by Robert Day
“She isn't my Princess, Javin.”
“Now who's getting mad?” asked Javin over his ale, and Valdieron kicked him under the table, making the Darishi cry out, spilling some of his ale. “What was that for?”
“Just don't get yourself killed, all right, I couldn't live with that on my head, and who else am I going to get to kick their butt every day as we spar.”
“Hah, you wish. You're just lucky I'm so kind to you.” It was friendly banter that the two frequently broke into, for there was a bond they shared that went beyond friendship, the bond of Warrior brothers. Neither took insult at what each said, knowing it was not meant as insult.
“Kind! Since when?” asked Val, feeling at his ribs, still bruised from one of the Darishi's kicks from several days before.
“You have to be cruel to be kind, sometimes. That's what my mother used to say.”
“Well, if I ever meet your mother, tell her not to be too kind.”
Both laughed and drank for some time, enjoying the company and the chance to talk without the weight of their quest hanging over them. They felt close now, close to the end of their search for the Princess, and they carried with them a new vigor, a new hope.
The roar of the crowd around the underground stadium was deafening and the stamping of feet pounded through the cavern like the beating of a giant heart. High up in the stands, where the natural floor of the cavern rose to allow for the elevated seating, Valdieron felt almost overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people who filled the stadium. He wasn't good with numbers, nor was he good at estimating the size of crowds, but by the size of the stadium, he figured there were close to thirty or forty thousand people. The combined roar of their shouting, stamping and cheering reverberated off the stone walls, exacerbating the thunderous intensity. For the first time since he had reached Thorhus, he felt truly overwhelmed.
The stadium was situated in the estate of Zhak Lomar, the creator of Gladius. It had two entrances, one for the general populace, and another for the richer patrons and the sponsors, both of which wound down to different levels of the huge stadium. The area where the upper classes were seated was in an area at the far side of the arena. Here, the roof was not as high, but the huge seated area was well positioned before the large arena floor. High rock walls topped by spikes cut this area off from the seating used by the commoners, which took up two thirds of the huge cavern, and many guards blocked the locked doors that allowed access between the two areas.
Gates set into the rock wall below the upper- class seating area allowed access to what were probably chambers for the competitors and officials. Already, two battles had been staged, and to Valdieron's surprise, both had been particularly brutal, more so than had been seen in the Tournament in Thorhus. The combat had been frenzied, as if the combatants were truly fighting for their lives, and Valdieron wasn't sure if either of the two losers who had been carried from the arena were dead or just unconscious.
Once again, two huge bare chested men opened the gates, and two more combatants entered the arena. Valdieron saw that Javin was not one of them, so he continued to scan the stadium. Above the area where the upper class sat, pavilions were cut into the stone wall, and with his keen sight he could see many dark clothed Kiroba there, along with a few other people who were obviously not Kiroba by their attire, but he couldn't make them out at such a distance, even with his keen vision. He wondered if that was where the creator of Gladius, Zhak Lomar, watched from, and if by some chance the Princess Kitara was there.
He felt a faint tingling of his skin, such as if some magic was being worked, but it had been present ever since he had entered the stadium. It was the same sensation he had felt when he had touched the Piece of the Disk in Thorhus, the night after the Tournament. He had since found out he had the ability to sense magic in many forms, something he had learnt in the Hall of Magic, and he didn't know if what he was feeling was because of the Piece of the Disk or some other magic.
The roar of the crowd brought him back to the combat below, which was nearing its end as one of the two Dak'marian warriors was disarmed, still trying to fend off attacks from the other warrior, who seemed intent on killing the man, even if it was an ignoble act. Valdieron felt sick in the stomach, both from the claustrophobia of the stadium and the savagery he was witnessing. From what he had seen of these Dak'marians, they were an honorable people, but this sport of Gladius was pure brutality, which didn't speak much for its creator. Despite being such a prominent member of the city, Lomar was not talked about openly, especially by the lower class, who saw him as enigmatic and reclusive, if not dangerous. All sorts of rumors could be heard of him, from him being a former Pirate and leader of some ancient Cult, to a smuggler of illegal substances and an assassin who had been involved in the last two attempts on the life of the Sovereign, Werstoff.
The crowd was hushed again, at least as hushed as they got, for the last combat had ended fatally for the unarmed warrior. A large crimson stain in the sand remained a stark reminder of how costly failure here was. Valdieron was having serious doubts for the safety of Javin, and wished he had never allowed the Darishi to accompany him. Not that he did not need his help, but Javin wasn't a killer; couldn't and wouldn't cut down a man like these others were, and it seemed to be almost a prerequisite. Win and live, fail and die.
But if there was anything he could do for his friend, it was too late as the crowd roared again, as the next two combatants were led into the arena. Javin was one, and his opponent, a Dak'marian, strode several paces beside him to where two large wooden circles were set into the sandy floor. From here the combatants started the melee, and as both moved to their circles and waited, the crowd hushed in anticipation for the tolling of the huge gong which started the fight.
Where the noise came from, Valdieron could not tell, maybe in the section above the upper class seating where the hive of Kiroba were gathered, but it was like an ambient sound, filling the chamber from everywhere at once. He thought it might be magical in nature, and if that were so, more than likely one of the members of Zhak Lomar's staff was a magician. Not impossible, Valdieron knew, remembering the rumors surrounding Hagar’s mentor, Myrtti; it was just not something he thought he would see in this warrior run society. He had not even seen a church or temple dedicated to any of the gods other than Kayne, the God of War and Battle.
As soon as the combat started, Valdieron was wary, because Javin did not seem as fluid as he should. Luckily for him, neither were the actions of his opponent, and it took them both some time to work themselves into a rhythm. The Dak'marian, who used a long and short sword combination, was at an advantage with his longer weapon, plus when he got into close quarters, his shorter sword was very useful, but so were Javin's sabers. The Darishi took the fight to the Dak'marian, not giving him any room to swing the larger weapon, and it soon became obvious the Dak’marian was in trouble. He was cut and bleeding after a short time, and this only brought the crowd to a more fevered state where they stamped their feet and called for more blood to be spilled. Surprising to Valdieron, Javin pursued his opponent with a deadly step most unlike the Darishi, and it was like a slap in the face to Valdieron when his friend uncharacteristically cut the Dak'marian down, after disarming him of his longer weapon. Being at such an advantage, he had expected Javin to force the man to surrender.
As he stood with mouth wide in stunned denial, the crowd roared their appreciation, and Javin, as if caught up in the adulation, raised his bloodied weapons and spun to salute the crowd.
There had to be something wrong. Valdieron knew Javin, knew he was not like that, and such a personality was not likely to be changed just because of the occasion. Maybe Javin had been told it was meant of him, and if he didn't do it, then he could not be allowed to continue or even participate? Yet there was still the choice of knocking the man out or wounding him badly enough that he could not fight on.
Hoping Javin knew what he was doing, Valdieron watched his friend walk from the arena to the
applause and cheering of the crowd, and it was then that he noticed the thin band of gold around his friend's neck. It was a dark gold, not easily spotted at a distance as it blended with the skin, but it was definitely not something Javin had been wearing the day before. Maybe it was a gift from his sponsor? That didn't seem likely, as Valdieron spotted a similar torc around the neck of the dead Dak'marian as he was carried from the arena.
Did the torc have something to do with Javin's behavior? He had heard of items being imbued with different qualities that affected the wearer, like enhancing quickness and strength, and there was no reason it couldn't be done with something like anger and emotion. Javin had fought like he was not human, just a killing machine, which was unusual for the Darishi, no matter how hard he may have needed to defend himself.
So when the next combatants came out for their melee, Valdieron concentrated on their torcs, trying to focus his mind to see if they carried any enchantment. It was a skill he had been learning, but with items shown to him personally in the Hall of Combat, not items at a hundred paces, so he didn't know if he could do it, but he knew for Javin's sake he had to try.
By the time Javin returned for his second battle, Valdieron was pretty sure the Torcs were magically imbued with some magic, and seeing how unscrupulous each of the combats were, he suspected that somehow the Torcs suppressed emotion in the fighters, maybe even enhancing their desire to hurt and to hate. It was speculative thinking, but he had no other ideas that were feasible, especially as he watched his friend dispatch his second opponent with even more cold hearted brutality than the first. The crowd was loving it, however, even if Valdieron wasn't, and once again they cheered and stamped their approval as Javin walked from the Arena with his swords raised, while two cloaked figures carried off his latest victim.
What manner of society was this? Valdieron incredulously watched combat after combat. Two men entered; but only one left, the other carried away lifeless. Did the Sovereign know of it, and if so, why did he allow such a barbaric event to continue? Obviously from the widespread popularity of it, there was no way the ruler of the city could not know, so maybe there was a side to these people Valdieron never expected to see. They were a warrior race after all, having lived for many years with war and battle against the Zarn to the north and before that, beasts who were meant to have roamed the wastelands, but that was no excuse for the enjoyment gained from watching people being murdered, especially those of their own kind.
Try as he might, though, without actually touching one of these torcs, he couldn't even discern their true properties, let alone try and counter them. He had learned a little about unraveling magic, but not enough to try on something so far away. If he did and failed, he knew the consequences could be fatal, depending on the power the torcs possessed. And he would not ever try it with any of the other combatants, because if he failed with them, it would be as bad as if he were down there with a sword, killing as Javin was.
He felt mentally exhausted as outside, the night enveloped the rugged southlands, but for the many others in the stadium, the evening only brought with it the more fierce and skilled combats. Valdieron watched as Javin battled past more skilled combatants, his flashing sabers more than a match for his rivals, though he did take many wounds over the course of the combats. It was not surprising to find that whenever he came out for the next fight, these wounds were healed, so Valdieron knew there must be somebody who had the magical ability of healing such as the Magicians back at the Tournament in Thorhus had. This knowledge made him more wary of the risks, for if these people were capable of magical healing, what other powers did they have that might hinge on the success of his rescue of Kitara?
As shocked as he was at Javin's victories, he could not help but breathe a sigh of relief after the final combat. Javin stood victorious over the body of his last victim, with bloodied sabers raised above his head to lift the booming cheers of the crowd. Blood ran freely down his arms and body from a variety of wounds, but he did not seem to feel them as he spun to take in the adulation of the crowd. Valdieron could not watch any longer, and began to work his way from the stadium, wanting to beat the rush of people exiting, and wanting to be back at the Inn to clear his thoughts and wait for Javin. He felt a new pressure weighing on him with this dramatic turn of events, and the true enormity of his task was just coming to bear, as he realized more than planning and skill was going to be needed for him to get back Kitara and the piece of the disk.
Zhak Lomar looked on as one of his Kiroba students healed the Darishi, Javin. The Kiroba was an Ashar'an such as he, as were a handful of his own personal guards. Not that his other Kiroba were not competent, but there were no deadlier warriors in the realms than his Ashar'an, and none more loyal and ready to die for him.
He couldn't help but smile as he looked on, thinking how much of a success this new Gladius had been. The roar of the crowd had been deafening, and the interest it would build for the next big event would be priceless. He had expected a smaller crowd, but with many of the nobles and upper class citizens present, he knew the amount of money he would receive from the wagers and sponsorship would make for a very profitable evening.
Yet his smile faded as he thought about the strange feeling that had bothered him throughout the afternoon and evening. It was a feeling he had not felt in a long time, the feeling that somebody of great power had been close, but from where he had been in his own private viewing area, the person would have had to have been right underneath him for him to have felt it, and he was sure that none in the noble area was there who he didn't know. He thought for a moment it might be that old fool, Ka'Varel, but Hagar had assured him the old Kay'taari was dead. Maybe it was Valdieron, the young man he knew was here in Sha'kar somewhere, who he had men searching high and low for? It would be ironic for the young Kay'taari to have been in his own stadium. Perhaps he was more intelligent and resourceful than Zhak Lomar had given him credit for.
“Take him to one of the rooms and keep him safe and fed. He must be ready for the next combat.” Already, he could see the night unfolding in his mind as each master warrior fought to win through to the ultimate prize. He knew the night was going to be a success, he just hoped nothing was going to happen to spoil it. “Gather our men from their posts in the city on the day of the Combat. I want all of our forces here.”
Turning, he walked silently from the room as two figures dropping in behind him: Talisa, his foster daughter, and Hagar. He gave a smug smile at the golden torcs around the necks of the two people in the realm who hated him the most. He reveled in the power he held over them, needing only to concentrate to command them to do whatever he desired, and both would follow his will unquestioningly. It also allowed him to tap into their nervous system and tweak their senses, so he could make them feel sadness or hatred or happiness.
Or, he could make them feel such agony that in enough force could kill them.
Chuckling softly, he walked through the dark corridors of his home, planning and scheming and waiting for the day to come, when he would return his people to their true position as rulers of this world.
Chapter 32
The clouded shroud of night covered Sha'kar, giving the stony city a ghostly feel. Pale light from street lamps did little to break through the gloomy darkness of the streets, while few houses were visible with lit interiors, as the morning was very early. With taverns and Inns being sparse throughout the big city, revelers making their way home at such an hour usually did so along deserted streets.
Valdieron warily followed one such slow group as they loudly moved up the darkened street. He winced each time they broke into drunken song or began to bellow at each other, and he wondered why it was necessary for inebriated people to shout to be heard. Several times dogs began to bark at their antics, or a shuttered window thrown open for somebody to curse them for their stupid drunken behavior.
None openly confronted them. Although it was early morning and very dark, with no moon overhead to light the d
arkened city and only a few street lanterns and lights from houses, they were a large group and obviously well armed, if barely able to stand. The fine cut of their clothes also suggested they were of high ranking, maybe even noble. Plus, thieves were not really a common threat in the city, Valdieron had noticed, apart from an occasional pickpocket or petty thief.
But Valdieron was about to change that. He already knew they were sons of local merchants, and up until a short time ago they had been enjoying themselves in an Inn not far from here. It had been a well-to-do Inn, where the patrons were mostly of higher ranking in the city, sons of nobles or merchants. Now, the group of friends, having partaken of their fill of ale, was headed, albeit indirectly, home.
Maybe it was because of the lack of theft and thievery in the city that caused the city watch to be so limited in number, but it was something Valdieron was glad for as he shadowed the small group, waiting for the opportunity to arise. It happened after a time, when one member of the group lagged behind, propped up against a dark section of wall to relieve himself while the others laughingly walked ahead, calling for him to catch up. Valdieron quickened his steps up behind the youth; glad the man's inebriated state dulled his senses. He got close enough to grab the man around the throat with one arm and cut off his startled cry with his other hand, and began to draw him backwards towards a doorway behind them.
“Keep still, and you will not get hurt. Keep your mouth shut, and I will be gone in a moment.”
“The man's drunken state did little to help his cautious side, however, and he began to squirm in an effort to break free. Luckily for Valdieron, the youth was not one of the larger in the group, so he managed to keep him held, but it was a struggle to drag him. After a time, they made it to the secluded doorway, and Valdieron reached around into the fold of the youth's velvet cloak. He found what he was searching for in a deep pocket: a roll of parchment, and drew it out.
