The Warrior Race: Book One (The Enhanced Universe)

by T. C. Edge

  Yet this was different. This was his coast, the land that called an end to this long journey. It had been about two months since he’d left port from here, a trip that had taken him across vast distances in his hunt for those who’d do him proud. And despite the injuries to Raven and Leewood, and the hysterics of Gwyn, and the apparent sensitivity of Finn and perhaps even Kira, he considered he had a strong enough group to compete.

  He hoped, at least. In the end, until he gathered back in Neorome with the other lanistas, he’d have little idea as to what they’d unearthed. And the world, he knew, had become a treasure trove of the gifted and powerful.

  Moving to the front of the deck, he worked his way past the bustling crew and guards who’d begun to gather and prepare to disembark. They bowed as he went, some of the more lowly among them knowing better than to make eye-contact. He couldn’t blame them, given the state of his mood over the last few days. Though, now it had brightened and they really had nothing to fear.

  He wasn’t like other men of his standing. He knew of those who’d have men whipped for a glance and nothing more, regardless of their mood. Certain men were cruel beyond his personal comprehension, and seemed to like nothing more than to gather a reputation as someone to be feared and respected.

  Lucius, his rival, was part of that number.

  Dom’s manner of thinking wasn’t the same. He didn’t consider respect to be worth anything if it was based only on fear. He was more of the opinion that respect should be earned through deed, and whipping slaves and servants for such a ‘crime’ as eye contact wasn’t something he thought would befit a real man of high birth.

  Then again, he’d been called weak in the past for such dalliances with morality. For a man who traded in death, however, the term morality was one of debatable meaning.

  Still, Dom enjoyed his position. He wasn’t a man without ego, that was for certain, and though he preferred to engender respect through fairness, he wasn’t averse to meting out punishment either if it was called for. Unfortunately, in his world, punishments would rarely fit their crimes, and that was something he’d grown up with too.

  Moving towards the front railing, he stood for a while as the bustle continued behind and the coastline loomed closer. Slowly, the port came into view, a sprawling place that was far more than just a collection of boats. Here, a great deal of trading was done, and thus a large market had developed over the years that lent the place a colourful and vibrant feel.

  Across the bay, as the sea shallowed and the water began to turn to a light shade of blue, and the horizon shimmered with the familiar wave of heat, Dom looked upon the dozens of ships, big and small, that floated about on the calm ocean. There were merchant vessels, private yachts, military boats that served to protect the harbour. They weren’t like the ships of old, the huge frigates and tankers that cut paths across the sea. They were mostly small by comparison, and comprised of a mixture of metal and wood, the old and new combining here in this part of the world.

  And it was a part of the world that Dom’s people dominated and ruled. A place that was once called Italy, once home to the great city of Rome millennia ago, with its storied history and all consuming empire. And here, it was being renewed; the city of Neorome now having risen from the ashes of a world destroyed by decades of global warfare, by the period that gave rise to the many genetically enhanced individuals dotting the globe today.

  This was, in Dom’s eyes, the heart of the new world. He’d travelled far and wide, seen all corners of the planet, some now slowly coming back to life, others still locked in the darkness that consumed it. But here, in Neorome, and the growing empire around it, the light was shining bright once more.

  And as the coast continued to grow before his eyes, so did Dom’s smile.

  He was home.

  Kira felt a heavy shudder, enough to wake Finn. She withdrew her hand from his head as quickly as she could and slipped through the darkness to the other side of the cell.

  Another shudder, and another. It felt like the ship was stopping.

  Through the darkness, Finn’s voice came croaking out.

  “What’s happening?”

  It was a rare question, the sudden drama enough to lure it from his lips.

  “I think we’re here,” whispered Kira.

  A similar energy seemed to engulf the rest of the dungeon. Kira could hear murmurings down the corridor, the other cells whispering to each other with the same suspicion.

  Then, the familiar sound of the door creaking open at the top of the stairs, and the now well-known step of Merk’s feet creaking on the boards. The candlelight came with him, and so did a host of guards, stamping close behind in their blood-red robes, sheaths for daggers and swords arranged on their belts.

  Kira watched from the shadows as they moved to the end of the corridor. Merk’s voice stretching away as he went.

  “Now then, hush your murmurings. Anyone who doesn’t keep their cool will be punished accordingly.”

  Kira heard the unpleasant squeak of rusted metal hinges as the first cell was opened. A flurry of activity followed, the rattling of chains suggesting the prisoner was being shackled. Then another cell opened, and the chains rattled again. Kira hovered closer to the bars and tried to stretch her gaze left down the corridor. Gradually, the group of guards came closer, trailing with them the dirty frames of their captives as they went from cell to cell, gathering them up.

  “What’s going on?” asked Finn again. He moved up towards the front of the cell, alongside Kira.

  They shared a glance.

  “We’re docking,” she said with some authority. “They’re taking us out of here.”

  The guards continued to come, linking each prisoner into a chain. From her cell, Kira caught a glimpse of them for the first time, putting faces to the voices she’d heard over the last few days. Most arresting was the gigantic frame of a giant who loomed higher than all others, needing to stoop beneath the low wooden ceiling. He had the look of a tribesman as far as Kira could gather, a Brute for sure, his face bearded with thick brown curls of hair, his face leathery and body draped in the sorts of pelts and skins that many such people wore.

  Within the candlelight, only sparse details came, though enough to give an impression of the sorts of people she’d been kept hostage with. Many wore rough clothes, sturdy and functional from a combat perspective, fitted with pockets and belts that would once have held knives, guns, and all manner of other such items useful to killers and soldiers.

  It was the faces, the expressions, that she recognised most of all. She’d seen them all before. Seen them among the rebels and soldiers she’d fought with. The faces of men who had dealt in death, taking lives and facing the prospect of losing their own on too many occasions to count.

  A woman passed, the only other one here, yet not within the chain. She was carried by a guard who marched straight past, her body limp and yet to be awakened. Kira wondered for a while if she’d been killed, that her wailing had been too much for the old caretaker to deal with. She spared the woman a single thought before turning her eyes back to the passing chain.

  Her eyes darkened as one man passed. His face was pale, skin that rarely saw the light of day. His eyes held no emotion whatsoever, his expression distant and glacial. He wore a cloak so dark it seemed to refuse the light, his hair similarly coloured, like a paste of tar spread upon his head.

  Yet his eyes were blue and startlingly so, and they caught Kira as he was led past, his lips thin and flat and chin dusted with a patchwork of uneven stubble. He stared at her for a long moment, and she stared right back at the inhuman eyes of the Stalker, the most potent agent of the enemy she’d fought against her entire adult life.

  And while his eyes held a cold detachment, hers were lit in flame. And for a second, the guards seemed to notice, stopping to allow the staring contest to last a little longer. Then, they moved forward, and opened up her cell, wrapping her wrists and ankles into chains, and doing the same with Finn.


  And all the while, she stared at the Stalker, the man she was yet to know as Shadow. The man who was a little piece of home, brought along for the ride; a reminder of the war she’d left behind.

  Then, suddenly, she was dragged outside, just another link in the chain of prisoners, Finn completing the train behind her. Flanked by guards, they were marched onwards towards the stairs, and she gazed up into the growing light that surrounded the doorway.

  Behind, the old caretaker followed, hovering behind at a safe distance and cradling his right hand.

  “On we go to Neorome,” he chanted, drawing looks of rebuke and rolling eyes from several of the other guards.

  He immediately shut up.

  With a chorus of clanking chains and shuffling feet, the line of a dozen or so prisoners were led up the stairs and along a dimly lit corridor. Kira watched as the old wooden surroundings gradually gave way to metal, the dungeons designed to be as oppressive and intimidating as possible.

  But the decks above were different. They were brighter, cleaner, the air less putrid, each one growing more pleasant as they carved their way up through the vessel. Eventually, the guard at the front reached a door, and heaved it open. Sunlight poured in, drenching the rotten band of prisoners in yellow and lighting up their decay.

  The sweep of air was warm and fresh and infused with salt, the sweetest air Kira had ever tasted. She drew in a breath and only then realised how badly she stank, her eyes forced to squint in the sudden light as they pressed on. Stumbling forward, the prisoners were dragged up through the door, the sun’s rays soft and beautiful, though brutal on their eyes.

  Through bare slits, Kira allowed the light to creep in, and as she did she saw blue. The blue of the sea, a startling, gorgeous hue, and the sky above; lighter, tinged with the bright yellows and whites that spread around the shimmering sun.

  Around her, dozens of figures bustled, and the sounds of the world crept back into her head for the first time in what seemed like years. Yet it was a sound unlike anything she’d heard, the sound of a port, filled with a thousand voices and the unique symphony of sailors at work.

  Suddenly, as she gazed left and right, still unable to draw her eyes fully open in the light, the chain was called to a halt by the guard at the front. The rattling of shackles stopped and settled, leaving only the wondrous noise of the harbour behind, with the lapping of waves and the calls of gulls and the rocking of boats against their moors.

  But above all the other sounds, one came clear and bright.

  “Good afternoon, my contenders. And welcome to the port city of Ostia.”

  Kira opened her eyes fully, and saw the black-haired man called Domitian standing before her.

  9

  Dom smiled as he stood on deck, looking over his gathered band of soldiers and assassins and hardy warriors. And the fisherman’s son.

  He always enjoyed this moment, addressing them on the deck of the ship, watching how they reacted to these strange new surroundings. To him, of course, it was all so familiar. To many of these people and the little worlds they’d come from, it was akin to visiting an alien land.

  He turned his eyes from one to the next, lifting and dropping them as he passed by Oom, towering above all the rest. He smiled at the giant, who merely snarled. It was the reaction he wanted.

  He did the same to Shadow, and caught a cold stare in return. Again, the right and expected reaction. Then, his eyes met Finn. Well, not quite. The young man’s gaze was spread towards the port, and the surrounding boats, his blond hair attempting to shine even through many days of filth. Again, Dom considered that to be about right for a young man so entranced by the ocean.

  He looked upon the rest, and purposely finished up with Kira. She had a cold stare that wasn’t dissimilar to Shadow, though her bright green eyes carried a fair bit more life. And, despite her squalid incarceration, her red hair had maintained its vibrancy, more striking than ever here among all the blue.

  “Welcome to Ostia,” Dom repeated, his voice required to do some work to be heard above the din. “This isn’t your final stop, but we’re not far now. I know full well that the last week has been most unpleasant for you. However, you’ll find Neorome far more agreeable. It is the city at the centre of the world. And soon enough, you’ll be right at the centre of the whole city’s thoughts and imagination. You will, in short, be the talk of the town,” he concluded with a final flourish.

  He scanned the gathering with a bright smile and saw questions lighting in their eyes. Yet, no one spoke. He’d been purposefully brief with his explanations as yet, a trick he liked to employ in order to condition his subjects to keep quiet. Questions, he liked to make them realise, led to silence at best and beatings at worst, with the threat of being knocked unconscious somewhere in between. Now, they were well trained to listen and stay silent.

  He smiled.

  “Now, the journey to Neorome is a little short of twenty miles. I would say that you’ve probably had all you can stomach of the water, so we’ll avoid the Tiber and will travel by road. It’s something our great ancestors invented, so we’re more than happy to follow their well laid footsteps.”

  Dom saw no reaction. He wasn’t overly surprised by that. These sorts of heathens really had no grasp of history at all. Not like him. It had been drummed into his head since he was old enough to listen and had, whether he liked it or not, sunk right in.

  He looked towards the side of the ship, the ramp now fully extended and providing passage onto the dock. The garrison of soldiers here had already been informed of his arrival and had come to provide safe passage, corralling the crowds to ensure that he had quick access to his transport.

  Each time he returned home, he got similar treatment, the residents of Ostia and those here to trade gathering at the port to take a look at his exotic acquisitions. In fact, many timed their trades for his return, keen to be the first to see the foreign warriors step ashore. Already, they were trying to peek through the force of soldiers, no doubt looking upon the hulking form of Oom with a particular interest.

  “Right then,” said Dom, nodding to his private guard of soldiers, “lead them on.”

  The guards did as ordered, marching off towards the ramp and taking the prisoners with them. Dom watched them go, their eyes now wandering around the place in wonder. Only Kira continued to glare at him with a hatred he was more than used to. His retort was to smile back.

  Trailing in at the rear, a couple of his most faithful guards arranged themselves at his flanks. Dom heard the shuffling feet of Merk behind him, and offered him the opportunity to walk by his side.

  “Thank you, Master Domitian,” croaked the old caretaker, his craggy complexion rather more unflattering than usual in the bright afternoon light.

  They began walking together, Dom’s cadence more a stroll and Merk’s a ragged trot. The state of their dress also bore little comparison, Merk’s old sailor’s outfit in stark contrast to the flowing claret robe and fine brown leather belt that wrapped around Dom’s athletic waist.

  Still, Dom enjoyed presenting the old man with this sort of position. To disembark from a long voyage alongside a man like him was an honour Merk would take to the grave. That gave Dom some pleasure, though he couldn’t deny the caretaker’s unending adulation toed the line between gratifying and grating depending on his mood.

  Today was the former, and so he wandered off the boat and through the cheering crowd with the old man by his side.

  “So, Merk, what’s the plan for you then? Are you going to come watch the games?”

  “I’ll try, Master Domitian. I always like to see how your contenders get on. Though, I rarely get the best view.”

  “Ah, of course. Stuck in the upper rows are we?”

  “Yes, sir. Upper rows of the upper tier. At best.”

  “Well, leave it with me, Merk. I’ll see to it that you have some great seats in the first tier. How many would you like?”

  “Master Domitian…you honour me,�
� said Merk, slowing to perform a little bow. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just say how many tickets you’d like,” grinned Dom.

  “Just…just one would be fine, sir.”

  “One, Merk? No family you’d like to take. No…friends?”

  Dom felt a slight pang of guilt for not knowing anything much about Merk’s life beyond the boat. It didn’t last long, however. He had many, many subjects who were mysterious to him beyond the duties they performed.

  More prominent was the pang of sympathy he felt for the old man. To have no one important to him at his age must make for a rather lonely existence.

  “No family, sir. I had a wife…” he began, before trailing off. Merk knew it wasn’t the place to talk about personal things with his master. He coughed as if hiding that fact before continuing. “Just one ticket would be fine,” he finished.

  He couldn’t, however, miss the glances from the two flanking soldiers, who looked at Merk and then at each other. No matter how hardened he thought he was to those types of glances, even a man of Merk’s advanced years felt the sting on occasion.

  “One ticket it is,” came Dom’s bright voice, drawing a little smile back to the old man’s face and vanquishing the thought of the sideways looks. “Where abouts do you live?”

  “Um…Southside, sir. Near the swamps,” Merk said quietly, avoiding the smirking glances of the guards.

  The swamps, Dom knew, was a colloquial term for one of the poorest areas in the city. Southside in itself was a maze of alleys and narrow streets, snow topped in winter and festering in summer. The swamps was little more than a cesspit, a place of thieving and unsavoury business, and hardly the sort of place a man like Dom would ever visit.

  “Ah, well as long as you’re not too near the swamps,” he joked, patting Merk on the back.