by Ryan Hughes
"You have no options," Sahalik told him one morning after he'd caught Jedra testing his blunted blade against his own chest. "One of you must die by the other's hand or the survivor will be tortured to death, and the sooner you accept that the better off you both will be."
"I can't accept it," said Jedra. "There has to be a way out of this mess. I just haven't found it yet."
"There doesn't have to be a way out," Sahalik insisted. "You've lived long enough to know that."
Jedra ignored him. "How about my own psionic power?" he asked. "Will I be able to use that during the fight?"
Sahalik shrugged. "Who can say? The judges won't let you simply stop your heart, or hers either. It wouldn't be bloody enough. But if you try something spectacular, they might let you do it."
Something spectacular. Jedra wondered if mind-merging and knocking the ziggurat over onto the stadium and the palace would be enough, but he couldn't see how that would help him and Kayan get away. There were simply too many other psionicists who could also mind-merge and keep them from doing it. If the last few weeks in Tyr had taught Jedra anything, it was that he and Kayan weren't invincible. They had a talent, sure, and when they used it they could do some incredible things, but they weren't indestructible. They were just average people with a not-so-average ability who were nonetheless about to be chewed up and spit out by the system just like everyone else.
That kind of attitude wasn't going to get him anywhere, he knew, but neither was wishful thinking and self-delusion. Unless he could come up with an escape plan, he and Kayan would face one another in the arena the day after tomorrow and then nothing anybody could do would be able to save them.
Unless of course the king suddenly had a change of heart, but since Kalak didn't have a heart to begin with, the odds of that happening were less than slim. No, they had to escape beforehand or not at all. Trouble was, Jedra could think of no way to do that.
* * *
The next day, the last before their fight, came and went with no new revelations. That evening Jedra sent a message to Kayan through Sahalik, asking what plans, if any, she had made, but her reply was simply, "What's the point?" After Sahalik delivered that short line to Jedra, he sat on Kayan's former bunk and said, "I wish I knew what to tell you. You've got a chance here to go down in history as the most tragic couple Athas has ever known, but neither of you wants to even consider that aspect of this. You're both pining for the impossible instead."
Sahalik laughed. "The way you two argue? Even if you walked out of here free tonight, that would never happen. It was your arguing that got you into this situation in the first place."
"Don't remind me," Jedra said glumly.
"Sorry."
They sat in silence for a minute or so before Jedra said, "When we were crossing the desert not long after we met Kitarak, we were attacked by something he called a tokamak. An id fiend. It can make you think your worst fear is coming true."
"I have battled such a beast," Sahalik said.
"Let me guess," said Jedra. "You suddenly found yourself standing there with no pants on, and everybody was laughing at you."
"Close," the elf said, smiling wryly. "Very close."
Jedra didn't smile. "My worst fear was that I would hurt Kayan. Every time I would attack the beast, suddenly it would be her instead."
"Ah. And now here you are."
"Yeah."
"Well," Sahalik said, "don't ever let anybody tell you that dreams can't come true. Looks like you have proof that they can."
"Ha ha."
The big elf smiled weakly and stood up. "If you think of anything else I can do for you, let me know."
"Just get us out of here," Jedra said.
"I would if I could," Sahalik said. "Believe me, I've thought of every angle, but there just isn't any way."
"There has to be," Jedra told him. "I'm just not thinking of it."
Sahalik looked over at the ever-present psionicists, who watched them with bored amusement. "Well," he said, "if you do think of it, don't think too loudly. They're not as sympathetic as I am."
No, they aren't, Jedra thought, once again marveling at the twists of fate that had turned Sahalik into an ally, and Kayan into an adversary.
Jedra lay awake all night, trying to scheme a way out of their plight, but when morning came he was no wiser. A serving boy brought his breakfast, but he couldn't eat any of it. He just stood at the barred window and watched the sky grow lighter and felt the air grow hotter until the guards came to take him to the games.
Sahalik came with them, and helped Jedra dress in his leather armor. He was armored for battle as well, but he shrugged it off when Jedra asked him about it.
"It's my last fight," he said. "I was already scheduled for it when I gave Rokur notice that I was leaving, and I had to stick out the week to train you two anyway, so I decided to pick up one last week's pay while I was at it. Maybe it'll help bring the Jura-Dai back to better times."
"You be careful," Jedra told him. "There aren't any sure bets out there in the arena."
Sahalik grinned and slapped him on the back. "Yes, Mother."
Shani was not with him; she was evidently taking care of Kayan. Jedra let Sahalik and the guards, both psionic and otherwise, lead him through the streets of Tyr to the stadium. On the way he tried to reach out with his psionic senses to see if he could spot any weakness in their psychic restraints, but their shields blocked him from even that simple use of his power. He felt their stifling presence like a blanket wrapped tightly around him.
The other gladiators cheered when he walked with his escort into the holding area beneath the ziggurat. He wasn't led to the slave pens this time, but to a separate individual cage on the main floor, from which he could watch the games. Kayan was still nowhere to be seen, but the gladiators' waiting area was immense, and the massive columns holding up the rest of the ziggurat blocked much of it from view. She could have been only a few feet away, blocked by psionic means from contact, and he would never know.
Since theirs was the showcase fight of the day, they were scheduled late in the games. From his cage, Jedra watched gladiator after gladiator march out into the arena, and only half of them march back. The fighting often lasted until both combatants were covered with blood and could barely stand, but quite a few fights lasted less than a minute. Deadly weapons didn't make for long battles unless the combatants were almost perfectly matched, and even though the officials tried to match them as closely as possible, as soon as one gladiator got the upper hand over another, he pressed his advantage without mercy.
Sahalik shook him out of his reverie. "You're next," he said while a guard unlocked the cage. Five more guards and three psionicists stood ready. Sahalik carried Jedra's short sword and shield, which he handed over, but the instant Jedra's hand gripped the hilt he felt the grip of the psionicists close in around his hand as well. They weren't going to let him use the blade on himself.
Some of the other gladiators shouted crude encouragement, saying things like, "Go show her who's boss!" and, "Don't take any sass from her this time!" Jedra ignored them, searching for Kayan. Where was she?
There. Emerging from behind the pillars nearly fifty feet away, flanked by her own guards. Jedra's heart leaped at the sight of her, but she looked so small and helpless he wondered if she'd been starving herself. She wore armor as concealing as his own, no brass brassiere for her. She looked beautiful to him just the same. Kayan! he mindsent, not caring if he was punished.
Jedra, she replied. I love-But the psionicists didn't let her finish. The shield around Jedra drew tight, isolating him completely from Kayan or anyone else.
When the cleanup crew was done removing the body from the previous fight and covering up the slippery spots with fresh sand, the crier stepped to the center of the arena and shouted, "And now, the moment you've all been waiting for, a command performance for our illustrious, most magnificent King Kalak. I present the crabby couple, the prickly pair, the-" Whatever else
he called Jedra and Kayan was lost in the roar of the crowd.
Sahalik gave Jedra a slap on the back and shouted to be heard over the noise, "Remember what I taught you: a few superficial wounds to satisfy the crowd, then a clean stroke straight to the heart." Then he shoved Jedra out into the arena.
Shani pushed Kayan out at the same time. Instead of walking out into the center the way they were supposed to, they both turned toward each other and met just outside the entrance. They hugged fiercely, their swords and shields and armor getting in the way and tears streaming down both their faces. They kissed, momentarily slipping into convergence, but the psionicists came down instantly on that, forcing them apart both mentally and physically. The spectators, seeing only that they had kissed and then seemingly leaped back from one another, cheered at this first indication of hostility.
"She bit 'im!" Jedra heard someone shout.
Guards with pikes advanced on them from beneath the ziggurat, forcing them farther into the arena. As Jedra and Kayan backed away from them, the crier waved the crowd to silence and shouted, "Harken the words of your king!"
Kalak stood in his balcony at the opposite end of the arena, once again in his golden robe. He was a tiny figure at that distance, but his magically-enhanced voice echoed all around the stadium. "Today's battle has captured the hearts of the entire city," he said. "Like no other contest in the history of Tyr, this ritual combat has sparked the imaginations of every couple here. What husband has not dreamed of killing his wife for some slight, either real or imagined? What wife has not dreamed the same? Many of you have acted out your fantasies, but always furtively, behind closed doors. Today we will see the ultimate domestic quarrel played to its logical conclusion for all to see!"
Cheers from the crowd echoed off the ziggurat and the balconies and the stadium walls, but Kalak held out his hands for silence. "The betting has been fierce. Everyone has a favorite. But some of the less realistic among you would prefer to see a happier ending. I have been flooded with requests for mercy, from the lowliest romantic in the warrens to the highest ranking templars. Even their trainer, the popular elf-warrior Sahalik of the Jura-Dai, has asked for clemency."
A few ragged cheers sprang out at the mention of his name, but far more people booed the elf's obvious sentimentality. Jedra turned back to look at Sahalik, who stood just inside the entrance with a bemused expression on his face. Thank you, Jedra mindsent, amazed that the elf would risk the king's wrath for them; then, not knowing if his message made it through or not, he raised his sword in salute. Sahalik shrugged embarrassedly.
"Their pleas did not fall on deaf ears," Kalak said. "Because so many have asked it, and because I am a merciful king, I decree..." He paused dramatically, and Jedra held his breath while he waited for the words that would end this farce. "I decree that the winner of this battle shall go free!" Jedra exhaled noisily. He felt as if he'd been stabbed in the heart. The crowd went wild, stomping and cheering, but it was all show. Nobody really believed there was any mercy involved. No one who had ever loved someone, anyway. The last thing either Jedra or Kayan wanted was to win their freedom with the other's life. Kalak's gift of freedom would mean nothing but the undisturbed opportunity to dwell on the horrible way it had been achieved. And of course it disrupted any plans they might have made for throwing the fight, which was no doubt Kalak's main intent.
"Kayan!" Jedra whispered to her. "He could fry us with a thought."
"What difference would it make?" she asked.
But the king only laughed and said, "You amuse me. Good. Amuse me some more. Let the battle begin!" He raised his arms out to either side, then clapped his hands together in front of him. A peal of thunder shook the arena. The crier echoed the king's command in a much tinier voice: "Begin!"
Jedra looked at Kayan. She looked at him. They stood well inside each other's guard; either could have stabbed the other to death without hindrance. Instead they leaned together for a final kiss. At first the thousands of people in the audience laughed at their bravado, but they soon grew restless and began to chant, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"
Kayan took a step back. "Now what?" she asked. Her voice wavered, and her pulse beat visibly in her neck.
Jedra swallowed. His own heart was beating so hard that the crystal he wore around his neck bounced against his chest with each beat. "We put on a show, I guess," he said.
"And then what?"
"I don't know!" He turned away, unable to face her, unable to say the words that had to be said, unable even to think anymore about what they must do. He looked up at the stands full of people, all of them expecting a bloody battle, and finally something snapped. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he tilted back his head and howled a long, ululating cry of rage and frustration. He howled until his lungs were empty and his throat was raw.
The crowd ate it up, thinking he was being punished psionically for not fighting. And with that encouragement, they began throwing rotted fruit and meat. Jedra easily dodged the offal, but he couldn't dodge the unseen fists that seemed to pummel him, nor the hands that gripped his sword arm and swung it toward Kayan. The guards were letting the crowd's psionic powers through to them.
A babble of voices filled Jedra's mind. He was about to shield them out when a familiar voice overpowered the rest. The message was the same-merely the single word, "Fight," but it came unmistakably from Kitarak.
Jedra whirled around toward the source of the voice, but it had been too brief to locate. Somewhere on the east side of the stadium; that was all he could tell for sure.
Kitarak is here! he mindsent to Kayan. The psionicists would know he had spoken to her, but they couldn't eavesdrop on their conversation. They could only block it, and if they did that then they would have to block the crowd, too.
I heard him, Kayan replied. He wants us to fight, too. She still sounded dispirited, as if her last hope had died.
No, Jedra said. He must want us to buy him time to get us free!
Some of Kayan's former enthusiasm returned to her psionic voice. You think so? she asked.
It's got to be.
Kayan fended off a melon with her shield, but it splattered seeds and juice all over her feet. Let's do it, then, before they start throwing rocks, she said, and she raised her sword in the en garde position.
Fighting the psionic members of the audience who would rather have him simply hack away at her, Jedra brought up his own sword and they crossed blades. The crowd cheered. Then Kayan darted forward, corkscrewing around Jedra's sword to stab him right in the thick leather over his chest. If he hadn't been wearing armor, she would have skewered his heart with her first blow.
"Hey!" he shouted, leaping back in surprise.
"You didn't think I was paying attention during practice, did you?" she asked, grinning wickedly. Without waiting for an answer, she attacked again, this time with a slash at his midsection which he parried easily enough, but she flicked her blade around to the other side with lightning speed and hit the armor over his left flank.
Jedra belatedly struck back at her, slashing down toward her heavily armored chest, but she raised her shield and blocked him easily.
"You'll have to do better than that," she said. Then, in a mocking voice, she said, "Come on, fight! Do you expect me to do everything?"
This was a sophisticated audience, though. They knew a mock battle when they saw one, and they began to boo. More fruit flew. The psionic battering Jedra and Kayan had felt earlier had died down when they began to fight, but now it picked up again as the frustrated crowd tried to force the fight in a bloodier direction.
"We're losing them," Jedra said, panting now from the exertion. "Kitarak had better hurry up."
"Let's make it flashier," Kayan said, and to show what she meant she attacked him psionically with a burst of light and thunder. Jedra rocked back, his ears ringing, and barely parried her accompanying sword attack.
"Hah!" he shouted, recovering after a couple of steps back. "You think that's flashy-wa
tch this." He concentrated on the air around her, whipping it into a wind that blew her hair out straight behind her and nearly wrenched her shield from her grip. Then, not sensing any restrictions on his power yet, he froze the air until frost swirled beside her, dumping the heat into a tiny spot of ground a few feet to her right, which after a few seconds exploded in a shower of hot sand which the wind blew away from both of them.
The crowd cheered, but Kayan said mockingly, "Big deal. How about this?" The air shimmered around her, and suddenly there were two of her, then four, then eight, all lunging toward Jedra at once. Only one of them was real, but he didn't know which one, not until he felt a blade bite deep into the armor over his right biceps.
"Ow!" he shouted, twisting away. She'd cut right through the leather. A rivulet of blood ran out from under his armor.
"Jedra!" Kayan shouted. The phantom copies of her vanished, and she reached toward him, instinctively wanting to comfort and heal him.
No! he mindsent, at the same time slashing at her as if he feared her approach. Don't ruin the effect!
The effect? You're hurt!
We're supposed to be trying to kill each other, Jedra pointed out. He feinted left, then swung right, reaching past Kayan's guard and nicking her right forearm.
"That hurts!" she yelled.
I'm sorry, but I had to do it. Jedra mindsent. Numb the pain, but let it bleed a while.