They had been studying footwork and feints for days, and Bladeborn was feeling a bit more confident about the upcoming fight. He was strong now, with tight muscles like stone. He had put on thirty pounds, and none of it was fat. Yet Angres still insisted that muscle was not an answer.
“What will save you is up here,” Angres pointed to Bladeborn’s head, “Not in your arm.”
Angres continued, “I know how you're coming at me before you do. Discover what I'm thinking and anticipate it. You're trying too hard.”
Bladeborn began to enjoy his training more. They went through a dozen forms of swordplay until Bladeborn had committed them to memory. Practice with Angres for that style of combat was possibly the best Fortress City had to offer.
After four months, the course in armed and unarmed combat was over, and Bladeborn was told by Angres that he was ready.
“You, my friend, have taken in all that I know. I taught you everything. Only a High Praetorian Nightguard could have trained you better. You are the deadliest man in the lower city! You are Bladeborn, my all-time winner!”
On a day after Angres and Bladeborn visited the market, Merkee the Arranger sent a message to Angres. It said Bladeborn would face the current Arena Champion, Hercun the Howler, and more than that.
Angres wadded the message up in disgust. “Merkee has demanded a death match, Bladeborn. He says there is no other way.”
Bladeborn was uneasy with the situation, “Isn’t he changing the rules, Angres?”
“There were ‘reputations’ at stake when we struck the deal…we must accept his terms,” Angres replied. “This fight has generated a lot of interest from peoples who knows ‘da games. He’s pitted you against Hercun… To pair the current arena champion up an unknown, is a risk. Merkee thinks you will lose and then I will forever be discredited. What he don’t know… Is that you’ll win.”
Every time they had gone out to the market for supplies, the boisterous Angres had declared how Bladeborn would “…prove to Fortress City once and for all the dominance of brains over brawn…” Bladeborn now wondered at the wisdom of the strategy.
Angres’ claims had apparently drawn a lot of notice. The philosophical debate about arena techniques brought out vocal nay-sayers, who had often tried to drown out Angres’ voice. But Angres was always superior in his oratory, at least where matters of the arena were concerned.
Soon, an Arena match was scheduled. One week hence, when the Arena of Blood would be packed, Bladeborn would face Merkee’s man, Hercun the Howler—current champion of the Arena. The fight would be the last one of the day—the climax of the Summer Festival.
The day before the fight, Angres and Bladeborn went to the great undercity market for food. Many people looked Bladeborn over, poking at his skin like he was a melon they were considering for purchase. Bladeborn stood silently, stoically, letting Angres do the talking.
“Your boy won’t stand a chance, Angres,” said a wealthy merchant known to bet heavily on the games. “Hercun will slaughter him in the opening seconds. Everyone knows that but you!”
“You don’t understand,” Angres countered, gesturing at Bladeborn, “This young man knows things Hercun is too thick-skulled and muscle-bound to ever understand. Hercun is a great warrior, yes, but his instincts hold him back… He will never be a match for Bladeborn.”
“Care to make a little side bet, at say…fifteen to one?” the merchant said.
“No, no,” Angres said coyly. “I don’t wish to take your money… Just remember this day. When all is said and done.”
The merchant scowled and shook his head, “How much you brag! I don’t know if you have some kind of angle on this or not, Angres, but you’re an interesting one, I’ll give you that.”
Angres and Bladeborn left the crowd to their speculations, a bit more famous than they had been before.
The night before the fight, as they went to sleep in their bunks, Bladeborn said to Angres, “I don’t want to do a deathmatch, Angres.”
“We can’t back out now,” Angres told him solemnly. “Don’t worry. You are quicker, more skilled, and better at an instinctual level that Hercun. Remember, before you disappeared you were one of the quickest little street rats in Fortress City. With my training, you have got all you need to beat Hercun. Have no fear.”
Bladeborn asked, “I’m not afraid to die. I’m just wondering: I’ll have to kill Hercun…no matter what?”
“It will not be over until one of you is dead,” Angres stated. “Wait—there is a possibility…if Hercun passes out from blood loss it might look as though he died. It’s called ‘Judge’s mercy.’”
“Judge’s mercy?” Bladeborn asked.
“Yeah, if the official lets Hercun live with a thumb up. It’s very unlikely though, with so much on the line. But, I told you this a long time ago.”
“I’ll try that,” Bladeborn said, feeling relieved. “Judge’s mercy…”
“If you do so, cut the Howler eleven times…poetic justice for a gladiator who wears the names of eleven dead men as tattoos. Get your rest, Bladeborn. I know warriors like Hercun. He is out drinking heavily, already celebrating a victory that will never come. But you—you, Bladeborn, will be in peak form tomorrow.”
Bladeborn didn’t like the idea of having to kill someone simply for the “pleasure” of the rabble or for gambling. He had never killed anyone before. He resented Angres for putting him in such a position. Perhaps bleeding Hercun was the answer. Bladeborn felt he was up to any challenge, yet he had deep regrets about the direction his life was taking.
Lying in his bunk, looking up at the ceiling in the near darkness, Bladeborn wondered: had Angres set him up? Bladeborn had seen the way Angres worked the con in the last four months. While training, Bladeborn felt almost as if the old warrior was controlling his every movement. Now, Bladeborn wondered if Angres had ever told the truth to him. But it was far too late to be concerned with such things.
The morning of the fight Bladeborn began to understand what it meant to be paired up with one of the most popular gladiators of the time.
“They say that Hercun has ‘…a string of kills as long as his arm…’ Bladeborn,” Angres said. “Hercun the Howler, is a name that strikes terror into the hearts of the other gladiators.”
“I feel nothing,” Bladeborn said.
Angres said, “He is known to scream like a madman as he charges his enemies. Eleven names are branded into the skin of the Howler’s arms…one for each of the men he’s slaughtered in arena combat. Hercun is proud of his record. He only signs up for death matches—his last kill was during your training, only a month ago.”
Bladeborn merely nodded as they fought their way through the busy square outside the arena.
They were about to pass down the tunnel that led to the gladiator ready room. One City Watch checking passes said to the other, “This is that Bladeborn fellah—paired with Hercun—never stepped inta the ring before,”
The other City Watchman looked Bladeborn up and down and said to him, “Die well, young fool. Hercun is a muscle-bound beast of a man. He’s gonna eat you as a mid-afternoon snack.”
“Watch your own business, doorman,” Angres growled.
The City Watchman exploded, “Mind your place, Angres, or I’ll have Chief Constable Bluelock cut off your other hand right now!”
“C’mon, Bladeborn,” Angres said, shrugging off his frustration. “The real work ain’t out here.”
They entered the ready-room and all eyes turned to them. Angres leaned over and said, “Bladeborn, we know you can do this. You have been the cup into which all I know was poured. You have received that knowledge better than any ever could. Hercun don’t stand a chance.”
Bladeborn went to the Battlemaster, receiving a short sword and shield, along with a light leather breast piece. Hercun wore a chain breastpiece and held a wicked-looking hand-and-a half battle axe. He stood not far away with several other large gladiators, holding a wine skin, eyeing Bladeborn evil
ly.
Passing the wineskin to a friend, Hercun strode over to where Bladeborn and Angres sat. With Merkee looking on, the normally raucous gladiators fell silent. Hercun called out to Bladeborn, “I’m gonna crush you ‘neath my heel, little nip-crawler! Just split you in two quick and get it over with! No fuss—another name on my list!”
Bladeborn shook his head, as if he thought Hercun’s bluster wasn’t worthy of commentary.
“Save it for the match, Howler,” Angres responded, belching loudly. “You’re gonna need it…”
Merkee got in on the exchange, calling out, “We have made this contest the climax of the Summer Festival, Angres. I hope your man is ready for the honor.”
“I think you’ll all be surprised at how exactly ‘ready’ he is,” Angres replied.
Merkee sniffed with uninhibited snobbery and turned away once more.
Hercun spat on the floor, then returned to the group of gladiators he had been drinking with.
The Battlemaster reported that the betting was heavy. Odds favored Hercun ten-to-one over Bladeborn, which was the limit for most betting houses. Still, rumor had it that some had bet much higher against Bladeborn.
“They have lost faith in me,” Angres said, noting how lopsided the betting had become. “Like they don’t remember how good I once was. Today they’ll all see it, through you, Bladeborn.”
Bladeborn felt calm, confident and determined. Angres had drilled innumerable strategies and moves into him. His muscles were like beaten steel. He felt solid as a Fortress City pillar and quick as a Rat-bug’s stinger. He was ready.
“Today’s judge is a Noble Knight of the Endless Flame,” Angres said. “If he thinks you have won by a satisfactory margin, he will give the thumbs up. If not, you’ll have to finish Hercun with a death-blow. I have told what will happen if you don’t do what the judge orders.”
Bladeborn said solemnly, “Then, I will be killed.”
“That’s right,” Angres said. “So, make sure every move counts!”
The games commenced. As Bladeborn stood ready to enter the Arena, he saw bloody, injured contestants being carted from the arena floor down a nearby corridor, screaming from the pain of their wounds. It made him angry that these men were forced to risk their lives for the show. He felt embarrassed that he had thought so highly of the arena when he was young, and he was angry with Angres—the old man had put him in a position where he might have to kill Hercun.
Angres gave him one last pep-talk, “Remember what I told you about Hercun—he will put everything into each attack and shout to intimidate you. Don’t try to block with that little shield they gave you; Hercun will cut it in half. Avoid him until he’s worn down—then pick him apart.”
Hercun the Howler entered the arena first. He needed no introduction—everyone in the stands knew exactly who he was.
The crowd roared in approval as their favorite champion let out a protracted, throaty vocalization. In the side entry to the arena, Angres and Bladeborn stood together until the gate opened.
“This is you, Bladeborn!” Angres said, with gusto. “Go show him what we know!”
Bladeborn walked into the arena and held his arms up. The crowd showed disapproval by hissing and throwing rotten food. Bladeborn was going to give them a show today, but not what they expected.
After a few moments, they stood just paces away from each other on two “X”-spots, and Hercun growled like an angry wart-dog at Bladeborn. They turned, briefly saluting the Nobility who had turned out for the show, as well as the day’s judge, the Knight of the Endless Flame. The Knight sat forward in his place of honor and acknowledged their salutations. Then Bladeborn and Hercun turned back to each other…ready.
The starting gong rang. Immediately, Hercun charged, screaming like an insane man, raising his axe in the air. Hercun swung down and Bladeborn dodged, watching the fury in the man’s eyes begin to grow.
“HAAAA!” Hercun screamed again, aiming to cut Bladeborn in half. Bladeborn leapt back. Hercun’s axe clanked against the stone arena floor and sparks flew.
The man seemed to be relentless. In a minute, Hercun forced Bladeborn to the side of the arena, cutting off his ability to retreat. Bladeborn realized Hercun’s intent was to corral him.
The crowd was booing, thinking Bladeborn was a coward. Bladeborn neared the arena’s edge, and women began hurling more rotten vegetables at him.
Backed into a corner, Bladeborn dropped and rolled to the side of the bigger man, putting a slit in Hercun’s thigh with the tip of the short sword. Hercun chopped down, hitting nothing but the wall.
The crowd loved it. Bladeborn was bathed in sweat, for the heat on the arena floor was stifling. But he felt in control, noting Hercun was breathing heavily and that each of his swings were becoming easier to predict…
Now, when Hercun swung his weapon, Bladeborn would put a cut on his opponent as he passed. He touched Hercun’s left bicep with his weapon-tip… then, his right…and Hercun was now bleeding from three bloody gashes. The Howler wasn’t screaming with each charge he made—he looked tired. Bladeborn’s training had been superlative.
Hercun started in with renewed energy, no longer howling with each attack, seemingly determined to take the fight more seriously. Bladeborn continued to dodge, and at one point, blocking with the small shield. As Angres had said, it was a mistake. The shield exploded into wooden shards and twisted metal, like it had been made to do so. Bladeborn wondered if Merkee and the Battlemaster had purposefully tried to give him faulty equipment. Bladeborn came away from it with a nasty welt and cut on his forearm.
Throwing the remains of the shield at Merkee, Bladeborn got in close and put two deep cuts on the inside of Hercun’s thighs. Bladeborn could have finished it, right then, if he had chosen to deliver an obvious shot to the Howlers’ groin. It would have crippled the man and probably killed him, but Bladeborn didn’t do it.
Now Hercun dropped to one knee, bracing himself on his axe. He had five gaping wounds oozing blood onto the flagstones of the arena floor. But he arose again a moment later, axe above his head, screaming, “NNAARR!”
Bladeborn stepped aside cutting into flesh under the left arm of Hercun, then spinning about as the huge man passed. With the edge of his weapon, Bladeborn landed a little slash on the Howler’s neck below his ear.
Hercun passed now with his back to Bladeborn, gasping for air. Bladeborn guessed that many in the crowd could see who the victor would likely be. Bladeborn could have taken his opponent’s head on the last exchange.
When Hercun turned about he had a look of fury and determination Bladeborn had never seen in another man’s face. Hercun’s stamina was carrying him forward as though he didn’t yet know Bladeborn was going to win
“This…isn’t…over!” Hercun gasped. “I am HERCUN! You will know what that means soon enough, nip-crawler!”
Bladeborn didn’t respond, instead choosing to feint a charge at Hercun’s left side. The champion gladiator was totally taken in by it as Bladeborn managed to put yet another light slash on the outside of Hercun’s right forearm.
With a wild back-swing, Hercun nearly connected with Bladeborn’s side—nearly. Bladeborn spun out of the way and made a quick riposte, opening a gash on Hercun’s left cheek.
Now, Bladeborn took a moment to rest. He had to follow up with two more cuts, but the Howler was being cautiously defensive, and the crowd was getting riled up against them. Bladeborn cared little about what the masses felt, but he knew that the Knight of the Endless Flame had to satisfied with the fight, or Hercun would have to die.
The crowd shouted:
“FIGHT, HERCUN!”
“COME ON HERCUN!”
“KILL HIM, HERCUN!”
…And like magic, Hercun’s stamina was returning again, as though the man fed off the crowd’s opinion. Those in the stands seemed to be in disbelief at the contest. Hercun stood there, bleeding, as Bladeborn circled, looking for an opening. Bladeborn knew if he was foolhardy, Hercun
could still get the better of him.
Bladeborn reversed the direction he circled and attacked Hercun again, stabbing at him, crossing weapons with him. The man’s strength was incredible, considering how much blood he had lost. Bladeborn almost had his grip on the shortsword beaten down, but he managed to slide the edge of the weapon along the axe-haft, placing a long, deep cut on the inside of Hercun’s right arm. Hercun screamed in pain, as Bladeborn bent low stabbing clean through the Howler’s lower right leg.
Bladeborn tore the shortsword out and jumped back, as the man Merkee considered to be the current number one dropped his weapon and fell to the ground holding his lower leg. Hercun was helplessly bleeding, sitting on the ground holding the injury, and due to loss of blood from the eleven wounds received, the champion had neared point of exhaustion.
Although unable to go on, the Howler crawled up onto one knee. The crowd now cheered for Bladeborn, unanimous in bloodthirst, calling, “FINISH HIM!” “DEATH!” “KILL HIM!”
But Bladeborn kept from striking the final blow. Hercun’s weapon was some distance from him, and blood from his wounds gathered on the ground.
The maddened arena crowd resounded, “KILL! KILL! KILL!” There was a stunned silence about the ring when Bladeborn turned his back on the other gladiator.
Dropping his steel short sword onto the gory flagstones, Bladeborn felt he had clearly won. He did not wish to deliver the final killing stroke, even though he had agreed to do so. He had been almost certain he would win, so powerful a man Angres had made him. Taking Hercun’s life wouldn’t be victory…it would be murder.
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