.
And then he sprang.
Kallos caught him by the throat and slammed him into the ground, held him there as Hagrock thrashed and spat and shrieked. The shriek became a gurgle, and then a wheezing moan. Calm as anything, Kallos knelt over him, throttling him with measured force from one hand. Pinkish drool trickled from Hagrock’s mouth. His leg twitched once, twice, and then he was still.
“Is that it?” someone in the crowd cried out when Kallos stepped away from the body.
It was murder, pure and simple, but it was also commonplace. Circle fighting was illegal all over the city, but down here, down at the foot of the ravine, who was there to enforce the law? And besides, a lot of tokens were won or lost on such fights. A shog of a lot. And it was common knowledge Councilor Yuffie was among those who benefited most from these brutal displays. So, it was no wonder the Council turned a blind eye. And, in any case, circle fights were one solution to the problem posed by a potential second uprising of the baresarks. With them taking care of their own like this, there was little need for another cull.
“Who’s next?” Kallos roared, raising his arms aloft and doing a circuit of the ring.
“I’m game,” Carnifex called out.
Kallos glared down at him from above the heads of the baresarks in the trench. “Who the shog are you? Something a gibuna shat out of its mangy arse?”
The crowd laughed dutifully. There was much shaking of heads.
“What’s your name?” the scrawny dwarf said, weaving his way through the onlookers and scribbling in his notebook.
“Carnifex.”
“No, no, that won’t do. What you need’s something to get the audience riled up, just preferably not something like ‘Invincible.’ Poor old Hagrock really believed the was, and I dare say the irony is lost on this lot. Come on, think of something, and be quick about it before he remembers my man Jaym.” He tapped his nose with a finger. “The longer we make the punters wait for the match up of the millennia, the more the tokens will flow.”
Carnifex struggled to think of some nom de guerre that wouldn’t make him sound a shogger. He could see the sense in Kallos’s. You only need to look at what he did to Hagrock’s windpipe to reckon “Crusher” a good choice. Then he remembered Lucius, and what he’d said their names meant. Aristodeus claimed Carnifex translated as ‘Executioner’, which was half decent, but Lucius’s interpretation was even more suited to purpose.
“Butcher,” he said to the runt with the notepad.
“Like it. All right, people, who’ll give me five-to-one on Carnifex the Butcher wiping the floor with Kallos? No one? Ten-to-one, then? A hundred?”
Dwarves started waving tokens at him, and the fight, so it seemed, was on.
Carnifex took the steps up and crossed over into the circle.
“No armor,” one of the baresarks in the trench said. “Same goes for the axe. You can get them back on your way out.”
Hoots of laughter followed. Clearly, they didn’t think he’d be going anywhere after the bout. Ever again.
He removed his hauberk and gambeson and dumped them in the trench. His axe he passed to one of the baresarks.
“Make sure you don’t tarnish the blades, laddie,” Carnifex said. “I’ll be expecting it back in the same condition.”
The baresark narrowed his eyes but took the axe all the same.
Ignoring Kallos, Carnifex limbered up and stretched his muscles. By the time he’d finished some press-ups and squats, he had a good pump on, and there were appreciative gasps from the crowd. When he looked round to acknowledge them, people averted their eyes. No one gave him a virgin’s chance in shogland of lasting any longer than Hagrock. If anythin
g, they felt sorry for him, and the grim atmosphere that descended over the arena was more akin to that of an execution than a fair fight.
Kallos had already backed up against a shield, impatient for the bout to be over with. Up close, his bulk was even more massive. His thews looked carved from granite, and he seemed unmovable as a mountain. Orange light reflected from his bald head, and the skull tattoo on his chest seemed to come alive in the flickering glow.
Any other time, Carnifex’s heart would have been a deafening boom in his ears, but the black dog mood had followed him down from the seventh level, stayed with him at Thumil’s, and then morphed into an abyssal hound of despair that left him with nothing to lose. If anything, he was calm. Too calm to draw upon the reserves that always saw him through at the Ephebe bouts.
He touched his back to a shield, and the fight was on.
Carnifex was expecting Kallos to take the middle again, like he’d done against Hagrock, but instead, the Crusher charged. Carnifex spun out of the way just in time, and Kallos’s fist smacked a hole in the wood of the shield behind. Carnifex circled away, but Kallos turned and swiftly closed him down. Every time Carnifex stepped one way, Kallos had the move covered. He was a master of the ring, a veteran. And he’d never been beaten.
Kallos threw a jab, but it was a feint, and Carnifex walked straight into a hook from the other hand. He stumbled across the circle, ears ringing. Kallos was a blur closing in on him. Carnifex tucked in behind his arms, but an uppercut took him in the ribs, and all the air burst from his lungs.
He hadn’t expected this: a display of boxing skill from a monster like Kallos. It was a complete contrast to the way the Crusher had handled Hagrock.
A sledgehammer blow burst through Carnifex’s protecting ams and split his lip. He reeled back against the shield wall. Kallos came on with a cross, a jab, a scything haymaker. All found their mark, and Carnifex rolled across the shields, barely keeping his feet. Blood ran down in front of his eyes. He wiped his face to see, but Kallos hit him in the guts. Carnifex tensed just in time, made a wall of his abs. Kallos swung for his stomach again, but he may as well have struck rock. He looked momentarily bewildered, and then unleashed punch after punch at Carnifex’s guts, as if he had a point to prove. Carnifex made no attempt to block or dodge. Instead, he soaked the blows up, allowing the force of each to drive him against the shield wall and dissipate. Hit after hit he took to the midriff, thanking shog for all the work he’d put into his sit-ups.
Sweat sprayed off Kallos’s head, ran in rivulets down his torso, and yet he still pounded away, as if he were tunnel-visioned by Carnifex’s ability to withstand his body blows. Finally, Kallos stepped back for a breather, and Carnifex launched himself off the shield wall. He caught Kallos on the jaw with a right hook, followed it up with a left to the ribs. Kallos got off a jab, but it lacked power and stiffness. Carnifex ducked in close and delivered a shocking right to the nose, splitting it open in a shower of gore. Kallos roared, his eyes rolled, and then the rage was upon him.
He shoved Carnifex back, then pounded him like a hunk of meat, blow after blow after blow. Carnifex caught some on the arms, but they hurt like shog, and numbness started to seep in. He tried to push back, but Kallos was too heavy, too strong. He kicked out at a knee, but Kallos caught him by the ankle and flipped him. Carnifex fell cleanly and rolled to his feet, but Kallos was there waiting, and smashed a fist into his face. Carnifex swooned and stumbled, and Kallos hit him again—a hammer blow to the jaw that sent him sprawling.
The crowd roared, and Kallos lifted his arms in victory.
Slowly, painfully, Carnifex scrabbled at the ground, shook his head, and stood with a wobble and a waver.
He expected Kallos to pass comment, gloat, give him a moment to recover, but for the second time in the fight, the baresark surprised him. Kallos charged back in, but rather than throw any more punches, he swept Carnifex up in his arms, hoisted him overhead, and brought him crashing down against a raised knee. It was a move designed to break his back, but Carnifex twisted and took the brunt on his arm. Even so, his arm would have broken, if not for the thick muscles he’d built with the weights Rugbeard had made him.
Kallos flung him to the ground. Pain jolted along Carnifex’s back all the way to his skull. Kallos came down at him, knees first, but Carnifex rolled aside. Kallos grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back. Carnifex backhanded him in the face and broke free.
They circled each other more warily now, but if anything, Kallos seemed to grow more enraged with every blow Carnifex landed. It’s what baresarks did: excelled on physical punishment. Hit them with everything you had, and they’d keep coming back stronger.
Kallos stopped circling and lunged. Carnifex tried to back away, but his legs were jelly, and he stumbled. The Crusher got a hand round his throat and squeezed. Carnifex gasped, started to choke. He could feel his face reddening, same as Hagrock’s had. Soon it would turn purple, and he’d black out, if Kallos didn’t snap his neck first.
He closed his fingers around Kallos’s wrist and gave a squeeze of his own. At first, nothing happened, but he found the joint and focused his pressure there. Kallos tightened his grip on Carnifex’s throat. Vision blurred, breaths came in wheezing trickles. Carnifex put everything he had into one last effort. Something popped in Kallos’s wrist, and his fingers sprang open. He swore, and punched Carnifex so hard in the face it pitched him to his arse.
And again, Carnifex got up.
This time, he made a show of it, and goaded Kallos on. Kallos caught him with a hook to the cheek. Carnifex staggered, then invited him to try again. Kallos rocked his head back with a jab, then thundered a cross into his temple. White pain blazed behind Carnifex’s eyes, and drove the black dog back to the corners. A trail of coruscating argent seared through his skull and ignited something in his depths. Vigor flooded his limbs, tautened every muscle. Kallos swung for him again, but Carnifex bobbed his head out of the way. Suddenly, the baresark looked slow and cumbersome.
Carnifex ducked beneath a jab and powered a punch into Kallos’s ribs. He was rewarded with a resounding crack, and Kallos fell back clutching his side. With a bellow, the baresark took his rage up another notch, and he went for a grapple, but missed. He was a lumbering oaf now, to Carnifex, and yet the reality was quite different: Carnifex was moving faster. He was sure of every step, every punch, and he could see what Kallos was doing before he did it.
Hook followed hook, all of them dodged. Kallos tried setting up with a jab, but Carnifex countered with one of his own that split the skin above the baresark’s eye. Kallos swung a wild haymaker, but Carnifex danced round him and delivered a chopping blow to the back of his neck. The baresark hit the ground with a thud. He started to rise, but Carnifex kicked him in the ribs, and he slumped down. He started up again. This time, Carnifex let him find his feet, then stepped in and poleaxed him with a vicious uppercut. Kallos teetered backward, steadied himself, took a step forward, and collapsed.
That’s for my pa, shogger, Carnifex thought as he staggered across the ring to reclaim his chainmail and gambeson. The roaring of the crowd, the applause, was like a hive of hornets in his skull. A throbbing ache pulsed through his head, and every limb felt heavy and swollen. Needles of pain lanced between his ribs, and his eyes were puffy, closed to slits.
The baresark he’d given his axe to emerged from the trench and returned it with a nod of respect. Carnifex set it down while he got his armor back on, then snatched it back up and strode from the ring.
The scrawny dwarf was waving his notebook at him and calling out, “Come and see me. I can make you a ton of tokens, Butcher.”
Carnifex ignored him; ignored the well-wishers; ignored them all.
He’d proven himself, but what had it achieved, save for a world of hurt, and a deepening of the emptiness that had followed Droom’s death? It was an ever-widening breach that had gotten worse with the loss of his friends—of Cordy and Thumil—and no amount of slugging in the ring co
uld close it up again.
He pushed his way clear of the crowd and found a beer tent. The first flagon lessened the pain some; the second all but killed it. But he didn’t stop there. He drank and he drank and he drank.
Last thing he recalled was stumbling across the embankment by the Sanguis Terrae, mesmerized by the orange glow of the braziers spangling its surface. Whores flaunted themselves at him, then cursed him when he didn’t respond. Their voices gave way to the siren call of the lake, summoning him, urging him to end it all here and throw himself in. He took one faltering step toward the shoreline, then another, but his legs gave way, and he fell face first in the dirt.
WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR
“Carn. Carnifex Thane. Up soldier. Come on, Lieutenant, get your lazy arse up and out of here.”
Thumil?
Hands grabbed his shoulders, gently shook him, rolled him over. His head lolled to one side. Red flared behind his eyelids, stung him deep in his throbbing brain.
“Thank shog,” he heard Thumil say. “Thank shog I found you.”
Carnifex cracked open an eye, peered through a slit. Try as he might, it would open no more, and when he raised his hand to feel, the skin around it was puffed up and raw.
“Quite a fight you put on,” Thumil said. “It’s all over the city. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“That how you found me?” Carnifex muttered through swollen lips. He turned his head so he could look up at Thumil. All he saw was a blur of gold and pinpricks that might have been eyes.
“You stupid shogging shogger,” Thumil said in a breaking voice. He leaned down and got his arms beneath Carnifex, drew him into a cradling hug.
“Does this mean you have to arrest me? Or aren’t circle fights illegal anymore?”
“Shog that.” Thumil was weeping openly now, his tears splashing on Carnifex’s face. They seemed to soothe some of the soreness. “If Yuffie’s above the law, we might as well all be.”
Carnifex tried to laugh, but it nearly split his swollen lips. “You don’t believe that, Thumil.”