A spear nearly tangled in his legs as he approached the arena wall with the final two crossbows, he hurled the first into the stands and levelled the last directly at the now-smiling Dyson. He felt the guards massed behind him, sluggish and weary in their armour.
'Halt,' Dyson finally called to them.
Tub was not to be appeased though. He burst through the ranks with an ugly looking blade and rushed at Hern. A facile tactic if ever there was one. Hern wasn't surprised at the hatred he had elicited from the emasculation of the man. He also found he wasn't about to sacrifice his life to prevent it from happening any further.
He dispossessed the blade with a minimum of fuss and left the man caked in sand once more. He heard a roar of laughter behind him from the wall and a slow clapping.
It would appear he had truly caught Dyson's eye.
54
Dyson
He heard Yalem's clapping subside as he peered down at this newcomer with a mixture of admiration and quiet suspicion that nobody could detect behind his mirthful features.
If there was any doubt whatsoever in his mind with regards to his fighting talent, the clapping had silenced it. Yalem didn't clap at many things, the last time he had heard it a man had just cut through eight others with a training sword. The practically mute man had helped hand-pick his guard for him, often promoting from within. They both knew entirely what each guard was capable of and had seen them chase after and surround this man only after his antics had finished. It wasn't incompetence that had brought about this chase, they just seemed entirely outclassed. If he hadn't met the Praetor prior to the arrival of this one he would have killed him immediately.
He wasn't worried about the reputation of Greyhawk as a decrepit desert hole that spawned some of the poorest fighters in the entire land. That's precisely what Greyhawk was and he was quite happy to have it remain that way. A leader didn't survive very long if he surrounded himself with dangerous and unpredictable men. Certainly the loyal soldiers in his cause could earn their stripes, but not before any streak of defiance had been gutted. If he had seen any opposition to his rule he would have them executed by the guards without so much as a care. While he had little left in life that was truly his own any more, the fort and his position were things he clung to painfully. He didn't dare to think that he had quashed all possibility of a coup.
'I should have you killed,' he mused between his grin. Tub looked in a ridiculous state, all the more eager to put things right after being humiliated in such an infuriating fashion. He would have to keep an eye on him, no sense in having his latest acquisition butchered by man instead of beast.
'What is your name, warrior?'
The man smiled back up at him, his panting starting to subside. 'Hern, sir.'
Hern. Now he had a name to the face, names were power. 'Why do you want me to let you live after such an act of defiance, Hern?'
If the man was fazed by his life hanging by a thread he didn't show it.
'Sir, I am willing to serve, but I have conditions.'
Dyson felt anger swell within him. Who the fuck was he to tell him of conditions in his desert? He didn't betray this feeling, locking it down as swiftly as it came. There was no need for such rage when dealing with a snake like this.
Yalem was edging his way into position, preparing to leap if necessary. Dyson felt oddly touched that when push came to shove the man would still sacrifice himself.
'Ordinarily I would have you killed for such insubordinate words, though you do appear to still have a crossbow levelled at me. This buys you a moment of my time under duress, what conditions do you speak of?'
'If any man should put his hand on me, I will deliver death. Since this is a place of arms and conquest, I also request a duel with the greatest of your fighters, with freedom being granted to the victor.'
Dyson laughed at that. Oh but this is perfect.
The smile he gave this bold newcomer was one of genuine happiness now. He loved when things came together in such an orderly fashion and with the minimum of fuss and bloodshed.
'Well, considering that you have me at your mercy it would seem prudent to grant your request!' He waved away the guards. 'You may carry on with your previous duties, Hern will hand the crossbow to Tub and then be led to the assorted weaponry.'
He turned his attention back to Hern now. 'When you return upon selecting your weaponry, your opponent will be ready for you.'
Dyson could barely suppress the laughter as Hern eyed up Yalem with lethal intent.
You poor mistaken fool.
55
Hern/Re'tak
Hern didn't relax any further as a glowering Tub led him down a number of dusty looking stone corridors. He could tell the man was struggling between a mixture of fear, hatred and loyalty so he decided not to goad him to breaking point. He needed to save his strength for the strange one from the stands. Correction: they were both strange and dangerous. Hern had dealt with such men in the past but he had yet to see minds of this calibre outside of the guild. There was clearly a very specific reason that these men had been sent into the desert. He suspected he'd never find out, assuming he survived the fight.
While he could probably give a good account of himself against even the best of the masters, he felt that same trepidation from the cage at facing the unknown. From what he had seen of the guards, luck had played as important a role as skill in keeping him on one piece up to this point. Ironically his biggest concern may well be that his own rambling thoughts may over-analyse the situation to the point of rendering his decisions unsound.
'There's your fucking weapons.' Tub gestured sourly at the wall-mounted racks. 'I hope I get to watch you being torn to pieces.'
Hern was too busy surveying the weapons to pay Tub much heed. There were a variety of spears, some notched swords, and a mace that hadn't been cleaned. A net lay limply in the corner with an axe, a halberd here, a javelin there. The one constant with all the weapons on display was their shoddy maintenance. He wondered if a number of them were still sharp enough to draw blood.
'Where is the armour located?' he asked.
Tub grinned, his bloodied face taking great pleasure with each word. 'Your opponent ain’t got no fucking armour, you won't have any either. Now pick your weapons and get back out there to the slaughter.'
Hern shrugged, armour would only impede him. He wouldn't have minded a shield given the conditions.
Picking his weapons, he briskly walked back into his next inevitable conflict.
Re'tak was in a foul mood. The squalor he had been forced into had grown life-threatening over the past length of time. The pink skins still hurled their meat down from a safe distance as he roared at them in challenge, beckoning them to come down and fight. Occasionally he would have the chance to take his rage out on whatever new pinks faced him when the door opened, yet it was but a brief taste of a larger quarantine. The arena walls were too steep to find any purchase on and he had thrashed at the cell walls and the door and howled until he was hoarse, nothing came of it. He was at the mercy of his captors and it looked entirely likely that he would die that way. Perhaps the herd was correct about him after all. What a disgraceful way to perish, like some trapped animal.
The familiar clicking sound reached him once again, followed by the grinding as the light greeted him. The time to kill had arrived.
Hern stopped short when he realised that Tub no longer followed him. He looked back briefly and the man laughed. 'Oh no, I'm not going out there. You are.'
The man didn't have much of a way with words, his puckered cheeks and squinting eyes giving his face a misshapen aspect.
Once again Hern found himself shrugging, it made absolutely no difference to him what this fat little man did. He couldn't even summon up enough energy to quip something, no doubt it would have been absolutely wasted had he tried.
He walked cautiously out into the light, allowing himself time to adjust to the bright desert sun. He was expecting an ambush or a knife i
n his back at any given moment and was somewhat surprised that he had made it this far. Then again this wasn't Je'dara, the men here played by different rules.
He spotted it then, its arms clawing at the wall as if to gain purchase. No wonder Dyson had seemed so pleased about their arrangement, this was no man he was to face.
It was thrice the length and girth of even the bigger soldiers, its long scaled body reeked from faecal matter and a number of nasty abrasions that had begun to ooze.
It had no crest or mane as the stories had described, they were however entirely accurate about the claws. The terror that gripped Hern in that moment of recognition was amplified as the beast sniffed the air and started to turn.
Using his nose angered him upon realising that the foul stench was himself, but amongst that he could pick out the lifelong scent of a fellow desert creature. It was one yellowskin, the smell was distinctive and it clung to him. The yellowskin had picked an unfortunate time to become his victim.
He started toward the little creature with patience, cursing his slight limp and waiting for the terror it felt to rise to fever pitch.
Then something entirely unexpected happened. Re'tak felt the creature's terror diminish as he drew closer, the thing was either highly attuned to its feelings or had a broken mind.
It cast aside its pointed objects as if the inevitability had finally pressed itself down upon it. He half-expected it to run in panic like many of the others did before the smaller, airborne points had pricked them dead. This one stood its ground, it made no difference in the end. They could run or they could fight, they could not hurt him and they all died the same way.
He saw the white in the thing's eyes now. He did not see fear, nor was there any panic. Perhaps this one sought death, a concept so alien to Re'tak that it filled him with unease.
He could hear the steady breathing now, the relaxed but ready stance of a fighter prepared to give his life. It would appear that this one wasn't frozen entirely and may offer some sport.
He lazily swiped at it and it ducked underneath the claw, that swipe only took out those stricken with terror. He wasn't overly concerned with the dodge and sent a faster swipe with his other claw.
The thing leapt back with time to spare and steadied itself once more. The reflexes on display were impressive assuming they weren't entirely fortuitous luck.
He launched his second attack, swinging both arms up at once and grimacing as he leant back on his damaged hind legs. He anticipated the duck and should it jump forward he would launch with it, there was little escape from such toying.
He felt a weight hit his left arm and traverse up toward his face. He had to keep his sights on the prey, otherwise the opportunity may...
Pain. A severe blow to the side of his head delivered with some malice. There was no degree of luck there, this one had managed to get under his guard and hurt him. No, he had used his attack against him. Re'tak felt an interest surge up within him, this could be an interesting game.
Hern couldn't feel his foot any more, which was probably for the best. Kicking the lizard's head had much the same effect as assaulting the arena wall. It was apparent that this creature had no need for armour whatsoever, the skull was reinforced by a thick carapace. He had heard of this lack of any weak spot as well and had hoped it was exaggeration, it would seem he had the perfect opportunity to discover that. Assuming that he wasn't torn to pieces for the delight of Tub and the cheering spectators that were traitors to their species.
He had never been much loved by any group of people, it came with being the person prone to exhumation of others. This creature had the look of one that was quite happy to toy with him for its own amusement. Perhaps this was penance for his previous occupation. Hern finally silenced his wandering thoughts.
There were a series of swipes now, the creature aiming to push him towards the wall where he would inevitably run out of space to dodge. He struggled to face the thing and retreat at a speed that wouldn't cause him to lose his balance. It also appeared to be growing quicker with each passing moment, he needed to do something.
Blinding the beast wasn't an option, it would require perfect timing on his part and he couldn't see it letting him get inside its guard without at least taking a limb. He had heard tales from reputable men of the third lid of these creatures deflecting axes, that route appeared to be futile.
Every other part of the beast seemed armoured in the same manner as its skull. He found himself with very few options.
Re'tak advanced on the silent creature as it stared back at him unflinchingly. Had it been luck that it had managed to land a kick to the open sore on his head? Re'tak refused to believe in such a thing. He leapt forward and closed the distance between himself and...
It had flung itself down upon the sand and was lying face up as if dead, exposing itself to his mercy yet still breathing.
He padded around it cautiously, waiting for it to make a move. He nudged it with one of his claws and it still made no motion. He couldn't recall landing a solid blow to it, he would have known about it if he had. Re'tak wasn't old enough to be venomous either, it was all most confusing.
He settled down on his haunches beside it and waited.
The screaming of the pink could be heard once more, then a small point dug at the sand and clattered to a stop near the corpse. As if planned, the small yellow skin rose into what must have been a fighting stance. Re'tak swept his tail at it and it vaulted over it without much effort. No, it was going to take more than that to bring this tricky one down.
He nearly yelped in surprise when he felt the voice enter his mind.
Do as I did before upon my striking you and freedom will be ours.
Freedom. The voice intruding on his own thoughts was a violation he had never felt before, it spoke of something he yearned for so desperately. There was no reason not to comply if freedom was the promised result.
He let the yellow skin in under his guard again, making a show of trying to quell his assault. He knew the thing was landing blows that he barely felt, yet couldn't fathom why it would do so.
He collapsed as was demanded to the sound of gasps from the pink skins.
Hern carefully set his foot on the creature's head, much like he would a tame Urtaka kid. He hoped that the gesture wouldn't go amiss.
Slowly he saw Dyson rise from his prominent position, his face unreadable.
The solitary clapping began once again, this time it was greeted with cautious applause from the guards and slaves alike. Hern hoped that they'd never realise how unwarranted it was. His stomach growled in protest at his exertions and he felt sick.
Stay there. He forced it out as loud as he possibly could, not knowing whether the beast would hear him or even heed his words a second time.
A number of guards had finally been ordered onto the arena floor, each of them looking nervously at the creature lying there in the sun.
Dyson finally made his appearance, his still-clapping placid shadow joining him. 'Well Yalem, have you ever seen such a victory before?'
Yalem seemed to be the man behind him. 'Unorthodox.'
Hern froze.
'Why yes, the thought of a single warrior surviving where so many others had perished is remarkable. To bring the beast to heel? Marvellous fighting skill!'
This wasn't going to end well.
'Horseshit,' the man known as Yalem muttered.
Dyson was thoroughly enjoying his moment, turning with dramatic pause and overdone shock.
'Say it isn't so? You mean this competitor didn't best the beast by arms?'
Yalem nodded. There was something lethal in Dyson's eyes as he had asked that.
The guards were muttering in confusion amongst themselves now, never taking their eyes from the beast too long.
'Silence!' shrieked Dyson, before snapping back into his previous tone in jarring fashion. 'My dear Yalem, how could this competitor quell the beast without besting it by strength alone?'
Yalem keeled
over backward, causing a number of men to jump. He picked himself up off the sand without expression. The meaning wasn't lost upon Dyson or Hern.
Dyson turned to Hern now.
'Playing dead is it? You have some way of talking to this thing? Very well then. I declare a stalemate, neither competitor will have freedom.'
He gestured at the guards to take him. 'Though you're quite welcome to share that lack of freedom in captivity with each other.'
56
Jimmy
He had thought about struggling to break free of his captors for a brief moment. They may have appeared unaware of their surroundings but their attentions seemed bent upon him to the exclusion of everything else. As they shuffled forward with their iron grips and tortuously slow pace he found that he had plenty of time to think things over.
Never did he believe that the seaside resort of his childhood would be tarnished into a fleetingly juvenile memory. It wasn't as if he was entirely ignorant of life outside of Escana, he had heard many a tale about what a harsh and unforgiving place the world outside that particular bubble was. In spite of this he had never heard of any trouble from Urial and had subsequently included it in his own little world. Certainly no place was without its bad eggs but that was to be expected, was it not? A utopia would get boring if you had to live there constantly, his own restless spirit could attest to that.
He had really got himself mired in something quite beyond him here.
Initially he had called out for help to passers by, but they all knew better than to get involved in the affairs of others. Jimmy wondered if he had been bleeding to death in an alley whether any of them would have spared more than a glance. It was all about who you were here, Gooseman was well-known throughout the area and the people there had always seemed friendly and eager to please him. Jimmy had been stupid enough to think that the people cared about him too, when really it was just a further extension of their false adoration of the man he followed.
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