Baurtrum had learned the powerful domination spell from Mondarvis. He had used the forbidden magic to help Valaran, quite likely on behalf of some superior agency. Officer Erbly had either been part of their cadre who turned against them, or had recognized the heretic. They had reacted by using the same magic to turn nearby travellers into mindless killers and send them after Erbly, who had unleashed his golem in a futile effort to fend them off. When Captain diAuran had come to suspect Baurtrum, he had betrayed Mondarvis, setting him up to take the fall. When they had arrived before he could complete a proper mind-wipe, he pretended to be interrogating his former colleague and had then accidentally set him free, knowing that Sax or diAuran would be forced to kill Mondarvis. After that he had just had to survive an interrogation of his own and weather the displeasure of his superiors. Then he had returned to helping Valaran.
Cleothera's foot connected with the orb. Hands grasped at her as figures converged from around the room. Something whistled through the air, by her ear. The orb sailed out of Baurtrum's hand and he turned eyes comically wide. The runed sphere arced through the air, shattering as it hit the box's protective wards, overloading them, and shattering the orb. A rush of power washed over the room. Everyone fell. Cleothera was expecting this; she rolled as she hit the ground, and regained her feet at the edge of the box. She looked over into the seats below, filled with agitated people.
“Bitch,” snarled Baurtrum, “You'll pay for that!”
Cleothera looked back at him. Five burly men with empty eyes moved towards her. More dominated Thralls. Too many for her to handle.
“You're the criminal here Baurtrum,” said Cleothera. “The Deliberative is already wary of you; this will put you away for good.”
“Silly little Elf,” said Baurtrum. “I have been playing this game for a long time. I have allies who will ensure my safety. All I have to do is make sure you can't speak out against me.”
“Even if you silence me, someone will see through your scheme,” said Cleothera. “You'll pay for what you've done.”
“I'm sure that will console you when I'm the favoured friend of the next Chosen and you are an ill used, brain-wiped, tongueless whore dying from sphincter rot in a Dregs gutter.” sneered the Dwarf.
Hands reached for her. Cleothera vaulted the railing, screaming shrilly to warn those below. She pushed off and leapt to ensure that she would fall. She had a momentary view of the arena, Omodo and Valaran fighting, before the ground leapt to meet her. He body crunched into stone stairs. Her arms snapped from trying to break her fall. As the pain hit, she almost wished that she had not attuned to the stone. As her broken eyes dimmed, she hoped that her efforts had been enough to aid Omodo. Then the darkness took her.
Baurtrum had no way of knowing that Cleothera lived. He also had no way of knowing she was desperate and working alone. Fearing the worst, he fled. By the time the healers woke Cleothera, he was on the run.
o-----
“HAMMERHORN! HAMMERHORN! HAMMERHORN!”
Valaran heard it. He felt the power of that hated shout growing. This was his moment, and yet they were cheering the Armodon's name. Soon it would drown out even the loudest chanting from his Golds within the arena. He felt a small tremor of unease.
This was rapidly followed by a sudden feeling of inverted sensation, as if the world had turned upside down for a moment. The nature of Valaran's bond with the crowd changed and shattered, as Baurtrum lost control of his spell and then fled. Valaran was only dimly aware of the specifics of the Grey-Robe's efforts on his behalf, however, and so his suspicious mind attributed this shift to the chanting.
“You are going to die here,” Valaran said to Omodo, covering his sudden feeling of vertigo.
“They know, and yet they cheer me still,” said great Omodo softly, motioning with an arm to the few Greens cheering him from the stands. He thought he could make out Delph with Green Sting on his shoulders. Who would think that you could feel solace at such a time? And yet he took heart knowing that they were there, cheering him. “Even this failure won't kill their love for me Valaran. My life... my life is built on good dreams and great friendships. If it must end here, so be it. I made my peace with death before I ever stepped on the sands.”
“I will cut you up,” hissed Valaran. “I will make you beg. Your pathetic followers will see what you're really made of when I make you scream and beg taintborn.”
“Well,” said Omodo. He felt his life slipping from him, felt death's touch in the dimming of his vision, but he took heart hearing the cheers. It banished the dark thoughts of old and reminded him of everything he had accomplished. It blunted the inevitable. “Just make sure you pay attention to the score Valaran..., after all, I'm ahead.”
Ars Certamen. Knockdown for points. Faction rules. It dawned on Valaran then that he had agreed to a match that he had a chance of losing. Omodo had already punched him to the ground once. He had to do the same before killing the beast or he would lose to this stupid technicality. Why had he agreed to this? He felt uncertainty ripple through his connection to the crowd as his Golds also realized that Omodo was outscoring him.
“Such a clever creature,” he said. “I hope it consoles you when I'm pissing on your carcass.”
“Come then, mercenary.” said Omodo. He spat at his feet, and felt the weight of sadness settle on him as he saw that it was red. He began to channel and weave a spell of healing. He knew Valaran would use his strange magic to turn it against him, but he had to try; it was in him to attempt to survive, to live as long as he could. “Your master's paid your price, best not keep him waiting.”
Valaran twisted the Armodon's spell, using it to wrack him with pain. He grinned and advanced as Omodo staggered and fell to his knees. The Armodon had to hold his innards in with one hand, leaning on his war-maul with the other. Valaran just needed to topple the beast to the ground once before he killed him and they would be tied in points. The crowd was his, he would win any appeal, he had made sure of that. The Golden Giant moved in, waiting for his moment to strike.
Pain suffused Omodo. His vision blurred. His breathing was laboured. He thought of his friends. He thought of his family. He gathered the last of his energy. Took one last tortured breath of sweet air. Then he waited for Valaran to close. Death was upon him. Omodo was afraid to die, and yet resolute in his acceptance. All men must die, he thought, and if it must be so, then let me die well! His other hand darted to his weapon. Pain seared through him as the wound he had been holding closed reopened. Omodo looked up, his eyes met Valaran's, and then he swung, roaring blood and giving everything he had to one last gambit.
Fool, thought Valaran, he's swung too high. Despite his hate, he could not help but admire the beast's endurance, as he moved to duck under the massive war-maul.
Just like him to forget the horn, thought Omodo as he swept his head back towards Valaran. He felt the blade pierce him. Grunted. Tasted blood. Heard the roar of the crowd. Felt his horn hit hard. Felt the crowd's hate turn to shock as he came up. His vision blurred. He heard someone, many people? Shouting his name. HAMMERHORN! He saw a blade sticking from his chest, a fountain of red, strangely beautiful. He felt cold. He saw Valaran on the ground. Felt triumph.
Omodo tried to take a step, but his legs would not move. He tried to take a breath, but his lungs disobeyed him. He tried to speak, but he choked on blood. He fell to his knees once more, the red sand rising to embrace him. His eyes blurred and darkness crept in. He felt something hit him. He could not move. He tried to grab at something but got only a handful of sand and blood. A sense of peace settled upon him. And as an enraged Valaran began to hack his limbs from his body Omodo, Hammerhorn, shuddered and died.
As his spirit left his frame, he was assaulted by the hatred of the Golds. But he heard his name being called by the people in the streets and he broke beyond the hate and towards the sound of cheering. His last thoughts were of wide open fields and the sweet laughter of friends.
The Trumpets sounded
. Valaran looked to the score.
Greens 6. Gold 3.
Valaran had lost the match. He'd lost. How can I lose? he thought, I'm a winner! It took a moment to register.
“NOOOO!” he shouted. And then turned to Omodo's body, laying into it with his blades.
Valaran hacked Omodo into an unrecognizable mass. Screaming fury and covered in gore he chopped the great beast's horn off his head and held it up for the crowd to see. Some of his Golds roared their praises, and he drew savage fury from them. So much did he drink of their power that several clutched at their hearts as they failed. He laughed then. And after he was done, as he said he would, he pissed on the great Armodon's remains.
Most of the crowd, be they Gold, Green, or Grey, were disgusted by Valaran's display.
Chapter Fifty-Two: Gladiator's Wake
1147/07/17 AR Omodo's Funeral
1148/06/05AR Gavin's next match, Bullstock
“It is one thing for a Gladiator to kill an opponent, but the disrespect for the fallen and feral attitude shown by Valaran diVolcanus mark him as unworthy of the acclaim he has been given. His actions were those of a savage, not a Champion.” The Dragon Crimvidinn, at the Dun Loryn enquiry.
“Officer Baurtrum Onyxclan is from this moment forth a Heretic and a Traitor. No effort will be spared in hunting him down. He must not escape us.” Ordo Grevex.
“In the end this condemnation of Valaran is yet another example of the terrible envy gnawing at the heart of the modern Empire. Valaran diVolcanus's behaviour was a little extreme for the so-called Free Leagues, but nothing unusual in the Death-Leagues. I imagine Valaran is rather perplexed as to why the mob is suddenly so outraged. In his mind he was just doing his duty, and now his hard-won image is forever tarnished. It is shameful really.
Shameful because we have allowed a Great Man to be dragged down. The mob is so eager to attack our Champion because he is born winner. The mob loves to see someone of his noble stature and wilful character dragged down to their own level. I predict that by the time Valaran arrives at the Grand Championships in three years, no one will even remember the Armodon's name.” G.G. White Arena Post Editorial.
Systems do not care. The Arenas of the Domains wait for no man's sorrow. There is no compassion allowed for Gladiators. Omodo body was gone by the time Gavin and Ravius bulled their way into the arena and cremated before they could see it. Even the white sands had already been groomed back into pristine, unbloodied condition.
Neither Gladiator remembered much of the aftermath of the tie-breaking match. The streets were chaos as Greens, Reds, and Oranges clashed with Golds, shoving and shouting until order was imposed by the Legions and The Chosen two days later. Valaran left immediately. Controversy followed him; he was later reprimanded in absentia by tournament officials and suspended from competition after an official enquiry. Many scribes and commentators of The Great Games pronounced their shock and disgust with his behaviour in links and newsprints over the next few months.
Gavin and Ravius received a description of the battle from the handful of tearful Greens who had actually managed to get seats. Omodo had responded to Valaran's call for Ut Nex with Certamen. He had lured Valaran into a match that the Golden one could not win. Omodo was the victor, but Valaran had killed him and treated him brutally. A heart-broken Delph and Green Sting described the mighty Armodon's final moments to the Greens, and a crowd of Villagers. In the end they were all overcome with emotion. Gavin was sickened to hear that Valaran had taken great Omodo's horn as a trophy. Tears flowed, angry oaths were sworn, and Valaran was cursed many times. But Omodo was also praised, and as Delph's rough voice spoke of his hero's last stand, a martyr was born. It was this symbol that would give the Green Faction unity and purpose in the years ahead.
After the legions were called in and order was restored in Dun Loryn, the Greens gathered in their camp. The streets of Dun Loryn were thick with grief and anger still, but Valaran was gone. The people mourned Omodo, their hero, victorious even in death. The Greens swore revenge and undying hatred for the bastard Valaran. Then they drank themselves into oblivion. Gavin's dreams were raw and haunted for many nights. Far way Sadira could sense his agitation, and knowing the cause, she came.
Gavin penned a challenge to Valaran the night after Omodo's death, before Valaran's suspension was announced. There are many channels for men who want to butcher each other in the arena. The Death-Leagues. A formal duel. Instead of panic or loss, he just felt numb, shocked that Omodo was dead. He had known it was a possibility, perhaps even a likelihood, but it seemed unreal nonetheless. Underneath it all, the loss and sorrow, his undying anger at Valaran, lit like fury's furnace, was ready to explode.
Of course, that was all according to another plan; it always is in The Great Games.
o-----
Baurtrum wrung his hands, pacing back and forth in the ship's Cabin. His false trails appeared to have worked. He was almost free of the Domains. All around him he could hear the sounds of the ship's crew readying to move. Beyond that he could hear the sounds of Frostbay port, the water, and distant activity. His ears strained and any unfamiliar sound bought about a jump and a pause. He fretted, close to escape, but trapped by the need to wait for a pilot to guide them out of the port in the early morning mists.
Sax crept up the side of the ship, clinging to it like a spider, his callused hands finding purchase on the weathered wood. He moved patiently, his strange skin of armour changing colours to blend in as he climbed. A small spell, easily lost amid the magics of a busy dock, made him lighter. He used a tiny mirror to peer into a window the forecastle cabin, and there, he sighted his quarry.
Baurtrum paced, fear growing in his gut. He felt like shouting at the crew and captain, but he had already dominated them with magic. They would work themselves to death if it would speed up their departure. He would need to be careful with the pilot though. He part of port security and Baurtrum's ship could not outrun a naval vessel if the guide alerted them. He did not notice Sax.
Cleothera waited aboard the Jezebelle's Edge, a massive ship of the line. It had been easy enough to guess which ship Baurtrum had taken. Few crews readied a ship in such stiff silence. She wondered if fear had made Baurtrum stupid, or if he was just that arrogant or that desperate. She received a mirror-signal communication from Sax, confirming the presence of her target. She nodded to the captain. The Jezebelle's Edge lurched into motion. Marines formed up on deck, ready to board.
Baurtrum snapped out of his reverie as the warship sailed into view, hailing his own vessel. His heart thudded. The dominated captain responded to the hail woodenly. The warship closed, slamming shut Baurtrum's hopes for escape. He could see marines on the decks. His dominated sailors would not hold them for long. He was not sure if it was the Greys or his former allies who had found him. It hardly mattered; if either side caught him they would gleefully “interrogate” him. The Greys would use cleaner, more humane methods, but the end result would be the same. He would not allow them to take him. If he could not escape, he must take his own life. He headed to the powder room.
Sax slipped onto Baurtrum's ship through a cannon port. Moving silently and swiftly he caught Baurtrum as the traitor closed in on the powder room, a torch in hand.
The first indication that Baurtrum had of the silent Ogre's presence was the torch being snatched from his grasp and then a painful sensation just below his neck. He lost control of his limbs, falling to the ground. He couldn't even roll over.
Sax turned Baurtrum over with his foot. He held up a bloody stiletto and smiled. Baurtrum spat and cursed. He was alive but helpless.
“Too slow,” said Sax. “Should have known better than to think you could escape us. No easy death for you. You're going to spend a long time in in a deep hole.”
Baurtrum opened his mouth. What he might have said was lost as his doom came to pass. There was a surge of power. The Dwarf began to writhe, his head flopping around, teeth chattering, nails raking the wood. His eyes shriv
elled. His skin sagged. Sax tried to counter the spell, attacking the pattern until his nose bled, but he could not match its power. He ran for help, but by the time he and Cleothera returned, Baurtrum was nothing but a husk.
The destruction was so thorough that even powerful necromancy could not provide them with more answers.
o-----
The Dragon, Crimvidinn, benefited greatly from Omodo's triumph at Dun Loryn, as did the Green Faction as a whole. With the Dun Loryn victory the Greens earned respectability and a surge of support that earned Crimvidinn's chosen candidate a seat in a local assembly. He was the first candidate openly backed by a Dragon to win. And the cold truth of the matter was that Omodo's death served the Greens very well in the long run; he became a martyr, a hero to their cause, drawing thousands to them. His death galvanized the young Faction. Omodo's image was never tarnished; it only grew with time.
Valaran was rebuked by the Assembly of the Covenant, the highest of the public bodies, and suspended from competition for at least a year. The arena gossip-mongers turned on him in a frenzy, mocking him as a brute and a monster, destroying his once pristine image.
Still, those who had sent Valaran to foil Omodo were pleased in their own way. They had their eyes on a greater game.
o-----
They scattered Omodo's ashes on verdant, vibrant grasslands called the Dragon's Green. It was a bright day with gentle winds, much at odds with the sadness of those gathered. Sadira, Gavin, Ravius, Lina, Sax, and Cleothera stood shoulder to shoulder with Omodo's family and the many folk who knew and loved him. They came from all over the Domains to pay homage to him. Men and women who'd fought beside the great-hearted Armodon in the arena, trained with him on the Commons, knew him from his youth, or simply exchanged words with him on their travels. Many were people that he had helped, lending his good name and strong back to those who asked. Unassuming and kind, despite his great strength and talent, Omodo attracted many friends and followers. Despite his size, people found him more approachable than most of the Gifted. As the motes of ash that had been his body were taken by the wind, even the most stalwart of Gladiators and the fiercest of Gladiatrices were moved to tears.
Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power Page 26
