"As a positive, it should make it easier for us to knock them from the bridge," Sadira said, flexing her fingers as she surveyed the audience. The crowd was cheerful and boisterous despite the weather. "This should be an easy match. We'll look good out there."
"You always look good," smiled Gavin, taking the easy compliment. Sadira smirked back, eyes sparkling even as she shook her head.
"At least with Glamour I don't have to worry about rain and wind ruining my hair." She ran her hand through the long, thick forest of black spikes on her head, which fell back into place immediately. "I don't know how ungifted women survive without it."
Gavin shrugged. He imagined some could go to expensive Glamour salons, but he had never really thought about it. He kept his own hair short.
The trumpets blared and the two Gladiators entered the arena. Swift-footed Sadira rushed forward, Gavin trotting behind her, watching her eager strides. His heart lurched as she broke into a run on the treacherously wet bridge, leaping into the air half way across, landing in crouch. She slid on the slick stones to the end of the bridge, drawing her wicked swords in salute to the spectators as she came to rest.
Gavin drew his blade as well, but he got the distinct impression they were mostly cheering Sadira, his love. He felt a little tingle of jealousy, but pushed it aside as he took his place beside her. She deserved the admiration she got. The first wave of enemies would come from the west, the traditional direction in most matches, since the great city of Krass, beating heart of the Domains, lay on the eastern shore of the continent.
Sadira revelled in the way the crowd roared when the announcer shouted her name; she was still enjoying the afterglow of her hard fought victory over Evoni and Marisu, Moltar's proteges. It had bought her great prestige in the eyes of local arena patrons.
The trumpets sounded and their enemies rumbled forth, heavy plated armour clanking as they moved relentlessly toward the bridge. Gavin and Sadira knew them to be the Stitched, a type of Zombie often used for arena fodder. To most of the crowd, they appeared to be grim, ghostly warriors, clad in fearsome black armour. Glowing red eyes and wicked serrated blades made them look particularly demonic on this cold, grey, stormy autumn afternoon.
In bridge battles the audience prefers the teams that eschew the easy kill, cheering loudest when a Gladiator knocks an enemy off the bridge. It is considered very bad form to finish such a battle without knocking at least one body into the spiked abyss for the pleasure of the spectators.
"On you, jumping!" communicated Sadira as Gavin strode forward to meet his foes in the middle of the stone bridge. She tensed and then pushed forward, vaulting over Gavin's shoulder as he crashed into them shield first. She wrapped her legs around the armoured head of the nearest creature, slashing her blades at the others as it started to fall. She rode it down toward the abyss, unwrapping her legs from her opponent and pushing off of its body as it slipped over the edge of the stone bridge. The audience let out a collective gasp. She channelled power into a primal surge, lending her the strength to flip backwards, dropping onto the wet stones behind Gavin. She landed perfectly on the slick stones, revelling in the thrill of the stunt. The crowd roared to its feet, thundering approval.
Chosen's Oath, she has no fear at all, thought Gavin, with a mixture of trepidation and admiration. He pushed into them, using his shield as a battering ram. The Stitched were strong but clumsy. Powering forward, step by step, muscles bulging, he leaned into them. An errant blade bit into his side. He shouted wordlessly, heaving forward with a surge of adrenaline. Two of his enemies lost their footing on the slippery narrow bridge and plunged into the chasm, joining their brother flailing on the spikes below. The crowd cheered as they fell.
Sadira moved in to stand behind him, showing her approval with the cruel smile she wore in the arena. He nodded to her and they swept forward. Shadows seemed to coalesce on Sadira's obsidian blades as she whirled into the Stitched. It was mostly for show; undead were rarely fooled by shadow manipulation. Gavin followed her, his blood on fire, pushing them back with his lion-headed shield, thrusting his spear at any who got too close to her. He ignored the wound in his side.
A sword grazed Sadira and she snarled as it drew blood, quickly hacking the arm off the offending undead assailant with a vicious backhand stroke. Her twin obsidian blades danced among her enemies, dark and deadly in the shadow of the storm. She revelled in the exertion, her heart singing with triumph as she cut down her enemies, Gavin at her side. As the last of the armoured corpse-men fell, she let loose an ear splitting war-shriek and crossed her swords above her head, posing for the audience. They answered with cheers. She drank their responding praise, feeling the cold rain on her face.
Gavin watched her: at times like this Sadira radiated vitality, seeming otherworldly and magnificent, a pure, primal being unspoiled by the ugly reality around her. His eyes met hers and he felt a surge of energy, as if she loaned him some of her own life essence, unspoiled and radiant. His wound had closed. He thumped his spear-holding hand against his chest in response. As they smiled at each other, enjoying the moment, the gates opened to admit the rest of their opponents.
Two towering figures strode into the arena, trolls armed and armoured much like the corpse-men. Gavin thought he recognized both of them from his last match, although their gear was different this time. They moved toward the bridge from opposite sides, bearing heavy axes and tall shields. They looked impressive, unstoppable, but the Gladiators knew toppling the massive creatures off of the narrow bridge's slick stones would be much easier than killing them.
The two trolls advanced onto the bridge cautiously, making sure their footing was good, keeping their thick metal shields in front of them. Gavin had to admit the glowing red eyes that had been glamoured onto them were a nice touch; they looked even more demonic than the shambling stitched that now twitched in the chasm below them.
The Gladiators stood back to back, still like statues, feeling the rain wash over them. The trolls moved forward bit by bit, taking a more measured approach than the mindless undead. Tension mounted among the spectators. The trolls loomed over the Gladiators, huge and menacing.
With sudden grace, Sadira whirled away from the troll she was facing, sprinting toward the beast bearing down on her partner. Gavin powered forward, matching her long strides. The troll, surprised, swung its axe in a powerful arc sweeping from one side of the bridge to the other. Nimble Sadira jumped over the swinging weapon, bringing her armoured, spiked boot up into a flip-kick that struck under the chin of her foe, staggering the massive troll. At the same time, Gavin ducked under the same axe, his spear-thrust hitting the creature in the knee at the exact moment that Sadira's kick landed. The troll stumbled. Gavin stood up and shoved, acutely aware of the loud footsteps of the other troll as it charged in. Sadira dropped to the bridge behind him. Their victim toppled into the pit, grabbing at him, but falling short as Gavin backpedalled.
The other Troll, in an unexpected move, did not even try to take a swipe at the agile Gladiatrix as she landed on the bridge. It brushed past, ignoring her slashing blades, and chopped at Gavin, who was still off balance from avoiding the falling troll's grasping hands. He saw something huge moving out of the corner of his eye, and twisted, desperately trying to get his shield up and his feet into position. The axe hit him in the shoulder armour, crunching through the mithril plates with tremendous force. Gavin reeled, desperately trying to keep his balance, blood spurting from his ruined shoulder. He hung on the edge of the abyss for what seemed to be an eternity before toppling off, falling down into the harsh spikes.
The last thing he saw was vengeful Sadira appearing behind the troll on its back, eyes burning with rage, screaming her terrible war-cry, wicked blades crossing her foe's throat and cutting deep, sending out a great spray of blood. Then he hit the bottom, cruel spikes piercing him all over. The last thing he heard was roar of the crowd.
-----o
When he regained consciousness, Gavin was happ
y to see Sadira looking down at him. He thought he saw tears on her rain soaked face. It always surprised him to see her cry; she was the fiercest person he had ever met. Hearing the cheers of the crowd, he realized she had pulled him up from the pit without waiting for the Healers. He had expected to wake in the arena infirmary, and not on the fighting grounds. He could feel her magic flow into him, encouraging his body to mend itself. He smiled. She had come down into the pit to get him; a difficult task. The arena medics would be furious.
The crowd had started to leave by the time they both got to their feet, eager to get out of the rain. Theirs was the last match of the day. Only a few die-hard fans remained cheering loudly as the two Gladiators finally rose, together, and saluted them.
-----o
Later that night, when they returned to the spacious house they shared with their friends, they found a pile of gifts and letters waiting for them. Sadira felt a warm sense of delight, as she loved communicating with her fans and followers; she dutifully answered every letter they sent to her, often taking many hours to do so.
Omodo looked on sadly. No one had ever sent the massive Rhino-man a letter of appreciation. Vintia nudged the giant Armodon, and pointed toward a wooden board made up of black and white hexagons, hoping to divert his attention with a game of Chosen's Gambit.
Gavin noticed that Sadira had overlooked a small parcel addressed to her. Patting Omodo on the back, as he went by, he brought it to the bedchamber that he and Sadira shared. She looked at it curiously, shook it, and opened it.
Inside was a beautifully crafted gold ring adorned with a cunningly shaped scorpion made from black pearl and pure onyx. Sadira held it up to the light, enthralled. Her eyes glowed with appreciation of the perfectly chosen gift.
"That's quite the patron gift! What does the card say?" asked Gavin, smiling at his love's delight. He was well aware of how much work Sadira put into performing in the arena and encouraging her fans with thoughtful responses to their letters and gifts. He was glad it was paying off.
The accompanying note was written in elegant, flowing script, written on rich jasmine scented paper. "It says... to Sadira Lacivia, the only thing I have ever wanted from the Reds." She tried the ring on. "The signature at the bottom says VV. The ring fits perfectly too. How thoughtful. Looks like you have competition, my love."
Gavin started to smile at her joke, but his retort died in his throat as the realization of who had sent the gift hit him like cold steel twisting in his gut.
Chapter Fifteen: To the Future
1143/01/07 AR, Camp Valorous, test match for the Third Rank
"A fearless man is one who simply lacks the capacity to feel fear. A brave man is one who feels fear and has learned to overcome it. In mastering his fear the brave man hones his will and becomes stronger." Victor diTavalon, Warbound.
Even as the harsh highland winter buried the roads in snow and lashed the town with screaming frozen winds, the vital pace of Camp Valorous did not seem to slacken. Soldiers came and went, going to and from the Wall, the wheels of duty always grinding forward, regardless of the state of the roads and nature's wrath.
Occasionally cloaked figures or ornate wagons would be seen, an escort in tow, and rumours about the new-comers would fly through the town, spreading like a flock of swift-winged ravens dispersing from their roost. For the townsfolk and soldiers, glimpses of the Chosen and their favoured servants were more than mere gossip; these appearances often heralded shifts in military organization, promotions and demotions, and even the beginning of major new campaigns. Such was the ebb and flow of Camp Valorous and the surrounding area; events never really stopped, only slowed down; even the great New Year's celebrations which brought every major city of the Domains to a halt for five days only slowed the bustling military town a little.
Gladiators do not fight during the New Year's festival, and only the most ardent spend more than an hour or two a day on practice during these holidays. It is a time of near universal joy in the Domains, with big cities, small towns, and country neighbours all vying with each other to host the best celebrations. The Factions put aside their traditional methods of dispute, and try to outdo each other in baking contests, decoration, hosting, and even cleaning up after the holiday. The Deliberative were very accommodating to Gladiators during this time, escorting their charges without complaint so that they could join in the general celebrations or travel to visit relatives.
It was during their last festival in the highland town, that Ravius had discovered the Sword and Standard, an outstanding old pub tucked away on a time-worn street just off the town centre. It was built in an old headquarters building, still decorated by the faded standards of the greatest legions that had served here since the town was young. The building was sturdy and comfortable, having that priceless well-worn feeling that all of the best taverns share. The hearty fare, strong drinks, and excellent service greatly attracted the six Gladiators, as did the chance to interact with townsfolk and soldiers outside the arena.
Pale, bright Cleothera had insinuated herself rather easily into their little group. Gladiators are naturally suspicious of those who watch over them. There is an endless supply of rumours, suspicions, and stories about the Deliberative that circulate in every place Gladiators gather. On the other hand, nothing about Cleothera gave any indication that she was trying to spy on them. More importantly, having an eager Officer of the Deliberative available to escort them whenever they wanted to roam was immensely convenient. They now frequented the Sword and Standard several times a week, preferring it over the Laughing Giant in the Gladiators' quarter. For her part Cleothera seemed glad of the opportunity to socialize with any other Gifted close to her own age, complaining that her co-workers in the Deliberative were all "old and stuffy".
Sadira wondered how many other Gladiators found themselves in the same position. Their kind worked closely with the Deliberative, relationships were bound to occur. She found herself enjoying Cleothera's company; the Light-Elf girl was talkative, always willing to share whatever information she was allowed with them. Gladiators outside the Campus Martius and the Great Arenas find it hard to keep up with the latest news and culture simply because they tend to be isolated in their own little sections of town and have limited access to communications devices. Cleothera was delighted to fill them in, providing colour to the world outside the confines of the arena and the Gladiators' quarters.
-----o
On the day of Sadira and Gavin's fifteenth fight, a ranking match, they found themselves enjoying a hearty breakfast at the Sword and Standard with all of their friends, including Cleothera. The smell of lamb and potato stew cooking, the clinking of mugs full of the mixture of bitter chocolate, sweet whiskey, and strong coffee favoured by locals on a cold winter morning, and the conversations of other patrons provided the backdrop for their meal. Sadira and Gavin were quietly discussing tactics for their match later that day, when Cleothera's silvery laughter broke their reverie.
"You'd make a terrible Chosen, Ravius." She poked a finger into the chest of the broadly grinning Gladiator. "No offence, dear, but I could just imagine you calling Chosen Moltar, or Chosen Gorixus "little brother" at a Council of the Chosen and starting a civil war."
"But just imagine the parties, Cleo." Ravius's grin widened as he realized that they now had the attention of the rest of the group."The best foods from all over the empire, the finest vintages and the best brewed beers, the..."
"...Harem of nubile young vassal girls trained in the most deviant and decadent of pleasure-magics?" Sadira quickly interrupted, her lips curling into a poison-sweet smile. Cleothera and Vintia laughed.
"He'd give Chosen Silvius a run for his money in the bunga-bunga department for sure," chimed Karmal.
"I'm glad my name is becoming synonymous with long nights of wild, creative, orgiastic sex among you ladies," Ravius retorted, chuckling. "Feel free to repeat your accusations as often and as loudly as you wish. But back to your original accusation Cleother
a; I think I would make an excellent addition to the ranks of the Chosen. My humour and grace would certainly brighten up the grim politics of the Council. And, you must admit, the people of the Domains would love me."
"Sure; but what about your policies? What kinds of positive changes would you bring to the Domains Ravius?" Cleothera retorted.
"Well. For one I would extend match times in the Great Games; the current time limits are unfair. Some of us prefer to wear down our opponents," Ravius said earnestly, looking around at his friends. "...and I would push to make food subsidies for the poorest citizens available in every Domain. People should not starve when we have both the magic and the productivity to supply their needs, just to keep prices high. The greatness of any civilization is measured by how it treats its poor and meek."
Ravius looked around, half-defiant. It was a common source of contention in the Domains; some of the Chosen did not allow the subsidy in their Domains because they claimed it made their people lazy or dependent.
"Spoken like a true Red!" Omodo's voice rumbled in loud approval. "Although I cannot support the change to time limits; it would favour defenders too much."
"Not to mention make the matches boring," added Karmal. "The Games are a spectator sport Ravius; the crowds got bored in the old days, watching people bash away at each other indecisively. You might as well suggest that Heavies get to wear full-coverage plate armour again."
Bloodlust: A Gladiator's Tale Page 23
