The Red Warrior: The Warrior Race, Book Two

by T. C. Edge

  "She did. And I thank you so very much, Kira," said Merk. He bent down and picked up a bowl, and filled it right to the brim with warm stew. "Here you go. For you, my hero," he smiled.

  Kira reached over and took the bowl, made of rough ceramic. But it's base felt odd, her fingers touching a smoother surface. She held it low and smiled.

  "It was my pleasure, Merk the Mighty," she said. "You shouldn't have been there in the first place."

  "How's that?" asked Malvo, still slurping his stew.

  "Long story," said Kira. "In short, the Empress is a psycho bitch, and plays with people for fun."

  She saw the widening of Malvo's eyes, and not too far behind, the comical look of shock in Oom's. Then she turned to the two guards, who looked at her impassively. Neither seemed to care, or to even consider reprimanding her for such an insult to their Empress. After all, they were Dom's men, not hers, and he'd no doubt made his own thoughts on his mother perfectly clear.

  "You got balls, you do," laughed Malvo with a mouthful of stew. "But that tongue's gonna get you killed."

  "Yeah well, we're all dead down here anyway," said Kira matter of factly. "As long as I've got free breath in my lungs, I'll use it to speak my mind."

  "Fair enough," said Malvo, moving back to refill his bowl and grab a piece of bread to boot. "Not sure we're all dead down here, though."

  His eyes slid over to Shadow, who Kira had barely even noticed. He was in some shady corner, watching matters calmly.

  "Yeah, even him," grunted Kira. "I've heard all about this Jaeger, Lucius' top seed. No one's beating that guy."

  "You seem awfully sure," said Malvo. "I'd prefer to think I've got a chance..."

  Kira huffed loudly, before quickly apologising.

  "Sorry...I'm not trying to be rude. I'm just being realistic."

  "Well keep your realism to your damn self," spat Malvo, snarling. "Unlike you, I haven't given up yet."

  He stormed off down his personal passage, Oom's great dome of a head watching proceedings from the rear wall. Meanwhile, the guards were grunting at Merk, telling him it was time to lock up.

  "Ah, of course," said Merk. "Well, good to see you all. Enjoy the food."

  He moved off, glancing at Kira as he went, and added, "I'll be back to see you all again soon," before the gate was locked and he and the two guards disappeared up the stairs. Immediately, Finn gave Kira a nudge, and lifted his eyes in the direction of his passage. Kira shook her head, and moved off down her own, where Gwyn was waiting.

  Finn followed. Kira shook her head again, and nodded for him to go back to his own private nook. Her eyes were stern and Finn was quick to understand. Only minutes ago, she'd stressed the importance of not being too obvious around each other, even down here. Any one of the other men could look to seek some advantage if they sniffed a rat.

  Kira quickly shuffled off into the shadows, moving towards her bench. Gwyn being down there wasn't unexpected, but Finn following after her might have raised a few flags.

  She reached her new friend, and gently fingered the bottom of her bowl of stew. She smiled as she felt the corners of the paper, neatly taped against the ceramic, and began to gently tear it free. She did so quietly and quickly, keeping her back to the main dungeon the whole time. Gwyn sat before her, watching on with unblinking eyes.

  Kira handed her the bowl, and took the note up in her hands. She turned it around, opened it up, and read the quickly scrawled writing on its surface.

  'I'm in,' it said. 'Have ways now to contact you. Have access to the villa. Will start thinking of a way out. Hold strong, and destroy this message immediately. It can't be found.'

  Kira read it over once, then bunched it up quickly, dipped it into the stew in Gwyn's lap, drawing a frown in the process, and proceeded to stuff the sodden ball of paper into her mouth. She chewed it up and swallowed as Gwyn watched on, gesturing with her eyes for some explanation.

  Only once Kira had completed her meal did she give it.

  "He's in," she whispered, turning Gwyn's frown to a smile. "Looks like we've got our inside man."

  The message was passed along to Finn a little after. As some of the other gladiators began eating and showering, Kira took the opportunity to glide down Finn's passage when no one was looking, and update him on what happened.

  He took the information on quickly without overanalysing it.

  "Just confirmation then," he said. "We still have no idea if he'll be able to help."

  "No," said Kira, "but the trick with the note was smart. We'll have to hold tight, and hope he can figure something out."

  They nodded to each other, and Kira retreated, returning to her passage which had now been vacated by Gwyn. She sat for a time, musing on these new circumstances, and a smile started to swim a little up her face. It was something, at least, to grip onto, something to give her some hope. She had two allies here, two friends, and a further one above. A man who was very much in Dom's trust, and who would, she hoped, never be suspected of a thing if he was careful.

  To say she was invigorated might be pushing it. Yet, it was enough to get her mind working feverishly for any way she could help the old man. Right here, right now, this was about life and death. Upon the sand, she knew the game was almost certainly up. And even if she managed to win her next bout, she certainly wouldn't the next. It was a hopeless situation, but now a new light was beginning to shine. And that was just about enough for her.

  As she sat there, however, her mind turned quickly to the next guest they'd receive that night. They could expect Rufus at any minute now, wandering down to give them the schedule. It was nerve-wracking enough before, awaiting the summons, but now it had gotten even worse.

  That was both the great joy and the great curse of hope. Each day of freedom from the arena would, possibly, bring them a step closer to escape. And yet, if their name was called, then their burgeoning hope could well be quelled before it could see itself fulfilled and transformed into something more.

  This constant state of tension was almost unbearable, and more so now than ever. Kira waited, as her allies will have done, listening as closely as she could for any footsteps down the stairs. For the hum of Rufus as he wandered down towards them. For his scent, drifting from above, come to bring them all the news.

  Her focus was so complete that she managed to hear a few conversations above, whisperings of guards patrolling around the compound. She focused on their voices alone now, something she'd done a little of here so far, but never with much conviction. Now, she put the full extent of her senses to the task, hoping to hear something she could use. Some tidbit of information that could, potentially, aid them in their task.

  Nothing of interest came. Only gossip, it seemed, regarding the games and the contenders, and the soldiers' personal lives at home. She might once have been interested to hear the latest chat on the street about the favourites. But no longer. Now, unless they spoke of something, anything, that could prove useful in escaping this cell, this compound, this whole damn city and continent, then she wasn't interested at all.

  But still, she listened. She did so in hope and not expectation, but now hope was all she had. Hope that Merk would come through. Hope the Rufus would stroll down and tell them that she and her allies would not fight the next day. Hope that, by some miracle, their fledging plans would come to fruition, and they'd all get home and live happily ever after.

  Kira smirked to herself at the thought, because it wasn't what she believed at all. Even if all she'd imagined came true, there was no happy ever after. Happiness wasn't a concept that occurred to a girl like her. When your life is one of death, then perhaps you never deserve it.

  Her musings wandered off, and the whispered conversations above began to grow muddled in her mind as her focus waned. She tried to centre herself again as her weariness grew, and before she knew it, the time was ticking on beyond the usual hour for Rufus to appear.

  Then, finally, a hurried tread came rushing, and she escaped her
reverie as the gate squealed open. Rufus emerged into the dungeon, his dark skin glinting under the moonlight that filtered down through the high bars.

  "Sorry I'm late, all," he said, his voice loud and ringing down all available passages. "Good news. None of you are fighting tomorrow, so you've all got another day in the training yard. Rest easy, but don't get too comfy. I'm sure one or two of you will be back into the arena in a day or so."

  He turned and moved off again before anyone could speak. Kira heard a few heavy breaths issue from the shadows, and leaned back to place her head against the cold stone wall.

  She smiled, the news a small mercy here.

  And her burgeoning hope swelled just a little.

  21

  The first week of the Imperial Games was coming to an end, and all over the city the fever had spread. In Eastside, where the wealthy residents of Neorome could enjoy the festivities with no worries to distract them, a thrilling atmosphere now spread through the white marble streets. In Southside, the games were a veil, barely hiding a more serious underlying problem.

  Though it was primarily in Southside were many of the visitors to the city stayed during the games, the permanent residents there were growing disgruntled. Word had begun to filter through from the narrow lanes and tightly packed alleys of a brewing trouble, of disgruntled groups of men who had, quite frankly, had enough.

  The uprising that had so often been touched upon during meetings between the illustrious lords and ladies of the city, but which was never taken with a great deal of seriousness by Empress Vesper, now looked set to break loose of its shackles. And at a time like this, when the entire city should be enthralled by the wondrous spectacle Vesper was putting on, it was clear that this was a very serious problem indeed.

  The normal form, over the years, had been of talk and no action. The people in Southside had often spoken of staging some sort of revolt or insurrection, yet had never made good their muted claims. Some more vocal groups had even begun to arm themselves, and gather up money to hire outside mercenaries to aid them in their task. Yet it was all just talk, and little more. The games would come along and distract the masses, and the city would tick along as normal.

  But, the years had grown increasingly unfavourable to the denizens to the south of the Tiber, and had done so in tandem with Empress Vesper's diminishing state of mind. She'd begun to care less and less about their fortunes, and thus they'd begun to grow more and more hostile to her rule. The consequence was the many hanging bodies and severed heads that now littered the public squares and streets. Vesper had chosen fear, rather than diplomacy, when dealing with the more vocal dissidents.

  It was a vicious cycle, really, and totally unsustainable. The more she tightened her grip, the more committed Southside became to standing up against her. The fear she employed took her so far, and so far only. Now, with the likes of Merk appearing as a figure of defiance against her, and the stories that had begun to spread about just why Merk, and the rest of those innocent men and women, were sent upon the sand, the people of the south were quickly reaching the end of their tether.

  For many, living in such squalor and destitution, with disease a growing problem, and the divide between the wealthy and the poor increasingly obvious, there was no choice. And the reports that were coming in were making that more clear than ever.

  Dom heard much of this from Claud and Rufus, both of them keeping their ears to the ground regarding the political state of affairs across the city. He heard it, too, within the public squares and baths, though the closer to the imperial forum and palace you got, the more muted those discussions were. With Vesper looking down from on high, and her Imperial Guard always watching, and listening, few people wanted to give voice to the issue, even if they empathised greatly with what the people of Southside were going through.

  And, truly, there were many who did across Eastside too. Many lords and ladies of high birth and great wealth, Dom knew, wished for a peaceful resolution to the troubles. Yet they were largely ruled by fear too, and few would take a stand against the Empress' manner of rule. In the end, Eastside was a place of cowards. And Vesper took full advantage.

  It was a second day off for Dom's gladiators when he sat, once more, within his office, poring over the many manuscripts he'd gathered from his private library. He'd spent some time with Rufus the previous night, going over what he'd learned, and hearing too what Rufus had to say. And that was a lot. He had plenty to report, both regarding the gladiators' state of mind and continued preparations, and the whispers he'd heard from the soldiers and guards around the compound regarding the brewing trouble in Southside.

  By all accounts, weapons had been spotted more frequently than normal, and there was chatter on the streets about a burgeoning army of disaffected men, and even women, of varying ages but primarily young, who were willing to take up arms against the Empress in a show of strength.

  "Sometimes," Rufus had said, "in order to counter a bully, you need to stand up tall."

  It was a slightly worrying turn of events, but one that actually Dom favoured. He'd long hoped for the people to make a stand, and at this time there was another benefit - it might, just might, offer sufficient distraction for Vesper to take her mind off the games. And, in doing so, perhaps her ill-treatment of Kira might become of secondary concern.

  In reality, Dom had little expectation of such a thing. His mother had proven herself quite capable of being dastardly on many fronts over the last few years in particular. And at a time like this, she might just favour military action against those who rise against her, seeking to end any mutiny early before it could gather steam.

  Within his study, Dom pondered such things as he attempted to continue his research and work. Only when it came time for some lunch did he decide to venture down to the first floor to eat out on the balcony, where he enjoyed some fresh air and a good view of the yard as his gladiators trained.

  Served by Silia, he ate fruit and drank a little wine, his mind pre-occupied as he looked at Kira and Gwyn sparring, with Finn continuing to have his focus strengthened by Rufus' private tuition. The rest of the gladiators operated at varying points around the yard, Oom and Shadow training alone, Lee and Malvo sparring together too.

  Dom watched, rather blankly, and didn't pay them much mind. He was relieved for them to have another day to train, and though he could venture towards the arena to watch whatever match-ups were currently underway, decided to stick it out here. Mostly, he tended to only go along when one of his own fighters was in action. Though, were the likes of Jaeger or Tomahawk, or one of Lucius' other favoured fighters, to do battle, he might meander over and take a look.

  He could, however, hear the distant roar. The arena wasn't far away, and even on a day like this, when none of the favourites were in action, it would be full to the brim, or nearly so at least. Tickets would be cheaper to come by, and less in demand too, making it easier for the less wealthy and influential residents and visitors to the city to get good seats. For many, it was a wonderful day out, even if the likely champions weren't in action.

  Dom, of course, didn't go for another reason. The idea of seeing his mother was repellent, and he didn't much wish to lay his eyes on Lord Pontius either, or his smug son. So he stayed away, and spent the day at work and in occasional discussion with Claud, and even Merk, who'd taken quickly to his new role and was, it appeared, quite keen to explore the villa and grounds with a little more freedom.

  Dom smiled at the thought. The old man was curious, that was for sure, and Dom was happy to see him with some purpose again. He did, however, still worry for his safety, particularly now with the brewing trouble in Southside. His name was still growing, by all accounts, and the old caretaker was becoming a symbol of this burgeoning rebellion without actually playing any part in it. That was risky for Merk, and Dom knew it. If his mother wished it, he was sure she'd just march her men in and take him out. And loyal as Dom's personal guards were, he wasn't sure they'd try to stop the Imper
ial Guard from doing their work.

  And, quite frankly, nor should they. He didn't wish them to die so needlessly.

  It was growing later when Dom found himself in his study once more, the door knocking quietly and with a familiar rattle. He looked up from a hefty tome.

  "Yes, Claud, come on in," he said.

  Claudius entered, his white hair neatly compiled on his head and his expression typically placid.

  "Master Domitian, you have a message from the palace..."

  Dom felt his heart sink.

  "Right. What is it?"

  "It's an order to visit with your mother, sir. She wishes you to come immediately."

  Dom checked the time. The games will have ended for the day by now, no doubt.

  "Does it say anything more, Claud? What's this regarding?"

  Claudius shook his head.

  "Unfortunately not, sir. It could be a number of things, knowing the Empress."

  "Indeed. No doubt she'll reprimand me for not visiting the stadium these last two days."

  "Very good, sir. Shall I prepare the carriage?"

  Dom nodded, and Claud departed.

  And before he left, he filled his belly with a large helping of wine.

  The plaza was awash with people as Dom's carriage rolled towards it, the dignitaries of Neorome quick to escape the arena after the day's showing, and take up any business they needed to attend.

  The chatter, no doubt, would involve both the games themselves and the hot topic of Southside, though the people here would discuss it in only a certain way. Even whispers here could be picked up by any guards with augmented hearing, stationed around the plaza's edge. And those who held wealth and influence would, nevertheless, be careful with the words they chose.

  True to all sycophants, those willing to discuss the city's health in such a public forum would only do so in support of the Empress. In private, their conversations might well follow another course. But here, they would put on the right face and make all the right noises. They'd do so to serve their own ends. Loyalty to the Empress had resulted in many of them seeing their wealth increase, lands and titles bestowed upon them. And as with all men who held power and wealth, the lure of further riches was enormously enticing, and sufficient enough for the suffering of the people to go ignored if not unnoticed.