Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power

by C. P. D. Harris

  “That would be cool,” said Ravius, chuckling as the others rolled their eyes.

  They raised their weapons to salute the crowd as the announcer called. As they did so the large contingent of green-clad Hammerhorn fans broke into their regular chant. However, amid the cheers Gavin could hear boos and jeers, even some disparaging taunts about Armodons. These were coming from the gold-clad members of the audience. Omodo's ears twitched, but he betrayed no reaction beyond this.

  Ravius never one to back down in such a situation, simply turned and pulled down his thong, taunting the Golds with his bare buttocks, and then finishing up with a series of obscene gestures. Sounds of laughter came from the friendly part of the audience.

  Gavin simply stared, his eyes fixed on one figure. Sitting in the middle of the Golds was an imposing man, surrounded by a dozen half-naked women. Valaran diVolcanus stared back at Gavin, grinning. A Dwarven Grey-Robe with an intricately braided beard sat beside the man, looking bored. A slight chill ran through Gavin as he recognized the Dwarf from the suspicious match in Scorpion's Oasis, the same match where he had seen officer Erbly.

  “Don't let him get to you.” said Ravius, following Gavin's gaze.

  “Sure,” said Gavin, trying to clear his head. “One thing though: That's the Dwarf I was telling Captain diAuran about.”

  “Now that certainly is an ugly coincidence, little brother,” said Ravius. His face drained of colour.

  “Time to get to work, brothers,” said Omodo as the trumpets sounded out once more and their opponents skated onto the fighting grounds. “We can parse this later. Let’s show Valaran and his Golds how we Greens fight.”

  These clockwork skate-soldiers were leaner and faster than most of the brass men that Gavin and Ravius had fought in Scorpion's Oasis. They moved gracefully, flying across the ice, propelled by short thrusts of their dangerous-looking, bladed feet. Their metallic armour was a blend of silver and chrome coloured plates. There were only six of them, a mix of ranged and melee types, so Gavin guessed that they would be fairly tough individually.

  The two ranged attackers split off, skating out to either flank. They raised their bellows-like weapon arms and fired at the Gladiators as the other four automatons swept in across the ice. Gavin intercepted one of the projectiles with his shield and the other pinged off Omodo's armour. The gold-clad spectators jeered, the Greens shouted “HAMMERHORN”, and then the melee attackers were on them.

  Ravius slid forward, ducking under a scythe-like blade-arm while swinging low with his folded net. He snagged the leg of his target, sending it sprawling with a quick jerk. The skirmisher kept hold of the net, letting himself be pulled along by the fallen automaton as it skidded across the slick ice. He finished it with a short, brutal jab of his trident as they stopped sliding.

  Gavin and Omodo were less successful. The ice made for treacherous footing. The silvery automatons skated around them, attacking with their blades as they moved past. Gavin was forced to keep an eye on the shooters as well, making sure that they could not get a clear shot.

  Gavin ran interference for Omodo while the big heavy swung his war-maul. The stalwart defender parried two blades, nearly losing his balance. The Golds jeered, but their taunts were drowned out as the massive hammer-head of the maul came down. The automatons were quick, reflexively skating away from the slow overhand strike. Omodo's intent was not, however, to hit them. The hammer slammed into the ice with crushing force. The perfect, flat surface of the icy fighting grounds instantly shattered, giving way to cracks and rifts near the two fighters. Their footing became easier. The Hammerhorns cheered.

  One of the automatons caught a blade in the rough ice and stumbled. Gavin slammed into it with his shield, pushing it towards Omodo who brought his hammer down with a brutal overhand attack. The screech of rupturing metal was followed by hot oil splattering onto the ice.

  Ravius sprinted after one of the shooters. Spikes whistled through the air, but none touched him. The skirmisher slammed into his target, trident first, pinning it against the wall. He finished it with a thrust from his runed long knife.

  The three remaining automatons coordinated to attack Gavin with sudden, mechanical precision. Two blade-skaters whirled around him while the shooter fired spike after spike at him. Gavin parried several attacks but was forced to rely on his armour more than once. A spike slammed into his shoulder. The Golds roared as his blood reddened the ice. His anger at their jeers threatened his concentration. He nearly took a slice to his face as one of the automaton's leapt into the air, swiping at him with a foot-blade as it twirled gracefully. He let himself fall backwards to avoid the attack, feeling the wind of it pass over him. then rolled out of the way while Omodo lunged forward knocking both of the blade-wielders off their feet with the long haft of his maul. Gavin stabbed the power core one of the fallen with his spear while Omodo simply crushed the other.

  The final shooter went limp and fell, skidding hard into the wall as Ravius disrupted the pattern that animated it with his magic. The skills that they had learned studying automaton weaknesses in the Faction Leagues paid off. The cheering Green could not quite drown out the loud jeers of the Golds as the Gladiators made their salute and left the arena. Gavin felt his gaze drawn to Valaran, but he forced himself to stare straight ahead as he left the arena.

  o-----

  Captain diAuran and her team retraced the routes travellers had taken. They talked to people who had shared those routes with the doomed travellers. They got descriptions of all those who had been nearby but were not among the dead. They began the painstaking process of tracking all of them down. The wheels of The Deliberative moved slowly, but surely towards their quarry.

  Chapter Forty: Control

  1146/04/16 AR, Dun Mordhawk

  “Many veteran Gladiators master unusual spells, tricky techniques, and exotic disciplines. Part of this is showmanship, obviously; these unusual abilities impress audiences. However it is also an expression of potential. The magic taught to the Gifted in training is but one branch of the power, after all.” Chosen Mazurin

  “Some say the greatest expression of the will is self-control. I would say that will is self-mastery.” Chosen Mordhawk

  The stone dropped, hitting the ground with a resounding thud before toppling onto its side.

  “Concentration would be helpful,” the hunter's voice was mild, but the rebuke stung. This was only his fourth lesson with Chosen Mordhawk, but already Gavin felt that he had learned more than he had in years of training. The Chosen was giving him personal lessons, for reasons that escaped him, and here he was, letting his hatred for Valaran distract him. He frowned, inwardly cursing himself.

  “The key, Gavin, is focus,” said the Chosen, with a hint of amusement. “Don't be angry with yourself. It is natural that you want to respond to Valaran's challenge. Don't be surprised that I know. Your nose twitches when you think about him. You do, however, need to control your desire instead of allowing it to control you. You know this, of course, but you have been taught to suppress your emotions instead of controlling them.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Gavin. He wiped his brow. mind-grip was a taxing spell, especially on such a large rock.

  “I find many philosophies of self-control to be distasteful,” said the Chosen, turning eastward. “They postulate that the key to self-control is to free one's self from desire. Without the temptations created by one's desires, self-control is easy. However, without desire, self-control is also hollow. Desire springs from our urges and instincts, from life itself. Pleasure, pain, hatred, fear, love, and all the primal emotions are rooted in our animal interactions with the physical world. To deny them is to deny life. Thus it is better to learn to control these desires, to harness that energy, so that one can unleash it when needed. To control your desires without destroying them is the only true form of self-mastery.”

  Gavin immediately thought of Sadira. “I think I understand.”

  “Good, now let us get back to t
hat Rock, shall we?”

  Gavin returned to his task. He was trying to learn how to move objects through will and magic. The process required elements of an enchantment, attuning his pattern to that of the stone. It was a complex weave. He performed it without difficulty, however, and the man sized rock began to rise. Gavin would have enjoyed the challenge if Valaran's presence at his latest match did not weigh so heavily on his mind. He could just picture the man's face, surrounded by his thralls and his gold-clad fans. Did Valaran think he was a Faction unto himself now? The arrogance. And worse yet, this jeering crowd had appeared at Omodo's and Ravius's latest match and even some of their training sessions.

  The rock wavered. Anger flashed through him. How good it would feel to toss this rock into handsome, popular, powerful Valaran's face. Or even toss Valaran. To his surprise the rock shattered. He looked over at the Chosen.

  “That's better,” said Chosen Mordhawk. “But try to find the middle ground, I did ask you to lift the rock after all, not break it.”

  Gavin pictured lifting Valaran. He found it easier to concentrate that way. The rock moved easily. His weaves flowed better and he channelled far more power.

  Mordhawk smiled. Gavin was stronger than he had hoped. The hunt was on.

  o-----

  Gavin stood in the centre of the fighting grounds of the small underground arena in which he had fought Stonebreaker. The Chosen sat high in his customary seat on the third level of galleries. Valaran diVolcanus, polished and imposing, occupied a place of honour to the Chosen's left. This had initially filled Gavin with ire, but he quickly realized that the seating arrangements worked to his advantage; Valaran kept quiet, not even bothering to paw at the thrall he had brought with him. Apparently Valaran was not willing to risk offending the Chosen to mock Gavin. A clever move by Mordhawk.

  Gavin raised his spear in salute, directly towards the Chosen. There were less than three hundred seats in this arena, but the intimacy of the architecture made it seem more crowded. He could see Cleothera, finally returned from her trip seated with Ravius, Omodo, and Sax. She flashed him a wink and a smile.

  The trumpet sounded and a door opened. The galleries in this arena where all on one side and so Gavin turned his back to the crowd as his opponent moved on to the fighting grounds. He enjoyed the feeling of standing between the audience and the monster, as if he were defending them from a real threat instead of engaging in a match purely for their entertainment.

  An armoured figure strode into the arena. Tall and gaunt, bearing a long gracefully curved greatsword; it appeared to be a construct of some sort, devoid of ostentation. Gavin could not sense enough of the enchantments powering it to be sure of its origins. It did not show any of the outward signs of being undead or clockwork.

  The figure hefted its blade flowing into a classical two-handed fighting stance. One leg shifted forward, arms holding the long handle of the blade just above and out from the abdomen, top arm slightly bent. The point of the sword was raised to the level of Gavin's throat. The figured froze in this position.

  Gavin hesitated, expecting the armoured swordsman to attack. He probed it with magic, hoping to attack with a mental blast or disrupt the animating pattern. He was not surprised when that effort bore little fruit: The Deliberative had already tested him on those tricks, and he doubted they would repeat the same sort of challenge. They expected him to demonstrate some new application of his skills or more character in each Ranking match; he knew that much.

  The Gladiator crept forward as he probed the armoured figure's patterns. He wove the enchantment that he had been practising with Chosen Mordhawk. Mind Grab was a spell that allowed a Cogimancer to manipulate physical objects with his mind. Telekinesis. He doubted that he could use it to get control of the automaton; it weighed less than the rock he had been lifting, but it would actively resist his spell-weaves. Nonetheless the ability to use even a little force at a range could be useful.

  Gavin moved to within reach of the armoured figure. It did not so much as twitch. He lunged suddenly, driving his spear towards a vulnerable-looking join in the metal plating. The figure reacted to his movements with blinding speed, knocking his lunge aside and delivering a slash that Gavin was barely able to block. The power of the blow put him on the defensive, but the automaton did not attack. This was the point of the test, he felt certain. No sane arena master would put a defensive minded construct up against a Gladiator, especially a defender. It rarely made for an exciting fight when one combatant could gain a respite just by backing off. However, The Deliberative must have had something else in mind when preparing this match.

  He feinted next, trying to get it to commit to a defence against a diversionary attack. His faked attack barely elicited a reaction, and he was forced to back away once more when he delivered his real attack. He felt the wind of a particularly savage sword stroke, barely sidestepping the follow up thrust. He could almost feel Valaran's glee. No doubt the golden boy of the arena probably would have reduced the metal knight to slag by now. He wondered idly what Valaran's Ranking matches were like.

  Attacking again, Gavin tried a more complex feint, using his shield to screen his attack. The results were even worse. as the armoured figure anticipated his primary attack and countered perfectly, shouldering into him and then slashing his chest, drawing blood after the blade scraped across his armour. He expected that the automaton was using some form of Cogimancy to read his intentions. The Deliberative had done a good job of fortifying and disguising the pattern; he sensed that he could not disrupt it without extended effort, which meant that he had to find another way to win.

  He did feel a small surge of pride at the level of defence they had put into the pattern. Someone, it seemed, respected his skills as a Cogimancer.

  Trying to attack it was not his strength, and tricking it seemed out of the question. He was trained to take advantage of opportunities created by his strong defensive skills. Somehow he needed to force it into attacking him without committing to an attack himself. He needed to treat it like a puzzle.

  Gavin moved towards the armoured figure once again. He crept very close without attacking; guessing that the armoured figure would be forced to attack before he broke its comfort zone. He emptied his mind, waiting for it to strike, while weaving the complex pattern of the mind grab spell. He crept in. It did not move. He crept in further. It did not move. Gavin stepped towards the figure, mind blank, perfectly controlled. It moved, blindingly quick, defending its space with a broad slash at the Gladiator's legs. He was forced to leap over the stroke to remain within striking distance.

  Now Gavin used his mind grab to give himself forward momentum, throwing himself into the automaton, spear first, hitting with the force of a good lunge. The armoured figure staggered under the impact. Its armour was no match for the runed alloy of his spear-point. He drove the bladed tip deep. They toppled toward the sand. He rolled away, leaving his spear within the automaton's chest, and drawing his short sword.

  The armoured figure attempted to right itself, reaching to pull the barbed spear free. Gavin moved in. He did not want it to recover. The automaton reacted defensively, as before, but this time, it was hampered by the length of spear in its chest. He pushed its blade out of the way with his shield and thrust his sword into the neck joint. The automaton's head snapped back and it crumpled to the ground.

  Gavin wrenched his spear out of the broken armour and raised it in salute to the audience. He felt a deep sense of accomplishment at solving the puzzle presented by the armoured figure; The kind of feeling he lived for in the arena. The Chosen, high up in the third gallery, led the applause, and Valaran, a sour look on his face, was forced to join in, or risk offending his host. Gavin smiled broadly.

  Chapter Forty-One: Heroes

  1146/07/17AR, Sonarion's crossing

  “The hero is the bringer of change, no more no less.” Chosen Mazurin

  “A man is regarded as a hero by those who benefit from his actions.” Chosen Molt
ar

  “It's all about heroes,” said Ravius seriously. They were discussing The Great Games before a match. “Fabricating heroes to be precise.”

  Gavin shrugged. It was a familiar topic of discussion.

  “What do you mean?” Omodo's voice held a note of genuine curiosity.

  “The Great Games give the people their daily dose of heroism,” said the blonde skirmisher, checking the folds of his net. “We Gladiators show them that the monsters that press in on the Domains from all sides can be overcome. It gives them a sense of hope to see someone like themselves face down a living nightmare”

  “A true hero brings change though,” said Gavin, trying not to sound cynical.

  “Why do you say that?” asked Omodo.

  “Heroes are people who go forth, venturing beyond the comfortable boundaries of their society,” said Gavin. “They move into the realm of action and perform a great deed, or pass through a series of tests that affirm their status. Then they return, bringing truth and change with them. The hero is not always a good person, but those who benefit from the change tend to overlook his faults.”

  “Interesting,” said Omodo. “Is an ungifted who braves a fire to rescue a child not a hero then?”

  “He is,” said Gavin. “The boundary that is being passed is the fear of death. Most people, even many of the Gifted will not move into the realm of action if they face an immediate risk to their lives.”

  “What's the lesson or truth in that act?” asked Ravius.

  “The simplest truth conveyed would be that all men die, and those who can face that without flinching are capable of greater deeds,” said Gavin. “However, any greater revelations would depend on the outcome of the action, the character of the hero, and other factors. It gets even more complex with figures of great heroic status like The Chosen or the great Gifted of old.”