by T. C. Edge
Dom smiled at the thought of the old man. He was sure he’d be here, and would likely hear all about it when they next set out to sea. Perhaps he’d even go down and see him at some point, or invite him to the ludus in the days to come. Yes, he thought, old Merk would love that. It would really make his day, month, and probably even year.
And as he looked upon the crowd, a calm began to fall.
He twisted his neck to the right and saw that his mother was now standing, her arms raised out in front of her, calling for silence.
The crowd obeyed immediately as her face filled the many screens, the chatter turning quickly to whispers, and then the whispers to a deathly hush. Vesper smiled, surveying her people for a few moments. And then she spoke, her voice carrying across the air and filling the amphitheatre, bringing a start to the Imperial Games.
Dom listened and watched her as she spoke, her speech short and sweet and rising in volume as she introduced the gladiators of the cull. He felt the pace of his heart rising too, his breath a little shorter than usual, his fingers fidgeting and eyes now turning to the sands below. The balcony was set to the centre of the lower tier, extending slightly from the main stands. A perfect position to see it all, to smell the blood and hear the screams.
Dom’s eyes now turned to a specific section of the arena, right to the main wall surrounding the sands. As Vesper’s voice rang out, the crowd began to cheer and clap. He looked down and saw the gates around the base opening up, and from the darkness within, the gladiators came.
He saw them all emerge from the corners of his eyes, his peripheral vision taking it all in. But his eyes were set to one gate alone, and from the tunnel, his three contenders appeared.
They walked out, Kira at the front with her red hair flaming bright under the sun. Gwyn and Gecko stayed behind her, eyes nervously glancing all around in awe and wonder and fear. But not Kira’s. Hers were locked tight under a frown, her expression resolute. She slowly gazed about the stands, taking it in with a casual grace, until her eyes came upon the royal balcony, and stopped right on Dom.
Vesper, still standing, once more drew up her arms and called for quiet. The crowd began to settle, their voices calming and bodies dropping back into their seats. The gladiators stood in place, dispersed among the arena, and all eyes turned to the empress as she spoke.
“Welcome to the gladiators of the cull,” she called out. “Three will live and the rest will die. Fight and die with honour.”
The gladiators bowed their heads as they’d been told. Their armour and weapons glinted under the sun. Dom looked at Kira and Kira alone, and she looked right back, staring up at the balcony, her neck stiff and unbowed, defiant.
Vesper spoke again.
“Now, we welcome to the sands the cursed,” she called, her voice darkening. “In this city, we stand together. Traitors and heretics do not belong. And today, we see them punished for their terrible crimes. Bring them forth, and let them feel the sting of the gladiators’ blades…”
From different gates now, more people came. Most were men, but some were women, all garbed in mismatched armour, carrying rusty swords and axes, bodies filthy and stinking and hair matted and unwashed. Dom looked upon them with pity, saw the debilitating fear in their eyes as the guards pushed them forward from the tunnels, and the silence of the crowd was suddenly smashed apart by a cacophonous roar of boos and taunts.
As the gladiators stood more centrally, the traitors spread nervously around the perimeter, some moving as close as possible to the walls, cowering and shivering in terror. Dom shook his head as he gazed at them, his eyes hooded, and looked from one frightened face to the next, belonging to men and women of various ages, each of them set to be sacrificed to the empress before the residents of Neorome.
Dom had questioned his role in the world with more regularity in recent years. Today, he felt a surge of disgust at what this place had become, at the role he played within it. Shame spread through him as he gazed at the hundred gladiators and traitors, none of whom deserved to die.
He glanced again at his mother, eyes manic, wild as they looked upon the gathering. The madness was spreading through her like a virus now, consuming her mind, endangering all those around her. Her lust for blood, the hate inside her, had intensified year on year. She would, Dom knew, savour every death here today. And the murder of the so-called traitors would be particularly tasty.
He sent his gaze back upon them, and wondered just how many people he’d seen die here. Hundreds. Thousands. He’d seen enough death for a hundred lifetimes, and much of it he was responsible for.
His fidgeting fingers grouped into fists, and he firmed his jaw as the slaughter looked set to begin. And surveying those whose deaths were imminent, a face he knew stood out.
He gasped, and his eyes widened, and focused only on the face. And at that moment he knew for certain that his old caretaker didn’t get his ticket, that he wasn’t in his seat.
No, Merk wasn’t in the stands.
He was on the sands instead.
33
Merk had never been so frightened in his life.
He stood near the rock wall at his back, staring out at the brutal looking gladiators collected towards the centre of the arena. His body was draped in old metal armour, his left hand, with its full compliment of fingers, gripping tight at a heavy sword. His greying eyes were beginning to blur, blinking furiously to maintain his sight. But he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He’d lost two fingers before. Now he was about to lose his life.
Frantically, he searched up and looked upon the royal balcony. There, Empress Vesper stood from her throne, calling for the games to begin. To her left, he could see Master Domitian, wreathed in fine red robes, watching on with a host of other luminaries and lords.
He wanted to call out, lift his arms and wave to his master, but was too suffocated by fear to act. His arms and legs were shaking, and his heart was thudding to the point where he might just be dispatched by a heart attack before anyone else had a chance to cut him through.
He grimaced, and grit his teeth, and tried to cast away his terror. But he couldn’t, and it wouldn’t matter if he could. Though the gladiators here were not the favourites, they were still fine warriors gathered from around the world. A single one of them might well be able to cut down all the prisoners on their own. Merk knew his death was only seconds away.
The empress called out from above.
“Now, when the bell rings, the cull will get underway,” she said, her voice resonating across the great amphitheatre. “Let the Imperial Games begin!”
The crowd, which had been booing and jeering violently when Merk stepped from the shadows, hushed as she spoke. But as soon as her words faded away, they began to roar again, clapping and cheering and causing the entire stadium to vibrate and tremble.
Merk cast his eyes around, looking at the nearest gladiators, wondering just who might be the one to send him to the grave. Almost all were men, the sorts he’d dealt with over the years, the sorts he feared. But within the troop of thirty, a few women stuck out, and two were standing together.
Merk recognised them immediately – one with short dark hair, the other flaming red and impossible to miss in her crimson armour and robes. They were standing with a third man, another of Master Domitian’s men. Gwyn, Kira, and Gecko, who he’d watched over in the dungeons, now ready to be set loose.
They were quite close to him, hovering not too far away. Merk looked at them and saw that they were working as a team, something that most gladiators didn’t do during the cull. He could see Kira’s lips moving, calling orders, the other two listening intently. He stared at them, like he did down in the cells, and suddenly Kira’s gaze swung in his direction and stopped.
He recoiled, stepping back to the wall on instinct, and tried to raise a nervous, fearful smile. It came out as nothing but a pained grimace, and staring at her, he saw her eyebrows lower, and her head cock a little to one side.
Then, as the girl w
ith the emerald eyes looked right at him, a ringing sound cut through the din, and Merk’s gaze swept up to the left of the royal balcony. A large man stood on a platform with a mallet, right next to a huge gong, vibrating and ringing loudly to call as start to the cull.
For a second, nothing happened, and no one moved.
And then all hell broke loose.
Kira looked at the man from the ship, the old caretaker called Merk, and for the shortest of moments wondered just what he was doing there. He was stood against the wall not too far away, hidden within a grouping of a few other traitors, all of them cowering and terrified, nothing but lambs for the slaughter.
She could spare him no thought, though, and through the air the clanging ring of the giant cymbal rang out, and her eyes quickly returned to the nearest gladiators to where she stood.
A moment passed as the ringing echoed, and the world seemed to slow and stop. And then, with their plan of action set, the trio of Dom’s lowest ranked contenders swept off into the crowd.
Kira knew now what her allies were capable of. Both were fast, though not as fast as her. Gwyn had superb eyesight too, and powerful auditory senses. Gecko was strong, and could scale walls and other obstacles with a great amount of ease and speed.
Standing in their positions, she’d hastily determined who to go after first as the empress made her speech, and the traitors spread around the perimeter. She knew that going after any of the criminals would be a waste of time, and that the smarter gladiators would look to carve their way through their more dangerous enemies first, before their energy levels were drained and their powers muted.
The heat was oppressive on the sand, and Kira felt thankful for Rufus’ training. She felt strong, powerful, her focus complete. The fear of those around her, compounded as the heretics joined in, only served to increase her confidence, swell her conviction.
She was walking out of here alive today. Today was not to be the day she died.
So, with the bell ringing, and the crowd roaring, she dashed across to her intended target with her allies at her back. And around her, her powerful eyes caught the sudden flow of motion as the thirty gladiators moved off and engaged and began to slash and hack and dart from place to place.
The sound of clanging metal began to join the din, and it took no time for the scent of blood to wash up Kira’s nose. No time at all, because it was her who drew it, moving immediately towards a large, brutish man ahead. She unsheathed her two scimitar daggers as she went, silver and glinting under the sun, and caught the man before he even saw her coming, swiping and cutting straight through the weak points in his armour.
Her accuracy was perfect, her aim keen. With a few graceful strikes, the man sunk to the sand and the blood began to pool. It filled the air and Kira took a breath, drawing its scent into her nostrils. And as she did, her mouth curled, a bloodlust filled her mind, and the crowd roared wildly as they saw the man’s end.
To her left and right, Gwyn and Gecko were watching the flanks, both engaged in fighting. They were equally matched with their opponents, blades clattering as they met, feet sliding through the sand as they ducked and weaved. Kira turned to help, but another two men came rushing right at her, heavy swords in hand and shields as protection.
She didn’t step back, but went straight forward, eager for the fray. They were fast, and she could tell from their eyes that they had enhanced vision like her. But not as gifted. Not as powerful. She narrowed her gaze, watching both men simultaneously as one went left and the other went right.
She came between them, and working together, they sought to take her out as though they’d planned on trying to defeat her first. She liked it. Liked that they were targeting her, teaming up on her. She smiled like the war-born girl she was. Born for this. Born for battle. And in her blood, the adrenaline surged, warmed by the roar of the cheering crowd.
None would be spilt this day. Not from her body. Not today.
The men acted together, striking as one from either side. She dropped to the ground in a single movement, the blades moving and hanging over her head, and with her two daggers she struck left and right, stretching and using her senses, her skills, to fight on two fronts.
Once more, her accuracy was perfect, and the tips of the blades cut through the men’s armour where the leather plates met, slipping through gaps and stabbing right into their muscular thighs. They howled and staggered back, and Kira immediately sprung up from her haunches, her legs moving with such speed as to launch her high into the air.
The men were too slow to react. She jumped one way, soaring over one of the men before he could raise his shield in defence. Descending from on high, she aimed her dagger at the gladiator’s head, and as she came down, he looked up just in time to see her coming. To see his end.
The razor sharp tip of the curved dagger went slicing into his skull, cutting through his forehead as Kira landed square on his shoulders with the balance of a mountain goat. She stood there, gripping the handle of her dagger, embedded now in the man’s dome, and for a moment his body just trembled and shook, his eyes going manic before going dull.
The crowd reacted to the feat, and those who were watching her leapt from their seats and raised their arms in raucous approval. She was sleek and fast and so graceful with her movements, and as she stood atop the standing corpse, his ally looked at her with an expression of wonder and doubt. She smiled at him, and as her mount toppled to the sand, she withdrew her scimitar and rode him to the floor, sliding onto the dirt before her new foe.
The man took a step back, eyes glancing left and right. And then, suddenly, he darted away across the arena to boos from the throng, looking to seek another to engage.
Kira stood for a second next to her defeated enemy, and looked around at the sprawling sea of ravenous faces. And all over, the sand was being painted red, and bodies had begun to litter the floor.
She turned and saw Gwyn and Gecko still in battle, the former with a slice across her upper left arm. The blood was flowing and she looked to be on the back foot, the barbarian she was facing large and powerful and wearing her down with heavy swinging blows.
One almost struck, and Gwyn stumbled backwards, panting hard already as the sun beat down from above. Another blow swung right at her, the gladiator stamping forward and set to strike again. Then, from over Gwyn’s shoulder, a knife came shooting, missing her by inches and hunting down the big man’s neck. It went straight through his flesh and throat. The barbarian’s day was done.
Gwyn spun around and looked at Kira, standing behind her with a single throwing knife missing from her belt. Her eyes showed gratefulness, but Kira had no time for it. She merely nodded, glanced at Gecko’s opponent, and shouted the order.
“Engage!”
The two women sprung to their ally’s aid, and mere moments later, another body was lying still in the dirt. Dead.
The three of Dom’s troop looked at each other once more, then Gwyn and Gecko looked at Kira. Their leader.
She smiled, and saw that the fear in their eyes had gone. There was no space for it now, no time. It was suppressed by the adrenaline, by the roar of the crowd, by the thrill of the kill.
She looked left, and saw that Lucius’ group was still standing. She recognised them from the previous night, up on their podiums. They were working together as Kira and the others were, moving through and targeting any single or small group of gladiators they could find.
And already, after only a few minutes of the bout, half of the combatants were dead. A bloodbath it was, but the tub was only half full.
There was plenty of space for more.
Merk’s eyes could hardly take in the motion of the gladiators.
With his back locked tight to the rock wall behind, and his sword pointed ahead as if it would offer him any protection whatsoever, he watched in total astonishment as the warriors surged left and right in a brutal but strangely rhythmic blur.
He had seen the games before, of course, but his view fro
m up high was nothing like this. Seeing them in action this close was mesmerising, and though he knew his death was imminent, he was also very aware that he’d be able to do nothing to stop it.
Locked in place, he could merely watch and wait. Eventually, someone would spot him and cut him down, or an errant knife or spear would come hurtling his way too quick for him to dodge. Eventually it would happen, but it hadn’t done so yet. It was just a matter of time.
So far, standing as no more than a spectator, he’d seen half the contingent of the arena killed. Half the gladiators had seemingly fallen, and about half the prisoners had too. Left and right, men that might have been him had been chopped down. He just had to hope that, when his time came, his death would be as quick and painless as possible.
The thought did pass through his mind to fall on his own sword, to end things now and get it out of the way on his own terms. But Merk knew himself better than that. He knew himself to be a coward, far from the brave warriors now doing battle before him.
The most striking of them was the girl called Kira, seeing off men like they were little more than pests. She stood out from the crowd, not only for her vibrant hair and combat robes, swishing behind her as she moved with such grace, but because of the fluidity and speed of her motion, the accuracy of her strikes.
When he wasn’t cowering behind closed eyes, he found himself watching her do her work. She didn’t look as though she belonged here, not in the cull. Quite how Master Domitian had seeded her so low was beyond Merk’s understanding.
Yet, having watched her on the ship, and even spoken to her once or twice, Merk found that she gave him courage. Somehow, she made him feel less afraid. There was an inevitability to his death here, and that helped to ease his terror. After all the build up, all the anticipation, it was happening right now. And that, in the end, was oddly liberating.
So, holding his blade ahead of him, Merk moved away from the wall. He’d been a coward so much of his life, especially in his latter years. But here, in front of all these people, he wouldn’t die as one. He’d face death head on, rather that cowering away from it like a pitiful worm. He’d step out into the maelstrom, and he’d swing his blade, and listen to the roar of the crowd and imagine that it was all for him, and not these true warriors engaging in true battle.
