by T. C. Edge
It was a desolate place, so very exposed. She moved into position, and stood alone, arching her eyes up to the Empress as she gazed down from the balcony. She kept her gaze upon her, and refused to remove it. She would give this woman no satisfaction of showing any fear or dread. She would take her death in a stoic manner, and curse Vesper with her dying breath.
As she looked up, Vesper spoke, calling for Lucius to come forward. Kira's eyes worked slightly to Vesper's right as the young man moved to her side. She looked at him and felt a tremble, a memory of his hands, ripping at her clothes, so rampant and eager.
Yet she felt no real hate for him. She saw him as a pawn, and noted the shame in his eyes as he looked down at her. They were unsure, moving around the stadium, as though it was something he'd always wished for, to be standing there, yet the reality was so different from what he'd imagined.
He looked cowed as he shrivelled by Vesper's side. There was uncertainty written across his face.
"Master Lucius has been wronged," called out Vesper. "This girl before you has committed a terrible crime, for which Lucius has requested her death. He chose her execution here today, as stated by the rules of this city..."
She looked over to him, and the crowd murmured lightly. She was passing the buck, insisting it was Lucius who decided her fate. Kira could tell, as could the crowd, that she was lying through her teeth.
All eyes fell to Lucius now. He nodded, and his mouth opened as if to speak. Yet no words came.
"Come now, Lucius. Tell the people what she did."
Lucius' lips parted again. This time, his voice croaked out from within, echoing weakly across the stands.
"I...I was attacked," he said. "And my nose was...broken."
He stopped. Vesper looked as though she wished for him to go on, to explain in better detail the false truth of what had happened.
"And now, how is this girl's life to be taken?" asked Vesper loudly.
"By...a former champion," said Lucius.
Vesper's smile brightened, picked up by the big screens in all its gory detail. Her hand waved out to a gate across the sand, which opened up on cue. From within, Rufus began to tread, his tall, lithe and incredibly toned figure so dark and dashing under the blue sky. His frame was draped in the same armour Kira was so used to seeing him in. His belt was fitted with the throwing knives he favoured, and the daggers and short blades that slept peacefully in their sheaths.
He came, well known by the crowd as Domitian's head instructor and guard, and for his exploits here upon the sand many years ago. Yet, his appearance didn't bring a cheer or chant of his name. The crowd didn't roar their approval as he crunched over the golden grains.
No, the very opposite happened. The murmuring began to build, and then turn into boos and jeers. Kira looked upon Rufus as he came and knew those hisses weren't for him. They were directed, instead, upon the Empress, the devious puppet-master upon the throne. Some, perhaps, knew Rufus had been selected, but many others did not. They put the pieces together and didn't like the puzzle they saw. The entire situation stank.
Kira hardly cared for the drama, however. What good would it do her now?
Her eyes caught Vesper on the big screen, seemingly shocked by the reaction of the throng. Then she looked at her for real, and saw the machinations in her head, the gears turning.
The Empress lifted her hands to pacify the people, but their boos were now growing louder, their whispers hissing from stand to stand. They saw the situation for what it was, and had had quite enough. And the noise, generated by the most embittered and bold, spread and gave others their voice. Those who would never dare speak out against the Empress now hissed and jeered along with all the rest.
And soon the entire arena was in an uproar.
It went on for a little while, forcing Lord Pontius to stand to his feet. His voice boomed out, much louder than his ruler, and called authoritatively for silence.
"Quiet yourselves now!" he roared. "Your Empress wishes to speak!"
The people seemed to respect him. Or else, perhaps they merely wanted to know what Vesper had to say. Whichever it was, they began to go still again, and Vesper's snivelling words called out to appease them.
She smiled, as warmly as she could, and began to nod.
"I know, what a shame to see the girl killed by the man who trained her. It's an unpleasant turn, but it was Lucius' choice..."
The crowd threatened to voice their opinions once more, and Lucius' eyes flashed with a hidden anger as the blame was transferred to him.
Vesper smiled and shouted out again, "However, perhaps there is a way of making things more...interesting for you," she said. Her hands gestured down to Kira, who stared on, unperturbed by the commotion. "Maybe we give The Red Warrior a final chance?" she asked. The crowd settled, the energy turning a little. "Perhaps we lend her a sword," continued Vesper. "We let her die, at least, on her own two feet, and as a gladiator should."
She waited for the crowd to react. The murmuring now took on a new vibe, one of interest and excitement.
"A fight, then, for The Red Warrior to prove herself! If she can defeat so mighty a champion as Rufus, then she will live on, and re-enter the games! How does that sound to the great people of Neorome?!"
Her voice grew buoyant, and the crowd reacted accordingly. It was a sidestep and nothing more. She was giving the crowd something, distracting them again with the promise of battle. Her words were persuasive. She was winning them over.
And Kira knew that she'd still get to watch her die. Her heart didn't flare at the idea of being armed and given a chance. A fight with Rufus would only go one way. It would delay her death. It would no longer be a warrior's execution, but something slow and painful. Perhaps Vesper wished for this all along.
But Kira didn't care. She couldn't bite.
A soldier walked onto the sand, and handed her a sword. He came with a roar and a cheer, but they were wasting their breath.
Because Kira wasn't going to use it.
39
Kira stood ahead of Rufus, a sword held in her hand. It wasn't the type she'd usually use. It was heavy, blunt, and would barely cause a scratch. A ceremonial sword to deceive the crowd and nothing more.
She felt like dropping it, discarding it from her fingers. There was no energy in her, no desire to fight. She looked upon the man who trained her and smiled weakly.
"Make it quick, would you, Rufus?" she asked.
Rufus stared at her. There was no reaction in him, only a frame of pain around his eyes. Kira watched as he turned his gaze up to the gallery, and set them upon Dom. She saw him too, saw those eyes of his, bordered by shadow, staring down. He looked at them, and then grimaced, turning away as he shut his eyes.
Rufus turned back.
"Lift your sword, Kira," he said. "We have to give them a show."
She shook her head. The stadium was silent. A single cough could be heard, up in the highest reaches.
"I'm not going to fight you," she said. "How were you going to do it?"
"The soldier's way. Sword through the back of the neck."
Kira smile and nodded.
"Quick and painless, right?"
Rufus smiled too.
"That time has gone now, Kira," he whispered. "You have a chance now."
"I have no chance. I never really did, you know that."
She began to move to her knees before him. She ducked her head, exposing her neck.
"Just get it over with," she said. "It's the waiting that's the worst part."
She kept her eyes low, and heard the crowd growing restless. Then, the voice of Vesper came once more, as it had only moments ago when it called for the bout to begin.
"The people wish to see a fight. If Kira does not stand and do battle, both of you will die on the sand."
Her words drew silence again. Kira lifted her eyes and saw Rufus smiling down at her.
"Stand up, Kira. It's a show, nothing more. You need to play your part."
The choice was taken from her. She moved off her knees, and held the blunt sword up. The people reacted, drawing their collective breath.
"We...need to convince them," whispered Kira. "You're not dying here too. I won't have that on my head...even after it's gone."
Rufus grinned, but his eyes were still flat. Kira knew he didn't want this. She felt sorry for him for having to go through it.
She stepped forward, and Rufus did the same. His eyes glanced towards the gallery and then came back to her.
"Come on, attack me," he said. "Swing that damn sword."
She hesitated, and then imagined that it was just a training bout. The sword was little more dangerous than the wooden ones she sparred with. It would do him no damage at all.
So she swung, and she swung again. She did so at half-pace, and the two began moving, Rufus' shield deflecting her blows and sending loud, echoing clangs up through the stands. It was a dance, really, and hardly a dangerous one. After several swipes, Rufus withdrew a sword of his own, and soon enough blade was meeting blade, and sparks were beginning to fly.
The crowd were getting into it, shifting to the edges of their seats. Yet they remained silent, not sure who to root for and cheer. An occasion near-miss brought oohs and aahs, and Kira began to believe that they were being convinced.
The warmup turned into something more, and Rufus' whispering words filtered into her ears, unable to be perceived by anyone else. As with her bout against Redmane, she could hear him coaching her through it. He told her when he would strike, and where. He told her how fast the blades would come. And when he slipped away from her and tossed a throwing knife, he told her that too.
He told her it all, and they danced away, the pace and speed of their attacks growing so fast the naked eye could hardly keep up. It was the show they needed to put on, and Kira played along. And all the while, she imagined that, when Rufus made the killing strike, he'd do so too fast for her to see. He'd confound her senses because he cared. He'd ensure that it was, as she'd requested, quick and painless, and over before she ever knew it.
But the killing stroke never came, and surely by now the crowd were convinced. They'd been given enough of a show. Kira wished now for it all to end.
So she whispered too, knowing her words were only for Rufus.
"Finish it already," she said. "They've seen enough."
She caught glimpse of Rufus' gaze, and he glanced again towards the gallery. He'd done so regularly throughout the fight, flicking his eyes up into the balcony and straight back down to Kira. She'd begun to notice it occur more frequently, and each time his eyes returned to her, just the same as before.
But that time, they didn't. She saw them widen and light up. And suddenly he was drawing her over, moving closer as he whispered again.
'You're right," he said. "It's time."
She followed him, still slashing her blade, and knew the end was imminent. Her blows weakened and faded a little, and her pulse began to thrash, her eyes narrowing and ready to shut so Rufus could do the deed without her having to witness it.
She hoped he'd move behind her, stab her through the top of the spine. It would be immediate that way, and she'd never see it coming. The soldier's death, and he'd said. Upon the battlefield, there was no better way to go.
They were right near the gallery now, right there to show Kira's death in all its glory to the Empress as she smiled down from above. Kira looked once more at Rufus, who looked once more upon the balcony. His glance was swift, unobservable by any normal eye, but Kira kept catching it.
He turned his back upon the balcony above, and Kira prepared for the sudden rush behind her, and the cold of steel against her neck. She heard a final whisper slip into her ears, and at that same moment, saw Rufus' fingers slip down and take hold of a throwing knife from his belt.
"Goodbye, Kira," he whispered. "And good luck."
Then he turned, facing the gallery above, and in a single motion he drew the knife and flung it straight up like a bullet from a gun. Kira watched in shock as the knife hurtled right at Vesper, caught locked in time and unable to move. She was too slow, the blade guided through the air and seeking the soft flesh beneath her chin.
It happened so fast, even for Kira. Before she knew it, the blade was inches from Vesper's throat, the tip glinting in the sun and smiling bright as it prepared to embed itself within the Empress' gullet.
But those inches were enough. Enough for a man like Ares.
Appearing once again beside his master, he reached her just in time to press her body away. The blade surged forward, picking up pace in those final moments and still seeking her blubbery flesh. But her throat was gone now, moved aside by her great protector, and the tip of the knife went cutting instead into her shoulder, knocking her back into Ares' arms.
The crowd now caught up, and tens of thousands of lungs filled at once. The murmuring and rumbling began, and the occupants of the royal gallery began to writhe like a sea of snakes.
Kira looked again at Rufus in shock, and saw him turn to her. His eyes narrowed in failure and regret. His chance was gone.
"Goodbye, Kira," he whispered to her. "It's your turn now to take care of Dom."
She stood there, only a couple of metres away, and he rushed suddenly upon her. And as he came, he drew a blade into his hand, turned it around, and plunged it right through his armour and into his own heart.
He stumbled forwards into her arms, and with his final words said, "Take the handle. Take the win. And...live."
40
The stadium was in anarchy. People were flooding everywhere, calling out, screaming. The occupants of the royal box were seeking the exit, rushing away as if their lives were in peril. But Dom was just sitting, looking down at his closest friend, standing before Kira with a blade stuck through his chest.
He turned to his right, where Vesper was being hauled away with a knife embedded in her shoulder. Her eyes were manic, her body shivering and shaking as a number of guards began moving her to safety. Ares was going too until he saw Dom. He marched quickly over, his countenance still calm despite the turmoil unravelling around him.
Dom looked at him but said nothing. He had no words, no knowledge of what had just happened. And it seemed that's just why Ares was there.
The broad shouldered head of the Imperial Guard set his stern gaze on the Prince, and then methodically passed it down to the two warriors below. Rufus was now sinking to his knees, Kira still grasping at the blade. She looked horrified and confused, yet her fingers held firm. Ares took in the sight and then turned back to Dom.
"Did you have any part in this, Prince Domitian?" he asked cooly, his heavy voice trampling straight over the clamour.
Dom's mouth was slightly agape. It took him a moment to form words.
"No..." he mumbled. "I had...no idea."
Ares inspected him with dark eyes, his iron jaw fixed tight. Dom quivered a little in his presence, his power signature so overwhelming. He took a moment, and then lowered his stubbly chin.
"I must protect your mother, Prince Domitian." he said. "I suggest you bring your gladiator back to your ludus immediately."
He turned and moved off, marching swiftly on thick and heavy legs. Dom watched him go for a second, before his eyes swung back down to the sand, watching now as a dozen soldiers emerged, hurrying out and surrounding Kira and Rufus, still locked as one.
His most loyal subject was dead. His best friend was gone...
The soldiers raised their spears, and gathered all around. The crowd who remained began to boo loudly, hurling whatever they could get their hands on. But Kira didn't move or try to fight. She just held the handle of the blade in Rufus' heart, kneeling to the floor as his body sunk to the sand.
The guards moved in, their spears getting close. Dom tried to cast off his sudden paralysis and call out. But before he could, another voice rose.
"Stop! Stop right there! The girl won the fight. She isn't to be harmed."
Dom looke
d right and saw Lucius standing there, his voice now calling out loud and clear with the Empress having been taken away, and the crowd in such disarray. His father, however, remained, away across the balcony. Dom noted the altered shape of his eyes as his son spoke. It was a shape of displeasure.
The soldiers upon the sand immediately obeyed the command. They drew their spears away, and took several paces back. Dom looked at Lucius and the two young men linked eyes.
"You better get down there, Dom," Lucius said to him. "Get her back to your villa, soon as you can."
Dom didn't hesitate, but ran, pacing down through the stadium and into its bowels. He swung through a gate, and crunched across the sand, and came quickly upon Kira as she crouched by Rufus' side. He joined her, and whispered hurriedly into her ear as she stared at Rufus' now lifeless face.
"You can release the handle, Kira," he said. "You can let go."
He took her fingers and manually peeled them off, lifting her up to her feet. Then he looked upon his friend and the grief cut through him. His hand reached forward and pulled down Rufus' eyelids, shutting away the pebbles his eyes had become.
"Sleep well, my friend," Dom whispered. "You should never have..."
He shook his head and the words cut short, but the thought went to completion in his mind.
Why, he called out. Why didn't you tell me? Why did you do this all alone?! You should never have tried!
Up above, Lucius was watching.
"Gather up the body," he said to the soldiers. "The Empress will wish to have it..."
Dom's gaze worked up at Lucius in anger. But he saw the expression upon his rival's face. He was saying what he needed, not what he wanted. Because his father was right there by his side.
"It will be put on display!" roared Lord Pontius. "The traitor's body will be mutilated! It will be sent to all corners of Neorome as a warning! His soul will go to the depths of hell!"
As Pontius blared out to the crowd who remained, Lucius' face gave Dom a silent order. Don't react, it said through an intense stare. Go back home, right now!