Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power

by C. P. D. Harris

  "Show me then," challenged Sadira, eyes hard, voice full of ice. "Come dance with me, old friend, one last time!"

  Karmal heard weary resignation in Sadira's voice because it was what she wanted to hear. She lopped forward with predatory vigour, like a wolf moving in to finish a wounded deer. Power flowed through her, dark and terrible. Her sword smouldered with heat, runes pulsing. “Victory is mine,” she thought.

  Sadira held Bellasdoom in a high stance, the hilt at chin level. The obsidian blade gleamed in the mid-day sun. Runes glowed as she willed them to life. She shifted her weight to her forward leg, ready to spring into one of several Scorpion's Gambit steps. She focused, taking in every detail as her mind, body, and weapon became one. As Karmal came within reach, swinging her cleaver in a gutting slash, Sadira swayed right and struck left with a downwards horizontal cut. Such was Sadira's speed that she struck Karmal's forearm in mid-swing, cutting deep into the flesh above her bracer. She then stepped smoothly, dancing, into an uppercut that left a deep cut on Karmal's scalp. She let the motion guide her, her blades becoming a storm of steel, drawing blood where her blows rained down.

  A lesser warrior would have been daunted, but the pain and blood merely spurred Karmal. She bulled her way into the bladestorm, striking Sadira with her armoured elbow. The blow caught Sadira's chin as the Shadow-Elf danced away. She staggered. Karmal followed up by shouldering into her. She shoved Sadira back to optimal range and swung. Her massive war-cleaver thundered through the air.

  Sadira recovered, dropping into the Scorpion Dance stance. She felt the wind of the cleaver as it cut the air above her. Her blade snaked out, cutting Karmal's leg. She rolled away before the flame- haired Gladiatrix could attack again.

  Berserk rage filled Karmal. Pain and the smell of blood only fed her anger. Certainty of victory made her reckless. She did not notice that Sadira had re-opened the arterial cut on her leg. Blood pumped from the wound, but Karmal felt nothing. She attacked with unrelenting fury. The arena became a maelstrom filled with the heat of flame, the flash of lightning, and a thundering clamour as Karmal closed on Sadira, like a child of The Reckoning's wild magic.

  Few could have withstood such an assault. But Sadira was tough as well as cunning. She endured the shocks and burns that she could not avoid. She danced away from the rest, always a hair's breadth away from Karmal's blade, tempting the berserker. Her blades kissed Karmal twice, glancing blows that enraged the Berserk Bloodthirster further. Karmal's war-cleaver scored a line across Sadira's leg, drinking blood and turning flesh to ash. Sadira did not falter though, her will equal to any pain, and she danced around the back-swing and answered with a cut of her own.

  Blood and scorch marks fouled the sand. Karmal's fury did not abate. By the time her cut sealed, she was half-dead from blood loss, although she failed to realize it. She could sense the loss of blood as a great hunger, and did not feel the sluggishness that came over her.

  After dodging a tremendous blast of molten stone, feeling her hair and skin sizzle at it flew past, Sadira saw her opponent charging towards her. Crimson mingled with the fiery hair and dripped into Karmal's rage filled eyes. Her skin seemed translucent from lack of blood. Her fangs gnashed. Sadira flowed into a ready stance, sword held at waist height with the tip pointed towards her opponent's throat. She waited. Her timing would have to be perfect. She wove the heart of the beast. Verdant strength filled her limbs. Karmal raised her sword. Sadira saw the opening she wanted and moved. Karmal, blind with rage and weakened by blood loss, did not realize her peril until Sadira's sword tipped her cleaver aside, while her second blade raked the emerald eyed Gladiatrix from crotch to collarbone, cleaving through armour, flesh, and bone.

  Flame-haired Karmal felt no pain, only the rage of the berserker. She could not understand why she found herself on her knees. She felt no weakness, only the hunger of the Bloodthirster. She rose, screaming a gurgling scream, dragging her intestines, blood pouring forth. Karmal felt no caution, only the mad lust of the recklessly ambitious. Power, drawn from a wellspring of bottomless rage, flowed through her and she unleashed a column of fire that blossomed around her, a conflagration that consumed her and Sadira both.

  Deadly Sadira surged forward into the flames, swinging her swords as the heat erupted all around them. Such was her mastery that she knew where to strike, even when fire-blind. The flames scourged her, but an adamantine will guided her hand.

  The crowd gasped as the two Gladiatrices disappeared from view, consumed by a geyser of flame. Such was the heat of this conflagration that all could feel it.

  The fire, however, dissipated abruptly. Sadira struck true, landing beside Karmal's headless body as it fell to the ground, crumbling to ash amidst the scorched and bloodied sands. Such was Karmal's rage that her own fire consumed her flesh as she died. Her last thoughts were choked with bitter anger.

  Sadira remained motionless. Most of her hair was singed off. Her skin was blackened and blistered. She felt fresh blood drip from some of her cuts and cracked skin. Her mouth tasted like ashes, and her heart ached as she watched a woman she'd called friend crumble into ash and dust.

  Her tears were lost in the heat.

  After a moment of silence the crowd roared. Their cheers thundered as they all surged to their feet. The clamour of half-a-million people screaming her name shook Sadira from her reverie. She drew a sobbing, painful breath. Victory was hers.

  Oh, the glory.

  Karmal's body was gone. All that remained of her was broken armour, a tuft of fiery hair, and her massive war cleaver, still glowing red hot as if it possessed of the last of Karmal's fire. (which, in fact, it did)

  Sadira bent to the ground. She grasped the massive war-cleaver, all that was left of her friend. Her flesh sizzled as she lifted the mighty weapon, but she hardly felt it. She owned the last of her broken friendship, the betrayal, the blindness, and the loss. The pain was good; it reminded her she was still alive. And as Sadira thrust the burning blade of her dead friend into the sky, she let loose a primal scream of anguish, triumph, and defiance.

  And the crowd screamed with her.

  o-----

  Sadira left the fighting grounds, carrying Karmal's cleaver with a lock of fiery hair wrapped around the blade protecting her hand from the heat. The hair did not burn. It would make a good handle.

  She collapsed onto the cool stone bench in her arming room. The war-cleaver was still smouldering, trying to burn her. Sadira smiled. How like Karmal. She stared at the blade, distracted. She did not notice the lack of attendants.

  “Gavin will fight Valaran next,” she thought. “If I bathe quickly, I will be able to watch.”

  She pushed herself to her feet. Her body was healing, but moving still required a great effort. The baths would help. Gavin would destroy Valaran in his match and then the two of them would meet in the finals: an epic lover's duel. It would be a welcome balm after all of this.

  Sadira stood and stretched her aching frame. She heard someone enter the arming room. There in the heart of the Empire, in a guarded location, she assumed it was an attendant come to heal her. She sensed a burst of power and then... nothing.

  o-----

  Karmal lounged sullenly outside the baths in the Campus Martius. She hated waiting for Sadira when she was with this Gavin. She just wished things could go back to the old days. Surely her rival wasn't serious about this guy. She resented all the attention Sadira was lavishing on him. Wasn't she good enough anymore?

  Chapter Sixty-One: Champions

  1150/07/17 AR Dun Mordhawk, Semi-final of the Grand Championships

  “Having a regular Grand Championships every fifty years not only satisfies the Gladiators, it also ensures that almost all the citizens of the Domains will see a new Chosen take the Oath in their lifetime.” children's textbook

  “Even if I have to set myself against The Chosen, I will not lose.” Valaran diVolcanus

  The Parade of Champions is the only day that business in Krass truly grind
s to halt. The festival week between each year still sees a booming trade in hospitality, transportation, and the various black markets. The Parade of Champions shuts down everything but the most essential of services, although the frenzy of preparation prior to the parade, and the lucrative activities that follow more than makes up for the momentary pause.

  Assassination attempts were not unheard of during the long history of the parade, but with the Capital Legions, the City Watch, and The Chosen themselves on hand, these were considered a rare possibility that no serious player of the Game would try. Behind the scenes the Blackcloaks and the Hearthbound cooperated with the city's underworld to ensure peace in the shadows. Riots were a far more common problem during the parade, but the routes had been redesigned to spread the crowds out throughout the city and minimize the chances of a stampede.

  During the parade each of the Grand Champions make their way through the streets in a winding procession that starts in the Campus Martius and ends in the immense parade square in front of the Grand Arena. Legionnaires, The Watch, Master Gladiators, Chosen, and Grey-Robes line the streets, along with nearly every Citizen in the city. The parade touches on every part of Krass, all but the very worst areas, allowing all citizens to see their Champions in full glory with a minimum of jostling for space.

  The parade is a complicated affair, a ritual that has evolved over centuries of The Great Games. It is a meticulously planned and orchestrated event. Animals and steam carriages are kept off the streets during the parade, making the movement of freight all but impossible. Only select merchants are allowed to do business in each area, paid a fortune from the Imperial Coffers to distribute free food and drink to all who attend.

  Naturally the Factions, the Citizen's Assemblies, and even a few of The Chosen have great political interests in the mechanics of such an event. Favours are traded, bribes are made, and even a few throats are slit over who was awarded a contract or how much various groups needed to be bribed, or threatened, to stop them from disrupting the parade.

  Despite all of the logistics and inconvenience and the usual behind-the-scenes power games, the Parade of Champions is the best loved holiday in the Capital. On the day of the Parade everyone gave up their daily routines to join with their neighbours, and with whatever visitors have been assigned to their section of the parade route, to get a chance to see the best and most popular Gladiators of the day.

  The Champions relish the opportunity to connect with the people of the Capital. Few of them have fought more than a handful of matches in the Grand Arena, which only hosts the very best Faction teams from around the Domains, the Master's Invitational, and a handful of other fighters on a regular basis. The Parade gives these Gladiators a unique opportunity to cement their relationship with the people of Krass, many of whom would be in a position to show their thumbs during tournament appeals. All of the Champions look their best, resplendent in their fighting gear and their heraldic Champion's cloaks, capes, or banners which show their origins and allegiances. All of them employ custom glamours designed to convey their personality to the crowd, to titillate, impress, or even to intimidate. It is their last, best chance to make a good impression before the main event.

  o-----

  As Gladiatrix Prima, the Grand Champion with the highest number of votes, Sadira was the very last to join the parade.

  Sadira looked regal. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders, woven with living roses and shadowbloom, a popular style for weddings. Her veil was the very same that she had once worn in her first match against Gavin. The sheer black lace emphasized her crimson lips and pale skin. Her obsidian swords were decorated with flowers and bright red ribbons. She presented herself as the bride of the people, daughter, lover, sister, Gladiatrix.

  Rather than wear a cloak or cape, Sadira opted for a pair of small heraldic banners mounted on her pauldrons. They looked like stiff flags, and proclaimed her history as a Gladiatrix, the tournaments she had won, and her allegiances. They looked overly busy, she thought, but the banners were part of parade tradition.

  Gavin was at her side. He wasn't supposed to be, but Sadira had overridden that rule. She didn't care, and she knew the people wouldn't care either.

  They waited in the Gladiator's entrance of the largest arena in the pits, hand in hand. Cleothera and Captain diAuran waited nearby, reviewing the squad of Legionnaires that would accompany them. Sadira thought back to her first match with Gavin, years ago. She could not believe her younger self had been so myopically fearless that she had disrobed in front of a cheering crowd just to seal her seduction of him. It seemed so long ago. The thought made her smile. A part of her actually wanted to revisit that moment, foolish as it seemed. Gavin looked at her quizzically, their bond alerting him to some of her feelings. She felt a surge of pleasure, a little exhibitionism mixed with love for her man.

  Gavin sensed her joy, a warming sensation creeping through their bond. He smiled. Her confidence and pleasure smothered his nervousness. That might be a weakness of their strange connection, he realized.

  A thousand trumpets sounded.

  "YOUR GLADIATRIX PRIMA, RED SCORPION, SADIRA LACIVIA!"

  They stepped forth. A host of young Gladiators erupted into loud applause as Sadira stepped into view with Gavin trailing behind her. The Gladiatrix smiled as she gauged that the applause for her was louder than that of any Grand Champion who had entered before her. She moved forward with languid grace, letting the whole stadium drink her in. She could feel the strength of their connection even though her own magic was leashed. It filled her with heady warmth. Soon she would be Chosen and could feast on their adulation.

  Sadira's reaction to the crowd swept over Gavin. It was volcanic and rapturous, a little frightening as well. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt a strange arousal. He had always been separated from her by the wards when she fought, since they became one. The wards diluted their connection somewhat. He now understood that the crowd was like the sun to a fighter like Sadira. He had, in fact, tasted that power himself.

  The Audience, a mass of Gladiators, Grey-Robes, and the vassals who spent their lives in service in the Campus began to chant her name. Adulation crashed down on them like ocean waves, gentle, yet powerful.

  Sadira turned to Gavin as the soldiers emerged and formed up behind them, black and gold uniforms of the Daeri Homeguard legion glistening in the sun. She threw herself into Gavin's arms, kissing him. The crowd roared. They broke contact at the last possible moment, just before desire threatened to overcome them.

  Captain diAuran rolled her eyes; it was going to be a long walk.

  They left the fighting grounds and began the procession through the Campus Martius. Young Gladiators lined the streets, unranked and eager to see their most exalted peers. Sadira moved through them like a beloved older sister, bestowing her favour here and there, praising artful armour, a lovely hairstyle, or a Gladiatrix with enough swagger to meet her eye defiantly. She seemed to know many in the crowd, and Gavin realized that her constant visits to the campus had ensured that she had a strong following here. She left nothing but smiles in her wake.

  Several groups unfurled Red Scorpion banners as they passed, much to Sadira's delight. The bearers of these banners earned her kind words and praise directly.

  As they neared the gates Sadira returned to Gavin's side.

  "One of the Freshies just told me that Valaran is leading a man in chains wearing your armour and a noose around his neck through the streets," she reported.

  "I wish I could say I was surprised," said Gavin. Although he regretted not having the strength to kill Valaran when they last met, he had certainly made the Golden Giant's life difficult. No doubt Valaran blamed him for all the troubles that had fallen on his shoulders recently, from his suspension to Chosen Moltar's waning support. The thought made Gavin smile.

  "I am going to enjoy crushing the bastard," said Sadira. "It aggravates me that I don't even seem to register as a threat to him. He should be wo
rried about me now; be trying to get under my skin, not yours. Maybe he'll treat me like a Gladiatrix when I'm bathing in his blood."

  Gavin had nothing to say to this, but she could feel his unease.

  Next the parade passed the Campus Gladius, where young Gladiators were trained. All of the young gifted, from Children to nearly full trained Gladiators and Vassals, had turned out to watch the parade. Gavin could see that the students were just happy to be part of such a grand event. The school was very strict and allowed little contact with the outside world. A phalanx of Grey-Robes watched them; The Deliberative were very careful of their charges. Still, even they seemed to be enjoying the parade.

  Since she could not walk among the young Gifted, Sadira decided to stop and demonstrate her war-dances for them. She moved through the leaping steps of Panther's Hunt, a mobile dance that allowed her to shift distances, attacking and evading. Then she stepped into a series of whirling motions, her blades and footwork ever circular; the Razor-wing's Flight dance. After a few minutes of this she took up the Scorpion's Gambit, a dance of odd angles and rapid, scuttling sidesteps. The young fighters were impressed; they all knew war-dance was a rare and difficult discipline. As a finale Sadira demonstrated a mixed dance combining elements of all three forms into a single kata. The crowd cheered and clapped. The children smiled and talked excitedly among themselves.

  Gavin caught site of Alrum Southlander, a favoured teacher, and waved. The man waved back, shouting something that was lost in the din.

  They moved on, passing through crowded streets and squares. The roads in the new mercantile district were broad, made for carriage traffic and freight. Gavin was impressed at how little wear the cobbles showed. The tall buildings with their copper roof tiles were all closed down for the day, but many of the shops were still advertising their wares.