Gavin did not try to plant his spear to impale the charging Armodon. The larger Gladiator's war-maul gave him too much reach. Instead he waited for Omodo to swing, a broad sweep low to the ground. Gavin leapt over the weapon, jabbing the wicked point of his war-spear at Omodo's face. Anticipating this, the heavier armoured Gladiator shifted to take Gavin's spear thrust on his shoulder plate and then slashed with his horn. Gavin took the brunt of this attack with his shield, getting swept out of the air and knocked to the ground, but he rolled to his feet and danced backwards as Omodo followed up with a series of sweeping blows with his long-hafted war-maul.
As he dodged, Gavin began attacking Omodo with powerful mental blasts as he dodged the massive hammer. The ward-screen filters showed the attack clearly as streaking bright blue lines even though an Ungifted would have trouble detecting the attack used outside the arena. The dribble of blood that emerged from the Armodon's nostrils, as the barrage wore on, was real enough.
Neither fighter let up. Omodo drove Gavin back ceaselessly, smashing his shield with punishing blows whenever he caught him out of position. Gavin danced forward, landing a masterful lunge that caught an unarmoured side. The crowd cheered this, but Gavin's triumph was short lived as Omodo hooked the edge of Gavin's shield with the back spike on his weapon, and pulled it out of the way before ramming his horn into Gavin's chest.
Sadira winced. She had been on the receiving end of attacks like that often enough on the training grounds. Omodo was more comfortable with his body now and he used his horn to great effect.
Thrown backwards by the attacked, bloody spit arced out of Gavin's mouth from the internal damage cause by the attack. He rolled awkwardly to his feet, looking much the worse for the exchange.
Omodo charged. Gavin stood his ground, drawing his spear back for a throw, channelling power. He threw. The spear arced wide. Omodo crashed into Gavin's shield, knocking him off his feet again. The crowd cheered as the Armodon raised his hammer. Sadira sensed, rather than saw, the burst of power that reached out from Gavin and swung the spear around in mid-flight redirecting it towards the Armodon. Perhaps Omodo sensed it too, or he might have anticipated the attack, with a slight flourish he turned, stomping a heavy foot down at Gavin while knocking the flying spear away with the haft of his maul.
It was deftly done Sadira had to admit.
Gavin avoided the bone-crushing stomp. He rolled to the side and came to his feet with a twist. His short sword was in his hand. He thrust at Omodo. The Armodon was attempting to strike him with the haft of his weapon as he turned back to face him. Both of them struck home. Gavin's thrust drew blood from the Armodon's thick hide. Omodo's haft smashed into Gavin's shoulder-guard and chin dislocating his jaw. The sheer power of the blow knocked him off his feet. He was standing up again, readying a thrust and a mental blast as the match-time ran out and the trumpets sounded.
The two battered fighters bowed. Sadira read the signs of internal damage in Gavin, and blood leaked from her beloved's mouth. Omodo's powerful blows may not have drawn blood but Gavin definitely had broken bones. Sadira guessed that the crowd would give the fight to Omodo who had tossed Gavin around like a child and dictated the pace of the fight. No surprise really, the Armodon could hit harder than a Giant thrice his size. Omodo might be bleeding from several wounds, but none of them looked especially bad.
The audience showed its thumbs for Omodo by a wide margin. Sadira showed her thumbs for both of them.
o-----
With Omodo as the victor, Ravius got third place. They would be going to Dun Loryn as a team.
Chapter Forty-Seven: Performances
1146/10/01 AR, Brightsand Halls, Gavin's Ranking Match the 9th rank, previously put off due to the Frostbay Tournament
“The audience at any performance appreciates any additional risks taken to entertain them; this is doubly true in bloodsports.” Chosen Giselle
“The connection with the spectators is an important lesson for any potential Chosen. It is a taste of the power that the Oath bestows upon us.” Chosen Marius.
Gavin parted ways with Omodo, Cleothera, and Ravius after the Frostbay Qualifier. The Dun Loryn Faction Open was not going to take place until summer of the following year. Omodo went south to the Dragon's Green to meet with their patron's Voice and perhaps even gain an audience with Crimvidinn in person, while Ravius would travel to Krass to train and visit family. Cleothera was returning to Krass as well, ostensibly for training, but Gavin knew she would be heavily involved in whatever internal conflict was brewing within The Deliberative. He was glad that she was travelling at least part of the way with someone she could trust.
Sadira had arranged to have Gavin spend the rest of the year with her in Giselle's palace. She was quite pleased by the Chosen's acceptance of her lover, seeing it as a reward for her own superb performances on Giselle's behalf.
Gavin, on the other hand, knew Giselle had given up trying to pry him apart from Sadira. She was quite happy to have him under her protection at the palace, where he could not be used against Sadira. He did not realize until later that Giselle also wanted him there to help take the edge off his lover's recklessness. Sadira was calmer when Gavin was nearby.
o-----
The Chosen's Palace in Brightsand Halls stood atop the centre-most of the city's nine sheer-sided buttes, stone pillars raised from the rocky desert waste, shaped by both magic and raw physical labour. The palace was imposing, yet open and airy, built mostly in the classical style of Krass, but with some local influences, most obvious in the domes and rounded corners of the buildings. It provided the prototype for the rest of the city, a prominent representative of what was now called the Southern style of architecture. Gavin had seen that this style was in fashion of late, apparent in some of the newer buildings in Krass, a case of influences coming full circle. Such was the way of a healthy federation he mused: each part must learn from the other, hopefully with respect.
This thought brought his mind to Vintia, who would soon be on her way to lost Ithal'duin. He missed her, and was sad that he would probably not see her again for many years. She had seemed so excited at the masquerade. He wondered how much of that was a desire for adventure and how much was due to Chosen Brightloch. Sadira told him that Vintia had fallen for the Chosen's charms. Gavin thought of Isabella in the armour-shop and how easily he had been seduced, a prisoner of his desires, before he had found love. Of course, one could argue that love was simply a different cage; after all his need to be near Sadira had kept him from joining the Bright Company himself. It had always been a dream of his to roam distant lands.
Although he spent much of his time with Sadira, on the training grounds, strolling with her in the famed hanging gardens, and in her bed, Gavin still had freedom to wander the city. He recognized this as a double-edged gift from Chosen Giselle. He was not restricted to Gladiator's quarters, nor did he need an escort. The Chosen had given him freedom that he could not get anywhere else, an entire city to explore. For Gavin this was something new, and he spent as much time as he could wandering the streets, visiting the grand bazaar, delving into the deep farms and tenements carved into the interior of each great butte. He satisfied his hunger for news of the Empire and society by listening to his fellow travellers. Sometimes he simply sat watching the life of the city pass him by. It was grand.
Of course, this freedom was a taste of what his life would be like if he remained here, under Giselle's influence. It was something he once desired above all else, but he felt pulled elsewhere. That little smithy far to the North had a magnetic hold on him. His obligations to Omodo and Ravius were there too. And then there was the Faultless Blade, that serene monastery and the path on which Master Sax had set him on. There was also Cleothera, a blood-filled pond littered with bodies, and an unsatisfactory investigation.
And Valaran, he thought. Even here, people talk about him. Women want to be with him, even though it is obvious how he sees them. Men admire him. He is the subject of so much false
praise. I want to end that, to prove myself against him. Am I ready?
Gavin knew that Chosen Giselle was likely having him watched on his travels. He occasionally caught sight of Crom and Freja, two of her Hearthbound, on the streets. He had no direct evidence, however, that they, or others he could not detect, were watching him. But the Chosen was being very cautious as the Championships approached. Gavin knew she was right to be worried. He had been through one attempt on Sadira's life already. The thought of Blue Calamity charging forward at a crippled Sadira, cut off from magic and The Keystone, with him too slow, helpless to come to her aid, often weighed upon him.
It never occurred to him that he had survived two attempts on his own life. He saw the foiled attunement argument with Baurtrum in Scorpion's Oasis and the midnight attack of the mind-slaved woodsmen as unrelated, the fate of a Gladiator in an often hostile world. Had his humility allowed him to examine the events as attacks against him, he would have seen that they were more closely related than he thought and more far reaching than he had assumed.
o-----
Gavin's test match for the ninth rank, the last rank before master, was held in the Brightsand Halls arena. Chosen Giselle and Sadira were in attendance. The crowd was the largest Gavin had ever performed before, over one hundred-thousand people. He was no longer nervous about test matches, but the size of the crowd threw him off. He felt like a child before that seething mass of humanity. Most of them knew nothing about him, other than his role as their beloved Red Scorpion's companion. He could feel a multitude of eyes upon him, curious and judging. He could feel the sheer weight of the power of so many people, lost to them, but waiting to be tapped. He found the thought uncomfortable, yet exciting.
“At least I'm the first fight of the day,” he thought, trying to calm himself as he strode out onto the sands. “None of these people expect this match to be the best of the lot. Perhaps I can use that to my advantage and impress them.”
Gavin knew that Sadira would cheer him no matter what he did. He could feel her support. That thought calmed him. It brought his mind around to the little pendant he wore, the scorpion and the lion entwined, part of a gift exchange in Scorpion's Oasis.
The trumpets broke his reverie and awoke the crowd. What would today's challenge bring?
Ornate gates opened around the arena. He heard low growl, accompanied by shadowy bipedal figures: Beastmen.
Beastmen were an odd choice. Test matches usually contained elements of the unknown; opponents were often selected to probe a Gladiator's weaknesses. Beastmen were common arena combatants, favoured by bloodthirsty crowds. Gavin had killed his first beastman when he was ten, part of the training every Gladiator went through. He did not often think of it; the feeling of visceral triumph killed the beast was always at odds with the pity he felt looking down at the mad creature afterwards, and the disgust he felt with himself at how long it had taken him to do so. He had fought them many times since. Even though Beastmen were often heavily modified through use of drugs and grafts, their tactics rarely varied; they were permanently rabid and attacked with berserk ferocity. How could they test him with these?
They stepped into the light, six of them, bigger, stronger specimens than he was used to. They sniffed the air and surveyed the crowd, confusion temporarily overwhelming their natural rabidity. He felt a kinship with them then; he too was awed by so many people in one place.
It wasn't until the crowd started laughing that he realized the Beastmen all bore leonine features, a mockery of his Gladiator name, Lionfang. He felt his face redden, embarrassment and then anger.
o-----
In the stands Chosen Giselle studied Gavin intently. His anger was easy to read in the tension of his body now. She recognized the test. Skirmishers often relied on insults, mockery, and the emotions of the crowd to overcome tough opponents, especially defenders like Gavin. No doubt the Grey-Robes intended to teach him the power of the crowd the hard way. A hard lesson for an insular man like Gavin.
“He's very angry,” said Sadira.
“Yes, I expect they've heightened his awareness of the crowd.” said Giselle. “So their mockery bites even more. It's part of the test.”
“Do you think they put an extract in his water?” asked Sadira, sitting beside her.
Giselle smiled. She was pleased that Sadira was taking her lessons to heart. It was important that she learn to read the subtleties of the arena to be a Champion. Those lessons would also serve her well in navigating the politics of the Domains and the power games of her future peers.
“It would not surprise me,” she responded.
It was certainly possible that The Deliberative had slipped Gavin some subtle drug, Rose Lotus would work; it would heighten his ability to channel from the crowd. Drugs of that type weren't actually illegal in the arena. But most Gladiators felt that the extra power was not worth the heightened sensitivity to the emotions and expectations of the spectators around them. This would be doubly true for a Cogimancer like Gavin, whose abilities to read thoughts and emotions was far greater than most. Perhaps the Greys wanted to open him to all aspects of the audience, Ridicule and then Bloodlust. He did not strike her as they type who would revel in that.
o-----
Gavin charged the nearest beastman. Reckless at first, he struggled with his anger. He could feel the crowd laughing at him; catch the threads of contempt and amusement weaving through that seething mass of consciousness. He could not shut out their thoughts.
The Beastman responded to Gavin's charge with a deep growl and launched itself at him. He heard the others around the arena moving as well, but found it difficult to keep track of them in the whirl of emotions. The subconscious map of the fighting grounds that he formed in his head while he fought eroded under the old, ugly desire to prove himself. Gavin fell back into old patterns, hounded relentlessly by his connection to the thoughts of the spectators.
They collided. He felt his spear hand tug. They fell to the sand in a snarling tangle. The beastman was larger than Gavin, and far stronger than most of its kind. He should have expected that. The creature seemed oblivious to the fact that his spear had punched right through it. The creature snapped at him as they grappled. He caught some ugly threads of emotion from the crowd, contempt laced with a desire to see him fail. He felt stupid, an unworthy orphan making a fool of himself pretending to be a Gladiator.
He came close to giving up; to letting those jaws rip out his throat. The Keystone would ensure he survived. He was never going to make it to the Championships. How could he even pretend that he was worthy to perform here, in front of such an audience?
Some part of him held on, rebelling against those thoughts, warring against the mental excrement of self-pity and defeatism. His hand found the grip of his short sword. A claw raked his face. Blood filled his mouth. He fought on, kicking another Beastman as it tried to bite his leg, jerking his shield, using its razor edge to cut the frenzied Beastman above him. He rolled to the side, levering his weight, drawing back his sword, reversing his grip. On top now, he plunged his blade into the neck of the best he grappled with, saw the flesh part, and blood pump out. He felt a change in the crowd, visceral, powerful. Bloodlust, heady, like strong drink.
Another beast pounced, knocking Gavin aside. Rolling free, he came to his feet, bleeding from several gashes. He barely felt them. He knew that his sense of anger was almost dangerous to him as his thoughts of giving up.
He channelled, reaching out to grab his spear with a mind-grip spell. Power came easily to him, more easily than it ever had before. He took some from the crowd, fed from their desire for blood, their hatred of Beastmen. He felt it rush over him, and he sent his spear hurtling through the air, impaling one of the Beastmen, leaving four to come at him. The scent of blood drove them further into frenzy.
He slid past the first one as it leapt at him, and pushed the second into the path of the third with a deft application of shield to snout. The fourth one tackled him before he could re
act and they tumbled to the ground again. He stabbed it, feeling the satisfying trickle of blood on his hand. It continued to claw at him. He stabbed again and again. Another set of jaws snapped against his face. He drew back and then mashed his forehead against its nose, sending it staggering back. The crowd roared. He stabbed again and again. He felt the power in the emotions of the crowd and the mad rage of the Beastmen wash over him. Finally, he truly what it was like to be a Gladiator. This is what Sadira felt...
He rolled out from under the dead Beastman. Shouting in defiance, staggering under the weight of the power he channelled, he wove three threads as the Beastmen roared in. The crowd wanted blood. He would give it to them.
o-----
Giselle's senses tingled with the raw power that flowed through Gavin. The Gladiator was not used to that level of brute channelling, and she could see the stresses building in his pattern; he was in danger of burning himself out. She heard Sadira gasp beside her as Gavin wove three spells, powerful ones at that. Three was a difficult feat even for some Chosen. She found herself impressed by his finesse. Mordhawk was no fool for backing this one. The Beastmen leapt. There was a surge of power.
“BOOM” The heads of the three remaining Beastmen exploded, chunks of bone, grey matter and gore flying everywhere. The ward-screen crackled satisfyingly as the energy of the spells washed over it.
The crowd surged to its feet, roaring, and the Chosen was carried with it, screaming her praise along with them. She barely managed to stop herself from channelling power into her voice.
Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power Page 20
