by T. C. Edge
Trailing in at the rear, a couple of his most faithful guards arranged themselves at his flanks. Dom heard the shuffling feet of Merk behind him, and offered him the opportunity to walk by his side.
“Thank you, Master Domitian,” croaked the old caretaker, his craggy complexion rather more unflattering than usual in the bright afternoon light.
They began walking together, Dom’s cadence more a stroll and Merk’s a ragged trot. The state of their dress also bore little comparison, Merk’s old sailor’s outfit in stark contrast to the flowing claret robe and fine brown leather belt that wrapped around Dom’s athletic waist.
Still, Dom enjoyed presenting the old man with this sort of position. To disembark from a long voyage alongside a man like him was an honour Merk would take to the grave. That gave Dom some pleasure, though he couldn’t deny the caretaker’s unending adulation toed the line between gratifying and grating depending on his mood.
Today was the former, and so he wandered off the boat and through the cheering crowd with the old man by his side.
“So, Merk, what’s the plan for you then? Are you going to come watch the games?”
“I’ll try, Master Domitian. I always like to see how your contenders get on. Though, I rarely get the best view.”
“Ah, of course. Stuck in the upper rows are we?”
“Yes, sir. Upper rows of the upper tier. At best.”
“Well, leave it with me, Merk. I’ll see to it that you have some great seats in the first tier. How many would you like?”
“Master Domitian…you honour me,” said Merk, slowing to perform a little bow. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say how many tickets you’d like,” grinned Dom.
“Just…just one would be fine, sir.”
“One, Merk? No family you’d like to take. No…friends?”
Dom felt a slight pang of guilt for not knowing anything much about Merk’s life beyond the boat. It didn’t last long, however. He had many, many subjects who were mysterious to him beyond the duties they performed.
More prominent was the pang of sympathy he felt for the old man. To have no one important to him at his age must make for a rather lonely existence.
“No family, sir. I had a wife…” he began, before trailing off. Merk knew it wasn’t the place to talk about personal things with his master. He coughed as if hiding that fact before continuing. “Just one ticket would be fine,” he finished.
He couldn’t, however, miss the glances from the two flanking soldiers, who looked at Merk and then at each other. No matter how hardened he thought he was to those types of glances, even a man of Merk’s advanced years felt the sting on occasion.
“One ticket it is,” came Dom’s bright voice, drawing a little smile back to the old man’s face and vanquishing the thought of the sideways looks. “Where abouts do you live?”
“Um…Southside, sir. Near the swamps,” Merk said quietly, avoiding the smirking glances of the guards.
The swamps, Dom knew, was a colloquial term for one of the poorest areas in the city. Southside in itself was a maze of alleys and narrow streets, snow topped in winter and festering in summer. The swamps was little more than a cesspit, a place of thieving and unsavoury business, and hardly the sort of place a man like Dom would ever visit.
“Ah, well as long as you’re not too near the swamps,” he joked, patting Merk on the back.
Merk shook his head, but neglected to tell his master that he lived right on its doorstep.
“Right, well I’ll have my people find you, don’t you worry. They’ll deliver your tickets. Um, ticket,” he corrected with a sympathetic smile.
They were nearing the edge of the docks now, where the port city began to shape itself into a more structured town. To the left, the sprawling market was in full bloom, sending a barrage of smells their way. Dom glanced at the vast array of colours of the various fruits and different foodstuffs being touted, and drew in the cocktails of smells as he always did on his return. It was bliss after so long sucking on sea air and little more.
It was, however, the place to say farewell to the old man. In a rare twist, he turned to Merk and, rather than settle a hand on his shoulder, drew up his wrinkled left hand – Dom was well aware of the affliction to his right – and gave it a firm shake.
Merk looked close to tears.
“Well, my old friend, enjoy your time on land, and enjoy the games when they come around.” He began to move away, before stopping and turning. “Unless, you need a ride to the city? You’re welcome to come too. We’ll be passing near enough to Southside for you.”
Merk quickly blinked the dew from his eyes, and shook his head.
“Thank you, Master Domitian. But I think I’ll take a stroll down the coast and get some stocks from the market. It’s cheaper here than in Neorome.”
Dom nodded as if he knew that was the case. He didn’t. Having never had to buy his own food, the price of food and other such goods wasn’t part of his base of knowledge.
“Suit yourself. I’ll see you soon enough, Merk. Be well, old friend.”
Dom swept away, leaving Merk to gaze after him with weepy eyes. He always hated this day. While his master was so keen on returning to the city, a large part of him would rather set straight back out to sea. He’d lived most of his life out there, and felt at home on the waves. The teeming and steaming streets of Southside weren’t quite to his tastes.
And the city, though sprawling, could be a very lonely place.
10
“What a pompous piece of sh…”
“Shhh! No speaking!”
The voice of the guard cut Kira off mid-sentence. She flashed a glare, her mind set aflame by the preening pretty-boy who’d just addressed them on the deck of the ship.
Alongside Finn, she sat in the rear of a large wagon, her legs chained to the floor and wrists to a rail. The rest of her stinking cohort of killers lined up around her, each of them intermittently scowling at each other and then guiding their eyes to the expansive lands beyond.
And expansive they were. Beyond the dockside, the rugged greens and browns of the hills stretched away, dotted with trees Kira had never seen and cut through by a single road that led towards the east. Along that road they rolled, the wagon drawn along by some odd vehicle that was foreign to Kira too. It wasn’t quite a car - by the looks of it, no one could fit inside - yet someone was sat on top of it, its function seemingly to do little more than pull a wagon like the one they were in, doing the job that horses used to perform.
Ahead Kira could see Domitian’s transport being pulled by a similar vehicle. The carriage he sat in, however, hidden behind soft, ornately decorated velvet curtains, was far removed from her wagon. It was opulent and decadent and very much opposed to everything she stood for.
She grimaced as she tried to catch a better look at him, mumbling under her breath as the wagon bounced and rocked. It seemed to be pitching slightly to the right, and Kira immediately noticed that the culprit was the giant Brute, leaning back and adding his significant weight to one side of the cart.
He got a jab to the back from one of the guards, trotting on horses alongside the wagon, and growled as he was ordered to lean forwards. Kira could see his meaty hands balling, fingers turning white. She’d known several men like him before, similarly proportioned and wild, and was well aware that their tempers ran hot and fuses ran short. The chains on his wrists must be strong indeed.
Her eyes lingered on him a moment before switching to the glorious beasts trotting beside the wagon, just as finely dressed as the men on top of them, and marvelled that there were such beautiful animals in the world. The only ones she’d had experience with were the foul beasts the lurked in the woods and mountains around Haven; wolves and bears, big cats and snakes and other such beasts that had taken so many of her kin for supper.
But these were different. Their coasts were smooth and glossy, the muscles pronounced beneath their hides. They moved with an elegance and
grace that Kira could perhaps relate to. With her genetic enhancements, she considered herself to be a pure breed of similar ilk.
She drew a breath at the thought and turned back to the men surrounding her. The other woman was there too, slumped into one corner and still out cold. She wondered just what enhancements they had, what they could do. Aside from the giant, who was so obviously a Brute, it would be hard to tell until their gifts were returned.
And that, Kira knew, would just be a matter of time. Her suspicion on the boat was that they’d been gathered as mercenaries, forced to do some powerful despot’s bidding, or perhaps sold at auction as bodyguards or slaves of some variety. Yet now, after hearing what Domitian had said, she considered that they were here for another reason entirely: sport.
The ride was rough and long. The pace here seemed to be gentle, no need to rush. Ahead, the sound of laughing could be heard, emanating from the front carriage where Domitian sat. Kira thought she noticed a goblet of wine in his hand through the curtain, his cleanly shaven mouth curled into a bright smile as he rocked his neck back and hurled laughter into the air.
Her scowl cut off half her eyes it fell so low. Was this guy for real? Was this place? Was all this really happening?
“You miserable piece of…” she began, staring at the man.
She felt an immediate prod to the back and twisted her neck to see a mounted guard staring at her, sheathed dagger in hand.
“Shut up!” he growled. “No talking on the road!”
“It sacred or something?” queried Kira sharply. “Why the hell can’t we talk?”
“Master forbids it. Now shut up or lose your tongue.”
Kira could feel the burning embers beginning to catch fire. Her tongue, very much at risk, was about to be set loose. Restraint was something she struggled with when faced with men like this. She opened up her mouth, and prepared to spit hot coals, but felt a hand grip secretly at her wrist.
Her eyes immediately fell to see Finn’s fingers wrapped around her pale skin. They linked eyes, and he shook his head, his jaw clamped shut. Yet his eyes, sparkling blue like the shallow ocean, shone out and called for obedience. Her anger settled quickly, and Finn gave a little smile.
“Better,” came the voice of the guard behind her. “The quicker you learn to obey, the longer you’ll survive. Though, I won’t be putting any money on a girl like you.”
He chuckled, and so did a number of his travelling companions. Finn’s fingers gripped a little tighter.
“Ignore them,” he whispered, quiet enough for only her to hear.
She turned her eyes away, scanning the prisoners as they went. They passed by the black-cloaked Stalker, his own like circles of ice, locked onto her and refusing to leave. Her fists balled as she stared right back, and for the next five minutes, neither turned away.
Only when they rounded the crest of a hill did their second staring contest come to an end. The view beyond was enough to force Kira to concede, the sprawling lands dotted with farms and fields and little settlements. They wound down the wide road, now occasionally joined by others at little crossroads, and on the shimmering horizon the city of Neorome began to take shape.
At first, the farms began to give way to larger collections of single and double storey buildings. Then, before too long, the edifices grew taller and grander, formed from stone and brick rather than wood, terracotta tiling dominating the rooftops. More roads crisscrossed between them, some paths simple and muddy, others well tended, smooth and wide. People began to spread from their homes, drawn by the sight of the convoy and the soldiers trotting alongside. And elsewhere, little units of similarly clad military men meandered around, keeping order.
The men in the wagon searched the lands with a sense of wonder written upon their faces, the place sufficient to stifle their fear, anger, and confusion, if only for a little while. Only the Stalker seemed little interested in it all, his gaze dedicated to the simple task of continuing his personal, now one-sided, staring contest with Kira.
She’d forgotten all about him. Despite hailing from a grand city on the other side of the world, what she was seeing was a spectacular sight. The structures were different, the architecture in places more primitive and ancient, and in others more grand and spectacular. Her city of Haven was ergonomic, functional, built from metal and stone, a modern metropolis that was mostly grey and cold and uninviting.
This was different. The colours were earthy and natural, the place peppered with white stone pillars and arches and beautiful statues. Kira’s only experience of anything remotely resembling what she was seeing was an old church that the rebels used to operate out of. Yet that was small by comparison, and with limited embellishments. Here, the further they went into the centre, and the wider the streets became, the more the opulence seemed to seep from every crack and crevice.
The people, like the structures and paths, began to morph as they headed inwards. Rugged, dirty, sweat-stained cloaks, once white and now discoloured, gave way to pristine cloth. Rotten sandals, breaking at the seams and falling apart through overuse, became brand new shoes of brown leather, crafted to the specific wearer and used only on the clean stone and marble streets upon which they walked.
Eventually, as the crowds continued to gather to watch them pass, they came to a wide river and a bridge of aged stone. The wagons rolled over the cobbles, wobbling left and right, and Kira saw further crowds awaiting them on the other side. All wore tunics of white topped with robes of red and yellow and blue, and Kira imagined that crossing this threshold, this river, was akin to passing to a higher class, the eastern side of the canal home to the more prosperous and wealthy.
Yet amid the rich and well dressed, Kira still saw those in poor cloth. Kids darted here and there, avoiding the eyes of the growing population of soldiers, some having followed the wagon from the very outskirts of the city where they lived. Others seemed to come here to beg or thieve, a dangerous prospect no doubt but a potentially lucrative one.
The roads were curved and rarely straight, another difference to the world Kira knew. Some lanes seemed to stop at dead ends, and alleys were sometimes so narrow you could barely walk down them two abreast. Others were so wide you could ride several of these wagons alongside with space in between for horses, and there were grand squares that filled with places to eat and drink, often surrounded by statues and stone figures, and fitted in their centre with grand fountains.
Within a particularly grand one, Kira noticed that the centrepiece was a statue, reaching twenty metres high and as finely carved as anything she’d yet seen. It was of a woman of youthful years, dressed in fine robes and adopting a pose of great authority. People stood around it, bowing, kneeling, praying to this goddess.
She gazed at the strange sight for a second before the wagon turned and began to bend around another corner. And as it did, she saw the curtain of Domitian’s carriage catch the wind, revealing him fully as he sat in the back, gazing. And he, too, was looking upon the statue. Only now, he wasn’t laughing.
The wagon went on, and soon enough the shape of a great stadium began to loom in the distance. It rose high into the air, higher than all the buildings around it, reaching for the heavens and fitted with great stone arches and several different levels. Kira counted thee, each one grander than the next, the summit fixed with giant lights and screens and a host of balconies to give views to the city beyond.
The wagon began to slow, and Kira noticed that Domitian’s carriage had pulled to a stop. His soldiers worked a cordon around it, always on high alert, even here in this place of wealth and esteem. Slowly, the wagon drew alongside the carriage, and from the back, Domitian stood tall and stretched his arm out towards the magnificent arena dominating the distant skyline.
“Beautiful, isn’t it,” he called out over the constant din of voices. “That structure was once known as the Colosseum, the great amphitheatre of Ancient Rome. We have seen it restored, and made grander than ever before. Don’t worry about feasti
ng your eyes right now. You will be closely acquainted with it soon enough.”
He smiled bright, his voice drawing a round of applause from the gathering crowd, so eager to watch them pass. Kira eyed them with a firm dislike bordering on hatred, and then looked at Dom with that feeling compounded. He caught her eyes again and smiled.
“You will all fight in the great arena,” he continued. “You are all to be my contenders. Do me proud, and you will be richly rewarded. Fail me, and only death will await you. But no matter what, you will be greatly honoured by the people. They respect you as warriors, as gladiators. This is your calling.”
The crowd cheered again, lifting their hands and shaking them passionately in the prisoners’ direction. Kira swayed her eyes over her cohort and saw that some eyes had taken on a change. The giant was now having to stifle a grin of desire. The Stalker’s ice cold eyes had somewhat thawed. Others began to nod, buoyed by the promise of honour and reward.
And despite it all, Kira couldn’t deny the pull in her heart. She had been born and bred for war. And looking upon the cheering and chanting crowd of foreign men, women, and children, she could do little to subdue the pulse of adrenaline that surged through her blood.
She gritted her teeth and cast the thought away. And then, staring at the Stalker, she thought again of home, of her own war, her own fight.
After all, it was all she cared for.
And that was a dangerous thing indeed.
11
Not far from the grand amphitheatre, a structure of similar enormity spread low and wide across the earth, walled off and protected by a vast contingent of silver-armoured soldiers. Around it, the streets teemed with civilians, many attempting to peer through the grand gates and sneak a peek past the guards protecting the main entrance.
