Were it not for the magical warding, Stonebreaker could have easily struck anyone in any part of the lower gallery, Gavin thought. It would an intimate experience for the spectators; no one would have to rely on arena magics to get a better view here.
Gavin recognized Chosen Mordhawk from description. The dark haired man watched from the highest Gallery along with a cadre of retainers and honoured guests. The same wards that protected the spectators also masked the Chosen’s power from Gavin, but the way others flowed around him, like a school of smaller fish around a shark, marked him nonetheless.
The trumpets sounded. Gavin stepped onto the white sand of the fighting grounds, saluting the Chosen and the spectators as he took up his place near Stonebreaker. Ravius and Cleothera cheered him loudly from the edge of the lowest of the three Galleries. The troll regarded him with interest, nodding a polite greeting. Gavin inclined his head in return, showing respect. The trumpet rang out as he did so, signalling the beginning of the fight.
Wasting no time, Stonebreaker tossed the metal ball underhand. The troll moved with an efficiency borne of long practice. Gavin swatted at the flying projectile. The metal mass clanged against his shield, driving the Gladiator back a step. Vibrations ran down his arm as aftershocks. Blocking a shot from a small cannon came to mind. The crowd applauded.
Stonebreaker yanked on the chain, bringing the ball hurling back. He caught it in a leather palmed gauntlet, confident and economic. Then he tossed the ball into the air and began whirling it above his head like a lasso, moving towards Gavin, hard-eyes purposeful.
Gavin knew he needed to assault Stonebreaker, but was not sure how. The troll had reach and range and was more resistant to his magic than other creatures. His shield provided some defence, but he guessed that Stonebreaker could get around that; a skilled user of chain weapons could wrap the weapon's head around the edge of a shield with a deft motion. Gavin would need to be careful if he wanted to get close. It seemed that the Troll's plan was to herd him back into the wall where his mobility would be limited. Moving forward into the arc of the whirling ball and chain presented an obvious danger, but it would give him room to manoeuvre.
Gavin edged forward, keeping an eye on the ball. Stonebreaker let a length of chain slip through his grip. This increased the arc of his weapon. The metal mass whirled towards the Gladiator. It was skillfully and subtly done, and Gavin was nearly caught off guard. He leapt up over swinging chain to avoid the deadly weapon, feeling it pass under him, just missing his feet.
Gavin hit the ground, tumbling towards his opponent. He began to channel power, getting ready to weave a spell. Coming to his feet, he lunged. The broad blade of his spear bit deep, piercing unarmoured flesh above the troll’s hip-plates. Stonebreaker grunted, but did not falter. The troll drew his chain in so that the ball whirled towards the Gladiator. Gavin ducked. The heavy mass swept the air above his head. The Gladiator twisted and pulled on his weapon as he backed away from the looming form of his enemy. Finally, the spearhead came free, ribbons of red gore caught on its vicious barbs. Gavin felt a surge of Triumph as Stonebreaker's smirk disappeared. He had felt that, at least.
The Gladiator followed up, completing his spell. A powerful mental assault overcame the Troll's strong resistance. This time Stonebreaker shook his head, momentarily stunned. His chain fell to the ground, limp. Triumphant, Gavin lunged forward, ramming his shield into the Troll's face. Already unbalanced, Stonebreaker toppled backwards, crashing down to the bloody sand.
Gavin felt the glorious sensation of victory surge through him. The cheers of the crowd filled the tiny arena. With no hesitation, he moved forward reversing his grip on his spear and raising it to stab at his fallen foe.
But Stonebreaker was a veteran of many fights. He recovered quickly, though he did not show it. He flicked his wrist, whipping a length of chain at the Gladiator as he attacked. Gavin raised his shield to ward off the blow. At that moment the troll raised his leg and kicked out, pushing the Gladiator backwards. Gavin’s spear glanced off the troll’s thickly armoured chest and he was forced back a few steps.
Stonebreaker staggered to his knees. Gavin stepped in again, thrusting his war-spear. This time the spear dug deep into his enemy’s shoulder. It was a brutal wound, but before he could withdraw and strike again, the troll's hand snapped up, grasping the weapon’s shaft.
Mindful of his past mistakes, Gavin let go of the spear. He drew his trusty short sword in a fluid motion. Raising his shield he warded off an uppercut from a massive gauntleted fist. He swept the punch aside and thrust his short blade into the troll’s belly. Stonebreaker grunted, ignoring the stomach wound and the spear stuck in his shoulder. He flicked a length of chain into Gavin’s face.
Gavin raised his shield, blocking the well-timed chain snap. But the cunning troll had anticipated this. A section of chain slapped at Gavin with an undulation from another angle. The blow took the Gladiator in the mouth. He backpedalled, spitting a mouthful of blood and teeth onto the white sand. The crowd gasped and cheered. The rational part of Gavin's brain noted that the wound would look worse than it was. He focused on that, trying not to choke.
This momentary pause gave Stonebreaker the time he needed to rip Gavin’s spear out of his shoulder. Chunks of flesh came out with the barbs. He did not throw it, as Gavin expected, but rather planted it in the sand nearby. Gavin darted in again. He stabbed his sword into the troll’s thigh. Most of the force glanced off the armour. Blood was drawn nonetheless, and the crowd cheered.
The troll swung his ball and chain and the Gladiator ducked, rolling away from the follow up swing. Stonebreaker began to whirl his weapon again, buying himself space. Gavin realized that the troll had purposefully kept his spear to deny him the extra reach.
The rest of the fight bogged down quickly. Gavin assaulted the troll with mind-magic spells, most of which were resisted or shaken off quickly. He tried to get past the Troll's whirling ball and chain, but was forced to back off quickly both times as the massive weapon swung his way. The troll was simply too skilled to get at with a shorter weapon.
It was a technical fight, not a crowd pleaser. He got the feeling that most of the audience was unimpressed and perhaps a little bored with the stalemate when the match ended. Chosen Mordhawk was already speaking to a subordinate as the fight was called. Gavin was declared the victor, having drawn the most blood. It seemed indecisive to him, a waste of an opportunity to win fame and impress a Chosen. Ravius and Cleothera cheered wildly though; it was always good to have friends in the audience.
He threw a salute to the crowd, bowed to the Chosen, and nodded respectfully to Stonebreaker before leaving the fighting grounds. The troll smirked and bowed.
o-----
“Don’t be so hard on yourself;” said bright Cleothera later that afternoon as they walked to the Dojo of the Flawless Blade school, where they would meet up with Sax, “It wasn’t a bad fight…”
“It wasn’t great,” Gavin responded.” Besides, how do you know what I’m thinking?”
“I don’t need magic to read your face,” she said, “It’s my job to observe Gladiators; you get pretty mopey when you aren’t happy with yourself. It shows.”
“Truth there, little sister!” chimed Ravius from above. The skirmisher was amusing himself by hopping from branch to branch in the thick trees along the road. Gavin mentally wished he would fall.
He rolled his eyes, “I need to do better; I won’t win any fame with a match like that.”
Cleothera and Ravius shared a look. They both knew Gavin was his own worst enemy, but they did not want to push the issue.
Ravius tactfully changed the subject to rumours of goings-on in the Domains, a much safer topic than the psychology of their friend. There were rumours of trouble along the nearby borders, Heretics and Wirn crossing the mountains in the dead of winter.
o-----
Sax met Gavin, Ravius, and Cleothera outside a small, well-constructed traveller’s lodge on the edge of the
lands stewarded by the Faultless Blade. They arrived as dusk was settling over the rough hills and wild forest of the Domain, but Gavin could still sense the difference between Chosen Mordhawk’s lands and those of the school.
The monastic Dojo was built on the edge of the foothills, where the rocky forested lands gave way, very abruptly in this case, to the flat prairies to the east. The top-most part of the school sat facing the prairie, built on a hill that seemed to have been shaped into perfect rounded smoothness. The ancient forests here seemed tame, almost sculpted. The outbuildings and little paths around the area appeared perfectly natural and in harmony with their surroundings. The whole land spoke of serenity; Gavin stared at it for some time.
Master Sax watched him while Ravius and Cleothera went inside, drawn by the tantalizing scent of bread and stew. Gavin ignored his rumbling stomach, fascinated by the sense of peace emanating from the Dojo. How could a school that taught Gladiators, men and women who kill for the entertainment of others, seem so harmonious?
“You'd like the grounds,” said Sax. “There's a river chasm on the other side of the hill. It has practice rooms carved into the stone all the way down and a spectacular little garden by the falls at the bottom.”
“Sounds nice,” said Gavin noncommittally, turning abruptly towards the lodge. “I’d like to visit one day... better get inside before those two eat everything… we have a solid week of walking before my ranking match.”
Gavin did not want to insult Master Sax by saying that he felt better served by learning a flashier discipline than furthering his studies of the Faultless Blade; the basic techniques taught by the school had increased his precision, but they were hardly crowd pleasing. He needed to learn something that would win him the crowd's adulation. Something with a bit of flash.
“I’ll join you shortly, lad,” said Sax, turning back to the Dojo. The Blackcloak watched the sun set over the buildings, picking out the unhurried motions of the students and the masters as they too were called to their evening meal before darkness enveloped the land. The peace of their long practised motions, perfect thought followed by perfect deed touched him. He thought about what Gavin had said, and not said, shaking his head and smiling before he made his way inside.
He had thought that way as well.
o-----
That night Gavin slept peacefully. Dreams took him to a place where he woke free of tension for the first time in many years. His mind was on his next match, too busy preparing for the journey to consider what that might mean.
Chapter Thirty-Five: Fortitude
1145/10/19 AR, Dun Shi’a. Gavin’s test match for the seventh rank.
“To survive and suffer. That is what the lowly consider a true test of character.” Chosen Silvius
“Endurance is often underestimated in The Great Games. Fatigue can doom a man as surely as bleeding him.” Arena Master Druth
Gavin, waiting for the trumpet’s call, watched a particularly large
snow-flake tumble lazily downwards. He frowned when it fell into a pool of blood, still warm from the last fight and was instantly fouled. It was a grim omen in the Gladiator's mind; ranking matches always made him nervous.
The Dun Shi’a arena was a pit cut deep into the rock, a style popular in the Northern domains. The outer edge of the pit was rough-looking rock complete with rusted iron spikes jutting out like hungry metal teeth. The fighting grounds in this style of arena were small, encouraging close combat and minimizing manoeuvre. Polished beast skulls lined the upper wall. The white sand almost seemed out of place next to such savage fixtures. However, the tunnels and Gladiator’s arming room were well-appointed, especially welcoming given the rough surroundings.
The audience sat in rock benches carved into the upper lip of the pit or stood in a gallery beyond that. Despite the winter weather both the gallery and the stands were crowded; Gavin couldn't sense the magic that kept the arena-goers warm through the wards, but none of them seemed uncomfortable. Most of them seemed drunk, relaxed, and well-entertained by the earlier matches; a good crowd. Flare torches, no doubt chosen for style over efficiency, warded of the early darkness of the winter evening.
Instead of arranging individual ranking matches The Deliberative had called a large number of Gladiators in the region to Dun Shi’a. It was common practice to do ranking in batches in the Free Leagues. Given the mobile nature of the league it made more sense for the Gladiators to come to the Grey-Robes rather than the other way around.
Gavin's was the fifth match. Ravius had fought third; he wondered how his friend had fared. The Grey-Robe in charge of today’s match had insisted that each participating Gladiator be segregated before their matches and not allowed to watch the prior bouts.
The trumpets sounded. The simple iron portcullis rose, beckoning him into the arena. The crowd gave a lusty cheer as he appeared.
Gavin noticed some green shards lodged in the walls and dug into the sand, they looked like bits of twinkling glass when the last rays of sunlight caught them,. Before he could consider this evidence too deeply, he heard Ravius cheer him from above the Gladiator's entrance. Turning, he caught sight of his friend, wearing several reddened bandages. It must have been a tough fight if he was still bleeding; Gladiators healed that type of wound quickly, especially when attuned to a Keystone. Ravius was seated beside Hummingblade, the Quickling swordswoman who had fought alongside Gavin in his Free Leagues entrance trial. Gavin nodded to her and was rewarded with a smile. He wondered idly if Ravius was serious about her.
As Gavin's mind drifted lazily over the implications and mechanics of Quickling and human intercourse, the trumpets rang out again, announcing his opponent. His mind turned immediately to the fight, focus sharpening; it was then that he noticed that many of the green shards sticking out of the sand had blood on them. Were they projectiles? He wondered. This thought spurred him to raise his shield.
The entrance that opened for his opponent was not especially large. Something glinted greenly from the shadows within. Gavin heard a strange, whistling intake, like the rush of a desert twister mixed with grinding glass. He tensed, gathering his body behind his shield, minded of the spike shooting automatons he had fought before. There was a brief, endless moment where nothing happened. The crowd tensed. He saw movement, and then heard the sound again. This time it heralded the eruption of a cloud of glittering green glass shards, like a storm of emeralds as they emerged from the darkness and caught the sun's light.
Gavin realized he could not block the whole burst. It was too late to roll out of the way. He minimized his profile, using his shield and armour to best effect. Glass tore into his exposed flesh, cutting any part of him not covered. Blood begin to drip from dozens of tiny cuts. The individual damage was not worrisome at the time; he expected such trivial wounds to heal quickly enough.
As the Gladiator recovered, his opponent moved. Something scurried in the darkness, making a twinkling, scraping sound. Gavin snarled and stood to face the creature as it emerged into the light.
The beast was a gem-like blur of quickly moving limbs, made mostly of what looked like green glass. It had legs like a spider’s but more in number, each ending in a sharp curved claw with a jagged edge. Wings with beautiful green glass feathers jutted from it's back. Eight eyes like shining black pearls, and a round mouth full of sharp glass shards complete its head. It was a startling sight, as beautiful in its symmetry as it was fearful and unworldly.
The creature stood in the sun for a moment, as if it were basking in the awe and fear of the crowd. Then it burst into motion, crossing the sand quickly, legs scuttling and wings fluttering.
Gavin stood, bracing, shield up, spear held out and angling up from the ground to meet the aberration’s charge. He was careful not to push himself too hard before his dripping wounds closed. He realized that it was not going to pounce or whirl away. It seemed eager to collide with him! He adjusted his stance, weaving a spell as he did so.
The spidery creature did not try so
much to ram into him as to trample over him. Its feet were like a rain of blades upon his shield. Gavin's own spear bounded off its glass carapace, chipping it, but otherwise doing no obvious harm. His spell was more effective stunning it briefly and allowing him to push it off with his shield. A spear thrust glanced off its head, nearly sinking into an eye.
Gavin felt more fatigued than he expected. He wondered if he had been poisoned or the beast was using some spell. The truth was that blood loss was taking its toll; his original wounds still dripped freely. He was too caught up in the fight to notice. Gladiators often take their regenerative powers for granted.
The creature shook off his spell with an effort of will. It reared up, thrusting four leg-blades at him, like spears. He blocked three shots with deft movements of his shield. He ducked the last. Rather than back away, Gavin moved a step closer to the beast, pushing his shield in front of him. His nearness made it harder for the creature to angle its limbs for powerful thrusts. His spear rang off the glass carapace again, chipping it. No blood issued from the wound.
The thought of the creature's blood brought Gavin's mind round to his own. He realized his wounds were not closing properly. The smallest of the cuts should have healed already. Was that why Ravius was still bandaged?
The glass creature stopped trying to impale Gavin. Instead it slashed at him with a lower limb. The attack cut under his shield guard, but the wise defender sensed the movement and slid backwards, avoiding the eviscerating claw.
Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power Page 5
