The Warrior Race Trilogy BoxSet

by T. C. Edge

  They cheered as he stepped aboard the wagon, his name spreading through the crowd. Only Gwyn, it seemed, had failed to catch their attention, though she didn’t seem to mind, her body still recuperating and focused only on replenishing her stores of blood.

  Kira and Merk sat opposite one another in the back of the wagon, raising their eyebrows at their flourishing fame. And, unchained this time, Kira took the opportunity to stand, and moving over to Merk she lifted the old man up and raised his arm to the air, just as she did with Gwyn in the arena. And, just as they did then, the crowd roared their approval and their chants grew louder.

  Kira winked at Merk, and then turned to the crowd.

  “His name is Merk the Mighty,” she called out. “The commoner who killed a gladiator!”

  The nearest amid the throng heard her, and the chant of his name began to morph. Merk stood, overawed by it all as the title he’d assigned himself began to be called out by thousands of men and women.

  “Merk the Mighty,” they called. “The champion of the people!”

  And sitting in his carriage ahead of the wagon, Dom heard it all go down. He smiled as he listened to the old sailor’s name, chanted over and over. And Kira’s new title too, already spreading through the city like a blazing bushfire.

  For the entire journey back to the ludus, the celebration went on, the people following the small convoy through the streets, the mounted soldiers having to jostle to keep them at bay.

  And though it was very early days, Dom couldn’t help but smile wide as they went. He would celebrate that night, and perhaps even allow Kira and Gwyn to join him and Merk in the ludus. He’d give them food, and wine, and honour them for their performance. And, of course, they’d drink to Gecko, the first of his gladiators to be lost.

  He certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  39

  As the celebrations went on, and the people continued to chant and rejoice long into the night, not far away a woman was stewing.

  She sat on her throne within the palace, quick to return after the cull had ended. And though the walls were thick and the throne room set back from the main entrance, the cheers of the crowd still reached her ears.

  A grimace floated up her face, and those mad eyes of hers, subdued in the face of the people, returned in full force. She looked to the young man before her, similarly disappointed to hear the city extol his rival’s warriors, and watched him whisper into the otherwise quiet room.

  “You wished to see me, Empress Vesper,” said Lucius, bowing his head reverently.

  Vesper nodded.

  “You suffered a defeat today, Lucius,” said Vesper, her voice cold. “That girl…she made you look a fool.”

  Lucius raised his head. It was her who Kira made look the fool…

  “She was too gifted for the cull, Highness,” he said plainly.

  Vesper stiffened.

  “Yes. So it would seem,” she murmured. “Too good for the cull, perhaps, but not for your higher seeds.”

  “Highness?” queried Lucius, frowning.

  Vesper filled her lungs and sat up straighter in her grand throne.

  “You will set a high seed against her in her next bout,” she said. “I want her gone, Lucius.”

  “But, she isn’t rated to fight a high seed yet,” contested the young lanista.

  “Then you will alter your seedings,” said Vesper firmly. “Your number one, Jaeger…no, that would be too obvious…” She thought for a moment, and Lucius just stood and waited, powerless to interrupt or complain.

  “Kira was rated as third seed by Domitian,” she continued. “Who is yours?”

  “My third seed, Highness?”

  “Yes,” snapped Vesper.

  Lucius bowed quickly, eyes flashing on the guards hidden away in the shadows of the room.

  “It’s um, Redmane, Empress Vesper.”

  Vesper smiled wide, and threw her head back in a wild laugh, echoing suddenly around the chamber.

  “Oh, how perfect,” she chuckled. “Redmane verses the Red Warrior. It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think, Lucius?”

  Lucius nodded quietly, and his voice came out equally so.

  “Of course, my Empress. A…fine idea.”

  Vesper’s eyes flattened and her smile faded. She had a knack of turning from jovial to threatening in the blink of an eye.

  “It is a fine idea, Lucius,” her voice rumbled. “You will alter your seedings appropriately, and set your red-headed giant loose on this girl from Haven. I cannot have her defy me again…do you understand me?”

  Lucius cowed and nodded and inched backwards just a little.

  “Yes, Empress Vesper. I understand fully.”

  Vesper relaxed, loosening her tight chest and expelling a long breath. She raised a hand, and flicked her fingers, and Lucius knew it was time to leave.

  “Go,” she said, smiling to herself. “And don’t let me down.”

  Lucius nodded, bowed, and turned away, feet rushing faster the closer he got to the door.

  And sitting alone, Vesper shut her eyes and imagined Kira’s death.

  A smile hovered on her thin, pale lips.

  Oh how sweet it would be.

  THE END

  The Warrior Race will continue in Book Two – The Red Warrior!

  BOOK TWO - THE RED WARRIOR

  40

  The golden sands of the arena shivered and rose.

  Particles gathered from beneath a gladiator's feet, almost tripping him up. He looked down and saw the grains moving away from where he stood, accumulating into a thick, churning mass ten metres in front of him. A state of confusion engulfed him. He'd never witnessed such a thing before.

  He took a step back, his armour rough and heavy to his frame. His eyes came from behind a helmet that fell to his nose, and stayed fixed to the heap of elevated sand ahead. It was golden, catching the sunlight, yet muddy and red in places. The arena had seen much bloodshed that day. The sands were no longer untarnished.

  The gladiator's eyes ripped away from the ball of sand, and searched across to the other side of the battlefield. There he saw a young man, little more than a boy, with hair as bright as starlight. His eyes, sky blue, were open and staring. His frame stood as still as a thick oak tree, hands turned out by his sides.

  They lifted, slowly, and the sand went too. It pulsed and began to swirl in mesmerising fashion. The gladiator wasn't the only one entranced by the show. All across the arena, a hundred thousand pairs of eyes watched on, lungs filling and emptying slowly, quietly, as if unwilling to break the spell.

  But the gladiator knew he had to. He took several more steps back as the gathering sand began to pulse in more threatening fashion. He cast his eyes back on the blond boy, his only opponent, and decided that enough was enough. He needed to act.

  He ran, his speed one of his keenest allies, or so he thought. His hand reached for the hilt of a sword as he went, ready to draw it from its sheath. The crowd took a sharp, collective intake of breath.

  It wasn't due to him.

  He didn't see what was behind him. He didn't see the sand group into tightly packed projectiles. He didn't see those projectiles hunting him down as he ran at the boy, still standing upon the sand and apparently unwilling to move.

  He didn't see it. But he felt it.

  The sand spears pierced his back. One, two, three of them all coming together. They met his flesh at the same moment, sent with enough speed to cut clean through the gladiator's armour and right through his body.

  The young man who sent them just stood, watching, as the three tips appeared before his eyes, bursting through his opponent's chest and showering him in blood.

  He didn't move. To draw the sand up, cast it into objects sharp enough to cut leather and bone, and send it across the arena at such speed required a great deal of concentration. Only when his foe's eyes widened, and blood spat from his mouth as he fell to his knees, did Finn release a breath, and allow his mouth to shape into a smile.


  It was a smile of relief and nothing more. He took no pleasure at all in killing the man. A brief lull followed his show of telekinetic power, before the entire crowd blazed into a tumultuous roar at the feat.

  It had been the shortest bout so far. No one had even drawn a sword. And yet, Finn had shown the people something they rarely saw. The ability to control objects with ones mind was certainly not unheard of. Yet to be able to form weapons from the sand was something quite unique.

  Those weapons now lost their shape, returning to individual grains. The solid spears that had been lodged through the man's body now melted like ice into water. Some grains remained, stuck to blood and ragged flesh. Most slipped from the gladiator's body, draining out through his breastplate and returning to join the rest.

  The crowd continued to applaud and cheer. Yet few were as delighted as the man up in the royal gallery. He looked upon his project-contender, and imagined that Rufus' advice for the boy had been quite sound. His instructor had done his job well. The third day of the games had been quite profitable.

  Dom looked down at Finn and smiled.

  The boy had earned his rank.

  41

  The occupants of the royal gallery watched the action with a round of gentle clapping and nods of approval. After the pre-games celebration the night before the cull, during which Dom had purposely touted Finn as 'one to watch', he considered that his young charge had something to live up to. He certainly hadn't let him down.

  Yet, the odds were certainly in his favour. That he couldn't deny. Not only was his opponent a low seeded gladiator from one of the less illustrious lanistas, but he'd been granted the chance to battle him alone.

  Rufus, of course, had done his homework on Finn's opponent, and knew full well that the man had no experience of matter manipulation, and was hardly a grizzled veteran of battle himself. He'd concluded that he would be sufficiently distracted by the floating sand to give Finn an opportunity to strike. Still, he had to make it work, but the cards were stacked to his advantage.

  Victories like this, however, were always pleasurable for Dom. Over the preceding couple of days, after both Kira and Gwyn had survived the opening bout, he'd suffered a series of losses. Following the cull, the other low to mid ranked gladiators were often involved in difficult contests, and already the cells back at the ludus were growing rather sparse.

  Today, however, had been a positive one. First, Leewood came through his opening round with relative ease, despatching two low seeds to the grave. If the sands were now painted red in places, Lee was responsible for two such stains. Then, Malvo had been similarly efficient in winning his own contest, leaving Finn to close out the day in brief but rather spectacular fashion.

  So, as with most years, Dom's third, fourth, and fifth seeds had breezed through without difficulty. Now, only Shadow and Oom, his numbers one and two, remained to complete the set the following day. He had no doubts at all that they would come out victorious, and along with Kira and Gwyn, considered that his most potent gladiators remained in operation past the inaugural bouts.

  Standing on the edge of the gallery, he offered a smile to Finn as he arranged himself in front of the balcony, as was the custom for all victors. The young man looked quite dashing in his blue robes with custom, oceanic etchings, his wild golden hair and azure eyes drawing plenty of admiring looks.

  All over the stadium, men were gazing at him enviously, and women were swooning. Even those old enough to be his mother were finding themselves enchanted by his handsome, youthful looks. It was a factor that would play well for him, and now that the public knew a little more of what he could do, his name would be on everyone's tongue tonight.

  As Finn stood before the royal balcony, Empress Vesper rose from her throne to address him.

  "Congratulations, young Finn," she called out. "What a fine way to close out the day."

  She clapped her hands together once, leading to a stadium-wide applause.

  Finn bowed reverently as the din spread. He had quickly learned to avoid the Empress' wrath and, to the contrary, was doing quite the job of endearing himself to her. It seemed even she wasn't immune to his charms, smiling in a manner that Dom mused she never did with him anymore.

  When the stadium had quietened once again, Vesper's voice lifted, calling for Finn to depart and for the third night's activities to get underway. As with all nights of the Imperial Games, the squares would be awash with revelry, growing more raucous the further towards Southside you got. It was a month long festival of drinking and death, the city refusing to sleep until it was over.

  Dom, too, wouldn't be getting much rest. Adamant as he was this year to end with a champion, he and Rufus would be spending many evenings putting their heads together to devise ways of defeating Lucius' more feared men. The fact that Kira had not only survived the cull, but came out with a burgeoning and most favourable reputation, and the name of the 'Red Warrior' to boot, only served to ensure Dom's nights would be increasingly sleepless. He did, after all, have a soft spot for the girl, and though he wanted to come away with a champion among his stock, he was equally keen on ensuring that Kira get out of it alive as well.

  Whether that meant winning the race, or surviving via another method, Dom wasn't yet sure. He'd been impressed with Kira's performance, as much as the rest of the city was, but still imagined that there were several other gladiators ahead of her in the pecking order.

  Shadow, naturally, was one of them, and since he'd ranked Oom in the number two position, he'd have to say he'd favour the giant in a bout between the two as well. Finn, though impressive on today's showing, was still a rather unknown quantity. Against his opponent, he had time on his side, and a silent stadium in which to focus. Against a more ferocious warrior, or several, he'd have a far harder time summoning his gifts. Today may have merely been a show of rare power, but whether it was to stand up against the more hardy gladiators remained to be seen.

  Then, of course, there was Lucius' batch, a motley crew of formidable and seasoned fighters. Dom had seen them on their podiums in the plaza the night before the games, and now he'd seen several in action too. The likes of Kraken and Steelhide, Shockwave and Irongrip, ludicrous as some of their appointed names were, had proven themselves quite capable so far, and hadn't yet had the opportunity to bring all their tricks to the party. In fact, most of their bouts hadn't really tested them, and like Malvo, Lee, and Finn, the crowd were yet to discover just how good any one of them could be.

  Others, however, hadn't yet stepped onto the sand. Most prominent was Lucius' number one man, Jaeger, ordinary to look at and yet, according to rumour, a quite extraordinary specimen in combat. He would, of course, fight the following day, along with Lucius' number two, Tomahawk, a dark skinned and exotic warrior from the far south, and hailing from a similar part of the world as Rufus. Dom was excited to see them both in action, if a little nervous.

  However, there was another, whom Dom had expected to see today. The form was the same each year. The first night started with the cull, a bloodbath to kick off the games in style. Then, the lesser and mid-ranked gladiators would fight on day two, followed by those ranked three through five on day three. Day four was reserved for the best of the best.

  And yet, Lucius' third seed, Redmane, was nowhere to be seen.

  As the stadium began to empty, Dom determined to track down some explanation. Seeing Lucius across the royal box, chatting quietly with his father, Lord Pontius, he stepped over to join them.

  Their eyes swept towards him as he came, and their conversation ended abruptly.

  "Prince Domitian," said Lord Pontius, with a little bow of the head. "Congratulations on your victories today."

  "Thank you, my Lord," said Dom. "It's been a fine start to the games."

  "Indeed it has," nodded Pontius, his expression rarely deviating from it's regular, self-satisfied form. As the richest man in the city, he also took the title of the most pompous and arrogant. Even when speaking with a
prince, he had an air of superiority about him that never wavered. "Your young gladiator, Finn, was quite the surprise," he said.

  "For me as well," laughed Dom. "Sometimes you never quite know how one will turn out, until they're down there on the sand."

  Lucius snorted. "He won't last long." His countenance was only second in arrogance to his father's.

  "What makes you say that?" queried Dom.

  Lucius shrugged.

  "Simply the fact that he took an age to summon that sand and turn it into spears. Any gladiator worth his salt would have chopped him down a dozen times before he could have done more than lift a single grain from the ground."

  Dom smiled.

  "Perhaps," is all he said. In all honesty, he couldn't very well deny it. "Anyway, I wanted to ask, Lucius...where's your third seed? I was under the impression that this giant of yours, Redmane, was ranked third among your crop? Why wasn't he in action today."

  "Ah...well, he had a little problem," said Lucius, shaking his head. "Short bout of illness made him unable to fight today. He'll be in action tomorrow."

  Dom raised a hand.

  "Sorry, I must have my wires crossed here. Illness? That's no excuse for a gladiator not to fight. The schedule can't be altered, Lucius. Who gave you the authority to give Redmane a rest day?"

  Lucius shrugged, though Dom couldn't miss the very minor glance of his eyes over towards the now vacated throne. He looked over as well.

  "My mother?" Dom questioned. "She allowed it?"

  "Well, who else has the authority?" huffed Lucius. "Of course it was the Empress. I brought the concern to her and she allowed Redmane the day to recover. He's quite an impressive looking warrior, as you know. She wished to see him at full strength."

  Dom stayed quiet. He could smell a rat.

  "Anyway," went on Lucius. "We'll discover the precise line up of the bouts later this evening. I believe they're still being determined by your mother's scheduling officials."