by Aaron Crash
Della couldn’t betray herself by staring. Was that an Akkiric Ring? Could he have made it while he’d been at Old Ironbound?
“You are a dog,” Urag of Goyyoat snarled. “We are here to kill you.”
“You are welcome to try, Goyyoat cur,” Gulnash said with a spreading smile. “As is Pargar of Rukklur. But Shlak? Perhaps Shlak doesn’t want my blood. Perhaps he wants you two dead, first, and myself, of course, but he who wins this Kurzig Durgha wins the Blood Steppes. Maybe the cunt here will kill us four and take it for herself.”
Della wasn’t going to take the bait, and she didn’t care if Gulnash’s accusations against Shlak were true or not. They didn’t matter.
Gulnash had forfeited his life. This tournament was fine theatrics, but the Betrayer had crafted a ring, possibly an Akkiric Ring, and he was going to die because of it. Perhaps not on the pit sands, but she was going to kill him as soon as possible, even if she had to use bloodcross mushrooms to do it. She might’ve been able to contest his ring, call foul, but he could easily say he’d had it all along. And with his damn coins, he could stymy all attempts at divination. No, it was time he was assassinated.
Della motioned to Issa Leel while Shlak, the duplicitous worm, tried to defend himself. “You lie, Gulnash! Shut that fuck hole in the middle of your face, you shit eater. The minute you are dead, this tournament is over because the only reason we are here is to kill you.”
“You are bound by your outdated rules and your customs,” Gulnash laughed. “I am not. Who has the advantage, I wonder?”
Pargar spoke for the first time, his red crest rising like a cock’s crown over his head. “You break one rule, if you dishonor yourself or our people, and we will kill you. And damn the Kurzig Durgha.”
Issa Leel stepped out in silver Gruul armor, which somehow seemed to fit the Flow sorceress despite her age. It had been crafted to highlight her essess, which covered her arm. Her headdress was feathered, tall, and silver.
She wore the ceremonial sword of the Durgha K’Danzga, the referee of the match. Issa Leel’s reputation was beyond reproach. More than that, the three chieftains and the rogue orc had approved without any discussion.
“I’m surprised you didn’t fight the decision of the K’Danzga, Betrayer,” Della said.
Gulnash shrugged. “There is no one on Thera, nay, Raxid, who wouldn’t be prejudiced against me. Issa Leel is as good as any. Everyone agrees she is a woman of honor, her reputation spotless. If she treats us unfairly, I’ll try to remember that when I’m raping her.”
Della smiled.
“Why are you smiling, cunt?” the Betrayer roared.
“Shlak said you had a fuck hole in your face. I believe his second insult was more accurate. It’s a shit hole because you do nothing but spew shit. It’s a pity.”
“What is?” Gulnash barked, showing his anger.
“It’s a pity that I won’t be able to kill you twice like the motherless runt you are.”
Issa Leel raised her hands as she approached. “I am the Durgha K’Danzga, and there has been enough talk. These are the rules. You will call your Gungarr. They will come out on the sand, and there will be no substitutions. You will all inspect the Fateblood Deck. It will not change. I will have ownership. I will be fair, or it will be my blood that will water the roots of the Tree of Life. Call Kaiyee if you agree.”
“Kaiyee!” the chieftains screamed out.
The entire arena responded with an echoed, “Kaiyee!” The acoustics of the place had been augmented with Form magic. Kaiyee was an emphatic yes in the Gruul pit language.
“Call your Gungarr, Gulnash the Betrayer,” Issa Leel ordered.
He called out the names of his black-haired warriors. The four male orcs who’d arrived with him weeks before came marching out. Each was hulking and battle-scarred, sullen and arrogant. They stood behind the Betrayer, who stood glaring at Della.
She had gotten to him, had angered him, and that was good. She didn’t want him thinking clearly.
“Call your Gungarr, Pargar of Rukklur,” Issa shouted.
Pargar called out his red-haired warriors, two women and two men. Those women were smaller, but they were as vicious as any orc male, as fast and as deadly. They had the compact muscles of their sex rather than the showier, bulkier muscles of the males.
Urag of Goyyoat called out his warriors, also two men and two women. They were obsidian-haired and dead-eyed. They were coming out to fight and die.
Finally, Shlak of Ssunash called his gladiators. Three men, one woman, who was nearly as the big as the men, with her war tusks showing. It was Glagga the Blade. Her sword was a thicker version of the thinner, curved blade. Glagga had shaved her white hair to the scalp.
Gatha must know her, but the she-orc librarian hadn’t shown any interest in meeting with any of the visiting Gruul. Certainly not her mother and father.
The Princept had to pause for a moment to take in Glagga. Della had had sex with powerful orc women, huge and wanton and powerful. The big, bestial woman made her heart beat a bit faster.
Then Issa Leel boomed out a voice that actually surprised Della. “Della Pennez of the Majestrial Collegium Universitas. Call your Gungarr!”
She smiled at herself. Here she was, fighting for the future of Thera, for her very life, and she couldn’t stop her libibido from putting dirty thoughts in her head. It was a laugh. It was life, and this tournament of death made her feel so alive. The colors around her were vibrant, and the reek of the Gruul warriors pungent. It was like she could hear all the whispers of all the people in the stands.
This was the heart of life, this moment, these seconds of pure awareness.
She barked out her first warrior. “Gharam Ssornap of Ssunash! Come forth.”
The professor strode out on the field with a Gruul long sword and a Gruul short sword at his side. His armor covered his vitals but left patches of green skin unprotected. He’d protect himself with magic.
But why was Gulnash half naked? What was his plan? And did it have anything to do with that strange ring on his finger?
Della called their next warrior. “I call forth Gatha of Ssunash!”
The stands thundered, every Gruul howling, because this was a champion who had gone down in legend. She’d been undefeated. She’d killed her sister. She’d fought with a savagery that had surprised even the rough orcs of Ssunash. And then she’d done the unthinkable. She’d cast away her chance to join a ptoor and went to read the dusty books at some magic school across the country.
There were howls, there were jeers, there were curses. It was a thunder of admiration and derision.
Shlak didn’t howl, but Glagga the Blade did, and all the other Gruul on the field.
Gulnash and his Gungarr chanted, “War’s wet cunt.” Over and over.
“He does enjoy that word,” Della said with a smile. “And I can’t blame him. It is a powerful word at that.”
Issa Leel kept all emotion off her face, though she was deeply offended.
Gulnash tossed his head at Gatha. “You should’ve chosen my ptoor, princess. I would’ve fucked you well, so well you’d beg for me to stick my uht in your ass.”
“Is that how you like it?” Gatha spat and joined Gharam behind Della.
The Betrayer barked fake laughter. Again, he’d lost the verbal battle, and decidedly so.
Della lifted her voice. “I call forth Ymir, son of Ymok, of the Black Wolf Clan.”
The barbarian walked slowly across the sand in his elk-leather shirt and pants. His Gruul sword, a gift from the school, hung from his belt, as did two hatchets. He carried his big battle ax across his shoulder. He had a ring on both hands. Damn him, and damn all this ring business.
Ymir’s appearance was simple, and yet, so striking and so strong. With the gait of a panther, he stepped up to the pedestal.
Gulnash pointed his death’s head mace at the barbarian. “They say you are the one I must kill to win the Blood Steppes. I say you have the sorry s
tink of the north on you.”
“It’s from all the elk I fuck,” Ymir said with a smile.
The Betrayer and his orcs chortled.
Until the barbarian added, “Wait, I forgot. It’s been a bit since I fucked an elk. I think it was your mother, Gulnash. She did need a bath the last time I gave her a much-needed cocking.”
That killed their laughter.
Gatha took up the chuckling. Gharam was far more conspicuous. He boomed out mirth.
Gulnash sulked. And fingered the ring.
Della prepared herself to reveal the final surprise. Ribby had told her the titles she wanted proclaimed. “Lastly, I call forth the Ocean Mother Divine’s daughter, the Storm King’s daughter, Charibda Delphino of the Delphino family.”
And out strode the shining figure of Charibda, tall, thin, proud, a wisp of a creature, yet she carried her ornate trident with pride. Her seashell armor clattered, both the cuirass and the skirt, and she had her weighted net slung over a shoulder.
She was barefoot. The spikes of her legs shot out from behind her ankles. It was a stunning sight, raw and unexpected and regal.
The entire arena went quiet.
Every orc stood stunned into silence.
Ymir grinned.
Gatha’s eyes positively shone with love for the mermaid. Gharam and Ymir nodded with respect because both had been beaten by the unlikely gladiator.
At that moment, Della Pennez knew that they would win on the field of battle. It might take some blood, a life or two, but Gulnash would die.
And she wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was Ribrib of the Zoo, the snorer, the awkward ocean princess, who delivered the Betrayer his much-deserved death.
Chapter Thirty
YMIR NODDED AND SMILED. The Storm King’s daughter. Now he knew who he needed for his final ring, though he lost that smile when he recalled the full line.
The final breath of the Storm King’s daughter, forever changing and forever changed.
It was sobering, and he didn’t think the girl would walk away from the Gather Breath ritual unscathed.
Then there was the new ring on Gulnash’s finger. At least now they had an object to scry. Perhaps the magical coins protecting him wouldn’t be protecting the ring. If it was an Akkiric Ring, Ymir would be hard pressed to pull it off his body on the pit sands. He’d have to come up with another strategy, which meant he might be murdering Gulnash the Betrayer in a less conspicuous arena.
The twenty-five warriors of the Gungarr stood waiting around the pedestal.
“Caelum caelarum!” Issa Leel swept up the Fateblood Deck in her magic. The cards in their silver casings clattered.
The orcs in the arena knew what was next, and they chanted something in their harsh language. Ymir recognized the words. The Fateblood Deck! Fight and die!
He’d read up on the Kurzig Durgha. It was a combination of luck, ritual, and murder.
Gambling on Gruul games was common and encouraged. It was believed that the more people who had a stake in the fights, the more power to the warriors, and hence, a better spectacle.
The tournament began with the battle royale, where all twenty-five warriors would fight. A drawn card would dictate if the battle was to be a Blooding, a Maiming, or a Slaying.
The Fateblood Deck had the four suits of a normal River Deck: fire, ice, wind, and mud. Those matched the Studiae Magica, as in Sunfire, Flow, Moons, and Form. Cards were numbered two through ten, and the royal cards were duke, queen, king, and vempor. There were three extra cards, and those were heaven, hell, and the Tree of Life.
Each card meant something different, and there were various soothsayers and sages that said they could guess the results of the battle, if not the future events of the continent, based on which cards were turned.
The fire and ice suits meant the battle would be a Blooding—any warriors who drew first blood won. This meant most of the rounds would be to first blood, which made sense since you didn’t want all your best fighters battling to the death. The wounded gladiators were expelled from the games, but they were allowed to be healed.
The mud suit marked a Maiming, meaning a fight wouldn’t end until the victor maimed the loser, cutting off a body part, ear, nose, finger, hand, foot—those were acceptable, but better were full arms and legs. Eye-gouging also counted as maiming. Those maimed were out of the contest but could be healed so as not to die.
Lastly, the wind suit was a Slaying—those who were killed rode the wind to the highest boughs of the Tree of Life. It was a poetic way of describing the death matches. In the case of the battle royale, a Slaying would stop under a few certain conditions. If a single Gungarr didn’t lose any of its warriors, it won. Or if all the Gungarr lost someone, then the next kill marked the victor.
It was brutal, but any event could be ended by the Durgha K’Danzga at any time if the rituals were not followed. Also, any gladiator could blood or maim or even kill themselves if they wanted out of the games.
After the battle royale, the tournament then became a contest of any two combatants, from different Gungarrs, until the pool of warriors was winnowed down to the last two. Again, not all battles were to the death.
Lastly, there was one other rule that fascinated Ymir. The rule of the Fateblood cards could be undone by the rule of will. With the rule of will, a warrior could volunteer to fight in any of the games instead of one of their teammates. That volunteer would then be slain on the pedestal.
Yes, the volunteering gladiator might win the fight to save a comrade, but then they would be killed. It rarely happened. There had been instances when the volunteer was killed, then brought back to life with a healing spell, but that was risky. Because in the end, most of the time, death was death.
Ymir figured the rule of will would be used at some point in this tournament of death. Their whole purpose was to kill Gulnash the Betrayer. And he saw the desire for vengeance in the eyes of the chieftains and their warriors, even the slippery Shlak of Ssunash.
Issa Leel flicked her fingers, shuffling the cards in a loud clatter of silver. She then stacked the fifty-five cards. “Each warrior will get a corresponding card in the royalty of the deck, ten through vempor.” She called out each warrior and their card.
Gulnash was the vempor of mud.
Della was the vempor of fire.
Ymir was the king of ice.
Gatha was the queen of wind.
And so it went, each gladiator given a card. That would be important after the battle royale, if there was an after. A Slaying draw might just end the tournament.
Issa drew a card. “This will be for the battle royale draw. I have drawn the vempor of mud.”
The arena heard her and chanted, “Mud vempor! Mud vempor!”
Issa nodded at Gulnash. “Come and draw for the battle royale.”
That prompted the orcs in the arena to chant, “Fateblood draw! Fateblood draw!”
The sound was deafening.
Ymir gripped his ax because if this was a battle royale of Slaying, he would need his best weapon to crush the body of the Betrayer. Ideally, it would be a Slaying, and they could converge on Gulnash and end this.
Though Ymir noticed that Shlak’s eyes were on Urag and Pargar. If there was a clear winner in the games, they could claim the Blood Steppes. This could be Shlak’s chance to grab power.
Pargar knew it as well, and he was eyeing the other chieftains.
The minute the card was drawn, the fight would begin, and everyone in the arena held their breath. Ymir felt the thrill of the moment keenly. He wasn’t afraid. His senses opened to take the world in. His women stood on the front steps of the western seats. Lillee wept quietly because the fear was too much. Jennybelle was pale, twirling her finger in her hair. Tori was chewing on her fingernails. They were shaken.
They didn’t need to be. Ymir, Gatha, and Charibda would not fall.
The half-naked Betrayer, with his massive mace on his shoulder, strode forward and casually flipped the to
p card over. He held it, grimaced, and tossed it down.
Professor Leel called out in a loud voice, “It is the seven of ice. Let the Blooding begin!”
The arena went insane with cheering and cries of the card, over and over, chanting, “Seven of ice! Seven of ice!” Issa Leel withdrew as all twenty-five warriors struck at each other at the same time.
Gulnash drew back and his Gungarr fell back around him because they all knew this was the orcs’ chance to murder him. Della leapt up into the air, born aloft on Moons magic, going for him with Gharam and Gatha, both in flame armor, darting forward. Charibda fell back behind Ymir, keeping her legs human because she wasn’t going to bring out the tentacles before she needed them.
Shlak and his Gungarr also armored up. Lightning crackled off his armor, while his team erupted in various magical armor. Shlak, though, didn’t attack the Betrayer’s Gungarr. He struck at Urag. Swords clashed and magical attacks sparked, and it was a cacophony of chaos.
Pargar and his Gungarr went for Gulnash, but his eyes were on Shlak, who had already cut down one of the Goyyoat warriors, opening a slash on their forehead so their own blood blinded them.
Issa Leel called out in a loud voice, “Ulush of Goyyoat, ten of ice, you are out of the contest!”
Ulush let out a ragged roar of disappointment and stomped across the sand.
Meanwhile, the battle continued. It was mayhem, a clash of fire, ice, lightning, and hurled rocks magicked from the sand. One such missile hit one Pargar’s men, breaking his shoulder but not breaking the skin. It might hurt, but he wasn’t out. Then another stone hit his head, and that brought forth a spray of gore. Issa Leel shouted, “Heygug of Rukklur, duke of mud, you are out of the contest!”
Heygug shuffled forward, going for where his people stood on the sidelines. He was in incredible pain, but he was more angry than hurt. His dreams of finishing the Kurzig Durgha were over.
Della broke through the lines, her twin swords arcing with lightning. Her movements blurred with speed even as she made the sand boil under Gulnash’s feet. The Betrayer barked out a spell and drew up sand armor to harden around himself. His ring gleaming with a blinding light, he rode on a tornado of air, escaping Della’s pit.