The Red Warrior: The Warrior Race, Book Two

by T. C. Edge

  The stadium was already buzzing, and the sand was once more shining gold and cleared of the many red patches that had stained it the previous day. Such was the importance of the day to Dom, that he'd brought Rufus along with him, rather than leaving him back at the ludus to continue the other gladiators' training. He wished to have his ally at his side in what he considered a rather inhospitable place, even though his presence within the royal balcony might raise a few eyebrows.

  As expected, it did. With the gallery filling with the usual array of luminaries, many sets of eyes wandered towards Rufus, dressed in his armour, who appeared quite out of place. They whispered but nothing more. After all, Dom was a prince. And he could do what he wanted.

  The arrival of Vesper, however, changed that.

  She flowed in, covered in her many wondrous robes, with the mighty Ares standing tall by her side. The grouping of lords and ladies on the balcony parted and silenced as she came, bowing as she passed. Occasionally, she stopped to allow her hand to be kissed or to pass on a pleasantry to one of her fawning subjects. Then her eyes found Dom, sitting in his chair to the left of the throne, with Rufus standing by his side.

  She frowned, and moved towards her throne. Planting herself down, she said, "And what is he doing here?"

  Rufus stood firm, his eyes never wavering.

  "He's my advisor, mother. Just as Ares is with you."

  "Ares is the head of the Imperial Guard, and my loyal bodyguard," countered Vesper immediately. "His presence here is quite appropriate. I'm afraid Rufus' presence is not."

  "I am entitled to have guests here," said Dom, finding some courage among the throng. He wanted to stand up to her in public. He wanted to show it could be done. "Rufus is my personal guard. He will not be here all day, if his presence is too unsavoury for you. He will venture often to the cells, and into the grounds." Dom sent his eyes around the gallery. "There are plenty of other guards here. Just consider Rufus another."

  Vesper's reaction was hard to gauge, though Dom could feel the simmering anger within her. She glanced briefly upon the dignitaries and then smiled.

  "Fine, Domitian. If Rufus' presence here means that much to you, he can stay."

  Dom's lungs released a slow breath, and the gallery rested easy. Across, on Vesper's right, the seat was once more taken by Lord Pontius. Having occupied the Empress' right hand position during the cull, the previous two days had allowed for other lords to take the stand. Now, Pontius was back, his presence by Vesper's side becoming an all too regular sight.

  Dom noted the slight slant to his mouth as he quietly observed the exchange. Behind him, Lucius wasn't quite so reserved in his expression. His smile was more obvious, and his eyes malicious.

  The tension had brought a silence, which now faded away. The occupants of the balcony began to chatter once more, and down in the stadium, the sounds of the growing crowd began to spread. Dom looked up at Rufus, who remained stoic as always, looking down upon the sand with a fondness that suggested he rather missed being centre stage.

  "Remind me, who's up first," said Dom.

  Rufus turned to him.

  "Oom, Master Domitian. Then Tomahawk, followed by Shadow, and finally Jaeger."

  "Right. And then Kira."

  Rufus nodded.

  "OK. Perhaps now's a good time to head down and see how they're all getting on," said Dom. "It seems your presence here got the expected reaction."

  Dom smirked and Rufus nodded. Their conversation was quiet enough to be private.

  "OK, I'll return shortly," said Rufus, before moving off through the gathering.

  On leaving, Vesper's eyes swayed over to Dom.

  "So he's leaving anyway?" she questioned. "Why the show, Domitian? What is he really doing here?"

  That was a question that required many answers. Dom desired the exchange he got. It was a show, as his mother called it, and an important one. He had, over the years, been accused of being weak. Standing up to his mother over something small like this was a good way of displaying some strength.

  Of course, he didn't tell her that.

  "As I said, mother, he is my advisor and bodyguard. Seeing as you assigned Kira to fight today, I wished to have Rufus by my side and on hand to offer his insight."

  "You seem displeased," said Vesper, her eyes narrowing. "I told you not to get attached to this Kira girl. That attachment will no doubt be severed soon."

  "Perhaps," mused Dom, keeping his cool. "But, if I'm attached, then couldn't you be accused of being the same?"

  Vesper frowned. Ares, standing beside her, watched on curiously.

  "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

  Dom had to be careful. Her words were decorated in a suppressed rage, as they so often were.

  "Just that you have taken a dislike to Kira," he said. "I call that an attachment too. And...that's why she's fighting again today, against a third seed too. It isn't a match up that's in the spirit of the games, at least not at this stage..."

  "The spirit of the games?" laughed Vesper. "I'll remind you, Domitian, that these are my games. What spirit they have is down to my design. I will determine whatever match up I please, so long as the crowd enjoy it. They are my priority."

  Dom bit his tongue. They were not her priority, not by a long shot. He wanted to ask how things were going in Southside. How was the growing threat of disease being handled? How were crime rates? Why exactly were innocent men like Merk being gathered up to be slaughtered in full view of the masses.

  He had many other questions he wished to ask, but barely even gave them a chance to slip into his thoughts. If he did, she might see them. All had to be careful around her, her telepathic mind always keen to seek out some dissent among her subjects. In order to survive, you needed to arrange your thoughts carefully in her presence. It was a skill the likes of Lord Pontius had mastered over the years.

  Still, Dom couldn't exactly hide them all. When it came to Merk, in particular, he was far too easy for her to read.

  "So, tell me Domitian," she said. "This pet heretic of yours. What do you plan to do with him?"

  "Heretic..." whispered Dom, his distaste for his mother never as strong as it was right now.

  "Yes, heretic. He was found guilty of heresy. Do I have to explain further?"

  Dom didn't answer. He drew in a long breath and turned his eyes over the stadium. He needed the moment to maintain his composure.

  "Well?" went on Vesper, probing. "I hear this, um, Merk, is residing in your own home." She shook her head, looking both disappointed and disgusted. "You're a prince, Domitian. You cannot allow such a man to live with you. He is a criminal, sentenced to death..."

  "And absolved of the sentence," said Dom, looking back at her and cutting her off. "He survived the cull, mother. He is no longer yours to torment."

  Her eyes flashed red. Dom's heart drummed violently at the sight.

  "Torment," she growled, her voice a low rumble. "Criminals deserve the torment they receive."

  Dom's voice had become a tight whisper when he next spoke.

  "He wasn't a criminal, mother. He was just a normal man, and a faithful servant of mine on the ship. He should never have been on the sand in the first place."

  Vesper's face lightened a touch.

  "Then why was he there? Are you suggesting my soldiers are incompetent? Are you suggesting heresy should just be ignored? Should we perhaps empty out the dungeons and prisons around the city, let all the murderers and rapists and plotters run free? Oh, Domitian, you need to harden up. Strength is a key virtue of leadership. I'm afraid, my son, you are lacking in that regard."

  Hidden beneath his robes, Dom's fists were bunching tight. His tether was reaching its end. His chest was starting to heave a little, his heart pressing hard within it. He knew full well that this conversation wasn't going anywhere. And were he not his mother's only child, he'd be quite concerned for his safety. As he saw it, her desire to leave a legacy was the only armour he had. Her love for him, a
s a man, as a son, was gone. Only her desire to see her progeny rule remained.

  He didn't answer, and thankfully he didn't need to. Whispering into Vesper's ear, Ares informed her that the day's first event was scheduled to start. She glared a final time at Dom and turned away, preparing to announce the start of the day.

  She seemed to hesitate, perhaps ruffled by the conversation. Then she turned to Pontius.

  "Lord Pontius, would you do the honours?"

  Pontius smiled gracefully and nodded.

  "Of course, Empress Vesper. It would be my pleasure."

  He stood, and raised his arms. The crowd hushed quickly as they saw him, his figure growing clear upon all the screens set around the arena. A heavy silence fell, and he seemed to enjoy it. Then his voice spread across the stands, booming loud and with a resonating authority.

  "Today, we greet the top seeds of the games," he began. "Master Lucius and Prince Domitian have entertained us with some fine warriors so far, but now we reach their most celebrated men. We have four exciting bouts for you, the wonderful people of Neorome, to enjoy. And a final treat to end the day. Redmane vs The Red Warrior."

  He allowed a break, which resulted in a roar of approval. Pontius' smile widened, enjoying his position here ahead of the crowd. Dom looked at him, and knew his desires. He wished for this to be a more permanent station.

  He raised his arms to quieten the throng.

  "To start, we have Prince Domitian's second seed. A brutal giant from the westerlands, standing over eight feet tall. Please be upstanding as we greet the mighty Oom!"

  The crowd roared again, and Dom looked down to see the shape of Oom emerge from one of the gates below. A hundred thousands gasps met his arrival, stacked full of armour and a fierce array of axes. He thundered out onto the sand, bellowing loudly as he went, and made his way towards the centre of the battlefield, before turning his boulder-sized head up to the balcony.

  "A magnificent specimen," called out Pontius. "And battling him today, please welcome the warriors of the Banuk tribe, hailing from the desertlands to the far south across the narrow sea."

  Now, several more gates opened, and from them ten warriors emerged. They were dark of skin, draped in sparse armour and holding crude spears and other basic blades. They came nervously onto the sand, looking around in wonder and confusion, surrounding Oom like a pack of wild dogs gathered around a bear.

  Dom looked upon them, and though they had his man at a significant numerical disadvantage, knew they posed him no threat. To the crowd, it appeared an even match, but not to Dom. He knew the Banuk tribe, a group of simple warriors not far from where he found Rufus many years ago. They were a mostly peaceful people, despite appearances, and were used to hunting game and not man.

  They were regular men, not Enhanced. Oom's speed and power would easily overcome them. Ten more innocent men, not speaking the language, not knowing why they were here, were about to be murdered for the pleasure of the people. For the pleasure of an Empress, drunk on power and obsessed with the past. A woman who seemed to only get pleasure now from death.

  Dom saw her eyes light up, eager for blood. And as Pontius announced for the bout to begin, the young prince sat back and sunk down a full goblet of wine. It was the only thing that could relax him while the slaughter began.

  6

  Within the bowels of the stadium, Kira sat with her eyes squarely on the black-coated form of Shadow. He had found a suitable corner and taken position there, his body wrapped up like a sleeping bat and his icy eyes shut tight behind pale lids.

  Across from him, an array of weapons were lined up, now missing several axes. Kira considered the option of grabbing a knife and ending him while she could. It was a tempting proposition, but one she wouldn't give in to. Even if she were to succeed, she'd be in line for the decimation, or worse. It wasn't how she wanted to die.

  There was another problem; they weren't alone.

  The figure of Rufus hovered, not one to miss the glare she sent at her fellow gladiator.

  "Don't waste your energy, Kira," he suggested.

  Her eyes were torn from Shadow and met his.

  "Do I look like I'm wasting energy?" she asked, referencing her seated and still position on the bench.

  "Energy isn't just used by physical exertion. Your mind will quickly deplete your resources if you let it. Hate and anger aren't your friends here."

  "I'm not angry," she said.

  "But you do hate." Rufus looked at Shadow, who appeared oblivious to the conversation about him. "You hate him."

  Kira had no rebuttal.

  "I hate his kind," she said. "It's not really personal. It can't be," she added quickly. "He's not really a person."

  "However you look at it, it's no good letting such emotion drain you before a fight. We all carry baggage from our pasts when we come here. You have to ignore it at times like this."

  "When we come here?" huffed Kira. "You mean, when we're kidnapped and brought here against our will. I think it's an important distinction."

  Rufus lifted his eyes.

  "You're still bitter, naturally. That is baggage too. Narrow your focus to the bout with Redmane. You can stew back in the cell later on, if you should survive."

  "Yeah...if," mumbled Kira. "Maybe I won't get a chance to do any stewing. This might be my last opportunity."

  "Well, take my advice or don't. It's your life."

  "No," glared Kira. "My life is back in Haven. My life has already been stolen from me. Quite how you can stand there and suggest otherwise is beyond me. You were stolen too, right? I don't see how you can live with yourself. You're complicit in ruining lives."

  Kira noted Rufus' expression fall into shade as she spoke. He turned away and moved towards the bars of the cell.

  "I'm here to help," is all he said, looking out. "If you'd prefer me to leave, I will. Shadow needs no aid from me. I'm here for you, Kira, and you alone. Whatever you think of Master Domitian, he wants you to survive. And for what it's worth, I do too."

  He turned back to her. Kira felt a pulse of guilt run through her.

  "Sorry," she nodded. "I just don't understand you, Rufus. I could never stay here if I became champion. I could never serve like you do..."

  As she spoke, the stone ceiling above began to rattle violently, and the roars of the crowd spread right through the stadium. A shower of dust came sprinkling down. It was obvious that Oom's bout had gotten underway.

  Rufus stepped back towards Kira, and took a seat beside her.

  "Your questions are valid, all of them. And your feelings...they are too. But we all come from different places and backgrounds. I felt like you did at first, I can assure you. But in the end, I saw that life here would be far better for me than what I was taken from. Master Domitian is a good man stuck within a terrible role. The things he does are forced upon him, yet what flexibility he has, he uses to ensure his subjects are well catered to and comfortable."

  Another heavy shower of dust came down. Kira looked over at Shadow, who hadn't moved an inch.

  "Silia said the same," she murmured, looking at her toes. "That's her name, right? The slave girl in the household."

  "She's one of many," said Rufus. "Ask any of Master Domitian's people, and they will all vouch for him. He wishes you free of this place, Kira. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but he does."

  Kira began laughing. It was more than counterintuitive. It was utter garbage.

  "Right. He steals me from my home, drags me across the world to die...but oh no, he wants me to be safe and happy." She coughed as the dust swept up her throat. "Excuse me if I don't believe you."

  Rufus stood again and paced off into the cell.

  "You're a hard nut to crack, but you'll come round," he smiled. "But, like I say, don't waste your energy on this right now. What do you want most in the world?"

  Kira rolled her eyes.

  "Come on. Humour me," said Rufus.

  "Fine," exhaled Kira. "I want to go home to Haven.
I think that's pretty obvious."

  Rufus opened out his hands.

  "Well, there you go then. And how do you get there?"

  "I kill the lot of you and escape," said Kira flatly.

  Rufus' eyes twinkled.

  "A fair option. But, perhaps, a little foolhardy. Is there a more simple path?"

  "Oh, a more simple path? Of course! You mean, defeating all who stand in my way, including him over there." She pointed at Shadow, who still didn't move. "Kill them all, and I get to choose my fate, right? I'll be shipped back home on a nice comfy boat. How wonderful. And oh so easy..."

  Rufus opened his mouth to talk. This wasn't going how he intended.

  "Oh, but there's a little problem," continued Kira, growing quite irate. "Hmmmm, let me see. Well, we've got a whole host of gladiators here who are more powerful than me. We've got a psychotic empress who'll do anything to see me dead. And, even if I overcame all of that, I'd probably just get back home to find all my friends dead and my entire rebellion crushed. So, yeah, not quite so simple."

  Her rant concluded with a heavy puff of air. It was enough to lure open Shadow's eyes, which centred on her briefly before shutting once more.

  The panting of Kira's breath reinforced Rufus' impending suggestion to stay calm and relax. Kira saw it coming.

  "And please, Rufus, don't tell me to conserve my energy again. All you're doing right now is fuelling the fire."

  Rufus nodded and kept quiet. He gave her a chance to relax again, which she eventually did. Her emotions were frayed, largely because she firmly believed that her final hours in this world were now upon her. From what she'd heard of Redmane last night, the curtains were about to close on her existence.

  Above, the shaking continued for a few moments, before a lengthier roar ensued. It slowly faded away as Kira focused on her augmented hearing. She could hear the footsteps of Oom, marching from one end of the battlefield towards the gallery. The fight was clearly done, and he was about to be announced the winner.