Arena 13 #2 THE PREY

by Joseph Delaney

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Rules of Combat

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  1: It Happens to Us All

  2: Half-Blood

  3: The Wolf Wheel

  4: Leif, Son of Mathias

  5: Some Unknown Scribe

  6: A Worrying Development

  7: The Trader

  8: The Journeyman Patterner

  9: History in the Making

  10: A Travesty of Arena Combat

  11: Full of Menace

  12: A Tumble

  13: Something has been Altered

  14: A Hard Lesson

  15: Around Her Little Finger

  16: The Flash of Blades

  17: An Evening with Tallus

  18: The Fate of Tallus

  19: The Mother of a Djinni

  20: The Warship of a Warrior

  21: The Shatek

  22: The Birthing Platform

  23: A Good Plan

  24: Bring Me the Body of Hob

  25: Stamp, then Spit

  26: A Mighty Empire

  27: Holding Hands

  28: A Special Wave

  29: Cursed are the Twice-Born

  30: I Love Kwin

  31: Internment

  32: The Battle for the Gate

  33: Everything will Change

  The Midgard Glossary

  About the Author

  Also by Joseph Delaney

  Copyright

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  IN THE ARENA

  People flock to see fights where blood is shed. Boys work their way up through the ranks to become combatants on the biggest of these stages: Arena 13.

  MANY FIGHT TO BE THE BEST

  Leif knows the risks. In spite of this, he has followed his dead father’s footsteps into the arena, determined to avenge him.

  OUTSIDE THE ARENA

  Leif is not the only one to have suffered – others are also planning their revenge.

  THE FIGHT IS ONLY THE BEGINNING

  Will victory in the arena be enough? Or is Leif destined to stand with those who will pitch men against gods in a battle for the whole world?

  RULES OF COMBAT

  PRIMARY RULES

  The objective of Arena 13 combat is to cut flesh and spill blood. Human combatants are the targets.

  No human combatant may wear armour or protective clothing of any kind. Leather jerkins and shorts are mandatory; flesh must be open to a blade.

  An Arena 13 contest is won and concluded when a cut is made to one’s opponent and blood is spilled. This can occur during combat or may be a ritual cut made after a fight is concluded. If it occurs duringcombat, hostilities must cease immediately to prevent death or serious maiming.

  If death should occur, no guilt or blame may be attached to the victor. There shall be no redress in law. Any attempt to punish or hurt the victorious combatant outside the arena is punishable by death.

  The right to make a ritual cut is earned by disabling one’s opponent’s lac or lacs.

  The defeated combatant must accept this ritual cut to the upper arm. The substance kransin is used to intensify the pain of that cut.

  An unseemly cowardly reaction to the ritual cut after combat is punishable by a three-month ban from the arena. Bravery is mandatory.

  Simulacra, commonly known as lacs, are used in both attack and defence of the human combatants.

  The min combatant fights behind one lac; the mag combatant fights behind three lacs.

  For the first five minutes combatants must fight behind their lacs. Then the warning gong sounds and they must change position and fight in front of them, where they are more vulnerable to the blades of theiropponent.

  A lac is disabled when a blade is inserted in its throat-socket. This calls the wurde endoff; the lac collapses and becomes inert.

  Arena 13 combatants may also fight under Special Rules.

  SPECIAL RULES

  Grudge match rules

  The objective of a grudge match is to kill one’s opponent. All Primary Rules apply, but for the following changes:

  • If blood is spilled during combat, hostilities need not cease; the fight continues.

  • After an opponent’s lac or lacs have been disabled, the opponent is slain. The throat may be slit, or the head severed from the neck – the decision belongs to the victor. The death blow is carried out byeither the victorious human combatant or his lac.

  • Alternatively the victor may grant clemency in return for an apology or an agreed financial penalty.

  Trainee Tournament rules

  The objective of this tournament is to advance the training of first-year trainees by pitting them against their peers in Arena 13. For the protection of the trainees and to mitigate the full rigour of Arena 13 contests, there are two changes to the Primary Rules:

  • The whole contest must be fought behind the lacs.

  • Kransin is not used on blades for the ritual cut.

  A challenge from Hob

  • When Hob visits Arena 13 to make a challenge, a min combatant must fight him on behalf of the Wheel.

  • All min combatants must assemble in the green room, where that combatant will be chosen by lottery.

  • Grudge match rules apply, but for one: there is no clemency.

  • The fight is to the death. If the human combatant is beaten then, alive or dead, he may be taken away by Hob. Combatants, spectators and officials must not interfere.

  SECONDARY RULES

  Blades must not be carried into the green room or the changing room.

  No Arena 13 combatant may fight with blades outside the arena. An oath must be taken at registration to abide by that rule. Any infringement shall result in a lifetime ban from Arena 13 combat.

  Spitting in the arena is forbidden.

  Cursing and swearing in the arena is forbidden.

  Abuse of one’s opponent during combat is forbidden.

  In the case of any dispute, the Chief Marshal’s decision is absolute. There can be no appeal.

  For Marie

  The dead do dream.

  They dream of the world of Nym and twist hopelessly

  within its dark labyrinths,

  seeking that which they can never reach.

  But for a few, a very few, a wurde is called.

  It is a wurde that summons them again to life.

  Cursed are the twice-born.

  Amabramsum: the Genthai Book of Wisdom

  PROLOGUE

  The combatants gather in the green room. Nobody speaks. Their faces are grim. In turn, each of them is offered the glass lottery orb. As Vitus draws a straw, he feels a sudden premonition of doom. His hands aretrembling and he already knows that he will be chosen.

  He is.

  His straw is the shortest.

  His straw means death.

  He has been chosen to fight Hob in Arena 13.

  Before he leaves for the arena, his mother always says the same thing:

  ‘Come back to me. Be safe!’

  ‘I will,’ he promises.

  Then they hug and part.

  This time he will not be able to keep his promise.

  His worst fear has finally come true.

  There is not even time to say goodbye to his family. His mother never visits Arena 13 – she finds it barbaric. His father encouraged him and paid for his training, but he is dead now. His two older brothers work theirlarge farm, which is close to the city. Time after time his mother has begged him to stop fighting in Arena 13 and help his brothers, but he enjoys the challenge and needs to make his own way in the world.

  He likes bein
g a combatant, and during the two years that he’s been fighting the money has been good. It pays the bills, with some left over; that is important. You can’t fight for much more than fifteen years in Arena13. You get older. You slow down. Your legs start to betray you. Vitus is only nineteen, but it is vital that he saves now. He needs to accumulate enough capital to start his own business. Just ten more successful years, and he could do it.

  But every year Hob visits Arena 13.

  Vitus always fights from the min position and is defended by a lone lac whilst his opponents, fighting from the mag position, have three lacs. It is harder to fight from the min but it offers the greater challenge and ismore lucrative.

  But here lies the ultimate danger faced by every min combatant. Hob fights behind a tri-glad and his challenge is always to the min combatants.

  Every year there is a chance that Vitus will be chosen by the lottery to fight him.

  Finally it has happened.

  Now he enters the arena, his knees trembling, his mouth dry with fear, his heart pounding within his chest.

  The moment he sees Hob and his three lacs his fear intensifies. Hob wears a bronze helmet, his eyes just visible through the horizontal slit, and the tri-glad is clad in ebony-black armour. Hob and his lacs are human inshape but their arms are longer. They radiate malice and move with a grace surpassing that of others who fight in this arena. They stalk like predators. Vitus knows that he is their prey.

  His mind whirling, Vitus hears the big doors rumble shut. There is no blast from the trumpet that usually signals the start of a contest. They are to fight under the special rules that govern confrontations with Hob.

  It is worse than just a fight to the death. If you are wounded but still alive, Hob takes you to the darkness within his lair, a thirteen-spired citadel on a hill high above the city. Nobody knows what happens there, but thehuman combatant is never seen again. . .

  The fight begins. Hob and his triglad begin their advance. Their blades gleam in the light from the candelabrum above the arena. Vitus shelters behind his own lac, hoping that the code he has patterned into it willenable it to defend him against the coming onslaught. He crouches, ready to meet the imminent attack. This year his lac has performed well. Vitus is ninth in the rankings, but most of his contests have been won in the first five minutes. It is important to achieve such early victories because after that time there is a pausein the fighting; a repositioning. Then you have to fight in front of your lac. That makes you much more vulnerable to the blades that seek your flesh.

  To fight that way is terrifying. Combatants wear only leather shorts and a jerkin, their flesh open to blades. And now, if he manages to survive for five minutes, he will have to face Hob and fight him toe to toe, bladeagainst blade.

  He need not have worried about that. He tortured himself unnecessarily with such thoughts. He lasts barely two minutes.

  There is the clash of blades; the clang of metal upon metal; the rapid dance close to the back of his lac; the steady retreat, sweat running down into his eyes. He can hardly see.

  A sudden groan erupts from the gallery above, and he wonders what is wrong. To his astonishment, Vitus sees that his own lac is already down. A blade has been thrust into its throat-socket, shutting down the patternsthat control it. The lac has collapsed onto the boards of the arena. Its part in the contest is over. He is alone.

  Hob’s lacs rush at him with their knives.

  Vitus flinches, and then holds up his own blades in a futile attempt to defend himself. He feels a sharp pain in his side and a stabbing in his chest. His legs turn to jelly. The world spins. He falls into darkness. For a whilehe knows nothing . . .

  Then consciousness slowly returns. The pain seems to have faded almost to nothing. All is silent but for his own hoarse, laboured breathing.

  Hob has not slit his throat.

  His head remains attached to his body.

  He lives.

  For a moment Vitus dares to hope.

  But when he opens his eyes and looks up, hope fades. Hooded figures gather around him. These are the tassels, the dreaded servants of Hob. They crouch over him and sniff at his body; they snarl and drool, their spitdribbling onto his hair and face. They are cannibals and they are hungry for his flesh.

  They drag him to his feet and he is taken from the arena. As Vitus tries to walk, pain tears at his body and he hears his boots squelching. Why are they making that sound?

  Outside, a wagon is waiting in the darkness. He is forced into the back and sits there, with a tassel on either side gripping his arms firmly, their saliva dripping onto his trousers. The wooden slats are closed, the interiorlit by a single candle.

  His eyes slowly adjust to the gloom. He looks down and sees that blood is running from his jerkin down onto his knees and dripping onto his boots. Now he understands the reason for the squelching. His boots are fullof blood; his own blood.

  The wagon jerks forward. He knows where they are taking him. Fear clutches at his heart. There is no hope for him now.

  Come back to me. Be safe! His mother’s words haunt him.

  What horrors await him inside Hob’s citadel? he wonders.

  After a while their progress slows. The oxen pulling the wagon are labouring up a steep slope. He hears the cracking of a whip and the bellowing of the animals. They must be climbing the hill towards the dreadedcitadel. When they come to a halt, the tassels pull him out roughly. He looks up and sees the high curved stone wall of Hob’s lair. He is dragged to the left and moves widdershins, against the clock.

  Vitus glimpses dark openings – steep muddy slopes leading down below the wall, too small for a man. There are other hooded tassels with them now. Some are small and crawl on all fours, sniffing at the ground.Others are tall, but their grey cloaks trail upon the ground. He glimpses gaunt faces and open mouths full of sharp teeth.

  Vitus is pulled inside a large curved archway. He staggers and falls to his knees; they haul him roughly to his feet. They cross a flagged courtyard and descend into a dark tunnel. The tassels drag him faster, althoughhe can now see nothing except their eyes, which glow a baleful red. Can they see in the dark?

  They emerge into what appears to be a large cellar. There are torches on the far wall, but their flickering light barely reaches the place where they bring Vitus to a halt. At waist height he can see grey, globular thingsswaying in the darkness like flowers in a breeze. But there is no breeze. The air is still and warm. No – they are more like mushrooms. The cellar is full of them – row after row. There is a rank smell of rotting that bringsbile to his throat.

  Vitus is forced to his knees beside what looks like a huge anvil. Then he sees the groove in it and gasps in terror.

  This is an executioner’s block.

  His head is forced down until his neck fits into the groove. But he sees that the tall tassel striding towards him is not carrying an axe. Across his shoulder he bears something that resembles a huge pair of scissors. Theyare bolt-cutters, with sharp blades – and long arms so that great force can be applied.

  As Vitus looks his last upon the world, his gaze is drawn by the nearest of the flowers. Now he realizes that it is not a flower. Nor is it a fungus growth.

  Now he knows his fate . . .

  It is a severed human head swaying on a stem.

  Why would Hob do this? It cannot be to terrorize people because nobody can see this. Nobody knows that it exists. Then what can its purpose be?

  Why display dead humans in this way?

  To his horror, Vitus realizes that he is wrong.

  The swaying head opens its eyes and stares at him.

  Somehow it lives!

  He feels the cold metal of the bolt-cutters touch his lower neck, close to his body.

  The horror will not end with death.

  IT HAPPENS TO US ALL

  Children fight with sticks; men fight with blades.

  We await the child that wields both.

  Amabramdata: the Genthai Book of Prophecy
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  I was standing at a distance from the action, my boots slowly sinking into the mud of the recreation ground. A big circle of chanting spectators hid the stick-fighters from my view. Within it, one combatant would befighting against three. That was always the way, here in this small provincial town. The odds were against the lone combatant, so if you bet on him and he won, there’d be a good return on your money.

  The crowd were cheering and whooping now, some of them leaping up and down in obvious excitement; others perhaps only to keep warm.

  I was certainly shivering. It was cold, and the sun was low on the horizon, sinking towards the roofs of the squat single-storey dwellings even though it was only a couple of hours after midday.

  The contest was building to a climax – though I wasn’t really here to watch the stick-fighting. I never gambled any more; I didn’t care who won. I was just passing through Mypocine, heading south; this had once beenmy home and held lots of memories – some of them good, but others bad. Most of the former had been here in this small town, meeting my friends and taking part in the stick-fighting. The bad I preferred not to thinkabout too much. After the death of my mother at Hob’s hands, and the suicide of my father, I’d worked for a farmer who’d treated me little better than a slave.

  But some habits die hard. I couldn’t stop the wave of excitement that stirred within me as I pushed my way through the crowd, using my shoulders and elbows. I got a few curses and angry glares, but I kept movingforward. A few nods and smiles also came my way. It wasn’t that long since I’d fought here and I was clearly remembered.