by T. C. Edge
Only when he stopped at one of the large, open stone windows looking down to the masses below, did he see that Lucius had come with him.
"For goodness sake, Lucius, take a hint. Now's not the time."
"No...I see that. I wanted to know what was up?"
Dom huffed and swigged his water. His stomach rumbled with disgust.
"Stop prying for gossip. I've got nothing to say to you."
"Jeez, tetchy or what," said Lucius. "Honestly, we can still be friends occasionally you know. I mean, behind all the shit that's gone on between us, I still want you to be happy."
Dom laughed. Raucously. It hurt his head, but he didn't care.
"Right, sure, Lucius. You forget how well I know you. You're just telling me what you think I want to hear, so you can find out what's going on..."
"Ah, so there is something going on?"
"Go away!"
Dom moved off, marching further down the wide stone corridor. He stopped at another window and gulped down more fresh air. Lucius was still following, more tentatively now.
"So...how about this trouble down in Southside," he said, approaching Dom again. "I hear this old sailor you're hiding is going to go and help calm things down?"
Dom's eyes narrowed and went straight for his rival.
"Who told you that?" he growled.
"Um, a few people. Haven't you been paying attention? They've been chatting about it in the gallery all day."
Dom frowned. Clearly his mother didn't care about revealing that little fact. It was an odd move, and somewhat suggested that she might just keep her word, and give Merk immunity for his help. Dom supposed that the plan was to make it public record. If everyone knew, Dom would be further coerced to see it through.
"Right," he said. "Yeah, Merk's going down there tomorrow with some of my guards. Don't think it will help much, but whatever. Mother gets what she wants," he grumbled.
"Hmmmm, I see. So, when's he headed down there?" queried Lucius innocently.
Dom rounded on him. He was being too nice, and it stank.
"What makes you so intrigued?" he asked firmly.
"I don't know. Just curious is all. God, Dom, not everything's a conspiracy."
"Conspiracy, huh? Got conspiracy on the mind, have you Lucius?"
"Pfft. You're always so weird when you're hungover. You need to relax, Dom."
Dom peered right at him, and casting away his hangover, sought to sneak into his mind with his telepathy. Lucius, similarly gifted, was quick enough to repel him. And he didn't take the attempt kindly.
"What the hell!" he shouted. "You trying to get in my head!"
Dom knew it was wrong, but he didn't care right now. He shrugged lazily and let his gaze drift back out over the city.
"Damn it, Dom. Seek help."
Lucius glared at him, shaking his head, before storming off down the passage. His reaction was clear enough evidence that he had something to hide, and Dom was beginning to wonder just what that was.
He took a few more minutes to himself, happy to be away from the esteemed guests of the gallery, his mind once again working away within his skull. It wasn't working particularly well, unfortunately, and any rabbit hole he began to go down merely led to an extreme ache that caused him to abandon the search.
He was fairly certain that Lord Pontius was making moves within the city, and dragging Lucius along for the ride. His old rival's constant search for information from Dom was just one tool Pontius employed in strengthening his position. Whether that position was just a hunt for further wealth and influence, or a bid to take the throne of Neorome himself was a question Dom had pondered for quite some time.
And now, more than ever, he believed the latter to be the case.
As his muddled mind continued to stagger about, he heard the rush of feet coming his way. His eyes swept up to find Rufus hurrying towards him.
"Sir, the fight is about to begin. They're stepping out onto the sand right now."
Dom drew a final breath of fresh air. With all that had happened over the last day or so, the thought of actually finding a champion this year had fallen by the wayside. Yet now, he turned his attention back to it, and his distaste for this life of his grew. Another two young people, stolen from their lands, were about to fight, and possibly die, for his mother's, and the city's, entertainment.
And all he could do right now was put that mask back on and smile.
26
Kira's day was one of nerves. Her muscles were tight, her mind occupied. While the other four gladiators operated as usual in the training yard, she found herself unable to focus. Throwing knives missed their targets. Her senses appeared dulled. Even her hatred for Shadow appeared to take a day off, the Stalker from Haven's icy eyes, occasionally watching her, having little impact upon her ire.
She simply had no time for him that day, and her thoughts were centred only on her friends in the arena. What focus she had, she employed for the task of listening to the roars of the crowd, filtering across from the colossal stadium. Each time a new rumble spread through the streets, she wondered just what it meant. Had someone been killed? Had a gladiator performed some magnificent feat? Did the awful crowd get the show of blood they sought, roaring in approval as blade cut flesh?
Really, all those things were likely, yet how they related to Gwyn and Finn, she couldn't possibly know. All she could really go on was what she'd heard, and one of those things was that Finn was rather popular among the masses. It was thin evidence but something, and in the late afternoon, when she knew the final bout was on, any of the louder, more thunderous cheers, she attributed to the handsome blond boy from the sea.
Without Rufus there, she could train only half-heartedly. When the final bout came, she'd all but stopped, finding a shadowy portion of the yard to sit and listen from afar. When the names were announced, she thought she just about heard those of her friends. After that, however, it was the roars and cheers that took over.
She couldn't tell how long the fight went on for, but given the number of competing gladiators and teams, she considered it to be fairly short. Before she knew it, the regular cheers that emanated from the stadium were ending, culminating in the most thunderous applause of all. Then all went silent, and she zeroed in as well as she could to try to hear the winner, or winners, announced.
Her heart thudded hard, and the world around her seemed to black out. And then, just as she heard the distant, ugly voice of Vesper rise up, she heard a sudden hollering from ahead.
"Hey you, get training!" called a guard.
Kira's eyes flashed open and her focus was lost. She looked at the man in fury and saw that he was new, and had clearly just started his shift. His predecessors didn't seem to care about her lack of effort that day. This man was apparently trying to make a good impression.
It didn't work, at least not with her.
"Damn it!" Kira shouted, rushing up to her feet. "You made me miss it!"
The guard was close, and immediately gripped the hilt of his sword. Above, Kira heard something more threatening - the clicking of triggers as the surrounding soldiers, peppering the gallery, pointed sleek, silver rifles her way.
Her arms were quickly raised to the air and she took a step back.
"OK...I'm calm," she said. "Nice and calm."
The guard ahead of her glared for a moment, before appearing appeased.
"Rufus wants you training," he said, "not sitting in the dirt. So get back to it. I'll report you to him later."
He marched off rigidly, though the threat didn't land with Kira. She was in Dom's good books, and therefore Rufus' too. She wasn't about to be punished for taking a short break.
As soon as the commotion had concluded, she attempted to zero in on the sounds of the stadium once more. By now, however, Vesper's voice had gone mute. She'd have to wait a little longer to find out what happened.
And the wait would not be pleasant.
With so much on Dom's mind, it had taken quite some
thing to shift away all his current concerns, and centre his attention on the furious fight going on upon the sand. And it had taken a fighter of great promise and natural flair to do so too.
That fighter was Finn.
He stood now before the gallery, with a girl by his side who, really, hadn't needed to do a great deal. Gwyn was staring at him in wonder, just as the stadium was, quite fortunate to have been paired first with Kira, and now with Finn, in these multi-gladiator match ups.
The sand around them was littered with bodies, a sight to surprise no one. The four other teams, totalling eight gladiators, had been dispatched to the dirt, and far more quickly than anyone might have expected. Finn, during his first fight several days ago, displayed his potential. Today, that potential matured into something more.
He was, now, a true contender for the title.
Next to Dom, Rufus was beaming, his white smile a shining light among a balcony full of awestruck faces. He had taken this kid, and sculpted him into something formidable, aiding him further with the strategy he laid out to deal with his opponents. As always, his tactics had come through, and Finn had carried out the game plan with the skill and proficiency of a far more seasoned warrior.
It had started with a simple use of speed and evasion. Both Finn and Gwyn, very quick as they were, had been instructed to try to avoid the initial exchanges until a couple of the weaker gladiators had been killed. It had happened quickly, the herd thinning as Dom and Lucius' two teams hovered around at the edge of the stadium, neither fully engaging.
That gave Finn time to arrange his focus and thoughts, keeping clear of the action until he was ready. And when he was, the stadium witnessed something magnificent, and this time it wasn't just the sand that fell under his spell.
He first took control of a knife, thought to be kept safe in the belt of one of the gladiators. As the man fought at the centre of the arena, Finn drew the knife out with his mind and slipped it right through the man's armour at the base of his skull. The gladiator wasn't aware of it until it was too late, and few others appeared to see it happen either. Only when the gladiator fell, and the knife came into view, stuck through the back of his neck, did the murmuring begin. Yet still, it took the crowd a while to catch up.
As Finn entered the game, Gwyn was forced to do so too. Another of the gladiators came at her, this one a beastly woman. She stamped forward, a great sword in hand, and quickly loomed over her opponent. Gwyn fought as well as she could, and used her speed to good effect. Yet it was clear enough that she was out of her depth and would, in time, be overcome.
Finn, apparently, wouldn't have it.
With the sands now under his control, he swiftly drew a portion of earth from beneath the great woman's feet. The sudden movement sent her flipping into the air and landing heavily upon the earth, and in the confusion, Gwyn was able to strike. Leaping upon her, she appeared through the cloud of grainy dust, and sank her knife into the woman's gaping mouth. The crowd cooed with pleasure at the blood that was subsequently coughed up.
In the meantime, Lucius' duo had stepped into the fray. They operated together, working on the other gladiators who remained, their powers complimentary. Hurricane, drawing upon his own telekinetic gifts, began to cause a swirling wind that picked up a lighter opponent, and sent him right into Irongrip's waiting arms. The large man gleefully gobbled him up, living up to his reputation as he swiftly tore arms from sockets.
Now, the cooing of the crowd grew to something more violent and lustful. Blood gushed as though from spouts, draining straight from the gladiator's body. He toppled to the earth, and Irongrip nonchalantly dropped his ripped off arms on top of his body as he writhed and wriggled in agony, his heart quickly giving out.
The final gladiator to stand between the teams of Dom and Lucius didn't much like what he saw. He didn't, however, have much time to dwell on it either. Distracted by the sight of his partner's arms leaving his body, he didn't seem to notice as one of Finn's sand spears formed and hunted him down. In fact, not many people saw it either, so quickly did it happen.
The terrified gladiator's heart was punctured and he, too, joined the list of casualties.
It happened fast, all of it. And before anyone could take much stock of just how each fighter had died, and who had performed the deed, there were only four of them left. As with the cull, it was no great surprise who they represented, and standing at either end of the arena, a slight lull descended as the two teams faced off.
All was quiet and still, and Dom watched on as Finn whispered a few words to his teammate, and she took several more steps back towards the wall, ushering herself away to safety. Then, the boy stepped forward with utter assurance, and the forms of Irongrip and Hurricane began to move too.
It wasn't a two on two, but a two on one. And Finn, blossoming, wanted it that way.
He drew close, and his opponents grew wary. He exuded a confidence that was reminiscent of the likes of Jaeger, a supreme trust in his abilities that few seemed to match. It gave his two foes pause to contemplate their next move, and though they believed the wait might suit them, it did in fact, suit Finn.
Each second enhanced his control of the elements around him. His mind was constantly working, building a picture of his surroundings, taking command of all that occupied it. The longer he stood there, the stronger he became. And when his opponents decided to act, it was already too late.
As Hurricane began to swirl the wind, he found Finn unaffected. The boy repelled the attack, turning it against him, and with a sudden burst, sent Hurricane flying towards the back of the arena, crashing him into the stone wall with a sickening thud. The crowd gasped as he crumbled, his body battered and broken.
As his partner collapsed, Irongrip came charging, a roar escaping his lips.
He didn't make it far.
As he lumbered forwards, Finn merely stood his ground. Between the two men, a light fog of sand began to rise from the surface of the battlefield, not a churning mass, but a thin mist that Irongrip quickly charged through.
The dust burst apart as he went, seeming no barrier to him. But that was never its intention.
Covering several more steps, and with another dozen to go before reaching Finn, Irongrip suddenly stopped. His meaty hands quickly rose to his throat, clasping at the armour that protected him. But armour was only useful against external forces, and could do nothing against the internal struggle going on within the man's throat.
He began to cough, or at least try to, soundlessly attempting to hack up something lodged within his windpipe. He punched his chest hard, his strength enough to crumple his fine armour, but it had no effect. His face grew red, his eyes popping, and he began quivering and falling to his knees, as if begging Finn to release him.
But the boy didn't. He turned away, unwilling to watch, taking no pleasure in killing the man.
For several uncomfortable moments, the crowd watched in silence as the man suffocated and died. And only when he did, and he fell to the earth, did the sand blocking his windpipe filter back out to where it belonged. The boy had lured him forward, and clogged up his ability to breathe. It was a manner of defeat, of death, that the crowd had never witnessed, that Dom had never seen. And looking to his side, the Prince saw Rufus nodding. Clearly, this was something he'd devised.
Now, only the battered form of Hurricane remained. He was out of the fight, helpless, lying broken by the wall. Finn began moving towards him, and looked up to the gallery as he went. His eyes were cold and detached, his humanity abandoned here in this pit of death and despair. They met the Empress, who's eyes were so often the same, and she nodded down to him to finish the job.
And so he did.
The crowd were quiet for a moment, before the roar began to spread. And creeping from the side, little more than a spectator during the bout, Gwyn joined Finn ahead of the royal balcony.
Their names were called, their victory confirmed. And while Gwyn smiled, Finn looked like he'd won no victory at all.
And nor, anymore, did Dom.
27
The night that brought a conclusion to the first week of the warrior race, brought with it too a great party. It was a party of multiple parts, and greater than the other celebrations that occurred throughout the week. In every square and open forum of the city, the revelry would be loud and boisterous, and the exploits of the gladiators on show that week would be discussed with great fervour and excitement.
It was the same each year, and with the Sunday given over to the purposes of rest and relaxation, the city was willing to indulge a little more freely in the many vices they enjoyed.
Not so for Dom, and this year in particular, not so for many others. With Southside so compromised, the celebrations there would be muted. Yes, it was true that the majority of the population remained outside of this simmering trouble. But still, across the Tiber there was something more serious at play that, for those who lived there on a permanent basis, would keep the raucous partying to a minimum.
As it was for Dom, who returned to the villa with his victorious gladiators, his head still heavy and heart equally so. This should be a joyous night for him too, a night when his project-contender showed his true colours, and his faith in him was vindicated and rewarded. When he could bathe in the victories he'd enjoyed that week, and look ahead to the upcoming contests with Lucius with a firm mind, a firm belief, that he had a wonderful chance of claiming a champion this year.
But none of that mattered right now. It was inconsequential to him, and worse than that, it was shameful that his life, for so long, had centred around these barbaric weeks. He'd been consumed by his rivalry with Lucius, and had forgotten what it was to be good. The things he'd done made him sick, and his morality, his 'weakness' as others called it, had now been fully unleashed.
No, it wasn't a night to celebrate for Dom, but a night to mourn. To mourn who he was, what he'd done. To say goodbye to his old self, and bury him somewhere deep. That night, he looked upon the city in a new light, from a new perspective.