Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power

by C. P. D. Harris

  Ravius swaggered into the bull's path, whirling his glimmering metallic net above his head and making a loud whooping sound. As the defender, Gavin moved with his team-mate, ready to throw himself into harm’s way when things went wrong. He inwardly cringed at the idea of lightly armoured Ravius getting crushed.

  The bull charged towards Ravius, lowering its four cruelly curved horns. As it came close, the smiling skirmisher darted backwards. He ran toward one of the wooden targets. By reading his friend’s movements Gavin could see that he intended to vault over; he responded by moving towards where his team-mate was likely to land. That was the point where Ravius would be most vulnerable and in need of defence.

  Ravius came close to the target. He reached it just as the bull threatened to overtake him. He could feel the hot breath of the beast on his back. The bull surged forward suddenly, swinging its sharp horns. The skirmisher leapt. His hand caught the top of the ten foot target. He vaulted up and over as the bull connected with the wood. The target splintered thunderously. The bull did not stop, slamming through the heavy wooden target without losing momentum. The crowd whooped and yelled its approval. Ravius landed gracefully. Gavin moved, shield ready, between his team-mate and the massive animal.

  Now the beast swung its head at Gavin. The defender backpedalled out of reach as Ravius began shouting and whirling his net once again. Gavin moved past his friend and the bull’s attention transferred back to the loud and aggressive skirmisher, who rolled out of its way, forcing it to turn and lose speed, as he sprinted towards a new target.

  Ravius ran faster than any ungifted man could, nearly as fast as a Quickling, but the bull gained quickly, overtaking him as he reached the target. Gavin could not keep pace. He had to anticipate where he needed to be. Rather than vaulting the target this time, Ravius pivoted as he reached it. The bull surged at him. Gavin's heart lurched. The skirmisher brandished his net, drawing the bull to attack the shining mass while throwing himself aside to dodge out of harm's way.

  The bull, smarter than most, turned to follow the skirmisher but collided with target nonetheless, knocking it over and breaking it. This time its momentum halted. There were only two targets left to demolish. The crowd roared and cheered, encouraging the bull.

  Gavin stepped in, attracting the bull by flourishing his spear and yelling. It tried to gore him, swinging its massive head, but he backed out of the way. He wove a little spell to disorient the bull for a few moments. Much to his chagrin the wilful beast shrugged it off rather rapidly. He moved around it, forcing it to turn, using its size to his advantage. He was careful to avoid its crushing bulk and stomping hooves as well as the deadly horns.

  Ravius began to shout and whirl his net again. Gavin ran past his partner so he could gain the bull's attention. He could tell from the mad grin lighting up his friend’s face that Ravius was going to try something a little more spectacular this time. He stifled a warning; Ravius would just see it as a challenge.

  The bull charged. Ravius ran. The crowd cheered as the animal closed on him. Gavin, heart pounding, sprinted to keep up.

  The skirmisher neared the target and leapt up onto it. He clung to the centre of the target like a human bull’s-eye. The bull closed. The skirmisher tensed. He could feel the creature's pounding hooves in the vibration of the wood, the crowd held its breath. Gavin felt his teeth clench: this was too risky. Just as the bull was about to collide with him Ravius sprang towards it, vaulting over the huge, muscular shoulders. The bull slammed into the target at full speed. Wood and iron disintegrated under the onslaught of horn, muscle and bone. The crowd erupted into wild cheering. Gavin knocked a chunk of target spinning towards him to the ground with a deft flick his spear. Ravius landed behind the bull, laughing with triumphant glee. He looked towards Gavin, full of buoyant bravado.

  But the bull got the last laugh on Ravius. It stopped short and lashed out with its hind legs. The mule-kick hit the skirmisher in the chest. It sent him flying across the fighting grounds, skidding into the muck, chest crushed and blood dribbling from his mouth. He twitched in the mud, unable to rise.

  Gavin would not have believed such a nimble manoeuvre from such a massive creature, had he not seen it with his own eyes. The crowd cheered, frantic with shock and joy.

  Now Gavin stepped between the bull and Ravius. He could sense the animal’s pure joy at having defeated one challenger. It swung its hard gaze towards him, gouging the ground with a hoof, tossing its head in challenge. Huge muscles twitched as it gathered itself. The defender could hear his friend groaning behind him. He took a deep breath. The Bull charged, the thunder of its hooves drowning out the roar of the crowd.

  Gavin embraced calm as he breathed out. If he remained where he was and dodged out of the bull's way, its momentum might carry it right over a helpless Ravius. He could not outrun the beast either. He had to meet it head-on. There was no better option. He charged forwards, aiming to skirt the bull and move towards the last target. The bull curved to meet him, metal capped horns gleaming. The ground shook as it closed. As it swung its head, he ducked under the horns, springing upwards as they past. A hoof pounded into the ground beside him. Mud splattered against his skin. He leapt, twisting, shield hand closing around a scythe-like horn.

  The powerful motion of the bull’s head pulled him from the ground, tossing him towards the last target. He flew through the air. The crowd surged to its feet, shouting. Gavin landed gracefully at the target's base. The bull turned and charged. Gavin brandished his shield to catch its eye and then dived out of the way. The bull crushed the last target with magnificent ease, sending wooden shrapnel in all directions. The crowd cheered. The trumpets sang. The Bull tossed its head, but did not advance towards Gavin, as a powerful calming spell took hold of it; the match was done.

  o-----

  After the bull baiting match Gavin’s esteem rose dramatically in the eyes of the people of Bullstock. The local folk would stop him in the street for days afterwards to congratulate him on his victory, or point him out to their children. He felt like more of a hero than he had winning the victory laurels at Scorpion’s Oasis; it reminded him of the wild enthusiasm of the partisan crowds at Camp Valorous, where they had trained for the Faction Games. Although, perhaps his victory in the Oasis had been overshadowed by his separation from Sadira.

  “Why do you think the people are so friendly now?” he asked Ravius during a break in training. A small throng of townspeople and passersby had gathered to watch the handful of Gladiators.

  “Well, the women are here to watch me perform, little brother,” Ravius laughed and blew a kiss to the crowd. “And, I think that the men are here to learn my ways so that they can enjoy the adulation of the fairer sex like I do.”

  “Be serious,” said Gavin. “Or next time I'll let the bull stomp you into paste.”

  “Most of these people grew up here, and have lived there entire lives out on the ranges,” said Ravius, resting on his trident. “Things are settled here, but life isn’t easy. When we got here, they didn’t know us. The whole town and all the outlying areas watched our last fight, so now they have our measure. They liked what they saw, and don’t hide it. People are less jaded about the Games here; their reactions are far more honest than those of a lifetime patron in a place like Scorpion’s Oasis or those of a faction partisan in the Capital.”

  “I could get used to this kind of recognition,” said Gavin. The faces of their small admirers were so open to him. “It reminds me a bit of Camp Valorous.”

  “It is certainly much easier to connect with people here,” said Ravius, nodding.

  “I can see why Omodo prefers travelling through the smaller venues,” said Gavin, thoughtfully.

  “I do as well,” said Ravius. “But it is harder to earn a reputation in a place like this. You can play the small-time circuits for your entire career and do well, but you'll need broader recognition if you want to get invited to places like Brightsands or the Capital and make the Grand Championships.”


  A shadow passed over Gavin at the mention of Brightsand Halls, the great southern city where Sadira was currently performing. The audiences in places like that were usually only interested in the most exciting and well known Gladiators. Even skilled masters like Sax were often ignored in favour of younger, more dynamic crowd favourites. Gavin would need to win a lot of acclaim to make it into the big leagues and rejoin his love. He often wondered if it was even possible, hope eluded him at these times.

  “Only five years to go 'til the championships,” said Gavin.

  “Brighten up, little brother,” replied Ravius. “Today is a good day. The people here love us, the sun is bright, and even a small step forward like this is still a step.”

  “You’re right,” said Gavin. He looked at the smiles of the passing townsfolk and felt refreshed. “Let’s go find Sax and Cleo and plan our next move.”

  “In a moment,” said Ravius, nodding towards a familiar looking Quickling Gladiatrix who had just started a kata on the training field. “Is that the Quickling you fought with in the qualifier? What was her name? Hummingblade. Hmmmmm.”

  Gavin shook his head as Ravius swaggered over to the Gladiatrix.

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Stonebreaker

  1145/10/13 AR, Dun Mordhawk

  “The Border Chosen feel the Oath far more keenly than those of us who rarely leave the heartland.” Chosen Marius

  “Trolls do not fear pain or death. They see The Great Games as a rite of passage and a test of leadership. Those Trolls who make a name for themselves in the arena return to their tribe with wealth, fame, and knowledge. Death is simply seen as part of the cycle of regrowth, a view informed by their natural regeneration.” Chosen Eudora

  Gladiators in the Free Leagues are not attached to a particular arena. They roam, finding matches where they can. While Sax had “personal” business in the highlands to the west of the broad prairie which surrounded Bullstock, Cleothera and Ravius were able to find a good match in the stronghold of Dun Mordhawk, close to their destination.

  Even in the most temperate areas of the Northern Domains winter comes early. By Tenthmonth the rugged highland hills they travelled through were knee-deep in snow. The cold did not, however, cause any real discomfort to the Gladiators, and in truth the snow did not hinder their progress much.

  Gavin stopped to watch a crew of labourers assisted by a Gifted, a vassal of some kind, working together to keep the roads clear for winter traffic. The young elementalist used spells of air and fire to help clear the snow, while the workers scattered an alchemical mixture that would stop ice from forming on paving stones. They worked in quiet harmony, physical and magical.

  “What interests you about them, Gavin?” asked Cleothera, while he watched. Her gaze was openly measuring, reminding him that she was an officer of The Deliberative, his keeper as well as his friend.

  He watched for a moment before responding. The crew had taken a break when their two parties met. The roads were lonely during heavy snowfall. Now Ravius was telling a bawdy story to the workmen while Master Sax was offering advice to the elementalist. No doubt the crew was happy to see Grey-Robes and Gladiators on the road: it was a sure sign of safety.

  “I like to see the Gifted and the Ungifted working together,” Gavin trailed off. He shook his head, wishing for greater wisdom, or the ability to express his thoughts better, at least.

  Cleothera regarded him for a moment, nodding. “I agree, my friend. I wish more people shared that desire. We should get moving before Ravius completely disrupts the work crew though… I would like to get to Dun Mordhawk before nightfall.”

  o-----

  One can learn quite a bit about a Chosen from his Castle.

  Dun Mordhawk is exemplary of the strongholds built in the hills and mountains north of Marius' Wall at the base of the Blightwall mountain chain. It is functional instead of grandiose with strong walls and a commanding view of the surrounding lands, a fortress made to hold a key territory and guard the borders of the Domains.

  Unlike the great march West along the old roads into the lush lands of the thousand rivers or the great campaigns ongoing in the South, the taming of the North was undertaken by individual Chosen carving out their own Domains chunk by chunk, over a long period of history. Even now the old mines and porous tunnels of the Blightwall range presented a grave danger.

  Built in 504 AR by Chosen Mordhawk, the stronghold started out as a military camp, one of several used by The Chosen and his band of soldiers and his Hearthbound as they extended their control over the surrounding area. It was further fortified over the course of his campaign and long rule.

  Dun Mordhawk is built on the highest, rockiest hill in the area: an ugly slab of barren grey-brown rock that dominates the nearby forests. On a clear day one can easily see all of the nearby towns, mines, and major roads from the battlements; a keen-eyed Gifted can even make out the Greywater chasm that marks the western border of the Domain without the aid of magic or the devices of artifice.

  The outer walls of Dun Mordhawk keep rise out of the steep sides of the jagged rock, curving to present as little flat surface as possible to outward attack. The stones that make up these walls are closely fitted and polished slick; even after centuries they show little sign of wear and no moss grows upon them, a sure sign of magic. Intricate machicolations line the parapet, providing an easy way of attacking enemies trying to attack the base of the wall and some defence against flying foes. Strong towers, round and squat provide many angles from which defenders can safely fire against any assaulting force, including flying assailants.

  The main gate is guarded by a fortified bastion cunningly built to slow down an attacking army but provide little cover against attacks from the main walls should it be taken. A thick drawbridge runs between the bastion and the main gate, made of rune-carved iron-wood beams stout enough to withstand considerable damage. The ditch under the drawbridge is an extension of the rocky hillside; and when the bridge is closed it gives the impression that Dun Mordhawk is a rocky island floating amidst surrounding hills. A heavy portcullis and a long entrance-way covered with convenient murder-holes for defending archers, gunners, and spearmen await any enemy strong enough to overcome the bridge.

  The newest addition to the fortress, a large short barrelled elemental flame cannon, waits to greet any who penetrate the courtyard. It is the type of weapon that destroys formations, not fortifications.

  The central keep is somewhat less austere, but still defensible and impenetrable. The windows might be made of brilliantly hued stained glass, but they are nonetheless arrow-slit thin with stout shutters. The doors of the keep include a portcullis and even a spout for oil above the single entrance to the building. A drawbridge on the third floor of the keep can be lowered to provide quick access to the outer wall. The roof of the keep is well defended, especially against attacks from winged beasts.

  Many visitors from other parts of the Domains wonder why a Chosen would live in such an austere abode. They are used to the open villas and forums of Krass and the glorious, decadent palaces of the Southern Domains. What casual travellers fail to understand is that Dun Mordhawk is about control, not commerce or personal aggrandizement. The Chosen of the Border Domains care more for power and stability than the trappings of their offices. They live too close to serious threats to play politics and hide behind decorative walls.

  In other words, Dun Mordhawk is a stronghold, pure and simple, and Chosen Mordhawk is a man who values power over luxury.

  o-----

  Gavin was not the main attraction in his thirty fourth match; the troll named Stonebreaker was a much bigger draw, locally at least.

  Trolls, while not Gifted, are large and strong, able to recover from nearly any wound, and very resistant to poison, magic, disease, and a myriad other forms of harm. They thrived in the harsh days of The Reckoning and gained further when they willingly allied with The Chosen in the early days of the Empire. Trolls are nearly equal to Gladiators in st
andings in the Free Leagues, and are often allowed to enter the qualifying matches after fighting twenty-five bouts in other leagues. Only truly skilled troll fighters are able to pass the qualifiers, but the prestige they gain among their fellows make the effort worthwhile.

  Rumour had it the Orange and Green Factions were petitioning in the Assembly of the Covenant to allow Free Leagues Troll fighters to join and represent factions. The Blues, defenders of tradition, opposed this out of habit. Much to Gavin’s disappointment, so did his Reds, a Faction that had less reason to stand in the way.

  Stonebreaker was only a foot or so taller than Gavin, but nearly twice as broad and heavily built. His movements spoke of power and self-assurance. He did not appear clumsy like many of the young Trolls that Gavin had faced, nor overly aggressive like the famed Troll Warlords he had watched. Stonebreaker’s skin was the colour of rough-quarried granite, and he had small curved horn-like protrusions instead of hair, marking him as a rock troll. He wore well-crafted heavy half-plate armour, made to arena regulations. The armour was etched with script that Gavin could not decipher, but was likely decorative and not magical. Trolls had trouble even attuning to runes; such was their resistance to magic.

  Stonebreaker’s weapon was a large, thirty pound metal ball attached to a long chain. The crowd roared its approval as the troll whirled the massive weapon above his head. Gavin was impressed; the troll showed tremendous strength getting the weapon moving. He also demonstrated great skill in the fluid way he moved while wielding such a difficult weapon. This was going to be an interesting fight, to be sure.

  The Arena in Dun Mordhawk began its life as a cistern carved under the fortress, re-purposed relatively recently. Galleries had been added around the top of the area for spectators. It reminded Gavin of fighting in the Pits on the Campus Martius, the arenas where fledgling Gladiators fought their first ranked matches. The Chosen and all of his guests had an intimate view of the fighting ground.