by S E Turner
'We have prayed for this moment, brother. Suma and Targ brought disgrace to our clan and now the gods will decide their fate. We have been chosen to seek retribution. We have to put faith in our totems, and only then will vengeance be ours,' Ronu's words were solemn.
Clebe nodded his head in agreement. 'You are right. Our totems will guide us, but we have to keep our guard up, we have to stay focused and strong, and then we just might walk out of here alive. '
It seemed like time had abandoned them until their ordeal was worsened with the identity ritual. Their masks were adorned and the stimulant was offered. The astonishment on their devilled faces was only superseded by the arrival of a beast pulled by two black destriers.
'What is this?'
'I don't know, hopefully someone will tell us.'
'Guaranteed it will be something gruesome, though.'
'Silence, you two!' bellowed the guard. 'If you want to survive, then pay attention.'
The young men looked straight ahead, suddenly filled with fear again.
'Choose your weapons wisely and decide who is going to steer and who is going to fight. This is a race to the death.'
Another guard brought an assortment of armaments and dropped them at their feet as a wry smile creased the corner of his mouth.
'Do you want to steer the chariot while I use these?' Clebe asked as he lifted a crossbow and a catapult. 'I can cause a nasty injury with these.'
'That's fine with me, but I will still take one of these.' Ronu took the largest sword and held it up high. The sun caught the edge of the blade and sent spectrums across the cavernous pit. 'I might just need this.'
The horses were checked over before making their way to the start line, and hearing an excited crowd taking their seats, the animals began to nicker.
Eventually, the ghostly gauze was pulled back to reveal the identities of the overly dressed dignitaries, and they, in turn, looked horrified at their scantily camouflaged entertainers. Once again, the General smirked and the Emperor grinned with sickening pleasure at his menagerie of horrors. There was no sign of the competitors, and the crowd was getting very impatient, with low rumbles of discontent beginning to vibrate around the arena. The animals were restless and tried to free themselves from their constrictive breast-straps.
'This is a deliberate tactic,' said Ronu with flared eyes. 'I might have known they would do something like this.'
'We shouldn't have expected anything else.' Clebe jumped down from the platform to settle the horses. He stroked their velvet muzzles and smoothed their muscular necks while whispering to them gently. The anxious clock was ticking in their heads as the minutes dragged by. Shadows appeared and silently slid away with the moving clouds overhead, and a gentle breeze caused temperamental sandstorms around them.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose as the challengers flew in, wailing and howling, screaming and cracking their whips. They chased a lap round the pit to announce their arrival, whipping their mounts and the crowd to frenzy. Their piebald pacers eventually reared to a screeching halt, scattering debris and grooving furrows in the sand as they drew up next to their competitors. Two angry figures stood in a fired up red chariot, wearing the same masks and strange demonic patterns, but brandishing a spiked ball and spears. The crowd settled into the comfort of their plump seats, expectant of a good race. To everyone around the arena, the identity of the challengers was hidden, but all four looked strong and determined and stared at each other menacingly.
'To the death!' The command raged and the flag went down.
Targ and Suma were first off the block as their horses were edgy and pumped up. The black coursers had to hear the crack of the whip to get started. The first spear was thrown at the black charioteer after a few laps, but Ronu managed to swerve out the way as the whispering blade missed him by a breath. The contenders would retrieve it on the way round, he thought. Clebe positioned his first arrow and sent it straight back to them. It got stuck in their wheel and unbalanced it, but Suma steadied himself and managed to clear it by hanging precariously over the edge of his red chariot. The crowd went wild at this death=defying stunt. He dragged himself back and proceeded to load something at the rear of the carrier. The sand, dust, and dirt blown up by the charging vehicles obscured the observers view. Then he stood up and started to rotate a lever which spewed out a deadly cargo of rocks, stones, boulders and other hard-edged implements, deliberately aimed at the black carriage power source. Ronu had to pull back hard.
'This is despicable and shouldn't be allowed!' A memory of innocence emerged as Ronu blurted out concern for the horses. 'If one of those rocks caught a shin, it would be a disaster.'
'When is anything fair in this forsaken place?' Clebe shouted back, his eyes ignited and furious with hostility. 'Come on, let's show 'em what we're made of. '
But it was too late. A jagged implement struck the black courser hard and it reared up screaming.
'Release the breast strap,' cried out Clebe. 'We shall have to ride with a single horse.'
The injured courser was severed from its harness and tried hard to keep up but eventually limped its way to the outside of the ring in defeat. The black car surged on over the uneven terrain as the red chariot sped away from them. Suma threw another spear and missed again. Ronu manoeuvred the single horse-powered black chariot round the course as best as he could and drew level as Clebe sent a second arrow that lodged in the other wheel. This one stayed put.
The horses were hurtling round now at top speed, covering several laps of the arena. Both carriages were thrown about as they hit every part of debris on the track. Clebe aimed his catapult high—it seemed the only way to hit his target from the speeding wooden vehicle. His strong arm pulled the sling back as far as it would go, and when it was released, a heavy rock was sent soaring through the air and found its target with a thud. The crowd gasped as it knocked Suma out of the chariot. But he was not finished yet, and he managed to stumble out of the way and retrieve the misaimed spears and rocks to hurl back at them.
The chariots sped round, spraying out particles of sweat, froth, dirt and sand, through the air to the applause of the onlookers. The two charioteers both remained focused and determined as they sped round the track littered with fragments of debris.
Targ swung a spiked ball above his head to gain momentum, then he turned for a moment, focused on the unsuspecting rival and let go of the chain. Smack! It sank into Ronu's left shoulder. He crumbled with the pain and gripped his wound. Targ started to celebrate as his nemesis had been demobilised, and he watched him slump down awkwardly. Clebe jumped forward to take the reins of the black chariot—just one driver and one horse were in control now.
More laps raced by as Targ's carriage was much lighter now and sped away quickly. The black chariot was behind when Clebe's sword was hurled through the air. It split the back axle in two and the red chariot was thrown in the air as it hit a loose boulder. Targ was flung out of the disintegrating vehicle, and as he scrambled for freedom, the galloping black horse and carriage thundered over his neck, killing him instantly.
Suma was waiting on the perimeter and surged towards the black carriage with venom and hatred, wielding a retrieved spear and aiming it at the back of Clebe's head. Ronu could see from his position, though, and reached for the metal ball at his side,. With a mighty force from his right arm, sent it back to crush the attacker full on in the pterion bone. Suma sank to the ground. He tried to steal another throw, but death was already on his heels.
It was over now, and the place erupted with elation. The collapsed red chariot was cleared away; Suma and Targ were thrown over their beaten horses and led unceremoniously out of the arena. The two victorious lads responded to the cheers of an entertained throng and relished in their jubilation. As the applause died down, the closing curtains heralded the end of the battle, and the triumphant winners were led back to their rooms.
'I really thought we were a goner a few times there,' Clebe reported back to the waitin
g pack.
'They must have taken the stimulant. They were really fired up and brutal,' said Ronu.
'They were so sure they were going to win,' vented Clebe.
'It was all bravado, though. Hot heads and all that,' continued Ronu.
'You have to believe, you have to stay strong. It's the only way to survive this,' said Namir.
Dainn put an arm round Rufus. 'We all have to believe. Remember that, won't you.'
Rufus nodded.
'I told you we would get our revenge,' lamented Clebe.
'Yes you did, dear friend. You did say that.' Ronu sighed heavily and put his hand on Clebe's shoulder.
'Their souls had died long ago,' said Lyall. 'You just put them out of their misery.'
Amid the tortured souls, a feeling of redemption and solidarity spiralled round the cold grey walls. 'Hear! Hear! To Ronu and Clebe!' came the raucous tones of brotherhood. And as a triumphant Ronu and Clebe were elevated onto the shoulders of their peers and hugged and embraced by every single one of the boys, somewhere in another locked prison, a heroine was at work.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Upstairs in her room, Skyrah was nearly ready. She had witnessed the two events and was now fully aware of the sickening plight the boys were in. She had no idea who had been fighting—she couldn't make out their identity—all she saw was the dreadful battles they faced. She prayed that her friends were all right, and as awful as it was to wish death on another innocent boy, she hoped it was they, and not her friends, who had been slain. She slowly ran her fingers along the line of her totem and silently requested that the great hare in the moon would serve her at this time and honour her in this time of need. With the homage paid, she returned to her task. She was confident with the scheme. All the shirts and trousers were made and carefully stowed away. The laburnum pods were fermented and could now do their worst. She had collected a number of glasses and goblets over the preceding months and they would distribute the deadly potion to the intended recipients. She was as ready as she ever would be and returned to scanning the map she had painstakingly drawn with Roma, just to be absolutely sure of her route.
That evening, Domitrius Corbulo summoned Skyrah for their third dancing session of the week. She decided to wear her finest indigo gown, and wound her hair up into a fashionable chignon, complete with a spray of purple aconitum. She sprayed a minimal amount of scent over her skin and then carefully placed the bouquets of white snakeroot and hemlock into her small bag. She waited for the General to knock on the door.
He was in an affable mood that night and complimented her all the time. Her dancing pleased him, they partook in conversation now, and she always smelt divine.
'You are looking particularly pleased this evening, master. Are the games going well?'
'As well as to be expected. The Emperor is very happy, and that is my main concern, keeping my master content.'
'As is mine, my lord. As is mine.'
He smelt her neck. 'Do you not worry about your friends now?'
Her skin prickled with goose bumps as he mentioned the clan and moved closer to her at the same time. She had trained herself not to think of her friends while she was acting, she might expose herself. She smiled at him, a blissful smile. 'Not anymore,' she lied.
He beamed at his beautiful conquest as he took her hand and led her to the centre of the ballroom. She twirled a few times at the request of his fingers until his other hand curved into her waist and pulled her to a natural pause. He smelled her rich hair with several deep breaths and then the music started. She started to hum in tune to the chords as her feet swept around the floor—spinning, turning, gliding from one foot to the other—holding his gaze and keeping momentum. She arched right back as he supported her and exaggerated her free leg high into the air. She stayed there for a few beats then he pulled her back up before continuing to pirouette around the room.
'I will have to keep it short tonight.'
'Oh, why is that my lord?'
'I have to welcome the guests tomorrow and there is much to do in the morning.'
'Of course, my lord. Whatever you wish.'
'Let me take you to your room now.'
He led her graciously up the ornate staircase. She had to remain calm. She knew what she had to do, for now was the bewitching hour. Everything she had worked for rested on this moment.
At the top, she recoiled in shock and moved a gloved hand to her mouth. 'My lord, I have been most forgetful, I have left my purse in the ballroom. Would you mind if I retrieved it?'
He looked at her, trying to find the deception, but he was so tired now, and it was very late. She wouldn't do anything foolish at this hour.
'Go on, then. I will sit here on this chair, but hurry now, I don't like to be kept waiting.'
'Of course, sire. Thank you.'
She ran down the stairs and collected her bag. Her heart was pumping uncontrollably. This was it now. She must not fail. She had scanned the route on the map so many times. She could count in her head the amount of footsteps it would take her. She knew it would only take a few minutes.
She craned her neck at the bottom of the stairs to see that the coast was clear and then sprinted towards the kitchen. A moving shadow caught her eye and she flattened herself behind a pillar. This was by far the scariest thing she had ever done—one false move and everyone would suffer. She had to remain calm, otherwise her own breathing would give her away or her thumping heart would reveal her. The shadow went as quickly as it had arrived. Was it in her mind or was someone really there? Roma had told her that everyone was too busy with the games—surely Roma wouldn't lie to her. She strained her ears. She couldn't fail now. Their escape was so close. Everything depended on the success of this night mission.
It was deathly quiet.
She looked behind her to check that the General hadn't followed her down the stairs. No one was there. She ran to the next pillar and froze again. Had she heard something? No, it was in her head again. She searched around with flared eyes and ears peeled back to detect the slightest sound. It seemed as if the shadows were creeping against the walls with her. She immediately thought of Lyall and his harrowing experience in the tunnel. 'That was a lot scarier than this place.' She chastised her weakness. 'Stay strong, Skyrah. Believe you are as nimble and as silent as a hare. Believe you have its speed and agility. Believe it girl, believe it.' She felt the tattoo on her arm; she felt the strength and power of her totem. She dropped her head and took some deep breaths. 'Calm down, woman. You have time.' She looked up and focused on her task. 'Go, go now.'
She chased the ticking seconds into the kitchen. She heard the faint squeaking of rodents; her presence sent them scurrying away and now the kitchen was empty and deathly quiet. She saw the huge cauldron of porridge that would be served to the guards in the early hours of the morning. She quickly emptied the contents of her bag into the oats and honey and shut it tight. But she was drawn to the kettle of simmering water hanging over the fire. She stopped. She thought quickly. 'What can I use? This is far too good an opportunity to waste. Oh, of course. Blessings totem for giving me insight.' She carefully removed the purple aconitum flower from her hair and dropped it in.
Her deed was done. She turned and hurried back to the stairs. She stood behind the pillar again. She tried to calm her pulsating heart. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing down. She thought of her totem and believed. Slow rhythmic breaths eased through pursed lips, and only when her breathing was controlled did she emerge at the bottom of the stairs. The General was waiting at the top with a thunderous look on his face.
'You said you would be quick,' he raged.
'I am sorry, my lord. The vocalist was singing my favourite song, I just listened for a little while. Please forgive me, I promise it won't happen again.'
'Where is the beautiful flower that you had in your hair? '
She reached up to feel for the missing accessory as if in surprise. 'I don't know, my lord. It must have fallen o
ut as I rushed back to you.'
'No matter. I will send you some more. Come, the hour is late, I must retire now.'
Chapter Twenty-Three
'Rufus and Wyn!' Barked the order the next day.
'No, you can't take them. They are too young.' Lyall sprang to their defence.
'Get back, you savage.'
The heavy baton rendered him helpless as it was thrust into the pit of his stomach.
Dainn ran in to help him and punched Scowler full on in the jaw. The huge fat guard sprawled out like a blubbering walrus as knuckles rained down on him. Punch after punch was thrown as Dainn's fists cracked against Scowler's skull. His comrades pulled him off fearing the consequences.
'Let me at him. Let me finish him off, the sick low life!'
The two youngest boys were screaming and standing behind Namir.
'Come on, Poxface. Take me,' Lyall snarled, trying to stifle the stabbing pain in his abdomen. 'We're all going to die anyway. Why not give me another chance. '
The guard's right forearm swiped him aside and reached for the youngsters. But Namir wasn't going to give them up, either, and backed them into a corner.
'You can't take them. I will fight again. Put me against the General. I will rip his heart out for you.' Lyall was on his feet again. 'What's wrong with you vicious deviants? You can see they can't fight.' Lyall's rage boiled up and gushed from him in a howl of fury. He threw himself at Poxface and seized him by the throat. His fingers were trying to grip his windpipe, but instead, just hung on to folds of jowl. Scowler came rushing in and grappled him to the ground and crushed him into submission.
Dainn broke free from his restraint and pulled the guard off Lyall, throwing him out of the door and hurling obscenities and threats that would terrify the devil himself. He then stood there, blocking the entrance. The whelped guard ran away.
Lyall remained recumbent. He thought that Skyrah would have saved them by now; he thought that another day might give Rufus and Wyn a chance. The throttled guard smashed his baton into Lyall's head again and again until he collapsed. He couldn't get up. He was dazed and concussed and the room spun round him.
