Then the three of them fought, back to back, crushing and unweaving animating threads of pattern, blocking blows from stone hammer-fists and vicious howling winds that tossed stones and blinding sand at them. They fought on even after an air elemental found the glass left on the sand in the fire elemental's wake and hurled it into them, shredding skin and piercing flesh. They fought on for the crowd and for their brothers, unflinching until the trumpets sounded at last, calling them to rest.
Their final score was one-hundred and forty-seven points. It would have to do.
Chapter Fifty-One: Breaker
1147/06/06 AR, Dun Loryn Tournament. Greens 147, Golds 147 (Tied 1st place) after the third round. Gavin's Test Match for Master Rank.
“In the arena, we are all equal. A blade does not care for the colour of the flesh it tears, a spell does not care for the sex of the warrior that weaves it, death and victory do not care for the race of those who deal them out.” Omodo diYava
“I have no equals.” Valaran diVolcanus
“Valaran is their team captain,” said Ravius. “You know that he will invoke Ut Nex if you fight him in the tie-breaker. That's why he's here isn't it?”
“Should I be afraid?” said Omodo. “People have to stand up to him; or do you want Valaran to be our next Chosen?”
“That would be a disaster,” said Gavin. “But Ravius is just worried about you. Valaran has never lost a Deathmatch, even one invoked through Ut Nex. No one has fought him in the arena and lived. That's not just improbable; it is downright suspicious. The crowds show mercy to brave fighters. He must have some edge that The Deliberative cannot account for. Think about his matches against Ruby Colossus and Sturmkrieg.”
“But the Greens need this victory,” said Omodo “Winning a major tournament will get us clout in the next election cycle and attention in the arenas. Winning here will consolidate the Faction, give it energy and direction. New Gladiators, Vassals, and people will join. With seats in the Popular Assemblies we can reform outdated laws that are holding us back. This is a tipping point. If we back down now, the Greens will look like a straw Faction. This is bigger than any of us.”
“Is that worth your life?” said Gavin.
“Yes,” asserted Omodo, gaze intense. “Can you honestly tell me that if you were in my position you would back down, Gavin?”
Gavin look away for a moment, feeling shamed. He looked up, meeting Omodo's gaze. “No, I would not.”
“Good,” said Omodo. “Valaran thrives on fear. Whatever tricks he has won't cut it at the Grand Championships. We need to show others that we aren't afraid of him, especially now that he is fighting under Faction rules, outside his comfort zone.”
Gavin nodded. “Well, I've been studying the Golden Giant. I wanted to take him down myself. I'll teach you everything I know about his fighting style and what I've learned about his magic.”
o-----
Gavin dragged himself out to the fighting grounds. It was his test match for Master Rank. The idea of forfeiting the match tempted him. He had arranged it weeks ago, choosing to take it as soon as the tournament was supposed to end, not knowing there would be a tie-breaker in Dun Loryn. His mind was tossing with the possibilities of Omodo's fight with Valaran. He had heard rumours that the Golds had bought out most of the seats in the arena for the fight this afternoon. Surely Ravius would be able to wrangle some for them. Somehow. he managed a salute.
His opponent was already waiting. One of the Pale, a heretical sect from the continent of Sudra, captured in the centuries-old series of wars taking place in the Trials, the broken lands south of the Sea of Sands. At any other time Gavin would have been fascinated by the patterns of ritual scarification on the pale skin, the sharpened teeth, and the designs of the unknown rune-stones in the woman's hair beads. Here was a culture that he knew little about, whose magic had diverged from the traditions of the domains. He did not even listen as they read out the litany of her crimes, for his curiosity was buried under the weight of his emotions.
The stands were empty. Only a few spectators had bothered to turn out. Some of the Greens were there, but he did not see Ravius among them. He was heartened to see Cleothera standing with the Grey-Robes. Their eyes met; he saw his mood reflected in them.
The trumpet rang out. A few subdued sounds came from the audience. He lazily turned to face his opponent, forced to pay attention at last.
The Pale are a loose collections of clans that inhabit the jungles of Sudra. When The Chosen first expanded into the area now known as the Trials, far to the south of Brightsands where the continents of Tabyria and Sudra nearly touch, they encountered the Pale. At first the forces of the Domains thought that they had encountered a horrific variant of Beastmen or vicious shape-shifters. The truth is somewhere in between; the Gifted of the Pale are skilled in the art of binding spirits to flesh. They can bind the spirits that are aligned with their clan to any of their tribe. The warriors of the Pale are then able to call upon the spirits, gaining their strength and ferocity, and even their shape in some cases.
The Pale place great emphasis on freedom. The spirit-binders rarely coerce the spirits they work with, preferring to bargain and make lasting alliances. This desire for freedom played out as one might expect when emissaries from The Chosen declared them all heretics and demanded that they surrender and join the Domains. The various Clans of the Pale set aside their personal differences and united to fight the Legions of Krass. The terrain, the abilities of the Pale, and enemies from Sudra who joined the Pale have made the occupation of the Trials a brutal, bloody affair with no end in sight. This warfare has cost the Domains a great deal in blood and treasure, and has blunted the desire for war in the capital.
Riritaka, Gavin's opponent, was a spirit-binder from Ghost Claw clan. Captured in a cunning ambush, she had been branded a heretic after questioning. Her clan had refused to exchange prisoners for her freedom, leaving Riritaka to a grim fate in the arena unless she renounced her ways. Her honour was more valuable to her than her life, and so she chose to fight rather than bend. A warrior's death before the enemies of her people would have to suffice, unless she could somehow win her freedom on the white sands. Even if she did somehow survive, her clan had abandoned her; she had enemies among her people, she hated those most of all.
Riritaka watched Gavin as he entered the arena. The Grey-Robes were talking, but she ignored their tedious prattle. The Gladiator quirked an eyebrow at her nakedness. She had thrown away the battle harness they gave her and they had denied her own spear and her knife, powerful relics given to her by her father. Besides, she had her own armour. She studied the Gladiator with mystical senses as he strode into the arena. She was shocked to see the signs of a strange spirit-bind upon him, a joining that had melded his spirit with that of a woman. She would almost regret killing him; studying that binding would advance her art.
A sound like an elephant's call rang out. The fight began.
Riritaka called upon Gurumoro, called Spleen-eater, the most brutal Daemon that rode with her. She coaxed him forth with promises of soft flesh and red blood, letting him flow into her body. She hated allowing him to possess her, but he was the only weapon she had, and her honour demanded that she fight. The cry of rage, pain, and violation, as he possessed her turned into a bestial roar half way through.
Gavin, his mind distracted with thoughts of Omodo and Valaran, was just registering the fact that his opponent was naked, unarmed, and looked like a prisoner of war. The conflux of magic as Riritaka let the Daemon take her snapped his mind fully into the present. His opponent changed, her flesh warping, as a new pattern meshed with hers. Her muscles swelled, her fingers hardened into vicious talons, and her mouth became a gaping orifice filled with sharp rasping teeth.
Riritaka had little control over Gurumoro when he possessed her; she could direct his hatred, but was otherwise relegated to watching and feeling, as if she was a mere passenger in her own body. Her mind was filled with the Daemons emotions, his unse
emly desires, and his potent maleness. Gurumoro was bound to her as a punishment, a lesson from her father, and a sacrifice made to protect her clan. She rarely called upon him, for not only was he difficult to control, he was prone to berserk rage, stupidly vicious, and much harder to put away. None of these mattered in single combat against this Gladiator.
Gavin was taken aback by the sight of the daemonic spirit-binding, which was as disturbing to his magical senses as it was to his eyes. But adrenaline flooded him, and he sprang forward, hurling his broad-bladed spear while the change was still underway.
The spear hit the Riritaka-Daemon in the chest. It only excited Gurumoro. The Daemon funnelled the pain into Riritaka's portion of the binding, causing her to further lose control as the vicious sensation overcame her. The creature ripped the barbed tip of the weapon free, screeching with pleasure and hate.
Gavin watched the thing pull his spear from its chest, heedless of the wound it caused. He readied a spell, a simple mental blast, but hesitated before casting it. He could sense two patterns, merged yet distinct, and was unsure how to target the beast to full effect. It bounded towards him with a frog-like hop. He drew his short sword and met it, shield up.
The Riritaka-Daemon hit his shield, clinging to it with surprising agility, It did not seem to care that the razor edges cut into it. Gavin was pulled off balance by the creature's weight and they both tumbled to the ground. He stabbed twice as they rolled. Its claws raked his unarmoured back. An obscene tongue, long and barbed, snaked out of its mouth seeking to gouge out Gavin's eyes. He thrashed in panic, spurred by pain. Spikes began to grow from the creature as they wrestled, piercing him and grinding against his armour. Gavin felt fear envelop him and fought hard to control himself. He felt something thrusting against his leg, a gruesome phallic growth covered in spines.
The creature was sinuous and powerful now; its strength far greater than his. His blade merely seemed to encourage it. He wove a mental blast. He either caught the creature off guard or it was not especially resistant. It reared up, howling in pain. Gavin took the opportunity to get his leg between them and roll back, throwing it off him.
Riritaka could not help but laugh in the depths of her mind. The Gladiator's magic had caused Gurumoro a pain that he could not pass on to her. The powerful Daemon seemed indignant that it should have to suffer.
“Are you going to shed tears, little Daemon?” Riritaka taunted Gurumoro within the shared space in her mind. “Are you scared of this mortal man? Perhaps you should let me take control...”
The Riritaka-Daemon launched itself at Gavin, howling with rage. The Gladiator was fully focused on the fight now. Iron-hard claws slashed against shield and he barely avoided a kick from a sickle-taloned foot, aimed at his groin. He stabbed the beast, but it seemed to thrive on physical pain, like some berserkers. It attacked harder, catching Gavin with a raking claw on his upper arm and driving him back. Despite his wounds, though, he remained calm, assured by the idea that the beast was proving weak to his magic.
As Gavin fought, he probed the beast's pattern. He saw that his blade strikes, though damaging, fed it strength, as the Daemon transferred the pain to the other pattern and then syphoned energy from that pain. He discerned that the beast was made up of two components, overlaying each other somehow. Some leap of intuition or empathy told him that the binding between the Daemon and the woman was not entirely friendly. He read the patterns, looking for a weak spot.
Riritaka became frustrated as the Gladiator paid more and more attention to defence. Was he not one of the Sandborn, greatest enemies of her people? She had seen his kind travelling with the legions. Most of those would have inflicted enough damage to ensure her death already, although that would have made Gurumoro strong enough to kill them in return. Her honour had to allow that perhaps her opponent was smart enough to sense that Gurumoro grew more dangerous as the Gladiator struck the body they shared.
Gavin found what he was searching for. The woman's magic allowed the beast to possess her temporarily and thus kept the merging of their patterns to a minimum. He found the connection points, the release she herself would attempt to use when she banished the Daemon from her body. Then he attacked it. The Daemon resisted him. It came down to a contest of wills.
Riritaka felt Gurumoro grow fearful. She could not sense magic while the Daemon was in control. He redoubled his attacks, howling in mad rage, but the Gladiator's shield was like a wall and the Daemon's blows were as nothing to him. Then with shocking abruptness Gurumoro left her entirely. Her limbs warped back to their normal share. She was helpless while this happened. The Sandborn would surely kill her. She had hoped to take him with her at least, earn some vengeance, but she welcomed death nonetheless.
It did not come. When she regained full control, he was standing over her, his clear eyes looking down at her. She saw no hatred there, even when she spat on him. The wounds she had received were enough to make her feel weak, but not to kill her. Pity.
“Pigfucker,” Riritaka cursed. She knew how to swear in his language, at least. Then she told him in her own tongue how she would call Daemons to violate his mother and how she would piss on his ancestors' graves.
Gavin laughed. When he spoke Riritaka felt a gentle pressure on her mind and she understood every word he said perfectly, as if he spoke the true tongue of the Pale and not the language of their enemy. “Spirits protect me,” she prayed as she realized what he had done. “What kind of nightmare people have I fallen to?”
“You fought well,” said Gavin. “Why did you spit on me?”
“You are my enemy; you should kill me,” said Riritaka. He understood perfectly even though she spoke her native tongue. She cursed him again. “It is right that you should do so. Better to die with honour than to live as a slave in a place like this!”
Her words did not galvanize him. Instead his eyes took on a far-away look. Riritaka wished she had her knife and was not wounded.
“I've often thought about honourable death,” said Gavin. “I am not your enemy, Pale. I am a prisoner of this arena too.”
“I don't care what you have to say,” she said. “Just kill me.”
She let forth a string of curses.
“No,” replied Gavin. “I may not be free, but I am the victor. I choose to spare your life.”
“Why?” said Riritaka.
“Because I am not your enemy,” said Gavin. “You are a pawn of the arena. But if you are smart, you can survive. You can make your way back to your people, or learn to live with mine. I can learn from you.”
At that Riritaka felt calmer, thinking of the strange binding she could see dancing in the Gladiator's pattern. Maybe life could win out over honour, on occasion.
o-----
“Is everything ready, Baurtrum?” asked Valaran. He gazed down at the dour grey-clad Dwarf beside him.
“Have I ever failed you?” said Baurtrum, rolling his eyes.
“You've come close,” said Valaran.
“You would do well not to criticize me Valaran,” returned Baurtrum. “Your support is not as strong as it used to be.”
“My destiny remains unchanged,” said Valaran, smirking. “And we both know you are tied to me. If I fall, your machinations will be exposed. I'm sure you have the same contingencies in place...”
“Naturally,” said the Dwarf.
“Besides, beating this oaf is something the master wants,” said Valaran. “It will raise both of us in his esteem.”
“Agreed,” said Baurtrum. He knew Valaran was correct. Besides they were too entwined to betray each other now.
o-----
“This isn't good,” said Cleothera. She was pacing in Omodo's Arming Room. “The Golds bought up most of the seats instantly. Gavin and Ravius did not even make it into the arena. I think that might be part of Valaran's secret.”
“I've survived hostile crowds before,” said Omodo. He shrugged his massive shoulders. He felt remarkably calm for a man about to face the most feared Gla
diator of the day in a Deathmatch. “It will give him some advantage in channelling, but magic is not my strongest point.”
“You could decline Ut Nex,” said Cleothera. She wished that Sax were here.
“Do you think he will kill me?” said Omodo. He looked into her eyes, searching.
“If I thought it would be a fair fight, then I would say no,” said Cleothera. She kept her eyes on his, not wanting to give him the impression that she was not confident in his victory at such a crucial time. “But Valaran's record speaks for itself, forty-six Deathmatches with no survivors. That's statistically aberrant. Even the Death-Leagues show some mercy now and then. He is the most investigated Gladiator in a century. I don't trust him, or his backers, to fight fair.”
“Someone has to stand up to him, and it has fallen to me,” said Omodo. “I am not afraid.”
“I am,” said Cleothera, looking away so he could not see the tears forming in her eyes. “This is not an accident. Gavin recognizes the Grey-Robe that is with Valaran. He's the one who 'accidentally' killed Mondarvis during interrogation. It wouldn't surprise me if they tied scores just so they could set this up. They want you dead. Without you the Greens are nothing.”
“I've come too far to back down now,” he said. “If I were to decline this match, then everyone who believes in me will falter. It would do far more damage to the Faction than my death. I am an example to my people and my fans, I must show courage, even in the face of death. Besides I have the best Grey-Robe in Dun Loryn to foil their plans.”
Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power Page 24
