After the noise died down she looked over at Sadira. The Shadow-Elf beauty looked particularly smug as she met Giselle's eyes.
o-----
The rush of power was orgasmic. Gavin fell to his knees, panting, and exhausted. Some part of him realized that he had nearly burned himself out, but that sane thought was lost in the rush of adulation and approval from the crowd. He felt tears in his eyes and fought for calm. After several minutes he was able to stagger to his feet. Riotous cheers greeted him. As he raised his blade to the crowd he felt a curious sensation in his midsection and realized he had a throbbing erection. A side effect of some drug? No one seemed to care.
As he slowly made his way off the sand, dizzy and happy, yet chagrined at his body's reaction he noticed that the blood formed a halo on the sands around the three headless Beastmen. It did not bother him until later.
o-----
He was still drunk on emotion and achingly erect when Sadira met him in the baths. She laughed and kissed him as he picked her up roughly and pushed her against the wall, thrusting into her with uncharacteristic abandon. Sadira encouraged his rough passion. Her heat and scent and whispered voice whipped Gavin into a frenzy of lust. She used her magic to enhance his vigour. He felt her nails on his back, her strong legs closing around him, and then they melted into each other, body and mind.
o-----
Gavin was the type of person who needed full realization to come to understanding. Although he had heard about how a Gladiator could connect with and draw power from the crowd, and even studied the theory, it took that final step in the arena for him to learn it.
Sadira knew it instinctively, and had always used it. Her bond with the crowd was pure and natural. She loved them and they loved her. Thus she gave her best to them, every time she performed.
For a Gladiatrix to reach the rank of Domina, the only rank that has title bifurcation along gender lines, she must face a Deathmatch as part of the test. Although rarely lethal, it shows that the Gladiatrix Domina is not afraid of death, and it is a tradition that has survived the general trend of The Great Games to become less lethal over time. A Gladiatrix need not attain this rank to retire; however, it is required for any who wish to become a Grand Champion.
This ranking test is usually heavily weighted towards the Gladiatrix, but in the arena anything can happen and there are casualties.
Because Sadira was who she was, she requested a more difficult Ranking match. She did so with uncharacteristic subtlety, so that Gavin and Chosen Giselle did not know what she had done until she was on the fighting grounds. The bond was no help to Gavin, since all he could sense was her excitement and nervousness. He thought this was normal; it was certainly his reaction to any ranking test, but it did occur to him, too late, that Sadira was never nervous about such things.
And so when Sadira's opponent wound its way into the arena, pushing up the white sand as it burrowed, Gavin and Giselle looked at each other in accusation, as if to say “How could you not have known about this?”
o-----
On the fighting grounds Sadira smiled. She thrived on challenge and the thrill of the crowd. Having a sister in The Deliberative was useful; Viconia had thrummed a few strands on her web to make sure Sadira had an epic challenge for her Domina Ranking Test. It wasn't cheating; having a harder fight in a Deathmatch was a perfectly legal manipulation so long as the Gladiatrix was of sound mind and agreed to the fight.
Sadira could sense Gavin's worry through their bond, like a thorn, but she set it aside and sent a burst of confidence to him. She knew what she was doing. Chosen Giselle would also be furious, of course; there would be repercussions for taking this risk. Sadira would pay them gladly.
The beast meandered lazily through the Sand. The crowd waited breathlessly for it to burst forth. There were several creatures that prowled the Sea of Sands in such a fashion, seeming to swim underneath. This disturbance was distinctive, of a shape and size that every native of the deserts and cautious travellers knew to look for. The serpentine undulations. The small parallel buckling. These were the signs of a Skrelmn one of the great dangers and wonders of the deep desert.
Knowing what it was did not detract from the sense of anticipation. Skrelmn were rare near civilized areas like Brightsand Halls, hunted for their poison, tasty flesh, wondrous bile, scales tough as the hide of lesser dragons, and potent musk glands with a scent that produced euphoria in most sentients and which also enhanced channelling. The Skrelmn often killed the hunters, but the rewards were great enough to lure the foolhardy, the brave, and the dangerously inventive.
At ten paces from Sadira the Skrelmn ceased its lazy undulations and surged forward, sending up sand like the spray from a great ship powering through the waves as its glistening back broke the sands.
Its head reared up two paces from Sadira. It was a blur of motion, moving at the speed of a galloping stallion. She could see the great jaws, like those of some massive crocodile. Rows of serrated teeth and a gaping gullet greeted her. The beast was, as she had requested, big enough to swallow her whole. The desert tribes had a saying “To stare into the gullet of the Skrelmn is to look death in the eye.” This saying had survived The Reckoning and the conquest of the area by The Chosen. Sadira could see why.
The jaws snapped shut. The crowd gasped, but the beast tasted only air.
Sadira leapt to the side, in Panther's Hunt. She leapt again, stabbing her dual blades into the beast’s side. Finding a weak-point between the scales, her sword sank in. She drove the blade in a foot before she forced to back away. Angry stingers and snapping jaws closed towards her. The little wound she had inflicted seemed only to enrage the beast.
The Gladiatrix danced around the worm. If you were to hear a description of the bulk of the fight, second hand, it would seem dull. How can one convey the artistry which she showed in baiting the deadly jaws, and then sidestepping or leaping away at the very last moment? She did this again and again, flirting with death. The crowd was entranced, dreading and relishing each moment.
Sadira's deadly swords often bit the Skrelmn's flesh, but did not slow the beast. Most of its Vital organs were too deep.
Sadira had a strategy in mind to kill the beast, but it required her to work the crowd into a frenzy. She did so with all of her skill as a peerless performer.
In truth she had trained intensively with some of the finest Sandwyrm hunters on the sly, and now, she used some of their techniques for dealing with the beasts. Sadira was daring, but also well-prepared. She knew the real danger for someone of her grace and speed was not the vicious maw but the stinger-tipped tentacles. These she kept an eye on, batting them away with her swords and making sure to move so that it could never bring all four to bear on her at once.
Sadira also knew from her studies of the beast, that it did not rely on vision. There were no eyes on its head. It appeared to sense vibrations and noise. The roar of the crowd made it harder for the creature to target her. Still her danger was great.
An astute observer might ask why Sadira chose to use her two smaller blades instead of Bellasdoom. This had much to do with how she wished to finish the beast.
When the crowd reached that frenzied peak on the verge of explosive excitement, Sadira judged herself ready. She drew a torrent of power for a single spell; a primal surge that would gift her with tremendous strength and vitality. Then she lured the beast into attacking her, weaving her way through the four thrashing tentacles, batting stingers aside, and slipping through grasping coils, she moved closer. As the creature reared up to snap at her with those gruesome jaws, she leapt. She took a deep breath and leapt. She vanished, jumping right down the beast's throat.
Sadira did not hear the wail of dismay from the crowd, but some part of her could feel Gavin's surge of terror, even as the beast's grinding gullet tried to crush her. She had jumped past the deadly teeth, but faced annihilation of a different sort as the powerful throat closed around her. Her muscles, enhanced by her spells, became li
ke steel cables pushing back against the wall of flesh bearing down on her. She couldn't breathe. Desperation, claustrophobia, and fear sent adrenaline screaming into her system. She struggled. The desperation and fear of the crowd bore down on her, one of the negative aspects of drawing power from them. She willed herself to continue. She had learned some of the techniques of the Pit Fighter School so that she could wield her blades with such tremendous pressure upon her. When her blades finally found purchase and cut into the slick wall of flesh and muscle she almost drowned in the flood of blood. Sadira forced herself to keep digging through the flesh. She wanted to live, to see the sun, to hear the roar of the crowd. She thrashed and cut for what seemed an eternity.
For a few heartbeats everyone thought they had seen the end of Red Scorpion. Gavin felt her fear as the gullet pressed in on her, but a moment later he felt triumph through their bond. He understood what Sadira intended then. The Chosen looked at him sharply as he relaxed. The worm thrashed. It spayed the sands red, vomiting blood. It convulsed and fell to the ground.
A curious quiet, pregnant with hope, descended upon the arena. All of the spectators had read the stories or heard the legends of great warriors who are swallowed by huge beasts and cut their way out. And now they saw their heroine re-enact this moment, as Sadira Lacivia, Red Scorpion, cut her way out of the beast, gasping for air and bathed in gore.
The arena commentators and newsmongers would later dissect this match. They would point to the fact that Sadira had obviously prepared for this. Some would even say that the Skrelmn really wasn't that dangerous in the arena. But to those who were there, as Sadira Lacivia, Red Scorpion, cut her way free, emerging from the beast like some primal Goddess of War and Life, screaming her triumph..., Well, such a thing cannot be brought low by the words of little men who cannot see the wonder and terror of the world. They remembered.
Chapter Forty-Eight: The Tournament
1147/06/01 AR, Dun Loryn Tournament
“Tournaments are different. With a lot of matches packed into a few days, toughness and endurance matter more. That's why we’re gonna win this one. Hammerhorns!” Delph, lifelong fan
“These Greens have become irritating, what can we do to foil them?” A conversation between two Meliorist Chosen.
Gavin spent three precious months with Sadira before returning to the North to train with Ravius and Omodo for the Dun Loryn tournament. During that time they lived and trained together, venturing to the Campus Martius for the New Year's Festival. This time they made it to the Grand Year's End ceremony in the Parade Square of Krass, which marked the beginning festival week. It was glorious to be among the people and both of them found themselves among fans, a new sensation for Gavin. It was an idyllic time, and Gavin was sorely tempted to stay with Sadira, forgetting his cares and taking The Chosen's offer. The idea of fighting in front of the massive crowds in Brightsands excited him, especially with Sadira at his side.
But he had made promises in the North and they both knew that it was best for him to return. Sadira was sad to see her lover depart, but she could see he still had unfinished tasks that went beyond the tournament.
o-----
“You seem distracted,” said Sax. He spoke slowly, as if he was testing each word, savouring it. “Your attacks are off. You ready to meet Valcoeur?”
“I've been thinking about the power I drew upon in Brightsands,” said Gavin after a pause. He was not ready to speak about the smith, this man who looked so much like him.
“The power of the crowd is tempting,” said Sax. “But it has its downsides. We can talk about that later.”
“I hear The Chosen use a stronger version of that form of channelling.” said Gavin.
“You're drifting,” said Sax, letting his irritation show.
“I've never felt anything like it,” said Gavin, dreamily. He was oblivious to Sax's frown. The Ogre stepped forward, lightning-quick, and jabbed through Gavin's guard. His sword drew blood.
“Hey!” objected Gavin.
“The crowd won't be impressed if you let that through,” said Sax. “Fundamentals matter.”
Gavin muttered a curse.
“And if you are channelling from them, you will lose more that blood when they turn,” said Sax.
o-----
Dun Loryn, named after a long dead Chosen, was not nearly as ugly and imposing as the other hill-forts bordering the Blightwall mountains. The dun stone of the walls was decorated with flower bearing vines, gentle colours coming into full bloom as the summer deepened. The town that sheltered in and around the old fortress walls, was clean and well kept, having a rustic feel to it that reminded Gavin of the long settled villages in the Promise, the lands near Krass where veterans were settled.
The streets and houses were all decorated for the tournament. Massive pennants hung from the fortress walls representing each team and their Faction. The single green pennant, theirs, hung among a dozen others. Gavin felt a surge of pride seeing his symbol, a lion in a defensive crouch, on that banner. Faction colours were evident elsewhere, gaudy and resplendent, on the signs of local shops, on smaller banners hanging from the windows of the daub and wattle houses, on flags undulating limply in the mild breeze, and most obviously on the clothing of people navigating the packed streets.
The Dun Loryn Faction Open was usually a small tournament that interested only the most ardent fans of The Great Games. It was locally important, feeding the sleepy tourist economy of the area. This year it was considered to be an event of great significance, a vital gateway tournament for lesser known fighters hoping to get a shot at the Grand Championships in three years. Consequently the town was overflowing with people and a sea of tents, great covered wagons, and other temporary accommodations swamped the farm fields and nearby hills.
The townsfolk of Dun Loryn were not used to this kind of attention, but they took it with tireless good cheer showing the hospitality for which the people of the Border Domains were famed. Gavin found himself smiling as he made his way to the fortress. But his smile froze when he noticed the bright Gold pennant hanging just above the front gate. Valaran had entered the tournament.
o-----
“It's called an open tournament for a reason,” said Cleothera. “They can't deny him entrance if he qualifies. Can we move on now?”
“It seems unfair; the entire Green Faction gets to field one team, us,” said Gavin. “Valaran's Faction isn't even a fraction of the size.”
“The Reds and Blues made the same argument about the Greens not too long ago,” said Omodo. “Valaran managed to gather enough popular support to get his Golds faction status. It isn't right for us to deny them, even if we think they are up to no good.”
“They even have a manifesto!” said Ravius.
“Let me guess: more Deathmatches,” said Gavin. “A return to the Gladiatorial traditions of old.”
“That's likely the new Faction's least toxic idea, actually,” said Cleothera. “They also want to disband The Deliberative.”
“That tired idea again,” said Ravius.
“This seems really unfair,” said Gavin.
“Enough. We can't do anything about it,” said Omodo. “Valaran's involvement doesn't change anything. This tournament is a chance to put our Faction on the map. The Greens stand for social justice and equality and I will gladly face any challenge to help them gain support. Winning at Dun Loryn will help the Greens get seats in the Popular Assembly out here. I want to help make the Domains a better place for everyone. Valaran wants to put some of his Death-League friends in our way? Fine. More glory to the cause when we beat them on our way to the top.”
o-----
Dun Loryn was a small town, but the arena was built appropriately for the seat of power for a Chosen. Carved into the stone hillside behind and below the main keep, the outer walls of the arena connected to the outer walls of the fortress proper, giving the whole place the feel of a giant courtyard. It could seat almost twenty thousand, not including the balconies
and windows built on the keep looming over it, and it was remarkably well-maintained.
Chosen Mordhawk, Gavin's strange patron, Master Sax, and the Dragon's Voice would be watching them from one of those perfectly crafted observation boxes. Chosen Loryn must have really enjoyed the games.
“I've heard they rent this place out for private fights,” said Ravius.
“A boon to the town,” said Gavin. Even something as vicious as The Great Games could help people, becoming entwined with their lives and fashions. Once he had idly dreamed of ending the ugly tradition, but what kind of disaster would that bring? “None of the local folk are even here; they are so busy trying to make a good impression on the rest of the Domains.”
“Just like us,” said Omodo. “I have a good feeling about this tournament, my friends. This is the start of something important.”
“Hope and change, eh, little brother?” said Ravius.
“Exactly Ravius,” said Omodo. “It may seem trite, but I want to use my gifts to help people. The more recognition we get the more influence the Faction will have.”
“You'll make a great Chosen, big man,” said Gavin.
“Thanks,” said Omodo “Although I'm not sure I could take Sadira, she knows me too well.”
Gavin shrugged. He had heard Sadira say the same, although she was eager for the challenge nonetheless.
The fighting grounds were perfectly prepared, the sand hand-raked into clean white lines. Gavin felt bad disturbing that perfect symmetry. The three Gladiators walked out from under the shadow of the keep, its sheer walls looming like a cliff behind them. The crowd, many of them wearing Green, cheered raucously as they raised their weapons in salute.
Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power Page 21
