The Warrior Race Trilogy BoxSet

by T. C. Edge

  Kira shook her head, marching around the library where she'd continued to take refuge. She was struggling to think clearly, her head in a spin. She did several circuits of the room before stopping and staring at the old man, who stood passively by the door.

  "Who?" she said. "So who the hell was it, Claud? Did you mention it to anyone, this address? Did you speak about it at all..."

  Claudius was already shaking his head.

  "I mentioned nothing of it, no. I merely used a private source to track down the relevant information about Cicero's last known address, and passed it on to Master Domitian. I spoke nothing of it to anyone else, I assure you. I would never do such a thing."

  "Then what! Who else knew! Someone did!"

  "Well, Master Domitian is very trusting of his guards. He will have mentioned the address to them early enough for them to form a suitable route. It's quite possible that they all knew about the address."

  "Fine, but why on earth would they spill it? They all died, Claud!"

  "No, only four of them died. The rest of his security cohort returned with Malvo in his carriage after the games. Master Domitian's plan was to swap carriages to avoid entering Southside in his own, which is very recognisable."

  "So you're saying one of the guards betrayed him? That they sold the information?"

  "I'm not saying that at all. I'm merely saying that the guards may have known the address. It's possible that the attack was purely a grouping of mercenaries or Imperial Guards."

  "Mercenaries?" scoffed Kira, shaking her head. "But he's paying the mercenaries himself, isn't he? Why would they take him?"

  Claudius' answers remained calm and measured. He spoke without altering the volume of his voice or cadence of his words.

  "Master Domitian is financially supporting some mercenary groups, that is true. However, there are many others in operation, seemingly paid for by the residents of Southside. It may be that they discovered the Prince and saw him as a possible bargaining chip. They could use him for ransom, and enter into negotiations with the Empress."

  "Yeah, like she'd give a shit! It's just as likely it was her own Imperial Guards who took him. It would be a nice excuse to execute him behind everyone's backs. Who knows, maybe she read his mind up there in the gallery, and knew where he was going? She might have known, Claud..."

  "She may indeed," nodded Claudius. "But as this conversation is making very clear, Kira, there are many possibilities here. One of several things may have happened to Master Domitian, and currently you know as much as I do."

  Kira's lips spilled out several curses as she stamped back around the room, stopping briefly at the window to gaze out upon the yard. A short silence began to fall, during which Claudius tiptoed forward, closing the distance between them.

  "Kira, it is my duty to continue in Master Domitian's stead during his absence. You are set to fight in a matter of hours, and need to prepare yourself. There is absolutely nothing you can do about this now. You will be doing the Prince, and yourself, a disservice to lose your focus and enter the arena unprepared. You need to be strong, and stay alive for when he returns."

  Kira turned around, her eyes misty.

  "And, do you think he will return?" she asked softly.

  Claudius drew his lips into a small smile, meant for comfort.

  "Of course he will. He will return, Kira."

  The following hours revealed no further information regarding Dom's whereabouts. Kira, confined to the summit of the villa as the morning passed by, spent her time in a state of perpetual angst, attempting to follow Claudius' advice but finding it impossible to do so.

  Her mind, sleep deprived and fuelled by uncertainty and worry, seemed unable to concentrate on her own, upcoming fate. She was set to fight to the death once more, and yet that very fact commanded little of her attention.

  That afternoon, on the second Sunday of the games, three bouts were scheduled to take place, hurrying along the main draw of the tournament. Kira, owing to her seeding of three among Dom's stock, was to be up first and fighting against a man called Thunderjaw, Lucius' sixth seed.

  Then, it would be Lucius' third seed, Shockwave, against the sixth seed on Dom's side of a draw, a fighter Kira wasn't aware of since he was actually owned and trained by another lanista.

  Finally, the day would conclude with Dom's second ranked fighter against Lucius' seventh. As such, Oom would be accompanying Kira to the arena that afternoon once again.

  She felt some comfort in having the giant alongside her. As the time neared midday, Claudius escorted her back down from the top of the villa and into the yard. She found Oom there, alongside Shadow and Malvo. She'd barely given the former a second thought in recent days, his ice-cold eyes smouldering from within deep, dark sockets. Hating the Stalker was a luxury she could no longer afford, a waste of energy as Rufus had once told her. She'd long since turned her mind from her own, true life and purpose. It had now been supplanted by more urgent needs.

  Oom, upon seeing her, showed off his impressive assembly of gigantic teeth. He dipped his great chin as she moved to his side.

  "We fight today again, Kira," rumbled his foghorn of a voice. "We fight and win!"

  Kira presented a small smile and nod. It was the most she could manage, and the least she could do.

  "Good morning to you all," said Claudius, addressing them. "Master Domitian is feeling under the weather today, and thus I will be taking charge of his duties. Shadow and Malvo, please resume your training. Shadow, you shall be fighting tomorrow. Oom and Kira, as you know it's your big day. I will escort you to the arena, but can offer little advice on your fights I'm afraid."

  His little speech was stunted and ended abruptly. He began moving straight for the gate, gesturing for Oom and Kira to go with him. Kira rushed to his side.

  "You're not telling them the truth?" she whispered to him alone. "About Dom?"

  He shook his head.

  "Best to avoid any questions of why he was in Southside. We shall use his carriage, and I shall inform the royal gallery of his absence. The wounds to his back should provide fair reasoning."

  Kira doubted it, but didn't further the conversation as they neared the guards and climbed into the wagon. Oom's great weight sagged it to one side, and they rolled along towards the Colosseum, lopsided.

  "So, you like living in the big house?" asked the giant as they rolled awkwardly along the cobbles.

  Kira looked up at him, his expression open and without judgement. He appeared entirely relaxed, his upcoming bout doing little to shake him.

  "Um, I guess," mumbled Kira.

  "Must be nice," nodded Oom. "The master, he likes your company."

  Again, his comment wasn't suggestive, as it might have been from others. Just an innocent observation. Kira smiled and nodded.

  A few more remarks followed before the great facade of the arena appeared before them, the crowd already clotting outside. The carriage meandered towards the competitors entrance, and Kira and Oom were guided out by Claudius and handed over to the guards.

  "I shall escort you both home later," Claudius said. His eyes went straight for Kira. "Both of you," he repeated. "Stay alive, my dear. Keep your focus."

  The energy around the Colosseum would help. And the smell within the cells, that of musty sweat and old, dried blood, would prime her for the fight to come. It was a primitive throwback, a fight or flight mechanism. Her instincts would overcome her mental concerns and anxieties, and thoughts of Dom's disappearance would be temporarily cast away.

  It wasn't Claud's words that did it, but the conditions Kira found herself in. She reached the cells and looked upon the assembled weapons. She drew them into her hands and felt their energy course through her veins. She shut her eyes and forged a picture of the crowd above her, the sprawling masses chanting her name.

  She was back, only four days following Rufus' death, upon the site of his fall and her redemption. Where her life was saved as he gave his. Where he'd told her, with hi
s dying breaths, to protect Dom now. To take the win and live. To do everything in her power to see this through to the end.

  Those words, those promises, now echoed in her head. She straightened her thoughts out, and made a promise to keep to her vow. She needed to get through this day, and live to fight another. Her opponent, lowly as he was compared to her, would not stand in her way. She would not allow herself to be defeated by a lack of focus.

  Her mind centred on her task, the simple goal of killing. It was what she'd been doing for years.

  It was her default setting.

  Kira looked up from the centre of the arena, and saw the face of evil. A sharp dagger of distrust pierced her. The eyes of the Empress were slanted in a fashion of hatred as they glared down upon her. Did she have something up her sleeve again to disrupt Kira's chances? Was she involved in her son's disappearance?

  Those questions and others worked swiftly through Kira's head, but didn't settle for long. From a gate opposite, her opponent marched out, his jaw like an anvil and his physique equally imposing. He wasn't tall, at least not in comparison to the giants Kira knew, but was large enough to dwarf her, his arms muscled and thick with hair, his legs like trunks of trees.

  He moved to Kira's side, and faced up to the gallery.

  "We have seen two fighters advance to the quarter finals," called out Vesper. "So far, Malvo and Steelhide have confirmed their places. Today, three more will follow. We will start with The Red Warrior and Thunderjaw. Gladiators, face each other and commence your bout at the bell."

  Kira analysed Vesper's wording and the tone of their delivery, seeking some sign that she might have prepared a trick. She had little to go on, the Empress' public face held together well. It seemed as though Kira's fight would be a fair one. Perhaps, after all that had happened, Vesper's attentions were now elsewhere. Maybe she'd found another plaything to torture...

  She turned to look upon Thunderjaw as Vesper's words faded away. Her opponent stood into a pose of defence, drawing his short, thick blade, and lifting a heavy shield. Kira didn't do the same. She just stood, hands hovering over the hilts of her trusty scimitars, waiting for the bell to be rung.

  A pause seemed to last an age, before the ringing cymbal reverberated. The arena was otherwise silent, the crowd in a hush and waiting for the gladiators to act.

  Now it was down to Kira to focus, to apply her full attention to the bout. She glanced quickly towards the gallery once more, and noted the empty seat to Vesper's left.

  You'd better be alive, Dom, she thought to herself. I'm going to do my bit. You'd better do yours...

  Her eyes, like shining green jewels, swept straight for her foe. The sudden, abrupt surge of her gaze had him tensing. Kira felt it within him: the tightening of his barrel chest, the firming of his muscles, the holding of air within his lungs. His heartbeat was thudding, already loud and fast. The air around him was warming, his body running hot.

  Kira smiled.

  Before he even acted, she knew she had him beat.

  Her strategy was to make him force the action, to show her his hand so she could ascertain his weaknesses. Without Rufus to aid her, and owing to Dom's absence, she had little knowledge of what the man could do. The assumption of enhanced speed was always an obvious one. Without that, he'd be meat for the grinder, and she'd see him quickly dead.

  What other augmentations he had, she wasn't sure. His eyes didn't have the slant associated with those gifted with supreme ocular senses. His sense of smell or hearing would be harder to determine, but less critical in a direct fight. Strength looked to be a favourable asset, given his shape. Anything else would reveal itself in time.

  Her focus now on him alone, Kira awaited the charge. He appeared tentative, most likely due to his knowledge of her own, well telegraphed power-set. Kira was an almost impossible fighter to sneak up on, or to surprise. Her cocktail of senses allowed her to see most attacks before they came, and only those with frightening speed could counter that.

  It looked as though Thunderjaw didn't have that. He hesitated for a time, trying to work out just what to do. The sight of Kira, standing upright and open, fingers massaging the handles of her blades, was probably quite unnerving.

  Still, the brief standoff couldn't last long, not with an expectant crowd baying for blood. They began to grow restless, a murmuring spreading through the tiers, though Kira had noted that the place wasn't full. Pockets of seats were empty in the upper rows and banks. The cheap seats in the highest reaches, usually occupied by the residents of the south, were no longer full to spilling.

  The growing noise forced the necessary action. Thunderjaw, using the hum and din as cover, finally decided to press forward. Kira's focus, though appearing to momentarily wane, was in fact still highly attuned to her foe. Even as her eyes drifted off to inspect the masses, she could see and feel him all too well.

  He came at her, and she was fully aware. Her blades came forth and his large sword swept down. They clattered and clanged, Thunderjaw composing himself into a tight, defensive style, using both sword and shield to protect his flanks and vulnerable spots as he sniped.

  Kira analysed him as they entered into the contest, quickly studying his favoured technique and form. He appeared to be well versed in blade-based combat, something not many of the gladiators seemed to be. Most came here with firearms as their weapons of choice. Swords and spears were often alien tools in the lives they'd led before.

  It was similar for Kira, though she'd always enjoyed the use of knives when dispatching her prey. It gave her some advantage, and her scimitar swords were a short step up. Thunderjaw, however, looked to be experienced and well-versed in the use of swords, his motion graceful despite his appearance, and his use of his shield skilled and efficient too.

  To Kira, those skills had been enough to hide his deficiencies. His advancement to this stage of the games was clearly based on a high level of proficiency with such arms, making up for the lack of anything dramatic among his physical enhancements. He was quick, yes, but not quick enough. He was strong, but without sufficient speed such an asset was useless.

  His blows didn't connect, and a panic was setting in. Kira circled him like a vulture around a dying man, just waiting for him to fall. She stalked like a lioness, confident, fearless. She sniped like a snake, striking from the grass, her attacks too speedy for him to see, to quick for him to avoid.

  Only his technique held him together, his lovely skills prolonging his life. They weren't enough, not by a long shot. He was moderately enhanced, a super-human compared to the masses, but a child compared to her. He tried his best, and gave it his all. But in the end, Kira was, to him, an unassailable foe.

  She didn't feel good when she killed him. His eyes began to display the look of a man who knew his time had come. There was fear there, a framing of hopelessness. It was futile to continue to resist.

  But resist he did, until the very end, when Kira saw a gap in his defence and surged right through it. She didn't want to draw things out, to torture him any more than was necessary. She played by her rules, assessing him, determine his strike patterns, waiting for him to make a mistake. When he did, she put an end to matters, killing him in as merciful a manner as she could. His death was quick, his suffering brief.

  Kira had done her part.

  She'd played her wicked role once more.

  95

  Dom's eyes creaked open, revealing a blurred room.

  He blinked several times to dismiss the veil over his eyes. They were stinging, the effects of the smoke not yet fully expunged. His head was equally muddy, perhaps adding to the effect, a pulsing ache echoing across the left side of his cranium.

  He forced his eyes shut, squeezing tight, then opened them again. The room cleared a little, growing in clarity. It was dull, small, nondescript. No windows or natural light. The only illumination was provided by a lamp, glowing to one side.

  He cast his gaze across the room and searched his memory, his hands and legs b
ound to a chair. What had happened? An ambush. Someone knew he'd be there, and had captured him. Darkened shapes came from the shroud, their dress rugged. It didn't appear to Dom to have been the Imperial Guard.

  His head hurt to think, but he tried anyway. His rational mind kicked into gear, and the most likely conclusion was the first to present itself. He didn't believe his mother was behind this. More likely, a mercenary group had gotten wind of his whereabouts, and had taken him as a tool, collateral to use against the Empress.

  It was the most credible explanation, though they clearly were not aware of the breakdown of relations between Dom and his mother. If they were hoping to gain something from this arrangement, they'd find themselves bitterly disappointed. Dom might appear a great prize, but the reality was far removed. In fact, they were probably just doing Vesper a favour, relieving her of the tricky choice of just what to do with her son...

  A sound beckoned from beyond a door. Dom's ears and eyes sharpened. Footsteps came thudding, ominous and heavy. The handle shifted slightly, before creaking open. The door swung, light spreading from a hallway. A shadowy figure entered, bathed in the sudden glow, as Dom's eyes shifted away.

  "Ah, awake I see," came a cruel voice.

  The door slowly shut, blocking the light and returning the room to its soft glow. The man came into view, his lips thin and skin pocketed, nose crooked and black hair thinning. Dom didn't recognise him at all.

  "Who are you?" asked the Prince, steadying his words. "I can assume you know just who I am?"

  The man laughed. It was all the answer he was willing to give.

  He began moving towards Dom, who sunk into his chair, limbs tightening. His jailor snatched at his chin, pulling him forward and looking at his head.

  "No permanent damage," he growled. He released Dom's jaw suddenly, snapping his neck back. Another gurgle of laughter filled the small chamber.

  The man moved off again, turning his back to the Prince. He was asserting his authority, displaying the power he had over him. Dom knew it all too well. He'd taken enough people captive in his life to understand the drill quite intimately.