Arena 13 #2 THE PREY

by Joseph Delaney

  Tyron hadn’t thought it worth discussing, feeling sure that I’d be the one chosen.

  Pyncheon lifted the lottery orb from the table and offered it to us.

  We selected our straws, one by one, then compared them.

  Mine was the shortest.

  I was excited and tense at the prospect of the fight ahead, and I strode into the arena brandishing the two Trig knives, holding them high above my head. Then, quite deliberately, following Ada’s advice, I steppedforward and took up a position in front of Thrym.

  I heard the collective gasp from the gallery above. I glanced up, hardly able to believe my eyes. Almost all the seats were taken. Had people returned because I was fighting Hob? Because I was the son of Math,fighting with a lac patterned by Ada?

  Whatever the reason, there was now a far larger audience than when Hob had fought Kern or Tallus.

  Thrym and I crouched, as one, and stamped our feet – left, then right, left, then right – pounding out a challenge on the wooden boards of the combat floor.

  Thud! Boom! Thud! Boom!

  The faces looked down from the gallery in astonishment. We repeated the performance, booming our challenge out across the arena again and again.

  This wasn’t just bravado. The moment Hob entered Arena 13, this is what he would see and hear. It was designed to send him a message: that I was not afraid; that I believed I could win. And in taking up a position infront of, rather than behind, my lac, I was reminding him of the last time he’d been defeated in the arena.

  We thundered out our challenge for the third time just as Hob and his tri-glad entered through the double mag doors. He was dressed in short-sleeved leather jerkin and shorts – the regulation costume for a humancombatant – but wore the bronze helmet with the slit for his eyes. Behind him, his lacs, in their black armour, radiated malice.

  I felt a surge of anger; for the deaths of my father and mother; for the deaths of poor Kern, Tallus and all the other souls that Hob had snuffed out.

  I immediately did what I had been practising daily. I ran towards him in a fury and spat accurately past the tri-glad that closed around him at my approach. To my satisfaction, my spittle went straight through the slit ofhis helmet.

  Hob’s lacs moved towards me, brandishing their blades, but Thrym used his left forearm to send the leader crashing back against its companions in disarray.

  The gallery was in uproar. Pyncheon and his marshals quickly entered the arena to intervene, ignoring Hob and his lacs and gesturing angrily that I should retreat to the far corner.

  I danced backwards and took up the normal position, behind my lac. Satisfied, the marshals withdrew, and moments later the doors closed.

  Now we were alone.

  I attacked immediately, following Ada’s advice to take the initiative and carry the fight to the enemy. So swift and perfect was our first attack that victory was almost ours. We were amongst Hob’s tri-glad before ithad even moved.

  Thrym darted forward to aim for the throat-slit of the central lac. His right blade missed by only an inch, rasping against the armour. It was a very satisfying sound.

  All combatants knew that sound. It made the tri-glad retreat slightly, allowing Thrym to press home his advantage. Hob moved back towards the scarred wood of the arena wall, and we went after him.

  As Thrym’s blades swept down and the tri-glad fell back, Hob stumbled . . . and it was only that chance stumble that saved him. My lac had been close, so very close, to cutting his throat.

  That stumble, that evidence of mortality and fallibility, was a sure promise of victory. The djinni could be beaten.

  I could hear the howls and groans of the spectators, the rasping of my own breath and the rapid pounding of my heart, feel the blood surging through my body. It seemed to me as if we’d only been fighting for aminute, but suddenly the gong sounded.

  The five-minute rule applied, so we took up new positions in front of the lacs. Now I was face to face with Hob. I was close to his blades, but I didn’t fear him. Give me half a chance and I’d kill him. My back wasclose to Thrym’s chest, and his blades were next to my own. We began to fight and move as one. Again and again I used Ulum to signal moves, and each time we executed them flawlessly.

  A bigger pattern began to emerge. We would feint, then attack from a different direction. But the quickness and variety of our real and sham moves kept Hob’s tri-glad on the defensive. We dominated through thesheer multitude and complexity of our attack patterns; patterns that rumbled like distant thunder without betraying the nature of the deadly bolt we might hurl forth at any moment.

  There were just the two of us, but Hob was now also facing the myriad daggers of Ada’s mind; daggers whose points shifted like the flicker of lightning, always seeking out weakness. And each attack, when it finallycame, was swift and direct. Reaching out over my shoulders, Thrym’s blades extended beyond the tri-glad, threatening Hob’s throat.

  Occasionally, when we were forced to retreat, Thrym was very unorthodox in his movements. He swung left and right, using his feet and hands like hammers, bludgeoning heads and bodies.

  But then Hob launched a series of rapid attacks, forcing us back into full defensive mode. The struggle was now evenly balanced and my hopes of a swift victory began to fade. My confidence ebbed too. How longwould this go on?

  I wondered if this was how Kern had felt, suddenly realizing that he could not win.

  Thrym might not tire, but I certainly would. No matter how fit I was, I knew that eventually my reactions would slow.

  And as that poisonous thought slid into my mind, a great weariness seemed to settle over my body so that my limbs felt heavy. All at once I saw in my mind’s eye the distraught face of my father as we came upon mymother lying dead, drained of blood. I heard again his cry of anguish and saw him beating his face with his fists.

  Suddenly I felt fierce heat upon my bare forearm – hot wax dripping from the torches above the arena: a routine hazard and a nuisance only to those who lacked the single-minded concentration necessary for success.

  Focus! I told myself. Give it everything you’ve got.

  There was a sound in my ears like a click, and then a great silence came down and I thought no more of defeat. I was filled with new energy. Within that silence, Thrym and I fought as one; fought to the limits of whatcould be done. I used Ulum without conscious thought. My feet knew what message to send, and Thrym instantly obeyed. We attacked again and again, driving Hob and his tri-glad back.

  My face was just inches from Hob’s helmet when, through the slit, I saw his eyes; they locked upon mine. I felt a wave of weakness and my legs buckled; once more he was holding me in thrall, and I was helpless.

  I felt a sense of outrage. When he hunted his prey outside the arena, the djinni used these powers to subdue his victims. But in Arena 13 I’d assumed he always kept to the rules.

  As I staggered under the power of that terrible gaze, the djinni aimed his blades at my face.

  Reaching over my shoulder, Thrym blocked the right one, but the other sliced into the side of my head. I felt a hot searing pain, and then wetness running down my neck.

  The spectators gave a deep groan, and I knew that something bad had happened.

  Thrym and I retreated, my blood dripping onto the floor of the arena. But then I saw that my wound was even worse than I’d thought. An ugly blood-splattered thing lay on the boards by my feet. With shock andhorror, I realized that it was my right ear.

  I staggered backwards, the arena spinning about me, nausea coming in waves, thoughts of defeat filling my mind.

  We retreated further, and for a moment there was a pause. Now I could feel the searing pain of the kransin in the wound, and fought to hold onto the contents of my stomach. I was grateful that I had alreadyexperienced that pain when practising against Palm. I was used to it. One cut was nothing. But my ear . . . it had been severed from my head!

  I forced myself to remain calm. I knew that at any second Hob would hurl
his lacs forward to overwhelm us. However, now we renewed our own attack. Again and again we surged against his tri-glad, like wavesagainst a great granite cliff. Attack and retreat, attack and retreat; wave after wave after wave, seemingly without end.

  Then, suddenly, my blade was slicing through Hob’s leather jerkin, into his chest, and I was gratified to see his blood. There was a great cheer from above, and the spectators began to drum on the floor with theirboots; it sounded like some kind of manic Ulum, urging me to even greater efforts.

  The wound I’d inflicted was not life-threatening; I needed to cut Hob deeper than that. But still his tri-glad would not yield.

  Once again, as the long struggle approached the hour mark, my weariness increased. The lacs would not tire. Perhaps Hob too could continue indefinitely. But I recognized the frailty of my flesh and bone. And I wasstill losing blood. I was beginning to slow down again. My reflexes seemed less sharp, my steps less sure; even my concentration was going. My breath was hot in my throat and my body ached with exhaustion.

  I summoned my will for one final attempt. It had to be now. I had to make a supreme final effort while my strength still remained. But before I could use Ulum to signal my intent, Thrym’s feet were thundering out amessage on the boards; drumming out instructions that drew a roar of excitement from the crowd.

  My lac had taken the initiative. This was what we’d held in reserve. He had signalled an all-out attack. It was all or nothing!

  We went in hard and fast, and I avoided Hob’s eyes lest he cheat once more. As one, Thrym and I surged across the arena like a wave towards a distant shore where our enemies waited like a rock that has foreverstood firm against the elements. But there is a special wave that strikes a cliff at the exact moment when its time has come.

  Together, we were that wave, and the tri-glad of Hob broke and crumbled before us. For the second time Hob was brought to his knees and, using his left hand, Thrym buried his blade deep within the throat-socket ofan enemy lac.

  And in that moment victory was within our grasp. We attacked once more. Over my shoulders, to right and left, Thrym’s blades struck, and the two remaining lacs hit the boards simultaneously; at last Hob faced usalone. He waited silently, his blades slightly raised.

  It was over. Didn’t he know that he had lost? Was he going to try and defend himself?

  In a fury, I rushed forward and struck his blades aside. They both fell to the boards. I almost killed him then. There was a red mist before my eyes.

  But reason prevailed. We wanted him dead, but I knew that his head must not be severed from his body. The cut had to be exactly right. We needed to destroy Hob totally – not just this one self.

  My whole body was shaking, but I stood aside and let Thrym past. He advanced with his blades raised, ready to strike. As the spectators stamped their feet and cheered, exultation filled me. This was the moment ofvictory for which we had worked so hard.

  This was the first step of my revenge, which would soon be total.

  Thrym’s cut was precise. Hob fell backwards, blood spraying from his throat. He crashed onto the boards and lay on his back, twitching and shuddering for a few moments. Then he was still.

  He was dead, but his body was still in one piece.

  Now it was Ada’s turn.

  CURSED ARE THE TWICE-BORN

  Twice-born, twice the pain.

  Thrice-born is to be cursed again.

  Amabramsum: the Genthai Book of Wisdom

  Hob’s blood was now pooling thickly around his body; it was a far brighter shade of red than human blood; far brighter than that of any creature. Even as it soaked into the wooden boards of the arena, it remained thatbright crimson.

  Both mag and min doors rumbled back to allow Pyncheon and four of his assistants into the arena. They came to a sudden halt, their eyes wide with shock as they stared down at Hob’s blood, which was still spreadingout around the body.

  An ashen-faced Pyncheon mumbled a command, and two marshals nervously approached the thick red pool, each carrying a bucket of sawdust. They kept their distance and began to throw down handfuls to soak upthe blood.

  Pyncheon looked bewildered. He clearly hadn’t thought I would win, and had not yet composed himself. But I knew that he wasn’t the Chief Marshal for nothing; any moment now he could seal the arena. I glanced upand saw that the gallery was already being cleared.

  Suddenly I heard the sound of running feet, and a group of men brandishing clubs entered by the mag door. Brid was in the lead, and he ran straight towards Hob’s body. Two of his men carried a stretcher, which theyset down on the boards, each seizing a boot and dragging Hob’s body onto it.

  Pynchon took an uncertain step forward, his mouth opening and closing as the men lifted their load and began to head back towards the mag door. He stared at them in outrage, and made to cut them off. In response,Brid lifted his club to intervene, but it proved unnecessary.

  The Chief Marshal stepped into the large pool of Hob’s blood and slipped. He went down head first, arms flailing.

  One of Brid’s companions handed me a folded piece of cloth, gesturing to my wound. I took it and held it against the stump of my ear to staunch the blood. It was throbbing, and I was beginning to feel light-headed.

  ‘Follow!’ I commanded Thrym, and then we set off after Brid. I noticed that some of his men remained in the arena, clubs at the ready, to prevent Pyncheon and his marshals from following us.

  Hob’s body was carried into the green room and laid out on the large wooden table. Ada and Tyron were already waiting there, and as I entered with Thrym, I was beckoned forward to their side. Only two other menand Brid remained with us; the rest waited outside to guard the door.

  But how long would it be before the tassels arrived? I wondered. Perhaps we wouldn’t get the twenty minutes that Ada had said she required in order to destroy Hob. And they would arrive with spears and bladesrather than clubs. There would be a great many of them. How many men did Wode have in reserve?

  Hob’s helmet was tugged away to reveal the big hairless head and predatory nose, the eyes sightless in death. Ada had stipulated that the body must be restrained and I expected to find chains there to bind the djinni tothe table.

  But Brid had a different plan. He lifted a hammer in his right hand; with his left he placed a long nail with a broad head against the flesh of Hob’s upper arm. Three times he struck the nail, driving it through the fleshand cloth beneath, and deep into the wood. The second nail was driven through the other arm; the third and fourth through the legs.

  Throughout this procedure, Hob’s flesh didn’t even twitch. The djinni seemed totally inert, and I wondered how Ada hoped to get any response. But she started immediately, uttering a torrent of wurdes.

  We stood there in silence, watching her work. I’d witnessed Tyron adjusting the patterning of a lac, but Ada worked in a very different way, as she had with the shatek and then Thrym. Wurdes of Nym flew from herlips so that one was impossible to distinguish from another. Occasionally she paused briefly, as if in thought.

  The blood was still flowing from the gash in Hob’s neck, which gaped like a red mouth; it flowed across the table to drip onto the brown carpet and splatter over our shoes.

  Within moments Ada’s wurdes brought a visible effect. Hob’s dead body gave a shudder. Then he rolled his eyes.

  That torrent of wurdes continued, and the djinni’s body began to jerk and convulse. It seemed to be trying to escape from the table, but the nails held it in place. Finally the body lay still. Hob’s dead eyes stared up atthe ceiling and a terrible groan burst from his lips, erupting from deep within his belly.

  Ada paused and looked down at him. Then she took a deep breath.

  ‘Is it done?’ demanded Tyron.

  ‘The first stage is completed,’ she replied. ‘I’ve subdued this self and bound it to my will, but the next step is much more difficult. I must reach beyond it, through the portal, and extinguish the gorestad, the high mindthat control
s all his selves. That gate is guarded by layers of code and encryption. I must penetrate it quickly or all will be lost.’

  Ada began again, flinging wurde after wurde against the djinni, and the dead body began to twitch and groan once more.

  All at once I heard a commotion outside, and suddenly the door was flung open. Brid’s men were backing into the room, dropping their clubs to the floor.

  Were the tassels here already? I wondered. Why were we surrendering without a fight?

  But then I saw that men in the distinctive blue uniforms of the Protector’s Guard were pushing their way in. There were sheathed blades at their hips, but their projectile weapons were pointing at us. Those spinningmetal discs could blind, break bones, tear flesh and sometimes kill.

  We all turned to face the threat. For a moment everything was still and silent, and then Ada carried on chanting, still working to destroy the djinni.

  ‘Tell her to stop or we fire!’ a voice barked out. An officer was pointing his weapon at Ada, his finger already squeezing the trigger.

  Suddenly Thrym moved between me and the guard. ‘Stay back!’ he rasped.

  He was still defending me. I had not yet ordered him to stand down. I was suddenly filled with hope. He was fast, dangerous and fully armoured. Even his throat-slit was not vulnerable: a disc projectile was too largeto penetrate the metal socket, and the guards lacked the skill and speed to use their blades and call endoff.

  It was Tyron who shattered my hopes. ‘Put Thrym to sleep, boy!’ he shouted.

  Everything within me rebelled at this. How could we surrender now, when we were so close to victory? I heard Ada, still hurling wurdes of Nym at Hob. ‘No!’ I cried.

  ‘Please, Leif! Do as I say or there’ll be a massacre here.’

  I was still minded to refuse, but then I saw the desperation on Tyron’s face, and something within me, something deeper than my conscious will, decided for me. It was as if I were a lac and he had called a wurde tocompel me to obey.

  ‘Sleep, Thrym!’ I said softly, and the lac bowed his head and became still.