by Jason Howard
Long moments stretched as Bareloth gently ran his hands across her skin, pausing at her breasts, working down her stomach. She turned and rolled away, but the hands just followed her.
‘Don’t move anymore.’
His voice was a command, and though she tried, her nerves wouldn’t send the message to her limbs.
His hand plunged into her head, reaching through her skull and into her mind. She screamed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“First Blood is Sal Zerone’s most bestial and breathtaking event. Every Ascadellian should see it at least once before they die. It will tell them something about who they are and what they belong to.”
–Gongolin, a philosopher who lived during the Eighth Century. In that time, tournaments were still fought to the death.
The next day Zac and Artem sat next to each other at the long bench in the preparation room.
“The next match is between our twenty-ninth and thirtieth placed competitors,” an official said.
Zac and Artem stood and turned to each other.
The two could think of nothing to say, even though it was plain on their faces that they wanted to say something.
The official said, “Zac, you are to take the black tunnel. Artem, you’ll be in the red.”
They nodded to each other.
Zac left Artem and walked to the other side of the preparation room.
He took a deep breath when he entered the gloom of the black tunnel. Up ahead was the impossibly bright exit, just a white circle that burned against his darkness-adjusted eyes. The swell of the crowd’s noise grew as the circle engulfed him.
He blinked in the sunlight. The thousands of faces above screamed their hunger into him. He looked across the arena and made eye contact with Artem.
“On my word, you may begin . . .” Ivor’s voice descended from his seat next to King Lanthos, amplified by a spell. “Fight!”
Artem and Zac didn’t do the customary bow. Instead, they walked to the center of the coliseum floor and shook hands as they always did before sparring, pulling each other into a half hug.
They weren’t aggressive at first. Zac knew what would happen if he charged in recklessly, and Artem knew he had to keep Zac at a distance.
They circled, feinting. Their weapons found air as they attempted strikes. They knew each other’s styles too well, and they anticipated the attacks. Zac ducked under a halberd swing, and Artem immediately leapt out of range as Zac came forward. Some of the crowd booed at the lack of action, but some were mesmerized by the precision of the fight.
Artem thrust twice. Zac parried both shots with the back of his gauntlets and leapt forward with a leg kick, smashing the back of Artem’s knee and buckling it. Artem spun on his knee and brought the shaft of his halberd up to block a downward axe strike.
He went to work on Artem with a series of punches. Artem dipped the first two, but then Zac hit him with body shots. Artem’s chainmail crunched as Zac’s strikes connected.
They were too close together for Artem to bring the blade of his halberd to bear. Zac surged forward a drove a knee strike into Artem’s body. Then Zac went for an arcing left hook swing of his axe that would end the fight if it landed.
Artem had been hurt by the punches, but had exaggerated it just a bit. He knew Zac’s favorite finisher was to cut across the neck with his axe. Artem managed to sidestep the cut even though it grazed his chin. It was such a close miss that the protection spell on Zac’s axe blade began to glow—but never fully ignited.
Zac swung his hammer as a follow-up—Artem ducked, then leapt backwards and somersaulted out of range.
“Damn!” Zac yelled. “Slippery chulgar.”
Artem smiled.
No one in the crowd was booing anymore.
Artem swung. His halberd clanged off Razriel. The clang of steel on steel and the scrape and thump of boots on dirt were the only noises in the stadium for an unmeasurable space of time. The song of steel was occasionally joined by a murmur of awe from the mesmerized crowd.
After one lightning fast exchange Artem seemed to lose his balance and Zac charged. Artem twitched his halberd, and Zac took the feint, sidestepping. Artem brought the halberd sidelong at Zac’s ribs. Zac braced his weapons to stop the powerful attack—but Artem deftly shifted the attack to Zac’s thigh.
Zac’s chainmail absorbed the hit, but his leg exploded with pain. Artem shifted his hands and spun, whacking Zac on the temple with the shaft of the halberd. Zac staggered back, eyes unfocused. He knew he had to move though, so he ran backwards, using the momentum of the stagger, and desperately trying to keep his balance.
Artem’s halberd found the air just inches in front of Zac’s face. He swung and barely missed twice more. The cuts were so close Zac felt the whap of air against his sweaty skin.
Zac planted his feet and threw himself to the side while blocking a fourth halberd strike with his handaxe. Artem’s boot smashed into Zac’s stomach, and then the halberd smashed into Zac’s ribs. The chainmail held, but he felt like his lungs had been stepped on and ground under a heavy boot. He reeled.
Somehow he managed to block Artem’s next salvo and recover. He countered, stepping inside and almost finding Artem’s face with his hammer.
Zac dipped under a shot, took a punch, and then saw the halberd whizzing at his face. Zac pulled back hard but the blade skimmed him, the protective magic warm on his skin.
The two of them spun—Zac caught Artem’s halberd with both of Razriel, then screamed and brought his forehead into Artem’s face.
The crowd roared in approval.
Artem leaned back and brought a knee into Zac’s midsection, but he could barely see through the blood stinging his eyes, so he didn’t counter as Zac hooked his axe around Artem’s halberd and threw the weapon. The halberd jerked out of Artem’s grip and fell to the dust next to them. Zac swung his hammer at Artem’s face but Artem managed deflect the blow by turning and rolling his shoulder. Still, Artem grunted in pain from the impact on his shoulder. Zac was overbalanced from the swing so he collided with Artem, then grabbed his legs, wrapping him up in a sloppy double leg takedown. They both collapsed to the ground.
Zac tried to climb atop Artem, but Artem managed to lash out with a finger jab to Zac’s eye.
The two rolled and scrambled, kicking up clouds of dust. Zac’s weapons landed amongst them, and they scrambled for them. Droplets of blood congealed in the dirt. Their grunts, screams, and the wet thump of blows rang out to the crowd, which was quiet.
Artem scrambled on all fours and dove to grab his halberd. He rolled aside as Zac’s hammer came down. The blow took Artem high on the shoulder, the same shoulder that had already been damaged. The hit was so hard that Artem’s shoulder numbed after a hot surge of pain. The red light flashed from Zac’s hammer but the official waved for them to continue. He wrapped his legs around Zac and reversed him, causing them to roll.
Artem came up in mount position. He pressed the shaft of his halberd onto Zac’s neck and pushed down hard. Some of the crowd roared as they sensed a possible climactic end to the drama. Most remained silently enthralled. Zac gagged and wheezed, droplets of saliva shooting from his mouth. He tried to squirm free but his torso was trapped between Artem’s legs, and he couldn’t lift his shoulderblades off the dirt because of the weight Artem was putting on his neck with the shaft of the halberd.
He was pinned and helpless. If he hadn’t bludgeoned Artem’s shoulder it would have been over in moments, but Artem was having trouble applying pressure.
Zac continued to choke. The sound of his gasping and retching floated up with the dust, filling the silent stadium. Zac stabbed up into Artem’s midsection again and again with the heads of Razriel. Artem grunted as each blow landed, but his armor absorbed most of it. Zac reached up and tried to lash out at Artem’s face, but Artem slipped his head out of the way.
The world floated from Zac and blackness soaked his vision. Zac cocked back his arms, and threw his weapons u
p into the air. Artem was surprised, but too focused to realize what Zac was doing.
Zac himself barely even realized what he was doing. All he had was a faint memory of what Apollo had once mentioned about the weapons and how they could be recalled with mind magic. Despite many attempts, Zac had only ever been able to use mind magic to speak psychically with Althos. Now he tried to do the same thing with Razriel. It was his last hope.
At first nothing happened, but then Zac felt a flare of consciousness. It wasn’t words, but it was a feeling. Razriel knew who he was and wanted to come back to him. Razriel flew to his hands like missiles. They both smashed into Artem’s back. Artem fell away and rolled, his eyes wide with pain, his breath knocked out. Artem tried to stand, but couldn’t. Zac’s world glowed back to life as he regained consciousness.
Booming cheers mingled into a wave of power and fury that brought both warriors to their uncertain feet.
Blood poured from Artem’s nose, probably broken from Zac’s head butt. Zac’s head swam, his breath grinding through his bruised throat.
They both ran at each other. Their weapons sang, the clang and whir a rhythm that their bodies danced to. The crowd was quieting again now. There were screams that rang out amongst them, but most just watched in disbelief as the two battered warriors fought harder and harder, and moved faster and faster. Every move melted into a counter, and then a parry, and then an attack. Zac moved in, and Artem diverted his furious flurries and stepped out. Artem feinted and bated, and whapped Zac from a distance, but he never stopped to see if he had hurt Zac—he knew that he hadn’t, knew Zac would always absorb the punishment and come forward.
The bruises on Artem’s ribs sang of his defeat, and the burning pain ripping at his face and pounding between his temples told him to stop and give up. But he was a warrior—he had passed his tribe’s test, and now he would pass the world’s.
Artem kicked Zac in the chest to push him back. He would never remember doing this because his body took over in that moment. He took four steps forward as he feinted twice.
Zac backpedaled, his blocks ready. Artem used his halberd’s shaft and pole-vaulted high into the air.
He front-flipped toward Zac.
Zac saw the powerful attack coming, but was moving backwards and couldn’t change direction or dodge out of the way. Artem’s translucent halberd prismed the sun into Zac’s face, the glint blinding him. Zac put both of his weapons up to block Artem’s strike—but it was too powerful.
Metal rang on metal. The vibrations burned through Zac’s arms, all the way to his shoulders. His arms gave out and he cracked himself in the face with his own weapons. Artem’s halberd finished the arc, the plume of red light exploding through Zac’s vision as the weapon met his forehead. If it hadn’t been for the cushion spell, the halberd would have split Zac’s skull in two. Zac fell, landing flat on his back. Artem landed next to him, overbalanced. For a moment it looked like Artem would regain his feet, but he staggered, exhausted, and fell to the ground, his head slamming hard. The crowd was utterly silent. For a few moments nothing moved. Then the cheering began. They clapped, stomped, yelled, and jumped, energized and amazed by the incredible feats they’d seen Zac and Artem perform.
Zac stood slowly, clutching his bruised forehead. Artem was unconscious at Zac’s feet. The official turned to the crowd, and using a spell, amplified his voice so it echoed all the way to the farthest seats. He yelled out Artem’s name and one other word that ignited the crowd, “Victor!”
They were all on their feet, and their frenzied yells were the loudest they had been for all of First Blood.
Artem was slowly awakening.
Zac knelt and pulled Artem into a sitting position.
“Are you alright?” Zac asked.
Artem’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at Zac, dazed and confused.
“What?” Artem muttered. “Uh . . . you got me?”
Zac shook his head and said, “No, you won. You got me good.”
Zac helped Artem to his feet. Artem brought him into a tight hug. Zac squeezed him back and the two tried to put words to their respect, but couldn’t find them. When they stepped apart, Zac clapped him on the shoulder and said, “I guess you were hiding the front-flip move in practice, eh?”
Artem smiled. “I got lucky. I can’t remember hitting you.”
Zac shook his head and said, “Not luck . . . I let you have this one!”
Artem yelled a protest at Zac and shoved him, but then started laughing.
Zac laughed with him, at least as much as his bruised ribs would allow.
A healer stepped up to help them. Seeing their condition, he said, “Oh, Father and Mother God. You two are . . . come with me to the infirmary, we need to get you to some beds for healing.”
“Sounds good,” Zac said, spitting some blood from his mouth.
Artem stumbled, but Zac caught him. Artem put a hand around Zac’s shoulder and the two of them limped from the stadium, heading toward the same tunnel. Custom dictated that the two warriors go back to the tunnels that they’d entered from. Artem and Zac walked together. The crowd was moved by this. Slowly, respectful applause started and rumbled down to the two warriors as they reached the entrance to the tunnel.
***
After a painful session of healing, Zac trudged back to the preparation room, where he found Artem.
He looked at Zac and said, “I’m sorry you were eliminated. I know how much this meant to you.”
Zac looked away and shrugged. “It’s fine.”
Artem shook his head. “I . . . I’ll give you some of my prize money.”
“I don’t need your money.”
“You’ll have to drop it on the ground after I give it to you then,” Artem said.
Zac laughed at this and smiled.
***
The smell of walking food vendors wafted through the stadium. People had their own mugs, and when they exchanged money with an official, they were allowed to fill their mugs with the kegs. The vendors had long kebabs of roasted lamb and chicken. The din of voices and laughter mingled with the deepening orange of the late-afternoon sun. Fresh breeze stirred the mingled scents of cooking food.
For Zac, it was strange to be sitting in the stadium now, after having just fought under the eyes of the spectators. On his way to finding Althos and Elias, he had been cheered and hooted at by hundreds of people. Beautiful woman had squealed as he walked by and lit up at a quick wave from him. Kids had made to follow him until they had been called back by their parents.
He had been under escort by City Guardsman to prevent some of the people, who shouted slurs at him, from jumping him. One man had even waved a knife at him, a small one he had been able conceal under his clothes (no obvious weapons were allowed into the Coliseum). The City Guards had beaten these men severely. It all seemed surreal and alien to Zac—he had never been noticed before, never been treated as anything other than chattel. The only people that had talked to him besides slavemasters had been his brothers.
Now he had found his seat, and City Guardsmen were standing at the head of the aisle keeping watch to make sure he was safe. The spectators around him had calmed after he’d shaken their hands and heard their praise. A few had pointedly shunned him. He assumed it was for being a zell and former slave. Zac didn’t care as long as the ones that gave him dark looks kept their silence and their seats. He ignored them. He found it easy to ignore racists when they weren’t holding whips.
Zac had never in his life been to a sporting event, a play, or any massive form of entertainment like this. The most he could compare it to was an impromptu performance of music or storytelling in the slave quarters of Detren. He and his brothers had done this at night when the mines were closed, in the wee hours before they fell asleep.
Seeing an event in this huge coliseum was much more impressive, although Zac wasn’t sure which he liked more. Now he was part of a vast carpet of humanity that vibrated with excitement and feral hunger. He
remembered how his slavemasters had talked about coliseum, following news of their favorite fighters and betting on upcoming fights. Now Zac was one of those fighters. It was so strange how his life was transforming.
Elias clapped Zac on the shoulder and congratulated him again for fighting so well.
‘You scared the heck out of me by the way, I thought one of you was going to get killed!’ Althos thought to Zac.
‘Yeah, that’s what it felt like.’
Elias started talking to Zac about some of the improvements they could still make in training, and how proud he was that Zac had come so far. Zac listened intently, but he was exhausted from the fights. Finally, the last fight of First Blood came on, and Zac perked up as Artem stepped onto the dusty floor of the coliseum. The crowd roared appreciatively.
Elias tapped Zac on the shoulder. A chainmail clad royal guardsman was standing there. Zac exchanged a confused look with Elias, but greeted the guardsman and shook his hand.
The Guardsman said, “By the king’s orders, you must report to the main hall of Castle Sal Zerone after the final fight is over tonight. You will be given further information at that time.”
Before Zac could ask a question the guardsman turned and strode away.
Before they could confer on what the orders might mean, they were interrupted by the Ivor screaming, “I give you—Artem Remelda!”
Zac screamed like he was trying to make his lungs explode.
Artem strode to the center. He bowed to the crowd and to his opponent.
Ivor’s magically enhanced voice boomed, “His opponent is Kell Sonnuen, let him hear you!”
As the crowd roared, Artem’s opponent smiled up at them, revealing a dazzlingly white smile interrupted by one gold tooth. He was a tall, insanely muscular swordsman with a square jaw that reminded Zac of a carefully cut block of granite. He was as dark as Artem, but his features were sharper and squarer. Zac guessed he hailed from one of the desert provinces near Emerald Shore. His face was expansive and strong, his eyes aglow with energy. He bowed to Artem. When his expression was different. He was ready for battle now. Zac could see him focusing as he held Artem in his iron gaze, unmoving.