by HP Mallory
“Room for one more?”
Hearing that jaunty voice with its smug confidence made me frown. But seeing its source, a smaller man with a confident stride, stepping out of thin air made me scowl in pure anger. Unmoved by me hate as always, Gwydion fab Don all but danced over to the rack. That dark countenance lit up his perpetually merry smile whilst he picked up the nearest club to give it a few practice swings.
I stopped one of the swings by grabbing his wrist. “What are ye doin’ down here, Welshman?”
Those emerald green eyes lit up with amusement while his free hand grabbed some wicker off the rack. “Why, I thought it was obvious, Tallis. I’m the aid that dear Coatlique arranged for… on your behalf.”
Besom’s eyes narrowed at him. “Is that help going to require a triple-cross like what happened at the grove?”
Gwydion looked at her with disappointment as he discreetly wrested his wrist away from me grasp. “Oh, please don’t tell me that you still hold our initial meeting against me.”
If’n she didnae, she wouldnae be Besom, ye traitorous snake, I thought to meself. Selling us out to both sides of the Morgue’s civil war under the guise of hospitality would sour even the most generous soul against this traitor. And now he expected us to accept him and ask him to stand by our sides while clad in the same wicker as us?
Lily’s face grew hard as stone. “You know that phrase about never getting a second chance to make a first impression?”
Gwydion looked away in mock consideration. “Well, if the person were suddenly afflicted with amnesia, that wouldn’t be…”
The angel seized his opportunity to swing his oversized club at the Welshman’s legs. Unlike Besom’s absconded chainmail, the wicker didnae cover that part. Without moving his head, Gwydion pulled his legs in so that the blow could swing under them. The stookie angel lost his balance as the club kept going, hitting the rack and making him fall down.
Gwydion carried on talking as though nothing had happened. “…strictly speaking true.”
Besom marched right over to him, her own club raised. “Well, it is true right now. So watch your step, asshole.”
His eyes widened at her advance. I thought ‘twas fear at first until I realized he was looking over her arms. “My… you have developed rather nicely since our last encounter.”
Me love grew so outraged over that, she nearly brought her own club down on his head. He sidestepped to the right, but she had a better idea on how to wield her weapon. She changed the direction of her swing, going towards the side of his head, which he bent over backwards to avoid. Making a follow-up stroke aimed at hitting him in the shoulder when he straightened up, she failed when he blocked the blow with his club.
By then, the Minotaur stepped between them, bringing his own club down on both of theirs. “Enough! We solve nothing by fighting amongst ourselves.”
The Welshman’s smile widened as he lowered his club. “Oh, there’s no harm done, champion. I’m actually rather glad to see Lily figured out how to summon her inner warrior.”
Besom got in his face, her knuckles white around her club. “Pull any stunts that leave us in the lurch, and you’re going to experience the wrath of my inner warrior in a way you won’t enjoy.”
“Why does the young lady abhor you so?” Asterion asked Gwydion.
Lily answered for him. “Because he backstabbed us when we thought he was on our side.”
Asterion nodded and swallowed hard. “Gwydion fab don,” he addressed the bastard. “If you ever harm a hair on Lily’s head or endanger her in any way, you will have me to deal with.”
Besom appeared surprised as she looked up at the enormous man. “Thank you,” she said.
He didnae take his eyes from Gwydion. And they burned in their black depths. “You have my protection,” he said from the corner of his mouth, clearly speaking to Besom though his eyes were only for Gwydion.
“Understood, my good man,” the Welshman responded.
“Can Ah assume ye’ve sworn proper oaths that bind ye ta aidin’ us proper, Welshman?” I asked.
Gwydion gave me a big bow that belonged in a theater. “Most assuredly, dear Tallis Black… and we both know the penalty for such oath-breaking is more than even I could ever hope to circumvent.”
The Minotaur looked down at him with disdain. “Then begin proving to us the oaths were worth swearing.”
The Welshman nodded. “As you say, champion…”
The angel picked himself off the floor, looking ready to ram his oversized club into the nearest body part on Gwydion. The Welshman studied the club while absentmindedly grabbing another one off the rack. Seeing as this new club was a bit shorter and, I assumed, lighter, I had serious doubts that it was as accidental as it seemed.
He knelt down to hand it to the stookie angel. “Try this one instead.”
The angel didnae hesitate. Once he grabbed the weapon, he slammed it right into Gwydion’s face. The blow was hard enough to send Gwydion straight to the floor. After a few seconds, the Welshman arched his back upwards to the point of aiming his feet towards the ceiling. Then he pushed off the floor with his arms, landing upright with a bruised cheek and his persistent smile intact.
“Much easier to use than that monster you tried swinging before, yes?” he asked.
The stookie angel was still figuring out how to respond when Gwydion kicked his own fallen club up to his hand. Then he turned his eyes towards Besom. The only reason I didn’t bash him with me own club was because there was nae lust in those eyes.
“I’d say everything is what it should be for you, my dear Soul Retriever. This armor has the advantage of actually covering you from chest to thigh,” Gwydion offered. His eyes descended to her lower right side, which he tapped with his club. “I would have that last strap tightened a bit more. It only takes a single chink for any armor to be rendered useless.”
The Minotaur made a move to do just that. I suspected that was what he’d been doing when the Welshman first appeared. I was trying not to stare at the pair of them when Gwydion turned ‘round to look at me. His eyes still had the same strategic look that he’d given to both Besom and the angel. I sneered at him. “An’ how do Ah measure up ta yer lofty standards, Lord Trickster?”
He hummed as he saw me weapon. “How does that club feel in your hand?”
I hefted it with indifference. “Adequate tae the point where Ah see nae other that’d suit me better.”
Without looking away, he called out, “Tell me, champion… are there any rules forbidding the use of more than one club in the Ancient Game?”
The Minotaur frowned at the question. “No… it is simply assumed that one club shall be enough.”
Gwydion reached behind me to the rack, once again keeping his eyes away from it. “And for most, that would be true, but not for the bladesmith.”
He came back with another club that was nearly identical to the one in me hand. He extended this club to me, grip first. “Tallis Black is far from being most men.”
I took the purloined club with uncertainty. “What are ye playin’ at, Welshman?”
He shrugged. “I’m merely upholding both the champion’s request and the oaths I swore. Surely you’ve no objection to either of those things?”
The angel brandished his bloodied club to Gwydion. “Remember what Lils said ‘bout sellin’ us out, Nature Boy. Or yer gonna wish that love tap I gave ya was all ya were gittin’.”
The larger portcullis finally opened, revealing more Pure guards with guns aimed right at our chests, save for the one who stepped forward with a sword in hand.
“It is time,” he said.
Asterion stepped ahead of us, purpose driving every step. “And we are prepared.”
Aye, that we may have been. But what in the name of Lleu were we prepared for?
###
At first, all I saw was the glare of the floodlights. Then I saw the crowd in the arena, filling up all the seats. Although I was too far away to tell, it loo
ked as though there were twice as many revelers as the previous day. The timbre of their voices told me once again, they were demons one and all. I even saw a few minor imps jumping up and down in the upper stands like eager children.
A frown twitched the right corner of me mouth. “Is it jist me or do it seem as though we be playin’ to a full house this day?”
The angel looked up with unease. “I’m just guessin’ here, Tido, but I’m thinkin’ word got around that previous Master of the Underground City would be puttin’ in an appearance.”
Asterion barely cast his eyes toward the stands, choosing to focus on the arena around us. “That would be a reasonable conclusion, little angel. I am usually the attraction in these contests. But the bladesmith is certainly the celebrity today.”
“A role Ah dinnae want,” I answered.
“But one Alaire will force on you anyway,” Asterion responded.
I couldnae help noticing the way he snarled his last sentence. Neither apparently could Besom. “You hating Alaire goes way beyond being cooped up in that cell, doesn’t it?” she asked.
His face softened a little as he looked down at her fondly. I tried to pretend it meant naething. “For the sake of brevity, all I shall say is that witnessing the cruelties he allows within this arena has done much to form my current opinion of him.” He swallowed, then continued. “And I hate him further for forcing himself on you. No man should ever force himself on a woman.”
Gwydion’s smile suddenly stretched so wide that it threatened to split his face. “Well, speaking of the big, blond bastard himself…” In lieu of finishing his sentence, he pointed high up to the right. No need to squint: the great stone box just above the crowd was visible for all to see. Nor could I fail to figure out who stood at the railing edge. Even from here, the fine suit and blond hair stood out.
The Welshman cackled and shot both his middle fingers up to the box. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the lights, I looked at the area where our match would soon take place. The walls were contracted into a square as opposed to yesterday’s round circle. A square was to be drawn into the dirt around us, no more than two feet from the walls themselves. The twin gate, like the one we stepped through, was on the opposite wall, looming like a threat. The circle with the hole in it had been lowered. Whereas before it seemed the same height as the middle of the stands, now it was mayhap seven or more feet higher than the arena floor.
The question must have been in me eyes because Asterion said, “The arena changes itself, depending on whether combat or the Ancient Game is scheduled to take place. And the Game must always be played after each battle.”
I nodded. “So whit be the rules o’ this game?”
“Although simple in concept, it is difficult in practice. The ultimate goal is to sink the rubber ball directly into the center hole of the disk. If such fails to occur before the sands of the hourglass run out, the score is based on how many consecutive hits each side performs as they send the ball to the opposition.”
Lily listened to the explanation with the same focus she brought to her swordplay practice. “Any restrictions we should know about?”
No love-struck eyes from Asterion now. The gaze the man-bull offered Besom was as grave as his nod. “The ball is only permitted to bounce twice before the team it was hit towards gains a penalty. Two hits taken away from their score for each subsequent bounce afterwards.”
Besom arched her head back and frowned. “That’s not fair!”
“That is the point. Also, while you are permitted to strike the ball with your head, elbows, hips, shoulders and feet—”
Gwydion raised his weapon over his head. “And clubs!”
The Minotaur gave the Welshman an impatient nod. “And clubs, however many times while in your possession, you must never, ever strike it with your hand. Doing so will forfeit the entire match.”
The gate opposite us opened up with slow, creaking fanfare. The first person to emerge was the beard from the previous day. Blood still smeared his tunic but otherwise, he looked none the worse for wear from his fight with the warrior woman. However, what loomed behind him was the stuff of nightmares.
Three giant beings ducked under the spikes of the portcullis to step into the arena. Below the waist, they were the same as any man, even though their legs were the size of tree trunks. Above it, their bodies carried a forest of arms along their torsos and half as many heads across their shoulders. To the crowd’s incessant cheers, all three bellowed a cacophony of roars that sounded like Godzilla, a terrible movie about a giant lizard I once made the mistake of watching—at the stookie angel’s behest.
The Minotaur’s nostrils widened nearly as much as his eyes narrowed on the man. “Theseus.”
I adjusted the grip on me clubs. “Aye, an’ that’d be the Hecatoncheires alongside him.”
The angel’s eyes widened. “Wait, you know those losers?”
“All too well, stookie angel. They’s usually locked up in the lower depths o’ the Asylum. If they’re here, that makes this a very special occasion indeed,” I answered.
This time, Asterion said nothing. He only had eyes for the beard, whose eyes shot the same hatred back at him. I braced meself for a confrontation before the match. Having never met Theseus, I only knew he had an ugly history with Asterion that resulted in the latter’s death in the Labyrinth.
We followed the Minotaur’s lead, heading towards the center of the field. All of us came to a halt at the midway point. The Hecatoncheires kept babbling away in the tongue of Ancient Greece, doing their best to intimidate us. But Theseus had a smile for his hated foe.
“We both knew this day would come, monster,” he said.
Asterion barely nodded back. “So we did, seducer. However, I always expected we would vie with each other in actual combat, not this farce.”
“Oh, come now! As ruthless as these matches get, do you truly think what lies ahead is not considered a battle?” Theseus demanded. Then he turned to face the stookie angel, myself and Besom. “Friends of yours?”
“They’re none of your concern,” Asterion responded.
“And the woman?” Theseus said as his eyes landed on Besom. “Does she mean nothing to you, bull?”
“She’s not for discussion,” Asterion spat back at Theseus, who just looked at Lily and then looked back at Asterion and began laughing. “No beautiful woman will ever love a monster, you fool.”
“Save the speeches, asshole!” Lily yelled at him and I felt me heart swell with pride.
Before our de facto leader could respond, Alaire’s smooth voice projected itself over the crowd’s shouts. “Loyal troops and subjects!”
I grunted as I looked up at me successor, who extended his hands, demanding quiet. I hoped whatever he had to say wouldnae take long. When the crowd’s noise was reduced to the level of a murmur, he began.
“Today, I bring you a true clash of Titans. On the one side, our reigning champion, the Minotaur, ably assisted by the second-fiercest warrior to ever call the Underground City home!” The crowd went wild again, their screams echoing loudly off the walls.
If Alaire were within reach of me clubs—or even throwing distance—I’d have aimed one at his head. Second-fiercest? Me arse! I’d like to see that fool survive as long as I did out in the Dark Wood without his troops.
I saw him raise his arms as he called out, “And…” He waited until the crowd quieted back down before continuing. “And on the opposing side, King Theseus of Athens, here to once again best his archnemesis with the formidable aid of the Hundred-Handed Giants!”
While the crowd let out another cheer, Asterion looked over his shoulder at us and muttered, “Step back a few paces. When the ball comes into play, there is no way to know how far it will go.”
Theseus sneered up at the man-bull while his own trio of giant horrors took seven league steps of their own backwards. “It is doubtful that any of them could even begin to catch the ball when the Hundred-Handed strike it,” he said.<
br />
The Minotaur said something in response, but the words were lost in the sea of cheers as I took me paces backwards. I heard a groaning on the opposite wall, roughly the same height as the box on the other side. A great hourglass, full of red sand, seemed to materialize out of the wall. Once it clicked into place, it began slowly turning itself upside down so that the sand could begin its descent to the bottom.
I took a deep breath to steel meself. A quick glance showed all me other teammates, even Gwydion, doing the same. I risked a glance up at the box itself. Alaire had his back turned to the crowd and looked as though he were bending over. I only understood why when he turned around and dropped what he was carrying below. By the time he did that, the hourglass had finished its rotation and the sand began to fall. Something told me we wouldnae have the luxury of an hour to play this match.
At first, the falling object looked like a black ball roughly the size of me hand. But it kept growing bigger until I realized it was actually the size of me head. It made a straight descent into the middle of the field. Craning their necks, both Theseus and Asterion watched it closely, waiting for the right moment to strike. Then the Minotaur suddenly leapt into the air with more agility than I thought possible, smashing the ball over Theseus’s head and into the ground behind him.
The ball struck the court with terrific force, bouncing back up in a roughly triangular arc. The nearest Hundred-Handed caught it with his thigh before using one of his lower forearms to catapult the ball back in our direction. The terrific force of that blow carried it too fast and high for me to reach. But the Welshman twirled up into the air, spinning into it three times before his club smashed it right back into Theseus’s direction.
The former king of Athens was no more prepared for the ball than I was. It slammed into the chest piece of his wicker armor, knocking him down, before it bounced back in our direction. It bounced twice before I could catch up to it. After I scooped it up with a vertical backhanded strike from me right club, it got high enough for me to follow through with the other club. I gave it another backhand with me club, sending it to the other side of the court.
