Champion of the Titan Games
Page 18
“Then you don’t need confirmation,” Virgil said.
“Why the mystery?” Seth asked.
“I want to give you the full experience,” Virgil said.
Large trolls and minotaurs provided security at the entrances. Seth held his token ready. Up at the front of the line, he saw a minotaur pick up a goblin, haul him away from the building, and fling him onto the lawn.
“Some attendees try to beg their way inside,” Virgil said. “Making it more confusing, sometimes they succeed. The guards have a few entrance tokens to give out at their discretion.”
A trio of centaurs got in line behind Seth. They crowded too close for his liking, raucously boasting about how the statue of the centaur was clearly about to slaughter the minotaur. The group smelled strongly of sweat and horses.
Most attendees ahead of Seth had tokens and handed them over routinely. The line moved slowly but steadily. Just before Seth and Virgil reached the gate, a dark-haired man fell to his knees before one of the troll guards.
“Please, mighty Dronis, grant me leave to pass,” the man pleaded. He bent forward and began peppering the guard’s bare feet with kisses.
“Why should I let you enter without a token?” the troll asked. “What message does it send to those who earned the right to enter?”
“My money is spent,” the man lamented. “I’m living in alleys, eating scraps. I missed catching a rabbit, failed at a challenge, and found no favor to accomplish.” He kissed the feet some more.
“I like that you know your place,” the troll said, flexing one of his feet. “But you have entered this way before.” The troll turned to those waiting to enter. “What says the line?”
“Off with him,” one of the centaurs cried.
“Don’t reward him for slowing us down,” another centaur bellowed.
The troll nodded at a nearby minotaur. “You heard the consensus,” the troll said.
The minotaur grabbed the man by the ankles, dragged him away from the entrance, then swung him into the air, sending him flying onto the lawn. The man scrambled to his feet and darted away. Seth wondered if he might go try a different entrance.
“Token,” a minotaur demanded, thrusting a hand out to Virgil as he reached the front. The satyr tossed it to him, and the minotaur waved him through.
Seth held out his token to the troll the man had kissed, but the guard refused to accept it. “Players don’t pay.”
“What?” Seth asked.
“In you go,” the troll said, looking beyond him. “Next.”
Seth caught up to Virgil and held up his token. The satyr looked excited. “You got in free! That must mean you’re considered an active participant in the Games!”
Seth stopped advancing. “What do you mean? Will they try to make me fight?”
Virgil laughed. “Normally, fighting is the only way to get in as a contestant. But your involvement with Humbuggle at Stormguard Castle must have marked you as an active player. I’ve never met anyone who played any of his other Games. They usually die.”
“How am I marked?” Seth asked.
“I’ve researched this,” Virgil said. “Remember, Humbuggle controls this domain. Those who work for him see an aura around active participants. You automatically carry identification wherever you go. My contacts wouldn’t share exactly how it looks because they don’t want anyone trying to counterfeit it.”
“Out of the way,” a centaur demanded. Seth and Virgil moved over against the wall, and several centaurs clopped by.
“But the game I played is over,” Seth said.
“Is it?” Virgil asked. “What was the prize?”
“The Wizenstone,” Seth said.
“Did somebody win the Wizenstone?” Virgil asked.
“Not exactly,” Seth said.
Virgil pointed at him. “Then that game isn’t over, whether you knew it or not. This validates one of my main theories: the Games are a collection of contests that reach beyond any individual competition.” He clapped Seth on the back. “You’re my best evidence yet. Come on.”
The stone hallway stretched ahead of them well beyond where the building should have ended. In the distance, sunlight was visible through a coral archway.
“This place is bigger inside than it looks from outside,” Seth said.
“Let’s not dally,” Virgil said.
Seth and Virgil hurried forward, exiting onto a broad patio in front of a tremendous coliseum. Turning in a full circle, Seth absorbed the improbable view. They stood atop a mesa overlooking the ocean on all sides. Extensive walkways, patios, and rose gardens surrounded the limestone coliseum.
“Where are we?” Seth asked.
“Definitely not underground,” the satyr replied.
“Where is Humburgh?”
“Welcome to the Arena,” Virgil said, spreading his arms proudly. “There are several pocket dimensions within Humburgh. This is the largest I know about.”
Shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand, Seth looked out over the beach and the crashing waves, off to where the swells looked like wrinkles before flattening into a horizon line. “How far does the ocean go?”
“I haven’t explored it myself,” Virgil said. “Some claim you reach a point where you inexplicably start heading back to shore.”
“It’s part illusion,” Seth said.
“Probably,” Virgil said. “Or else magical barriers protect what lies beyond. Maybe with the help of distracter spells.”
“Ocean in all directions,” Seth said. “All inside the Arena Plaza.”
“Essentially, yes,” Virgil said. “Remember, it’s a pocket dimension. Come on. The first event starts soon.”
Seth followed Virgil to one of the coliseum entrances, trying not to despair over how powerful Humbuggle must be if he could create such a grand arena on his own private island. A gray minotaur standing in front of a golden gate directed visitors toward the stairs. His nostrils flared as Seth and Virgil approached, and the minotaur opened the golden gate and stepped aside.
“For us?” Seth asked.
“For you,” the minotaur replied. “The satyr can join you if he is your guest.”
“Yes,” Seth said.
The minotaur dipped his horns in acknowledgment.
Seth and Virgil passed through the gate and walked out into the brightness of the lower bowl of the coliseum. They paused at the top of a long stairway leading down to the arena floor. Above them, rows of stone benches extended three times higher than where they stood. Below, individual seats offered closer views of the action.
“I should have realized you would have access to this section,” Virgil said. “Usually you need a diamond token to get reserved seats. But contestants get privileges. Prospective contestants often receive reserved seats before their first combat.”
“Where can we sit?” Seth asked.
“We just have to avoid the boxes,” Virgil said, indicating sections of seating surrounded by low railings. The nicest boxes were canopied, rendering a few rows behind them useless. “There are plenty of empty seats in the reserved section. More than anywhere besides the upper reaches.”
“Does this place ever fill to capacity?” Seth asked.
“Seldom,” Virgil said. “It’s really big. But there is always a good crowd. Let’s snag prime seats.”
They descended the stairs almost to the floor of the arena, then worked their way sideways, selecting cushioned chairs between a couple of canopied boxes. Down on the arena floor, workers raked the dirt level, while others mounted weapons at intervals against the arena wall.
“How many fighters will come out?” Seth asked.
“It varies,” Virgil said.
“Can they claim any weapons they want?” Seth asked.
“The gladiators can use any weapon within the arena,” Virgi
l said, “including what they bring themselves. If combatants get disarmed, it’s rare for them to make it to a new weapon.”
Seth absently stroked the arms of his chair. “We’re about to see people die?”
“That’s the idea,” Virgil said. “I’m curious to get your take after you see a few rounds.”
Seth wondered how many people would perish in combat today. And for what? A chance to win a magical item? To entertain a crowd? How much did Humbuggle care about the people giving their lives to win his contest? Looking around at the huge coliseum filling with paying spectators, he realized that the demon dwarf seemed more than happy to cash in on the fatalities.
“The Giant Queen is here today,” Virgil pointed out.
“Where?” Seth asked.
“See that central box on the far side? Gilded wood with jewels? Only one like it.”
“Yes,” Seth said. It was the only sheltered box not made of fabric. A stoic woman sat inside, crown on her brow. “I thought she would be larger.”
“Nobody over ten feet tall is allowed into the arena,” Virgil said. “The only exception is Falstaff the dragon wrangler, who works directly for Humbuggle.”
“She shrinks to come here?” Seth asked.
“Giants enjoy their full size over on Big Side,” Virgil said. “The Giant Queen has private access from Terastios to Big Side, and from there to the arena. But for giants to enter the arena, or to go anywhere in Small Town, they have to surrender most of their size.”
“Can the giants shrink whenever they want?” Seth asked.
“Humbuggle set up a way,” Virgil said. “He always does.”
“And she comes?” Seth asked.
“Once or twice a week,” Virgil said. “Especially when giants compete.”
“Is one competing today?” Seth asked.
“Gurnan,” Virgil said. “He has thirty-nine wins.”
“He needs a hundred?” Seth asked.
“A hundred would get him the Wizenstone,” Virgil said.
“Has anyone come close?”
“This place gets wild when anybody racks up more than seventy victories,” Virgil said. “Combatants become legendary if they break eighty. The record is ninety-one. The challenges get harder the more a combatant wins. Especially after they pass fifty. The fights get berserk after seventy and almost impossible after eighty. Contestants not only have to climb a mountain to win—the slope gets perpetually steeper.”
“Sounds brutal,” Seth said.
“Almost seventy percent of competitors are defeated in their first fight,” Virgil said. “More than ninety percent don’t survive the first ten.”
“You know the numbers,” Seth said.
Virgil smiled. “It’s my area of expertise.”
A hefty troll stepped onto a prominent platform, hands upraised. His golden robe flashed with sequins, and pronged antlers projected from his brow. The chatter in the coliseum stilled.
“Welcome to the Titan Games!” the troll shouted, his voice magnified without a visible microphone. It had to be a spell of some sort. The crowd roared in response. He quelled the cheering with downward motions of his hands. The troll bowed low. “We recognize the presence of the caretaker of Titan Valley, her royal majesty, the Giant Queen.”
Facing the queen’s box, the announcer dropped to a knee. Around the coliseum, everyone slid out of their seats and went down on one or two knees. Seth and Virgil did likewise. Seth even noticed a centaur bowing, the knee of a foreleg touching the ground.
“Have you come for thrills?” the announcer called out, to the delight of the crowd. “Are you ready for battle? Today we will discover if Portia the Improbable can continue her charmed run, and whether Gurnan can secure forty victories, but first, how about six brand-new gladiators going head-to-head, a three-on-three battle royale?”
The crowd responded enthusiastically. Seth cheered along with them, then leaned over to Virgil. “If a gladiator keeps winning, how often do they fight?”
“Normally no more than once per week,” Virgil said.
“So it would take around two years for a hundred wins,” Seth said.
“That’s right,” Virgil said.
“As always,” the announcer declared, “if you get inspired to participate in the combat, feel free to join the fray.”
“Is he serious?” Seth asked.
Virgil nodded. “Anyone can jump down to the arena floor and join the action.”
“Does it happen?” Seth asked.
“From time to time,” Virgil said. “Not often. It isn’t a very strategic move. Combatants get better treatment and advantages if they formally enroll in the Games.”
The troll on the platform was announcing gladiators by name. So far there was a bearded human, a hobgoblin, and a reddish minotaur. The crowd cheered them half-heartedly.
“Once the gladiators sign up, can they quit?” Seth asked.
Virgil laughed. “No way! Do you know Humbuggle at all? Whether you join the Titan Games by signing up or by jumping into the combat, once you’re in, the only escape is victory. The competitors all live here in the coliseum.”
“How can he lay claim to those who jump in?” Seth asked.
“His policies are posted around the coliseum,” Virgil said. “I can show you if you want. They serve as a basic contract for anyone who spontaneously joins the fight.”
“They just grab a weapon off the wall?” Seth asked.
“Wherever they can get one,” Virgil said. “You’re not thinking about it, are you?”
“No,” Seth said, mostly meaning it.
“It’s usually some crazed fan trying to help one of their heroes,” Virgil said. “Occasionally somebody thinks they see a favorable situation, like two badly wounded competitors. Attempts to take advantage of injured gladiators usually earn boos, but some people are cutthroat. Those who join the fight spontaneously almost always perish.”
The six competitors had been introduced and were squaring up against each other, three on each side. One human had a war hammer, another a battle-ax. The minotaur swung a flail above his head, the hobgoblin brandished a spear, and the two dwarfs wielded swords. All wore various pieces of armor, and all showed some skin (or fur).
“These guys are all newbies?” Seth asked.
“At maximum, three will survive,” Virgil said. “At minimum, one.”
A horn blew, and the melee commenced. The minotaur barreled toward one of the dwarfs, swiping with his flail. The dwarf tried to repel the attack with his shield, but the minotaur swung so hard, the short defender was blasted to the ground, shield dented. He scuttled away, losing his sword, as the minotaur pounded at him relentlessly. As the embattled dwarf struggled to his feet, turning to run for a wall, the minotaur got a clear shot at the back of his head.
At the moment of impact from the flail, the dwarf vanished in a flash.
“Where did he go?” Seth asked.
“That’s what losing looks like,” Virgil said.
“Wait, is he dead?” Seth asked.
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
The battle raged on. The minotaur teamed with the axman against the hobgoblin, who retreated until he got cornered against the wall and finally vanished in a flash. The human with the war hammer was evenly matched against a dwarf with a sword, but when the minotaur and the axman closed in, the dwarf got reckless, and the gladiator with the war hammer delivered a blow that made him disappear.
The three surviving teammates raised their fists, accepting the adulation of the crowd. The announcer offered congratulations, and the combatants made their way off the arena floor to ongoing cheers.
“But where are the losers?” Seth asked. “Dead?”
“There is no definitive answer,” Virgil said. “We can theorize later. I’d love your guesses.”
“Giants and dwarfs,” the troll announced from his platform, “centaurs and minotaurs, connoisseurs and dilettantes, some of you have seen the dragon Scipio in combat, but never matched against a single foe. In his fortieth contest, Gurnan must pierce one eye of the dragon to secure victory. As always, should Gurnan slay the dragon, it will count as three victories.”
“Can the dragon win the Wizenstone?” Seth asked.
“Animals and magical beasts compete only for their freedom,” Virgil said. “Thirty-three wins and they go free.”
Gurnan sauntered into the ring, fully ten feet tall, and also broad and muscular. Seth wondered how big he would be at his true stature. Gurnan wore a long leather duster, with armor over his chest, and a spiked helm upon his head. He carried a longbow in one hand and a lance in the other, a quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder.
“The dragon is gagged so she can’t use her breath weapons,” Virgil said. “Gurnan has done really well so far, but this will be a tough contest.”
A horn sounded, and the armored giant released the dragon’s chains and left the arena floor. Both dragon heads roared, and Seth felt his seat vibrating. Gurnan nocked an arrow, briefly aimed, and fired. One of the dragon heads whipped sideways, and the arrow pinged off its snout.
As Gurnan pulled another arrow, the dragon rushed him. The arrow sailed past the dragon heads and flashed against an invisible barrier that prevented the errant shot from sailing into the crowd. Dropping his bow, Gurnan gripped his lance in both hands and began fending off the heads that lashed at him, teeth glinting. Gurnan dodged and stabbed, coming close to the eyes several times.
“I can’t look,” Virgil said, partially covering his eyes with one hand.
The dragon swiped down at the lance, pinning it to the ground with lethal claws. Gurnan sprang away from a ferocious bite and produced a sword from beneath his jacket. He jumped over a swipe from the tail of the dragon, but the return swing clipped his legs and knocked him to the dirt.