He was finally pushed into a cage of sturdy metal construction, secured by a latch on the door. Someone reached through the bars and cut the ropes binding his legs. He tried to get to his feet, but he was weak and lay still, merely observing those around him. He heard breathing nearby, and then all at once, the room erupted in a cacophony of barks and howls that filled the chamber. For the first time in his life, Tempus was truly afraid.
* * *
Over the next few days, he was beaten and starved. Men were continually waking him by poking him with sticks, and he grew irritated. The sounds of dogs fighting, snarls and yaps, carried easily through the large room. Every evening people entered, and he watched them take up their seats around the pit. This was it, his punishment for failing to protect his mistress would be to die here.
Finally, one evening they came to his cage, and it was his turn. They had poles with a loop of rope around one end, and they used these to hook the loops around his neck. It took four men to guide him to the pit, with Tempus fighting all the way. He was led down a ramp, and then they opened a gate, revealing the sandy floor of the fighting ring itself. They released the ropes and bolted for the gate, narrowly missing his teeth as he turned on them. He slammed up against the metal gate, but it held, and he backed up in a fury, growling menacingly. A similar growl erupted behind him, and he turned to see a large dog with coarse fur, comparable to him in height. Seeing the wild look in the creature's eyes, Tempus guessed what was about to happen.
His opponent lunged forward, eliciting a roar from the crowd. Tempus met his rival head-on, with the two mighty beasts striking mid-air, crashing to the ground in a flurry of teeth and claws. Over and over the two rolled, the coarse-haired dog nipping at his flanks. Tempus was the larger of the two but lacked the dexterity to reach throat of his adversary. His opponent, more nimble, rolled under his defense to bite into Tempus' exposed throat, but the mighty mastiff’s thick skin and wrinkled neck saved him. With blood pouring from his wounds, he shook his whole body, loosening his enemy's grip. Tempus then rolled out of the way, releasing himself from the jaws, coming to his feet instantly, ready to counter-attack.
They stood facing each other for a moment, blood pooling by Tempus’ front paws. His opponent, unharmed, charged toward him. Tempus bent his head low, and,as his enemy rushed to strike, he turned his head and opened his mouth wide, launching himself forward. He grabbed the creature by the throat and began crushing it with his jaws. His opponent struggled, but even at this young age, Tempus had the weight on him. Down came his jaws until there was a crunching feeling and the dog went limp.
Cheers erupted from the crowd, intermingled with the distinctive sound of coins passing hands. Something had changed, he thought; things change when coins are heard. He was led back to his cage. He lacked the energy to resist this time. There, waiting for him, to his amazement, was food. So this was how it was now? So be it.
* * *
“I cannot tell,” said Albreda, “how long this continued, but it became a way of life for him. I suspect it might have been a year or more. The crowds grew bigger, more coins changed hands, and Tempus grew. Soon, he filled the building with people as they came to see the mighty pit fighter, but his fame caught up with him. Eventually, there was no dog to fight him, and that’s when things changed, again.”
* * *
Tempus strutted from his cage. The name of the game was survival; he did what was necessary to live. Perhaps one day he would find his family again, to rescue his mistress from her torment, but for now, he must survive. For countless battles he had endured, often fighting two opponents at once. He had grown considerably, and he now stood with his head level to a man's chest. His body had widened; he was now a full grown Kurathian Mastiff, and though he didn’t know it, he was the size of a small pony. His battles became less frequent as it became harder and harder to find suitable opponents for him.
He was the main attraction that packed the arena, making his owners a large purse each fight. He was paraded in front of the crowd to gasps and applause, and when he fought, the building shook with the reverberation of their cheers.
It was a typical evening; the sun having set, the crowd warmed up with other dogs fighting each other. Soon, they would come for him, he knew, and then, when the fight was over, he could eat. Food was ever in his mind, for a creature of his size needed a lot of it to survive, and his captors never seemed to give him enough, leaving him longing for more. The gate opened as the noose passed over his neck. It was a ritual now, nothing more. He had tried to escape the rope in the past, but the result had only been pain. Now he submitted meekly, saving his frustration for the pit.
They led him to the arena, the crowd rising to their feet in applause as he entered. The noise deafened him, and he glanced about, as he usually did, to judge the watchers. His eyes took in a stranger in a blue jacket, so out of place among the earthy tones worn by the others. The man watched Tempus intensely, his hand on his chin, stroking a thinly cropped beard.
A low growl distracted him from the crowd, and he turned to look at his opponent, expecting to see a large dog or two. What met his gaze was far more distressing than a group of dogs, however, for opposite him, held in place by a chain, was a mighty creature, the likes of which he had never seen before. It was fully twice the mass of a Human, with coarse brown fur and long dark claws. It stood on its rear legs with its forelegs in the air and, as he watched, it opened its mouth to issue forth a roar that shook the very air.
The beast was held in place by a chain that looped through a ring in the floor and then was passed through to someone in the stands. Now they let go of the metal tether, and the creature dropped to its four legs and surged forward. Tempus attacked the same way he always did, bending his head low, coming up at the last moment to sink his jaws into his enemy's throat. This time, however, as he prepared to lunge, a sharp pain erupted in his side when the creature slashed out, sending him sprawling, blood gushing from his wounds. He staggered to his feet and ran, narrowly escaping another swing of the terrifying claws. The creature seemed to be everywhere. Tempus ducked and swayed in a frantic effort to avoid the beast's attempts to slice him open.
The crowd was yelling, but something else was happening, suddenly the people began booing, and Tempus didn’t understand. He backed up against the wall of the pit and was struck from behind by a sharp stick. He turned in anger, and one of the handlers backed up. It was a mistake, for with his attention diverted, the powerful creature sank its teeth into his flank. Pain erupted, and Tempus rolled in a desperate attempt to get away. His foe released its hold, and he struck out, snapping at the beast's leg. He felt his teeth catch on the coarse fur and then he bit again, thrusting his head forward for further purchase. Down went his jaw, straining to penetrate the thick skin of the beast.
It let out a roar of pain and then rained down blow after blow on his back, trying to free its legs. The razor-sharp claws opened up his hide, his lifeblood pouring out of him. In desperation, he clamped down harder, and his jaws did their work, crunching through bone, until they met, and then he released. His opponent fell backwards, unable to remain standing, a cry of agony echoing through the room.
The crowd went wild, their yelling and screaming drowning out all else. Tempus, weak from blood loss, waited and as the creature raised its head in pain, he struck, throwing all his mass into a desperate attempt to reach the mighty beast's throat. He hit his target, toppling the creature over, but it struck out violently as Tempus gained the upper hand. Once again, he forced his jaws to close till the effort almost killed him. Finally, the struggling stopped, and he released, rolling off the body. There was a wild eruption of applause, and then he collapsed, too weak to even lift his head.
* * *
He lay in his cage, unable to move without his wounds searing in excruciating pain. They came and poked and prodded him, but he no longer cared. He was too far gone to find his mistress now; all his fighting had been for naught. He didn’t even rais
e his head to eat, so they stopped bringing food. Initially, they had slathered his wounds with some grease, but after two days, they ceased doing even that.
He was waiting for the final release of death when he saw the man in the blue-jacket again, looking through the cage at him, talking. He heard his name and saw the man holding his old collar, the name Tempus carved into it by the little girl. How long ago that seemed. He wondered what had happened to her; perhaps he would see her in the Afterlife?
The blue-jacketed man stood up, withdrawing a small bag from his belt. Coins changed hands again, and Tempus wondered what this portended. He soon found out for they loaded him into the back of another wagon, along with an assortment of other dogs. He lay quietly, watching the city disappear into the background as they made their way north, the smell of the sea carried away by the wind.
For weeks they travelled while he lay in the cage, near death. In the evenings the man fed him by hand, pouring a liquid down his throat, and slowly he began to heal. By the time they arrived at their destination, he was sitting up again and had resumed eating solid food. He was a mass of scars and cuts, and while moving pained him, at least he was still alive. The wagon entered the streets of a new city; there was a different smell here. They were near water, but not the salt water he was used to. Lo and behold, the wagon rounded a corner, and he saw a river to one side, its wide channel carrying water south.
The wagon halted, and a man came out of a building. He spoke, and Tempus realized the man was of the same breed that manned the ship so long ago. He wore a kerchief around his neck and had the smell of dogs about him. The cage was opened, and he snapped a collar around Tempus’ neck. The kerchiefed man looked at the old one, now worn with age and combat. “Tempus,” the man said, nodding. He stared into Tempus’ eyes with a look of understanding and rapped out orders.
Tempus was led into a building. It was open, much like the last, but this time there were no crates or barrels, but brick built kennels, each with its own door. They were open-topped, with walls too high to jump. The masters here could look down on the animals, but at least there was room to stretch. Tempus entered his new home and lay in the straw provided. A bowl of water sat nearby, and he settled in and fell asleep.
A few days later he was visited by his new masters. The blue-jacketed man spoke to the man with the kerchief, who was holding something in his hand. The first man nodded, and his companion entered the kennel, producing a collar. It had spikes on it, and he held it up in front of Tempus’ face. There was a metal plate on it with writing, but its significance was lost on him. The man tightened it around his neck and pat him on the head. Where things about to get better? He doubted it.
With his strength recovered, they soon began exercising him, running him through obstacles. The kerchiefed man, who seemed foreign to this place, appeared to know all about him. He stretched him to the limit of his abilities. He was taught to jump higher, run faster and respond to commands. When Tempus ignored him, he would be struck by a whip, and he soon learned it was easier to submit, for there was no escape from this place, just like the last.
They began pitting him against other dogs, but there was no crowd, and he was never permitted to kill them. He learned to respond immediately to commands and won rewards; food and rest.
Eventually, the day came, as he knew it would, to once again take his place before the crowds. He was led into a large building, with an open roof. Benches lined the sides of the oval structure, and at one end was a group of men and women in fine clothes, raised above the rest of the crowd. He was trotted out by the kerchiefed man who made a pronouncement. Words were exchanged with a man in the fancy box, and then he was trotted back to the far end of the arena. Soon, three other men appeared at the far end, each with a hound on a leash. The men all looked at the box, and then a red flag was dropped. The leads were released, and with a howl, all three dogs ran straight for Tempus.
Tempus felt the leash release him, but a word of command held him in check. His handler backed up, climbing to a seat nearby, out of harm, and Tempus waited.
The three dogs elongated their gait, one out-pacing the others. Tempus waited, ready to spring at a moment's notice. The lead dog drew closer, and he saw the animal was exhausting himself in his mad dash. Finally, his release command was given, and he launched his own attack. There was the briefest of moments where the crowd watched him as he leaped, and then he dug his teeth into the first attacker. Twisting his head, he ripped his opponent's throat open and then swirled to face the remaining two. He growled at one to his left and started for it when he heard a sharp whistle from his handler. He turned suddenly to his right and struck low, grabbing his enemy's paw in his mouth. The hounds were fast but slight, and his bite ripped the skin open. The creature yelped, and Tempus released, turning back to his last opponent.
He lowered his head for the impending charge. As his last adversary leaped, Tempus went even lower, the creature sailing over his head, snapping as he went. He rotated to face his opponent and struck quickly, digging his teeth into the soft flesh of his flank as he turned. He heard the command and released, allowing his opponent to slink away. The fight was over, the crowd was applauding, and Tempus was once again, a champion.
-Interlude XII-
Bodden
Summer 960 MC
“It was a rough life, full of death and pain, but he did what he needed to survive,” Albreda tried to explain.
“It sounds horrible,” said Anna, stroking her dog's back. “He didn’t have any friends, no one to care for him.”
“It’s a barbaric practice, fighting dogs,” stated the baron. “If it were up to me I’d banish it.”
“Still, you can’t fault Tempus for fighting,” said Beverly. “It’s what he was trained to do.”
“I can’t help but feel some unease,” revealed Hayley, “to think we’re so close to a creature that has caused so much death.”
“Really?” admonished Albreda. “Do you feel uncomfortable sitting near Sergeant Matheson here, or the baron?”
“No, why?”
“They’ve both killed scores of men. Does their presence make you feel uncomfortable?”
“No,” the ranger admitted, “I suppose not.”
“It’s a valid point,” said Anna, nuzzling Tempus. “Tempus wouldn’t hurt anyone here, would you, boy?”
As if in answer the great dog let out a large yawn and stretched his legs.
“So most of his life was spent in Westland?” queried Anna. “How did he come to Merceria?”
“We shall see,” said Albreda. “Now you must remember I’m seeing images and feeling emotions, so it’s all subject to my interpretation.”
“Still,” said Gerald, “it’s a fascinating tale. I feel a strange sense of camaraderie with him.”
“You’ve always felt that way,” Anna reminded him. “You and Tempus are very similar in a lot of ways.”
The baron smiled for he could easily see the similarity. “Still, we should get back to the story before the morning light comes streaming through the shutters.”
Beverly sat up, “Is it truly that late?”
“No, my dear,” said Albreda, “your father’s exaggerating, but it is getting late.”
“Then I pray you continue, good Albreda,” said Anna with a great flourish, “for I’m thrilled to hear the tale of the heroic mastiff.”
“Very well,” the mage capitulated. “Now, where were we…”
A Dog’s Tale: Part II
Somewhere in the Interior of Westland
Year Unknown
“Fighting had become his whole existence by this time. I can’t tell precisely how much time had passed, but he was full grown, and I believe several years may have come and gone.”
Tempus was hauled out of his cage in the pre-dawn. He knew what this meant; training, as the fighting ring was quiet in the early hours of the day. They led him to the edge of the arena and another dog, a wolfhound of some type, was dragged into the f
ighting pit. Tempus growled and stood ready, but much to his surprise, instead of being commanded to attack, he was walked towards the other dog, still on his leash.
The two animals growled and barked, but the handlers held them, applied sticks and issued commands. This continued for some time until both beasts grew quiet. Tempus was taken back to his kennel, and the other dog was kennelled beside him. What were they up to?
Over the next several days this process was repeated until they would enter the arena without snarling or growling. The next part of their training involved placing them in the ring without their leashes. They growled and circled each other, but the 'do not attack' command was whistled, and both contestants instantly obeyed.
Tempus grew accustomed to the great wolfhound, and soon, they would stand side by side in the arena with little more than a sniff of each other. An evening came when their bond was tested. The crowds were particularly noisy this eve when Tempus and the wolfhound made their way into the arena. Standing at one end while the crowd's applause died down, they waited, unsure of what to expect.
At the far end of the arena, the gate opened, revealing four strange looking dogs. They had coarse fur, long legs and their bushy tails remained low as they entered. Tempus had never seen such animals before and observed how they moved swiftly in a coordinated manner. They hunted as a pack, and he suspected they had fought this way before. He heard the wolfhound let out a howl and shifted to stand closer. This would be close-in work, and they needed to protect each other's back, or they would be torn to pieces.
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