He found Thibalt waiting for him eagerly at home. He quickly changed out of his dirty clothes, choosing a tight black vest and hide leggings from his meagre belongings.
"Get on with it. Palen is waiting for us," cried Thibalt. "If we keep him waiting much longer his heart might stop."
"What a tragedy that would be," Christill muttered to himself.
He grabbed a chunk of hard dark bread, that was lying on the main table and followed his brother outside. They hurried down towards the waterside, Thibalt moving them at a frantic pace. Palen stood outside a craftsman's store waiting for them, a look of frustration on his square face.
"If you had taken any longer I would have left without you," he announced, unceremoniously.
"And you would have had an awful time without us," replied Thibalt. "Now let's go."
The three of them travelled south through the city until the Arcein Arena came into view. Its high walls were surrounded by throngs of men eagerly waiting to gain entrance. They found the end of the long line and took their place.
Some of the Miirvkin waiting with them threw disgruntled looks their way, but the brothers had learnt from a young age to ignore them. After what seemed an eternity, they reached the entryway and moved in through the massive double doors into the arena.
"Great Beon!" cried Palen as they caught their first glimpse.
The entry opened up into a wide stadium, the huge stage sunken twenty feet into the ground below them. Row upon row of raised seating lined the four walls of the arena. At this time it was already packed with hundreds of rowdy Miirvkin, smoking and waving tankards of strong wine through the air. They quickly rushed up the stairs to find some seats and were handed big cups of spiced wine, the pungent aroma wafting through the air around them. They looked at each other in glee and gulped them down happily. After two more cups they moved to their seats and took a moment to admire their surroundings.
"There must be hundreds of men here," reasoned Christill.
"Over nine hundred," answered Palen. "My father's father helped build this arena."
"Impressive," responded Thibalt.
Below them the floor of the arena was covered in fine sand. There were several doors that surrounded the arena floor and travelled into chambers beneath the seating. Rooms where the combatant of the games would be preparing themselves for the night's events. The brothers grew more anxious with each passing moment.
The noise grew as more and more Miirvkin entered the arena. Thibalt spotted some of the other boys of their age sitting across the arena rubbing their hands in anticipation. And then the doors to the Arena shut with a loud bang and the noise began to subside. The crowd suddenly turned silent and a large grinding noise sounded from the roof.
Thibalt and Christill quickly looked upwards with the rest of the crowd to see a large structure being lowered from the roof into the arena. Its progress was slow, but as it drew nearer to the ground they could see that it was a series of walls for the arena floor, made of rough brambles and wires. Finally, as the structure hit the ground, they made out the tangled shape of a maze.
Two of the doors, at opposite ends of the arena floor then opened. From the first came a Heilen deer, held around the neck by a thick rope and being led by a heavy set Miirvkin with a black mask covering his face. The man led it towards the maze where an entrance lay and waited patiently, whilst the deer shook nervously and darted its head around.
Then, from a second door, came a gut wrenching snarl and with a lightning fast leap an Irian sprung from the doorway. The savage looking cat had a face full of scars and jagged grey stripes along its back. It snapped at the chain around its neck a few times and then looked up at the crowd seated high above it. It snarled once more, bearing its razor teeth, and raked the ground with its claws. A second masked Miirvkin followed the Irian out of the doorway and led it towards a similar entrance to the maze on the opposite side of the floor.
A booming voice then sounded from the northern stands. "We are gathered today to give thanks to Beon for all that he has given to our people."
The boys surveyed the crowd and saw that it was Bearn that was speaking from the midst of a large group of Miirvkin men. The Lord of Hamal had the fur of an Irian draped over his shoulder and a thick wooden staff in his right hand. An imposing figure even in the midst of his large Miirvkin peers.
"Yet we are also gathered here for another reason. One which we will announce at the conclusion of these games," he continued. "For now, let us sit back, drink, eat, cheer and enjoy ourselves."
The gathered men let out a raucous cheer and the two masked men unleashed their reins. The deer and Irian both bolted into the maze, whilst the trainers closed the entryways behind them with steel gates.
The crowd leapt from their seats, waving their arms in the air and screaming taunts and jeers down at the arena. Christill struggled to see past the tall Miirvkin in front of him and was forced to climb onto his seat.
The deer had begun to bolt through the maze at a frantic pace. It rounded each corner with amazing agility and sprinted down the longer passages. The Irian was also moving through the maze, but took its time. The cunning beast stopped several times to sniff the air and find the scent of its prey.
"The deer are trained to know the maze. If the deer makes it to the centre it wins," cried out Palen, over the noise of the crowd.
"What does it win?" asked Thibalt.
"Its life," replied Palen with a grin.
"And what does the Irian win?" asked Christill.
"Dinner."
Thibalt let out a laugh, but Christill did not find the situation all that humorous. The odds seemed terribly in the Irian's favour. The two animals continued to move through the maze, seeking a way to the centre. The Irian, picking up the scent of the deer, now quickened its pace to the pleasure of the crowd. The deer sensing the Irian's closeness tried to quicken its own movement, but was hindered by the sharp turns of the maze.
A few times the Irian caught sight of the deer and almost closed in on it. However the fear of death drew the deer onwards. The tension in the arena built and the noise from the crowd grew deafening. The boys could now see why the arena was so popular.
The deer rounded a corner and finally came upon a long passage that lead to the open space in the centre of the maze. However, the Irian had made up some ground and rounded the corner a mere moment later. Seeing its death drawing closer, the deer made a final bolt towards the centre.
The Irian, knowing that this was its final chance, sprang through the air, the strong muscles in its hind legs propelling it forward at an immense speed. Paws outstretched, the cat latched onto the back of the deer and dug its claws into its back. The back legs of the deer crumpled under the weight of its attacker, but it did not give in. With a final burst of energy the deer struck out behind itself with its legs and struck the Irian in the face. The cat flinched from the strong impact, which was enough for the deer to break free. It dashed forward with all its might, tearing itself free from the Irian's grasp and bolting for the centre.
The Irian regained its composure and sprang after it. But it was too late. As the deer reached the centre of the maze a wall sprang down from the roof to block off the Irian's path and the cat howled angrily at the loss of its dinner.
"Victory to the prey," Bearn's voice boomed over the crowd. "We shall eat stockfish."
The crowd roared its displeasure.
"Stockfish?" Thibalt queried.
"Had the Irian won we would have shared in its feast and been given deer," explained Palen. "As this is not the case we will start the night with stockfish."
Not too long later large barrels were brought into the arena and skewers of roasted stockfish were handed around. Thibalt and Christill ate every bit of theirs, even enjoying the crunchy flame grilled bones. More spiced wine was then passed through the seats for them to wash their fish down with and the games continued.
Several more maze hunts were presented, with various animals from
the Miirvkin continent pitted against each other. The boys watched keenly as a flint hare outran a brutish hound and were amazed to see a Gorinian Devil, a fierce desert lizard the size of a boar, chase down a Heilen Deer. Following each bout a new dish was served to the crowd. They feasted on roasted turnips and peppered mud crabs. Crusty pies filled with fish and eel were handed out and accompanying each meal came more wine. Soon the boys were feeling the affect of the drink and joined in with the surrounding Miirvkin in songs and loud chants.
Then the maze was removed and the true games began. Warriors clad in all manner of Miirvkin armour stepped onto the arena sand and fought each other in teams. The warriors were everyday Miirvkin. Men who had volunteered to put on a display for the chance to show their skills.
The drunken crowd cried out for their favourite fighters as each battle came to a close and though they fought with blunted weapons, many of the men left the field with terrible injuries.
Eventually it came time for the final bout. A one on one fight between Murloch, the champion of the last games that had been held and a fighter from the Miirvkin city of Numukh. Murloch was a lean man with a shaven head and a notched hammer at his side. The champion from Numukh was twice his size, with a shaggy beard that covered half his face and two thick daggers in each hand. Lord Bearn called out for silence and introduced the combatants. He then announced the start of the fight and the crowd burst into life.
Despite their heritage, Thibalt and Christill could not help but join in with the rest of the men in cheering on Murloch. The atmosphere drew them in and held them tight as they watched the two fighters dance around the arena, testing each others mettle with quick jabs and thrusts. The rivalry between Miirvkin cities was so strongly ingrained in their culture that it was essentially celebrated. It stemmed back to the start of Miirvkin civilisation when men had either left Hamal or been exiled because of their unwillingness to follow the city's rulers. In keeping with this each city would send out invitations to their sister cities for champions to come to their games, and despite the taunts and curses of the crowd, these champions were held in great respect amongst all Miirvkin.
"Why are they taking so long?" complained Christill from the edge of his seat.
Thibalt rolled his eyes. "You know nothing. One does not simply launch himself at an opponent. You must gain a measure of him first. Find his strengths and weaknesses."
"What of the element of surprise?"
"In a fight like this there is no such thing. You opponent knows that you are there to attack him."
"But if it is the norm to take it slow to begin with, would you not gain an advantage by pressing hard straight away?" suggested Christill.
"You may, but you take a great risk. If he is ready for you then you leave much of the fight to chance and are relying completely on your reactions. You will have no knowledge of the way your opponent moves and no way to anticipate a certain strike."
"This is why I prefer the bow," replied Christill. "You take the hassle out of it by stopping them before they get close enough."
Thibalt shook his head. "You should spend more time in actual combat training and less time reading the Disciple's mouldy scrolls. Then you would understand better."
"But then I would be as thick headed as you," Christill returned with a smirk.
Thibalt waved his brother's comment away and turned his attention back to the fight. Murloch was sidestepping around the larger challenger in a clockwise direction. He struck out a few times with quick swings of his hammer, but the Numukhian was no fool and simply stepped back to avoid the swipes. Finally the larger man pushed forward, bringing his two daggers out in front of him in a flashing swirl. This time Murloch was forced to step back and avoid the flurry of slashes. He waited for a break in the challenger's attack and leapt forwards with an overhand swing. The Numukhian dodged to the side and swiftly brought his right hand up and around to cut Murloch on the arm.
The crowd hooted their dissatisfaction and called out more words of encouragement to their fighter. Palen standing next to Thibalt was screaming at the top of his lungs. Thibalt, having never seen the usually quiet boy this verbal, laughed.
Murloch snarled at his opponent and stepped up to send his fist at him. The challenger raised his own hand to block the fist and was forced to duck as Murloch brought his hammer in the following strike. He pressed his advantage sending repeated blows at the Numukhian and was wearing him down. Despite his size advantage, the Numukhian was struggling to take the repeated force of the hammer blows. He sent his daggers out when the opportunity allowed, gaining hits on Murloch's outstretched arms. Yet Murloch was gaining the upper hand. Spurred on by the crowd he increased the intensity of his attacks and with a final blow sent the challenger to the ground.
The Numukhian raised his hands from the floor in surrender and the crowd burst into one long cheer. Lord Bearn moved down to the arena and clasped Murloch's arm with his own. "Once again our proud champion has shown his worth," he called out, causing another cheer. "We thank Beon for giving him the strength to overcome this worthy opponent."
The Numukhian had risen from the sand and nodded his head in acknowledgement. He raised his hands to the crowd and the Miirvkin of Hamal clapped their hands in respect to the proud warrior.
"Tonight, Murloch will feast as a lord feasts. Tonight, Murloch stands tallest in Hamal!" Bearn continued, raising Murloch's hand to the sky.
The Miirvkin continued to cheer for their champion as honey wine was served. Then whilst the crowd was busy with their drinks Bearn called for silence one final time.
"As was mentioned at the beginning of this night there is another reason that we have called these games," Bearn cried out. "We have cause to celebrate tonight. A week from now two of the oldest families in Hamal will be joined as one."
Christill looked at his brother who shrugged his shoulders.
"My son Cathan is months away from becoming a man. And before he finishes his training I have arranged a gift for him. A gift I am sure he will be pleased with," continued Bearn. He paused for a moment, a large smile on his face. "He will take the hand of the daughter of Reinar of the Jarnane family."
Horrified, Thibalt turned to his brother who was white and speechless, eyes fixed on Lord Bearn.
"Cathan and Siri's marriage will bring two of the founding families together in a tie that will bring honour to all future generations," said Bearn. "I am pleased to say that tonight's entertainment will seem threadbare in comparison to the celebration we have planned for their wedding night. I will see every one of you in the Mul'Pha square next week to join in the jubilation."
Christill could not believe the words coming from Bearn's lips. He refused to believe it. Reinar would never allow Siri to be forced into marriage with Cathan. No woman deserved to be subjected to that brute's temper.
"Why did she not tell us?" asked Thibalt.
Christill then recalled her strange mood earlier that afternoon and felt ashamed. "I should have known something was amiss," he muttered.
"Did she say something?"
"No," replied Christill. "She was acting very distant before. But I assumed that it was fine. I am a fool."
Thibalt paused and let out a frustrated breath. "There is nothing we can do anyway."
Christill looked up at his brother and showed his anger. "You of all people will understand why this cannot be allowed to happen."
"I fully understand how you are feeling, Brother," said Thibalt, desperately. "But there is nothing that we can do."
Christill did not want to hear that. "I need to get out of here," he chocked, rising from his seat. He pushed past his brother and moved to leave the arena.
Thibalt called after him, but Christill ignored his brother's cries. All that he could think of was the horrible future that Siri had ahead of her. To say that Cathan was arrogant, loathsome and cruel was painting too nice a picture of him in Christill's mind. And Reinar knew this. He could not understand how their father c
ould have let this happen.
He dwelt on this as he left the arena and stormed away from the building. He did not notice the figures leave the building behind him. Christill continued through the city, determined to find Reinar and speak his mind. He would stand up for Siri, if no one else had the backbone to do it. His frustration was driving him forward, but also clouding his mind. He did not see the strong arms that grabbed him from the shadows until it was too late.
He cried out as he was pushed hard against the wall of the nearest building and lifted his arms to release his assailant's grip. Christill's own strength proved no match for his attacker and in the faint moonlight he could make out five figures crowded around him.
"I thought you would be happy, Christill," called one of the figures.
Christill did not need to see the figure's face to know who it was. "What do you want?" he called out loudly, hoping to gain the attention of anyone nearby.
Cathan laughed. "Yelling is not going to help you. There is no one around here but us." One of Cathan's followers struck out with his fist, punching Christill hard in the stomach. "I have to say that I am a little disappointed. I was expecting that inbred brother of yours to leave the arena after the announcement. But I guess I will have to settle for just you." Cathan stepped forward and sent his clenched fist straight into Christill's face. The impact sent Christill's head crunching against the wall.
Christill let out a moan and let his head fall, stunned by the hit. The group continued to pummel him with punches and kicks. He tried to struggle against arms holding him but could not move. Soon he lost the little strength that he had. The boy holding him eventually threw him to the ground where Christill lay in a heap, bloodied and bruised.
"Pathetic," said Cathan, kicking Christill one last time. "I would have thought that you would at least put up a fight." He bent down to Christill who had his hands protectively over his head, holding back tears. "I do hope your sister puts up more of a fight when I take her to my bed," he said in a vicious tone.
"Get away from him!" came a call from the direction of the arena and they turned to see Thibalt running up the road, Palen behind him.
Thibalt charged straight into the group, diving for Cathan and trying to get his hands around his throat. The followers however were ready for him. Thibalt fought back fiercely, spurred on by the sight of his brother, but horribly outnumbered, he was thrown to the ground next to Christill, his face a swollen mess and his body bruised and broken.
"Well it looks like I got my wish after all," commented Cathan. "Look at this scum, boys. My father was foolish to allow them to live amongst us. Once I take over I will make sure that we remedy that situation."
"What about him," called one of Cathan's followers, pointing at Palen.
Cathan glanced over to Palen, who had stayed out of the fight. Palen took a step back and looked at Thibalt and Christill on the ground.
"Do you want to join your friends?" Cathan asked.
Palen shook his head quickly and then turned and ran from the street.
Thibalt watched his friend running away from them and felt a bitter lump in his throat. When it came down to it, they would always be outcasts.
"I have been waiting for a very long time to do this. I am glad that I was able to do it tonight. On the night that you found out that I will be enjoying your sister daily."
Thibalt looked up at Cathan, hatred burning in his eyes. "I will kill you," he spat.
"Good luck," replied Cathan. He moved up to Thibalt and sent a final kick towards him, striking him hard in the back as Thibalt turned to avoid the blow. "Come on, I have seen enough of these dogs for one day. And I don't want them dead yet. I want them to be around to see me claim their sister."
The group left the brothers in the alleyway, laughing as they disappeared into the darkness. For a while they remained on the ground, nursing their wounds. Thibalt had received a worse beating thanks to his efforts to fight back, however Christill's small frame meant that the attack had left a greater mark on his body. Eventually the sound of men leaving the arena drew closer and Thibalt forced Christill up off the ground. They stumbled back home together slowly and entered the house to find Reinar and Kera sitting in front of the hearth.
Kera gasped as she saw the boys and quickly rushed over to help them. "What happened?" she cried out.
"Nothing that you need to worry about," replied Thibalt quickly.
Reinar rose from his chair and moved over to the boys. "Who did this?"
"Your future son," replied Christill in a spiteful tone.
The comment did not produce the reaction that Christill had hoped for. Reinar simply sighed and said, "I thought as much."
"You must do something," Kera begged of her husband.
"Then you knew about the betrothal as well?" Christill asked Kera.
"There is nothing to do," cut in Reinar. "If they are unable to fend for themselves then they have failed in their training and are beyond my help."
"Don't be so harsh!" shot back Kera.
"Stop treating them like children!" Reinar returned. "If they want to live amongst us, then they need to learn to act like true Miirvkin. I have done more than enough for them."
Thibalt and Christill were both shocked by Reinar's words. Although he had always kept a certain emotional distance between himself and the boys, he had never openly spoken of them as outcasts. Their home was the one place where they were able to avoid the ostracism they endured from the rest of Hamal.
"How can you allow your own daughter to be subjected to a life with that monster?" asked Christill heatedly.
"Leave us," Reinar motioned to his wife. Kera hesitated for a moment, but then left the room after a harsh glare from Reinar. Jin, who had been laying quietly, felt the tension in the air and slunk away into Thibalt and Christill's room.
Once she had moved into the other room, Reinar stepped up to Christill, towering over his foster son and let out a deep breath to calm his own emotions. Thibalt remained to the side, hesitant to speak.
"It is not too late," said Christill. "You know, just as well as we do, what you are subjecting Siri to. He will hurt her. Make her life miserable."
"It is too late," replied Reinar, turning away from Christill. "There is nothing that we can do for Siri now."
"Why not?"
"That is none of your concern."
"She is our sister," reasoned Christill. "This concerns us greatly. How could you be so cruel?"
"Do not dare call me cruel!" boomed Reinar in a raised voice. "I have only ever sacrificed for my family."
"It is Siri that is making the sacrifice."
"Exactly!" cried Reinar. Thibalt took a step back. They had never seen Reinar this angry. "Siri is the one who is suffering. The one who will live the remainder of her life with that monster. Not you."
Christill was confused. "Then end the marriage. You have that power. Why are you making her do this?"
"Because of a foolish promise that I made for your sakes," said Reinar, turning his face away from them once more.
"What do you mean?" asked Thibalt.
"You two have been able to live a life no different to the other Miirvkin boys. Do you really think that the people of Hamal have come to accept you?"
Christill glanced over to Thibalt with an unsettled look.
"For the life that you have been able to live I have suffered greatly. My whole family has suffered. And now your sister will suffer more than any of us have. All for the two of you."
"I don't understand," said Christill.
"You are Feldonians. By all rights you should be slaves, working in the mines, yet in sympathy I gave an oath to protect you and raise you as part of my family. A blood oath."
"Which we have always appreciated," said Thibalt.
"But you do not know what I gave up to give you what you have."
"We have not exactly had a sheltered existence. Look at us!" said Christill, pointing to Thibalt's swollen face.
"Had I not made sacrifices then this would have been a daily occurrence for you. To most of the people out there you are nothing but feral dogs to be kicked and cast away with stones."
"What sacrifices?" asked Thibalt, his voice showing concern.
Reinar hesitated and the boys sensed a reluctance in his manner. He finally replied, "When I took you into this family I dishonoured my forefathers. Kera and I were cast out from the rest of our society. Ridiculed by our own people for the sympathy we showed you. To them it was weakness, not compassion. Yet we put up with it, for your sakes. You were sheltered from most of this. This is why we kept you here until you were grown. I had no doubts in my mind that harm would come to you, were you to get out into the city on your own. Yet eventually you reached the age at which Miirvkin boys begin their training. I knew that there was no way that you would be allowed to train with the other Miirvkin boys, but Kera begged me to do something to make it happen. Without training you would never be Miirvkin and would be useless when you came of age. So I foolishly listened to her and went to Bearn.
"In Bearn's eyes I had lost all my honour when I had committed to my oath. Yet when I begged him to allow you to train, he granted me my wish. But on one condition." Reinar rubbed his eyes. "The Jarnane family is one of the founding families of Hamal. One of the oldest and proudest lines in Miirvk. Bearn knew the power he would gain by taking my only daughter as his own. And so, to give both of you a chance for a future in Miirvk, I was forced to sacrifice my daughter's destiny to Bearn's only son."
"This cannot be true," said Thibalt softly.
Christill suddenly felt dizzy and moved to sit down. "There must have been another way."
"There was none," said Reinar, his voice laced with resent. "Lord Bearn was the only one who could command the people of Hamal to allow you to train. He ordered the Disciple and Beanon to teach you. Sent word out to the entire city that you were not to be harmed. Without his approval you would have been nothing. Forced to live on the fringes of our society until we were no longer able to protect you from the hatred of the Feldonians. You are protected only because of the promise that I made. And now Siri will suffer for it."
"There must be something you can do to change his mind," pleaded Christill.
"By taking my only child into his family Bearn will remove the threat the Jarnane line has to his power over this city. He will never allow this marriage to stop."
Christill felt worse than he had ever felt. He placed his head in his hands dejectedly. To find out that they were the cause of the pain that Siri would be subjected to was too much for him to bear.
"There must have been a better way," said Thibalt, though in his heart he knew that it was useless. There was no stopping the marriage now.
Reinar opened his mouth to say something, but then turned and walked toward his room, stopping in the doorway. He turned his head slightly, keeping his back to them and said, "There is not a single day that has gone by where I do not regret my decision." He then left the room, closing the door behind him.
The brothers could find no words for each other. Nothing to say to ease the pain and anger. Thibalt turned and stumbled off to his room. Christill remained seated, head hung low, thinking of Siri and the concern she had shown earlier that evening. How could he ever face her again, knowing that he was the cause of the anguish that she was feeling. He did not know how long he waited in that chair, but eventually he carried his battered body to his room and fell onto his bed. His exhaustion soon overcame him and he drifted off into a deep slumber.
Jin, who could sense the sadness in the room, moved over to Christill's bed and lay down next to him, placing his paws across Christill's chest. The cat let out a long breath and closed its eyes.
Dawn of the Valiant (The Valerious Chronicles: Book One) Page 11