by Garry Ocean
Whisperer kept silent. He was completely at a loss. Perhaps, for the first time in his life he could make no decision. He would have never come up with such an idea to save his friends. Maybe he didn’t believe Nick was a good warrior? But no, on the swamp he proved himself to be excellent. Even Ron, who is usually stingy in his praise, was talking of him with great respect. The barbarian had a lot of strength. Whisperer remembered how easily Nick pulled out the cart stuck in the mud, even though the five hunters before him tried and failed. “Am I simply afraid of losing him?” Whisperer asked himself. “And so, are you, an old yellowbelly, going to just dust him off for the rest of times? How many dangers are still ahead of us? Only the Departed know that.”
Finally, Rich made up his mind. “We can try it,” he said and raised his finger. “But you will do only what I tell you to do. Now I will eat, and then we will go to the Arena. No time to waste. We need to get there before the Orphius sets down, and to enlist you as a participant. On the way, I will tell you about the Ritual rules.”
After he said that, Whisperer started to eat eagerly. Seemed like the decision he made gave him strength and courage.
********
Cleo came out to the backyard of the Main Tower. The Orphius was in its zenith, but at this time of the year its rays did not burn but rather caressed the body. Cleo knew that the rain season would start soon, and that was why she put her face to the rays with great pleasure, as if trying to absorb some warmth to keep it for later.
As usual at this time, the Gunn-Terr warriors were doing their daily training exercises. Thirty best alvar warriors, her personal bodyguards.
When growing up, Cleo was a very brisk lively child. From the age of five she did not miss any classes and mastered many types of weapons. While most of her girlfriends liked drawing, embroidery, lacing, she was practicing knife throwing, archery and shooting. In the mastery of handling the short alvar sword Cleo surpassed many warriors of the Great City. And that is natural, because she was trained from a very young age by the sword master himself, Gunn-Terr.
Alvars had been warriors for a long time. They did not get involved in politics and never worked. Their favorite occupation and simultaneously honorable duty was only war. Their kin was more ancient than the oldest kin of any City Guardian. The legend said that alvars came to this land long before the City was built. In the White Rocks, they started iron quarries, and their mission was to protect the miners and stone workers. At first, the alvars were at constant wars with the nomad tribes of steppe dwellers, and they managed to push them back to the borders of the Great Steppe. Most probably, even though it is not mentioned anywhere in the official sources, the Great City itself was founded not without their support. In the later times, when the city folks decided to appropriate the quarries and mines belonging to the alvars, a hundred-year war started. As it was known, it was finished by the great strategist and politician Archy the Wise.
Alvars never served anyone. The only exclusion was the kin of the Hilds that Cleo belonged to. And it only related to the female part of the kin. According to the family legend, her great-great-grandmother named Berta was accompanying her husband in a military campaign to the White Rocks. The campaign happened at the very beginning of Archy the Wise’s rule. The war had started with an argument over one of the richest quarries located at the foot of the central part of the White Rocks. For many years it was changing hands from one side to the other. And this time the City decided to get the quarry back and keep it at any cost. The battles were bloody. Despite the ten-fold advantage over the alvars, the warriors of the Great City could not defeat the warriors who stood for what was theirs to death.
Berta’s husband was commanding the siege and came up with a stratagem. However, it was really difficult to call what he thought of a fair military strategy. At night, he sent two hundred warriors through the mountain pass. They walked carefully and unnoticed, went around the quarry in the west, and then, having walked for several more nights, came to one of the alvar’s villages. Only women and children stayed there, as all the men were protecting the roads and passages to the quarry.
Despite the unexpected attack, the villagers fought furiously. Two hundred warriors managed to take only thirty people as prisoners, mostly pregnant women and infants. Several nights later, the squad went back to the camp using the same precautions and brought the hostages with them.
The chief was counting on alvar’s leaving the quarry in exchange for the lives of their wives and children. But the latter refused, despite the fact that one of the hostages was Nora, the wife of the Terr tribe’s chief.
The City chief was facing a tough choice. On the one hand, if he let the hostages go free it would be equal to admitting his defeat. On the other hand, to execute pregnant women and children meant to stain his kin’s name with blood of the innocents for many generations ahead. For a whole month he couldn’t make up his mind. Hoping for alvars’ reasonableness, the chief sent to them three messengers to get their final decision. Some time later, only one of them came back, bringing two severed heads with him. The answer was simple and understandable, right in the alvars’ spirit.
The chief immediately ordered to set thirty poles in the open space visible to the quarries defenders and prepare the wood to publicly burn the prisoners.
Berta was already a woman past her prime and, to her great sorrow, the Departed Gods did not give her the ability to have children. Nonetheless, she was known as a kind-hearted person and she could not stay indifferent to the hostages. For the entire month she did everything she could to make their hard life a little easier. Taking advantage of her position as the chief’s wife, she could bring them food and warm clothing with no obstacles. Only thanks to her effort none of the infants died. And this was when she became friends with Nora. However, even now the evil people were saying Nora had just put a curse on Berta.
Nora was a spell caster from birth and earned great respect among her tribesmen. She foretold Berta would get pregnant and give birth to a baby girl. And further on, her kin will only have girls. Until one of them meets “the One Who Will Change the World.” Whether or not Nora indeed put a spell on Berta, no one will ever know. But one way or another, when Berta learned of her husband’s decision to execute all the prisoners, she offered the spell caster her help in escaping. However, the true alvar declined saying that she would not leave alone. She said, either all of them would be saved or no one at all.
The history does not tell us how Berta managed to lead thirty women and children to safety. However, when the next morning the prisoner tent turned out to be empty, many sighed in relief. The Great City soldiers were warriors, not executioners. Nonetheless, Berta’s deed was a military crime, and according to the laws of the war she was supposed to be executed with no mercy. The chief must have either loved his wife to death or felt guilty about the disgraceful decision to take women and children hostage, but she was not put to death immediately. The execution was delayed till the final verdict of Archy the Wise. The siege of the quarry was taken off and the troops went back to the City.
Archy the Wise was indeed a sagacious ruler. He had been planning for a long time to conclude peace with the alvar clan and to stop the war exhausting both sides. He understood that it would be a lot more profitable to trade than to fight with the tribes of fearless warriors. They had the ore the City needed so much, but catastrophically lacked food. The soil in the mountains could hardly be called fertile, while the fields around the City produced rich harvests and the orchards bore fruit all year round.
Archy the Wise decided to use the failed military campaign to his benefit. First of all, he announced himself the Supreme Commander in Chief and issued an order on creation of a regular army, allocating almost half of the city budget for this purpose. Then he initiated the negotiations with the alvar clans to establish peace and good neighborly relations. Berta’s selfless act helped him a lot in achieving this goal. Archy was called the Wise for a reason. He decided to use the h
appy chance he was dealt to full capacity. Not only he pardoned Berta, he also appointed her the Peace Ambassador. And the Hilds clan was forever exempt from paying the military tax to the city.
When, just as it was foretold, Berta gave birth to a healthy girl next year, a squad of thirty alvar warriors came to the Great City walls and took an oath of loyalty to the newlyborn. It was not clear if it was a way for the women of Terr clan to take a revenge on their men who had refused to save them, or Nora herself believed that one day a Hilds woman would meet “the One Who Would Change the World.” Perhaps, it was the payment for the rescue or perhaps, just a political move resulting in truce of the two hostile sides. Be it as it may, from that point on thirty alvar warrior had been always serving the Hilds.
********
Nick was walking in long strides along the dusty paved road, trying to catch up with Whisperer. The latter was pattering in brisk short steps, skillfully navigating the busy city crowds. Nick, however, tried to give way to people in rush and often lost sight of Whisperer.
“It’s an anthill,” he thought. A really big human anthill, living by its own laws Nick could not comprehend. This thought made Nick uncomfortable and homesick. In his heart, he must have put all his hope on the Great City.
“But what did you hope for?” he asked himself angrily. “You thought you’d come to the City and the local scientific minds would embrace you here? You would complain to them that you had been trapped in these unpleasant circumstances. And then ask, ‘Could you, dear sentient beings, lend me a zero-space starship, or, at least a functioning zero-transmitter? And yes, it would be great to, at least temporarily, remove the space ‘cocoon’ around your beautiful planetary system. And, forgive me for my curiosity, but could you please tell me its name again?”
Right that moment, a sentient being painfully hit Nick with his shoulder bag stuffed with rotten, as the smell suggested, fruit and went on without even apologizing.
“Damn it!” Nick stretched his neck again, searching for Whisperer’s familiar back in the crowd. “Now the most important thing is to free Sith, Ron and Valu, and then we will go all together to this Old City of theirs. It’s highly unlikely that I will be able to find a zero-transmitter, but I may be able to find a clue about builders of the pyramids.”
“Nick, common, move your feet!” he heard Wisperer’s voice. “To the gate over there!”
Cutting through the crowd, Nick finally saw Whisperer standing next to two criers.
“Here! Put him on the list!” Whisperer pointed at Nick, rushing toward them.
“Ha-ha-ha,” one of the criers broke into low deep laughter. “This is a different matter, old man. We were thinking that you went crazy at your old age. One foot in a grave, we thought, and still wants to try his luck in the Ritual.”
“What is your name, to put on the list, warrior?” the second one asked Nick, giving him an indifferent look.
“Put this down,” Whisperer interrupted, “Nick, of the Westgayer clan.”
“The Westgayers?” the crier was surprised. “Haven’t heard about them in awhile. And so, the Westgayers now started to bear and raise their own warriors?”
“Common, Ulf, don’t drag this, put him on the list!” the second hissed impatiently. “It’s getting dark, and we need to deliver the lists to the Guardians.”
And then he turned to Nick and said, “Tomorrow, be here with the first rays of the Orphius, Nick of the Westgayers. And let good luck be on your side!”
This must have been their go-to phrase, as the criers turned their backs on Whisperer and Nick, having completely lost their interest.
Chapter 7
There were at least two hundred of them, Nick estimated. The Ritual contestants’ column, walking along the edge of the Arena, was stretching for almost a half of its entire circle. Nick was walking in the middle and looked at everything with interest.
“The most important thing is not to stand out among the others right away,” Whisperer instructed him before Nick joined the others.
Looking at the diverse mass of the other competitors, Nick decided with satisfaction that he would not have been able to stand out among them even if he wanted to. He was wearing wide gray pants, tied with the ropes at the ankles, and a spacious sleeveless shirt belted at the waste by a leather belt. Nick refused to wear leather sandals even though Whisperer was insisting. They were irreplaceable during the long journeys but right now they would only be a burden. So he went barefoot.
Nick’s eyes were hurting because of all the colorful clothing of other contestants. Some were wearing something like tunics of various colors, ranging from natural pale to scarlet red in hue. Others were sporting light chain armors reaching their knees. But most of the contestants, though, were wearing leather armor of various designs and colors.
From Whisperer’s and Red’s explanations, Nick understood that the Ritual consisted of several challenges, with only the winners advancing to each next one. The first challenge was a dexterity contest. It included archery, spear throwing, weight lifting and an obstacle course. Nick did not worry about any of these, although he could have used some practice in archery. The last time he shot an arrow was ten years before, at the Boy Scout camp in Oregon. And they were using sports bows with laser breech-sight. Well, all right, Nick decided, I will have to go with the flow.
The second challenge had some weird name, like “truce” or “appeasement.” It must have been some play on words the exact meaning of which Nick failed to understand.
As for the third challenge, Nick didn’t quite understand it either. It was supposed to be something like a demonstration battle. Only those who won in the first two challenges would participate in it. Each contestant would be fighting for himself only. The winner would be the last man standing. Here it was not quite clear, because as Nick understood from Whisperer’s words, the contestants will be fighting with real combat weapons. To his question of whether they’d wound and permanently disable each other that way, Whisperer simply said, “What can you do, those city folks?” And Red kept saying that these were the rules of the Ritual and that it was all his wife’s stupid idea, and so on. Nick firmly decided not to take up arms to avoid any accidents. He still could remember the crackling sound of Ron’s spear entering the southerner’s body.
The Arena’s seating area was filled with a non-stop humming of tens of thousands voices. It had rows of stairs running up in full circles around its stage, so that the spectators could sit on them. There were no empty seats. The spectators got up from their seats and chanted something inaudible to cheer their favorite contestants. The latter ones were shouting something in response, but because of the simultaneous hum and roar of thousands of loud voices it was impossible to hear what was said.
Nick paid great attention to the details. He looked around the stately facility that the locals were simply calling the Arena. From inside, it reminded him of the Coliseum in Rome. The center field itself, along the edge of which now the contestants were walking, was of almost ideal oval shape. It was about the size of a football field, Nick estimated, or a little bit bigger. For the spectators’ safety, the field itself was sitting 10-15 meters deep in the ground. At that level, it was fenced off by a stockade of thick sharp stakes looking down at a small angle. A little bit above it, Nick saw the rows of spectators going crazy in joyful anticipation.
Nick’s attention was drawn by a long horn of trumpets. Applause started to roll over the spectators’ rows, first weak and sporadic, and then more and more coordinated and loud. Nick looked where the horn sound was coming from and saw heavily armed warriors entering the central pew in a brisk step. He noticed their gear immediately. He even shook his head, to make sure he was not hallucinating. They were wearing helmets with tall crests decorated with horsehair. The bronze helmets were shining in the bright sun light. The warriors’ faces were completely covered by cheek and nose protectors. The breastplate covering the chest and skillfully replicating the body’s contours, was mad
e of the same metal as the helmets. In their left hand all warriors were holding a large round shield with a sophisticated ornament. In the right hand – a long spear with a shiny metal tip. A short sword in a scabbard was belted to the waste. The warriors’ legs were covered with greaves, and wide arm guards covered the right arm not protected by the shield. Despite the large distance, Nick’s sharp eye immediately registered the warriors.
“Unbelievable,” he whispered with his lips, “they look so much like…”
He was immediately washed over by a wave of memories. How old were they then? Perhaps 12 or 13? It must have been 12. Paul was late to start the new school year then. For the summer break, he had flown to visit his parents in the Aldebaran star system, and a fluctuation storm just happened to have hit that sector of the space. Zero-space was closed for all civilian vessels for a whole week. Not knowing what to do with himself on the orbital station because of the unexpectedly prolonged school break, Paul got acquainted with Henry Landau, a famous designer of online games. When parting, Landau gave Paul his new game, titled “Battle of Thermopylae.” The game was developed for the then newest sensory game simulator ZX-6.
Nick smiled, remembering how they got hooked on the game. And not only them, the entire male population of the school, of all ages, was playing the Thermopylae. They had to spend entire three months to get to the last and final level. ZX-6 simulator created the full illusion of the events and customs of the continental Greece in 481 BC. At the first levels, the players had to learn how to wear the armor and use the weapons of that era. They also needed to learn how to take care of the armor, sharpen the short Spartan swords, throw darts and master the two-meter spear with sharp tips on both ends. At first, Nick had trouble making the armor fit him. The breastplate was constantly weighing down and rubbing on his shoulders, not to mention the helmet that made his neck go numb, with its leather fastener painfully digging into his chin. When they met at school for classes, the friends were proudly showing each other the scratches and bruises they got playing each next level.