Death Cloud: The Senturians of Terraunum Series (Book 2)

by R. J. Batla

  “I take it the punishment is bad?” Leona said from my right, gripping my arm.

  “Usually death,” Hank supplied, not taking his eyes off the stage.

  “Four — prior to each fight, the fighter’s room must be empty of all persons, to allow the rooms to adjust once a winner is determined.” Why would a room need to adjust?

  The emcee said, “Other than that, anything goes. May the best fighters win!”

  Another cheer broke out, and a slightly less elaborately dressed man in the front row motioned to the emcee, who nodded and said into the amplistone, “Oh yes, yes, Lord Munday has reminded me that we have a lot of new fighters this year, so I need to do a little more explaining.” Hisses and boos came from the crowd. “Now, now, the party will still be hopping no matter how long I talk. Calm yourselves.

  “Fighters, there’s a dome-shaped energy shield over the arena to protect the audience, so there’s no need to hold back. Use your full powers. It’ll make a better show and no one will be hurt. Well, except for your opponent, hopefully!

  “One more thing. Don’t even try to get help from outside the ring. It’s protected from all powers and enchantments, so it’s really a waste of time. Do we have any questions?”

  “How many times will we have to fight?” someone shouted.

  “The maximum number of fights per fighter is ten, assuming you win each round and then the championship. You can forfeit any round at any time, but every fighter will fight every round they qualify for otherwise. After each win, you’ll receive gold in prize money.”

  “What’s the deal with these ankle bands?” someone else called out.

  The emcee smiled. “They serve two functions. One — the red stone on them is the incapacitated indicator for each fighter. Secondly, they’re a security measure. To ensure the safety of our fans and, more importantly, our fighters, we have been forced to keep the fighters here in the greater arena area. If anyone wearing the anklets exits the edge of the stadium, they’ll explode.”

  The crowd erupted in protest, shouting that the interaction with the fighters outside the arena grounds was their favorite part of the tournament.

  I looked at Royn and Hank. “What the hell? Stuck here? You never told me that!”

  The walls closed in. I didn’t like it — not one bit. If I was stuck here, Royn couldn’t teleport me to the battlefield as needed, where my Fire Eyes would surely be invaluable. I’d be here while others fought in the war. Guilt settled in my gut and thrashed around.

  Royn looked equally alarmed. “We didn’t know. This changes things. I was hoping I could take you back and –”

  “Calm down, calm down,” the emcee said. “Room, board, and food will be provided for everyone. This is a protection of our investments, of the fighters, and everyone involved. I said calm down!”

  He yelled the last word and stamped his foot, sending a wave of earth energy through the arena, and everyone crashed to their seats. There was more grumbling, but the noise died down.

  “We’ll talk about this later,” Hank said.

  “Now then, that’s better. Whenever you’re ready to leave the party, you’ll be shown to your room. As you progress through the tournament, your rooms will be upgraded. If you lose, and live, the ankle bracelets will fall off on their own and you will be to come and go as you please to enjoy the rest of the tournament, and maybe even place a bet or two.”

  From somewhere in the crowd, a voice shouted, “So what’s waiting in the Hall of Rewards this year? What’ll I get if I win the whole thing?”

  “If you happen to win,” the emcee said with a grin, “you’ll get to select a single item as the prize. You must choose wisely. In addition, you’ll get this.”

  From beneath the podium, he pulled out a black, smooth, oval-shaped stone that gleamed in the light. The room was instantly silent.

  “The Darkstone! Given to us by an anonymous donor, this is truly a grand prize. The one I’m holding is of course a fake, but I assure you, in the Hall of Rewards, the prize will be very real.”

  Cheers, murmurs, and growls erupted from the crowd of entrants, everyone’s eyes on the stone. My group all looked at each other – this was why I was here. To prevent the Darkstone from falling into Malstrak’s hands. Rumored to turn objects into solid gold, heal the sick, and enhance all powers, the Darkstone would be devastating in the hands of our enemy.

  I will not fail. I will win. And I will protect my friends and my people.

  The emcee said, “Now you know what you’re fighting for. You’re dismissed to the lobby for food, drinks, dancing, and whatever other shenanigans you want to get into. A word of caution — no fights before the tournament or you’re out. And don’t go past the exit doors, fighters. Others are free to come and go. Have fun!”

  Scores of people rose and talked excitedly, despite the forced confinement. It was easy to tell some of the fighters from everyone else – they were usually the most extravagantly dressed and the center of the conversation/handshakes/pats on the back/members of the opposite sex fawning all over them.

  A man got up from a couple of rows in front of me, exuding confidence, and stretched. Red and yellow swirled through with brown covered his body, giving him a camouflage-type look, except more “in your face” than “you can’t see me.” And loudly, he said, “Whew! Well this Halfte is ready to get his party started!” Throwing his hairy arms wide, forearms bigger than his biceps, he turned around. “Yes, ladies, Corbman is here, and he’s ready to get down! Ka-blam! Wachaaaa! Scadoooo!” Arm motions accompanied each noise he made. The man had black, short, curly hair on his head that grew into a full beard, bright blue eyes, and an excited smile. Cocking his head and winking, he looked right at Katy. “If you start to swoon, let me know. I have that effect on people.” He walked to the stairs, making comments to almost everyone he passed, especially if they were female.

  I busted out laughing at Katy’s expression, a mix of grossed out and disgusted.

  Now that guy was nuts. I caught a glimpse of his ankles, which had silver bands wrapped around them. Not only was he crazy, but he was also a fighter in the tournament.

  Shaking my head, I said, “Let’s get this over with,” and followed my friends into the throng of people heading toward the lobby.

  Chapter 3 – Jayton Baird

  AS I EXITED THROUGH the double doors at the top of the stairs, I was jerked into a side room, a horrible smell assaulting my nostrils. No one noticed me getting pulled away, and there was only one other... person... there—a ghoul, like the one who’d been after me in Harlingon. In all his unmasked, disfigured, oily, fanged-face glory.

  He’d used a rope to pull me aside, and I pulsed my telekinesis, sending it flying back in his face. Powering up, I conjured fire with one hand, while yellow energy crackled in the other. “Stay back, ghoul. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t blast you into a pile of goo.”

  Unfazed, he said, “The offer is still on the table, human. The master will teach you if you are willing and able to submit to him.” The ghoul spat. I was careful to avoid touching him again in this tight space; I did not what a repeat of what happened to my shoulder.

  “I think I’m plenty good where I am, sir. Tell your master I’m not, nor will I ever be, interested in him teaching me,” I replied, turning to leave. Then said over my shoulder, “And I’ll be damned if I ever submit to him.”

  “Then I offer you this advice,” he said, waiting until I turned back around. It... smiled... I think. If a smile can give you the heebie jeebies, then the ghoul smiled.

  I didn’t let it see any reaction from me. “Yes?”

  “Don’t lose,” he said, grinning wider, “or you get fed to whom he wishes.”

  I might or might not have gulped as I left.

  Shaking myself off — literally — I almost immediately bumped into a big dude with long dark hair and a dark tan to match. I apologized and entered the lobby. A vast square room stretched out in front of me, decorated with light
s and streamers. Music blared from amplistone speakers around the room, several bars serving drinks lined the walls, a dance floor was at the far end, and various sized tables and chairs were scattered around in the remaining space.

  Hundreds of people spread about, talking, drinking, laughing. And sizing each other up. Looking around, I was able to pick out many of the fighters, some still scratching at the ankle bracelets. They were all shapes, sizes, and colors. Most were male, but I saw more female fighters than I expected. I found my team who had procured a couple of tables and pulled them together, so I joined them. Well, most of the team — Katy, Celeste, and Morgan were talking to that Corbman character several tables over.

  Morgan pointed at us. Corbman looked and motioned us over to his group. Everyone looked at me.

  I shrugged. “Why not?”

  We all meandered over.

  “Corbman Kermit’s the name,” he said, sticking out his hand, which I shook. “These three ladies tell me you’re the man! You’re the guy!” He pointed at me. “Well good for you, brother. You’d better hope you don’t have to fight me!” Winking, he slapped me on the shoulder and took a swig of his beer, slamming it down on the table as he finished it off.

  “Thanks. Name’s Jayton Baird,” I said. “Have you—”

  “Whoa whoa whoa. Hang on one second there. I haven’t met all the ladies present. How rude of you, Jay. Can I call you Jay?” Without waiting for a response, he said, “Good, and they are? Oh, the gentlemen too, I guess.”

  Corbman shook each person’s hand as I introduced them, nodding politely. “Well, glad to meet ya! Oh, hey, how you doing?” he said, shaking the hand of a young man with orange hair who’d walked by and said hi to him.

  He slapped me on the back. Again. “You know what, Jay? I like you.” Which was funny, since I hadn’t said ten words. “I’m gonna help you out. Hey buddy, how’s it hanging?” he said, waving at some dude in a cape, who tipped his bottle and kept walking. “Hey, check it out, man,” Corbman said, holding up his left arm. “You have the same bracer I do! And she does too! Sweet!” He pointed at mine, Leona’s, and his own arm guards, each with stones embedded in the leather that matched an elemental power.

  “Hey, how are you, big man?” Corbman said, shaking a tall man’s hand, his bare left arm sporting an anchor tattoo. He kept moving. “He’s a fighter too, a good one, but a little hard on the eyes, am I right?”

  As he took a breath, I actually got to speak. “Where are you from, Corbman?”

  His face grew serious. “Well, Jay, I’m from a village of Halftes and defectors back in the Shadow Mountains, very hard to get to even if you know the way.”

  Ok... But what the hell was a “Halfte”?

  A shorter man walked by, staring both of us down something fierce. He had a heavy yellow tint to his skin, and an eyebrow only over his left eye. Corbman growled the whole time he walked by.

  “Anyway, that’s where I’m from. I’m pretty much a regular guy there, as normal as you can be.”

  “He’s being modest,” a red and blue female behind him said, a hand on Corbman’s shoulder. Apparently Halftes had any number of mixed skin tones — two, three, or more, and they seemed to match their power set. I assumed. If the colors corresponded with the same powers as the East Side, she could use fire and water. That couldn’t be a normal combination. “In our city, he’s the prince.”

  “A prince, Orgen. A – as in one of many. And not in line to be king either. We’re all loosely connected to the king and queen who live in Kemah. Heeeey hey hey, what is that?”

  I looked down and Leona was running her finger down Corbman’s arm, pressing hard where the colors changed – no blurred lines, just an instantaneous change of skin tone.

  “How does this work?” she said, examining her clean finger. “I’ve never heard of a Halfte — I assumed the coloring was paint.”

  “Ha ha, no way, baby. That is one hundred percent oh-riginal Corbman!”

  “Okay,” I said, “so what is a Halfte?”

  Celeste was the one who spoke up. “It’s no surprise you guys haven’t heard of them. It’s... not something that’s broadcasted around. Halftes are anyone of mixed race, not Pure, and aren’t tolerated where we’re from.”

  I had mistakenly chosen that moment to take a drink of beer and promptly spit it out. “What? How is that even possible?” I lowered my voice. “I mean, we’re supposed to be the good guys, right? We’ve always been told the West is bad, full of criminals. Yet we dismiss people, banish them, because of their heritage? Who are we?”

  “Not everyone thinks that way,” Royn said. “But many do.” He had a far-off look in his eye as he nursed his beer, reliving something in the privacy of his own mind.

  I started to reply but an athletic-looking kid, maybe sixteen, walked in front of me. He wore a metal collar around his neck that looked awfully similar to the ones around my ankles, and three chains trailed from loops welded into it. Following close behind and holding the chains were three very well-dressed men, the one in the middle almost a foot shorter than the others. Defeat and defiance warred on the youngster’s face as he looked at me and continued on, followed by his captors.

  “And what... the hell... was that?” I asked.

  “A slave.” Corbman took a slow swig. “Apparently the East Side is not educating everyone on what goes on in the world. Slavery is not illegal here, but it’s not widespread either.” He took another drink. “Many owners promise freedom to slaves if they make enough money in the tournament.”

  I was mad now. “And it’s allowed?”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t say it was right.”

  “This is ridiculous,” I said, slamming my beer down. “First you tell me we’re deporting people simply because they’re not Pure, whatever the hell that means. Then you tell me slavery still exists, and we haven’t been told about it.” I actually pulled on my hair, the pain kind of bringing my anger down slightly. “That’s a lot to take in here, guys. I know I’m just a small-town southern man, but you would think this would have come up at some point?” Breathing hard, my tattoo got hot. I tried to take a drink, but just ended up slamming my beer down again. I was about to walk away but Leona grabbed me.

  “Jay, calm down. You’re not the only one in the dark here. Apparently this practice isn’t well known. I didn’t know. Katy? Anton? Gilmer?” All three shook their heads. “See? We can’t solve all the world’s problems in one night. Control what you can control, and leave the rest until you can do something.” I protested, but she cut me off. “This isn’t no; it’s a not right now. Agreed?” she said, eyebrows raised.

  I sighed. “Agreed.” Another Halfte walked by, this time brown swirled with two shades of green. He was average height and build. He nodded to us as he kept walking.

  “That’s how people are, Jay — they find differences and push out those that aren’t the same,” Troup said, exchanging a glance with Royn. Five and a half feet tall, like all Dwarves, he was a master earth Senturian, though he was clean shaven, unlike most Dwarves.

  “Did you know? About the slavery?” I asked.

  Troup shook his head. “No, mate, apparently it isn’t widely known at all.”

  Corbman chimed in. “Other than you guys killing the mood, it’s not that bad over here on the West Side. In the Bowl, there are more Halftes than there ever has been, although I think they might be accepted mostly for the tourney and their shared scorn for the East Side.”

  I’d just realized something, and I readied power in my non-drink hand. “Wait - how do you know we’re from the East?”

  He laughed and inclined his head to another of the female Halftes, one of the bodyguards, this one red, green, and brown. “Derno Quantum power gives her people’s past just by meeting them, and she told me. Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me, but I wouldn’t go about telling everyone where you’re from. Remember the East has been banishing people to the West for years, or making life hard enough for them to come h
ere voluntarily. That kind of animosity doesn’t go away easily.”

  “Oh yeah?” I dissipated the gathered power, but that didn’t mean I relaxed fully.

  “Yup. We’re far enough from the Wall here that some wouldn’t care, but the vast majority would not trust you at best, while some might outright hate you, if not try to kill you, at worst.”

  Man, we’d known there was animosity towards us, but kill? That was a bit much. “So then why are you talking to us if everyone is supposed to hate us?”

  He looked each one of us in the eyes before returning to me. “I hope for a better world for me and my people. My friend tells me that you and your crew are working for the same, if her senses are to be trusted. And they are, at least in my book. And I think you’ve confirmed it for me with this conversation.” He saluted with his beer. “I think we’re on the same team here. Oh crap.”

  “What?” I said.

  “There’s the Uland. Don’t mess with that guy,” Corbman said, pointing behind me.

  I turned around and my blood decided it didn’t like moving around my body. A behemoth waded through the crowd, which parted of its own accord as he...walked. He was eight feet tall, walking on the knuckles of his hands like a gorilla. Bumpy, hard-looking skin that reflected light as if it had metal flecks in it covered bulging muscles.

  Iron Skin. An almost impenetrable defense.

  Despite his massive arms and legs covered in muscle, he moved with much more grace than should be possible for someone so big.

  And boy was he ugly. Big lips, big eyebrows, big head. All his features were large and distorted, giving him the appearance more of an animal than man. He didn’t even glance at us as he walked right on by. Good thing. I believe I almost wet myself.

  Corbman shivered, then pointed. “Oh, Jay, look there. That’s the number two guy in the tournament.” His extended finger aimed at a wild mane of hair and beard on a skinny face. “They call him Thunder. I’m not sure where he’s from...”

  Corbman took another swig of beer. “So do you know how this whole thing is gonna work?” After I shook my head he continued. “We’ll each have our own room, which starts out pretty small. When the start time approaches for your fight, they’ll usher you down the tunnel and you’ll go through a scanner that searches for additional people and power storage devices. Once you get the green light, you bust through the door and present yourself to everyone in the audience. At that point, both you and your opponent’s scorecard will be on display. Although, that can be misleading, depending on how truthful the person was. They introduce you, say ready, set, go, and you get it on, sucker!” He smiled. “And you melt his face off...hopefully.”