Escana

by J. R. Karlsson

  A sea of tents stretched out into the canyon, sheltered for the most part from the dying rays of the evening sun as well as the worst of the chill night winds. So this was the front line these days.

  A scream caused them both to jerk their heads to the left, someone was cauterising a stump with a brand. It was then, as Thom surveyed the rest of the tents in the fading light, that he realised just how many of these men were walking wounded. The soldiers sitting nearby paid no attention to the screams or the smell of cooking flesh, it seemed that this was a regular occurrence now. That was an ill omen as in his experience it meant they were one step away from defeat altogether.

  A guard approached them as they made their way toward the line of new recruits forming outside the caravan. 'A mutual friend bid you have these. He expressed that if you were to die then you should do so with your own blades firmly in your grasp.'

  The guard held out Skullcleaver and another sword that presumably belonged to Gadtor. The pitying look that he gave them filled Thom with fury.

  He snatched his sword from the man with haste, livid that another hand dare touch it. The guard didn't seem surprised at his reaction, quickly passing Gadtor his blade and wandering off shaking his head.

  There was no ceremony about their arrival, they were simply given weapons and told to find a place in the camp. Now that Thom had Skullcleaver again he wasn't going to release it until death parted them, it was like an extension of his frame and he had felt naked without it throughout their long journey.

  Gadtor surveyed the vast number of tents with a low whistle. 'Any preference?'

  'They all look like shit to me. Pick one and be done with it.'

  Thom accommodated Gadtor's movement as they weakly hobbled their way toward a tent that didn't smell of burnt flesh quite as much as the others. He didn't like what the smell of cooked meat was doing to his stomach, hunger gave him strange cravings.

  They got a few odd looks as they settled down beside a fire pit, the men next to them wordlessly handed them a piece of meat each before they both returned to their staring match with the embers.

  A younger looking man decided he was going to come up to them, curiosity clearly etched on his face.

  'You're the men from the box,' he stated to them both, waiting for a response.

  'No shit,' Thom obliged.

  'Why have you got that thing around your legs?'

  'Why have you got such a fucking mouth on you? Thom replied, growing weary of the conversation.

  Gadtor chose to intervene at that point for some inexplicable reason. 'We did some very bad things to some very powerful people, now we've been sent here to die. Any more questions?'

  Thom shut his eyes and paid no further heed to it. Let the kid talk to the idiot with the eye patch, see if they can irritate each other to death.

  The boy's voice seemed to cut through him, if he wasn't attached to Gadtor he'd have leapt up and throttled it by now. Instead he had to listen as the idiot man explained in great detail how they ended up with this stupid fucking manacle block in the first place.

  Thom idly wondered if the front-line these days was more lax with regards to murdering fellow soldiers. Now that he had Skullcleaver in hand he could rid himself of Gadtor and start to work on the block, assuming he didn't get killed tomorrow.

  He looked around at the men surrounding the fire pit, most of them were far too young to be involved in such a sustained conflict, while a number of them suffered from the opposite problem.

  The sky seemed a deep red to his weary eyes, he had seen so much blood staining the sands of these endless deserts, now all that remained was to bury himself within them.

  90

  Jakob Sandberg

  Jakob sat in the whiteness, waiting impatiently for the stranger to show himself. He had never spent this long in what he had jokingly started to consider purgatory and the fact that he was left with nothing but his thoughts unnerved him.

  His last memories were of Sah'kel, how his namesake had discovered that after all the trials to get here those who rose to A-Company had it much easier than their counterparts. The sparring sessions weren't compulsory and nobody troubled him, his bed was relatively clean and he had space to himself. If anything the quality of living here was better than any he'd previously experienced. A distinct lack of Thom made that a certainty. He had written it that way, hadn't he? He had drafted the document a thousand times and knew that this was how the story panned out.

  The bearded one, Yalem had come for him one day, brusquely saying that Dyson wanted to see him. Then everything had dissipated and there was no further recollection beyond this wall of whiteness before his eyes.

  The stranger appeared long after Jakob's thoughts had lapsed into silence, he wore an easy smile under his scruffy beard and walked with a spring in his step.

  'Why am I here again?' Jakob asked, further irritated by the man's jauntiness.

  'You were brought here because certain matters needed to be addressed personally.'

  Jakob sighed. 'The interview with Dyson, I remember it well.'

  'Yes, that storied chapter required a very specific action in order to place fear within the man, it was not something I could have poked and prodded you into performing as you still don't have enough control over the character.'

  Jakob placed his head in his hands. 'I have felt my control increase, as if I'm no longer a spectator. It also seems to happen most when you exert your influence over matters. Why not allow me to take the reigns during the interview? I knew what was meant to happen to the very word, it was already written by my own hand.'

  The stranger didn't answer, that was when it dawned on Jakob.

  'You're afraid. I can see it in your eyes. You think I'm going to subvert my own plot and sacrifice my own life simply to prevent the story being told.'

  The stranger nodded. 'You are correct about my concern over your potential subversion if nothing else. This tale has barely just begun and already you are showing signs of wanting to derail it from its chosen course. We cannot allow this to happen.'

  Jakob tapped his temple, a manic gleam coming into his eyes. 'We? Who are 'we'? You're certainly not referring to you and me.' He walked closer to him then, staring up and down at him. 'There's only you here, there are no other that I can see. Who is 'we'? What group of people do you represent?'

  The stranger frowned at him. 'You are mistaken, there is no group of people, I was referring to us. Together we shall spin this tale and in time make you one with the character. In this brief interlude, Dyson has discovered that Yalem is unaffected by your powers. You're also about to get your first taste of an arena battle as a member of A-Company, you will call upon your power once more and gain a greater measure of control than before. I will no longer intervene so long as you stick with the narrative.'

  'Who are you?'

  The world went white and Jakob knew no more.

  91

  Jakob

  Jakob woke with a splitting headache and no recollection of how he got back to his room from the conversation with Dyson. Rubbing his temples, he tried to focus but the thoughts kept slipping away. He remembered following Dyson down the corridors, had the man blind-sided him? What purpose would that serve if he was rendered unconscious when required to speak?

  He had never suffered amnesia before and the thought that somehow the pains in his head were linked to the memory loss frightened him. He had heard of hale men laid low and reduced to gibbering shadows that knew not who they were any more from a simple headache that progressed into something much worse.

  A knock came at his door, which he found had been both firmly closed and bolted from the inside, something else he had no recollection of. Clearly he hadn't been knocked unconscious. He looked around the room briefly. No, there was nobody else here who could have locked it, it must have been him.

  'You're wanted in the arena for a fight,' Tub's muffled voice said from the other side of the door. 'Get down to the weapons room and make
your choice.'

  He heard the boots scuttle off at a great pace, for some reason the small man was intimidated by him. Had he become aware of the manipulation involved in placing Jakob in A-Company? Had he told Dyson about how he had been controlled into doing so against his will?

  He swung his legs off the bed, whatever was causing the headache had started to recede. Jakob had hoped that members of A-Company were exonerated from arena combat. He guessed not.

  Making his way down to the bowels of the arena should have been tricky with all the walls looking the same. Jakob's memory served him well though as he recalled every twist and turn of these corridors.

  Tub did his absolute best to ignore him as he entered the weapon room, no insults or goading or anything that he'd usually subject people within listening distance to. Jakob was beginning to think Dyson had him competing in the arena just to see how powerful he truly was, that power had arrived when necessitated but could he summon it at will for a bout in the arena?

  He picked up a short sword and pretended to test its balance, not knowing what he was doing or whether he was doing it right.

  'Who am I up against?' he asked the squat little man.

  Tub had no choice but to pay attention to him now. 'You'll see,' he said simply, somehow keeping the usual mocking tone out of his voice and sounding strange for doing so.

  Jakob made his way to the arena floor quickly, a nervousness stealing over him as he pondered who his opponent might be.

  They walked in silence down the corridor together and up the flight of steps leading to the arena floor, Tub still trying his best to hide how intimidated he felt.

  As soon as the sun kissed their faces, Jakob noticed that Tub had distanced himself with all haste. The man seemed awfully superstitious, perhaps he was waiting for lightning bolts to fly out of Jakob's hands if he was ired.

  Staring across the sands, Jakob's amusement died as he realised who it was he was facing.

  Yalem stood stock-still in a position of what Jakob could only assume was readiness, his face was as impassive as The Hermit's had been before. He sincerely hoped that they weren't akin in their skill, he didn't want to get humiliated too badly after tasting the luxury of A-Company in comparison to the rest.

  'The following contest is a fight to the death,' Tub yelled out to the crowd, more confident now that he was in the open and in the presence of Yalem. 'May the strongest survive!'

  Jakob did a double take, a fight to the death? Why was their bout any different than the one between the foreign man and The Hermit?

  He had no further time to think, Yalem was advancing with some speed toward him, looking to make this quick.

  Close your eyes, extend your thoughts outward.

  Jakob felt a surge of hope, the voice had returned. He dutifully closed his eyes, hoping he had enough time to listen.

  This one is immune to your mind, you must use the world against him. Push outward with your thought.

  Jakob pushed, it came to him like second nature. He felt a strong resistance and strained against it with all his will.

  No, do not force it. Your mind is like water, let it flow outward and he will have no more power over it than he does the tides.

  Was it Jakob's imagination or was the darkness lightening? He eased the pressure on his mind, letting the thoughts culminate naturally into a barrier of sorts. It didn't halt the force but certainly slowed it to a great degree.

  Good, now you have time to learn, there is much I must teach you.

  92

  Jimmy

  In spite of it being a rare moment of freedom, Jimmy wasn't looking forward to watching the latest bout. If rumours were correct (and in C-Company they usually were), the next competitor would be 'the silent dark-haired boy' and he would be squaring off against Dyson's personal bodyguard Yalem.

  Jimmy was under no illusions that there was only one person in the considerably thin ranks of A-Company that matched that description. Even if there was more than one he had also heard him referred to as the new boy and had been asked a number of times if he knew how such a slight figure had made his way into A-Company.

  Now he was stood in the arena, watching below as Yalem came out to a number of cheers from the guard and even some of A-Company. The man didn't wave at the crowd or acknowledge any of the clamour surrounding him, he bore a large greatsword that looked suspiciously sharper than the rusty relics he had seen used in other bouts. Why was he equipped with such a lethal weapon for a simple arena bout?

  He had heard talk of fights to the death in the Levanin arena, the regional ones frowned on such a practice as anyone who had survived the cage had the potential to be a good warrior. Then again, he had also heard that Dyson had poisoned almost an entire cage of new recruits not that long ago, perhaps he ran things differently here.

  Jimmy groaned as Tub entered the arena with Jakob following some distance behind him. The short sword he had been dealt was clearly in a bad state of disrepair and from the way he was holding it Jimmy guessed that Thom had never taught him anything.

  He watched as the grubby little man cleared his throat, it was customary for him to bellow out the terms and conditions of the fight as every arena had its announcer. The fact that the terms and conditions never changed didn't dissuade him from shouting them for all to hear, he seemed to take great pride in his mindless work.

  He blinked, something was different about the reaction from the crowd. They weren't ordinarily this intrigued by a fight, the old man next to him nudged him on the shoulder with a bony elbow. 'A fight to the death, been a long time since I seen one of those young lad. You should be excited, we're in for a real treat.'

  A fight to the death.

  He stifled a shout, then uncharacteristically decided to think things through. His first intention was to try and find his way to the arena floor to stop this from happening, the surprisingly firm grasp on his shoulder from the old man seemed to indicate that he had expected that reaction. No, there was nothing he could do for his friend right now, except hope that Jakob got lucky.

  He heard Tub give the go-ahead and felt sick as Yalem moved forward with some purpose in his stride. His hope for Jakob evaporated.

  He felt a strange tightness at the back of his head, as if it was caught in some kind of vice from the inside. Trying to shake off the feeling, he concentrated on the fate of his friend.

  For some reason Dyson's bodyguard had slowed, was this a standard offensive strategy? Jakob was still well out of reach of the man, was Yalem reconsidering his strategy or waiting for his opponent to advance in turn?

  He looked over at Jakob then and couldn't believe what he was seeing, his friend had closed his eyes as if resigned to his fate. His guard was down, the sword limp by his side and immobile like the rest of his body. Why was he waiting for execution? Would he not even put up a fight?

  A shiver passed down Jimmy's spine, he was about to watch his friend get murdered and there was nothing he could do about it. He looked frantically around the crowd for The Hermit, he was sat at the far end watching events impassively. Was he not going to do anything either?

  Jimmy rushed over, causing one of the guards to step in his way. Apparently the man thought he was trouble.

  'What do you want, runt?' the guard asked, spear at the ready.

  'I need to speak to that man over there, now!' Jimmy pleaded, hoping his desperation would elicit the tiniest amount of leniency.

  'Get the fuck out of my face before I gut you, you're C-Company. If someone from A-Company wanted to speak to the likes of you he would.'

  Jimmy backed down, there was no sense getting impaled trying to reach The Hermit, either the man would do something or he'd stand idly by. He began to doubt that any insistence on his part would change that.

  Looking back down on the arena, Jimmy noticed that Yalem hadn't made any further moves. Had he devised some strange war of attrition to frighten Jakob into making a mistake? Why would he try to force an error if Jakob's guard was
down? Was he confused as to how to proceed after watching The Hermit adopt a similar style? Maybe he was just giving him a degree of deference on account of his quick rise to A-Company.

  'Get on with it Yalem! Stop toying with him!'

  That was Dyson's voice, containing a clear note of frustration and impatience, why was he so eager that this fight be done and dusted? Why was this even a fight to the death? There were too many unanswered questions here, something else was going on that Jimmy was entirely unaware of.

  Yalem grunted in response and moved forward, he looked like he was trying to wade through the space between them as if the very air had turned to sticky tar.

  That was when the air exploded, buffeting them all with shocking force.

  Jimmy's head ached in pain and chaos broke out around the arena, people were shouting and picking themselves up, it took a moment for anyone to realise what had happened on the arena floor.

  The sand settled, Jakob lay in an unmoving heap and Yalem was nowhere to be seen. A shout went out and Jimmy realised that he was wrong.

  Yalem lay next to the far arena wall, slumped face first in the ground, the wall behind him displayed cracks of impact that must have come from being the focal point of the blast.

  Everyone looked to Dyson then, he gazed down at the arena and said nothing, his expression told the story, curdling at the scene before him.

  Jakob had thrown Yalem across the arena and into the far wall and Jimmy still had no idea how.

  93

  Hern/Re'tak

  Hern had thought the weather was hot in Je'dara, he was entirely unprepared for blistering temperatures of the deeper desert. He vaguely remembered being carried away from the arena and assumed that what was left of him was being disposed of in the desert. Idly he realised that the sand had flowed too quickly for such a purpose, as if it were a stream rushing past his head and willing him further away from the fort. That was when he remembered that Re'tak had taken him, they had escaped Greyhawk.