"Besides," he added after a moment, "Sadira likes to have my opinion on the dresses and jewelry she wants. It makes more sense for me to be able to say what I think before she buys it. I've also found that it's a great time to score points in the flattery department."
"I wish I could find a man to follow me around and tell me I look hot," sighed Vintia.
"I'm sure you'll find a worthy man," said Gavin. "You are one of the most beautiful women on this street, Vintia. I'd bet you are prettier than half the little princesses in their jewelled palanquins. You could also save your husband from a pack of angry spike hounds, which is a serious plus in my books."
"Maybe so," she answered, looking around. "But no one looks at ungifted women like they are coiled vipers, Gavin."
He started to protest, but cut short. He saw many of the passers-by looking at them with curiosity and almost worship, and yet, as always, he could not help but notice that many others looked at them with an ill-concealed fear, hurrying curious children away, or moving to the side of the street. The street crowds split more readily for Sadira and Karmal than they did for a grinding steam-wagon. Even massive Ogres, Armodons, and Minotaurs moved out of the way of the two athletic Gladiatrices. Some men looked on them with lusty eyes, but not a single one cat-called or even tried to get their attention as they might have done for beautiful women born without the Gift.
Some people still carried fear of the Reckoning in them, Gavin knew. He had seen it often enough. He had himself killed a man, a Heretic named Olek Agvarson, in order to satiate that hatred, and he still carried the guilt. Others, no doubt, hated Gladiators for the savagery they represented, as if he would not rather give up the fame and glory of the arena for the freedom and family that normal people enjoyed. He could not help that he had born with the Gift. He lapsed into thoughtful silence, walking at Vintia's side behind Sadira and Karmal.
-----o
Brightsand Halls was a relatively new city, just over three centuries old, built after Chosen Giselle conquered this area. The city was not built over any pre-Reckoning ruins, or even on the grounds of an existing city that had sprung up outside the Domains afterwards. There were many resources within a day's travel or two, but the urban landscape was not built with those in mind either. The Chosen could have built Brightsand Halls on the place where the ancient pre-Reckoning roads met the wide expanse of the River Brightwater, but she did not. Instead it was built on an imposing set of jagged hills, columns of rock, overlooking all of these features. The city nestled in the centre of the network of little towns that had appeared beside each point of interest, like a spider in the centre of its web, controlling all parts of its silken Domain.
The top of each rocky hill had been flattened with a combination of magic and tremendous human effort. Excess rock had been sculpted into walls, bridges, walkways, and towers, all built to repel outside invasion. Brightsand Halls had been on the borders of the Domains once, and it had been a stronghold when it was built. The lowest of the towering rocky expanses on which it was built thrust over three-hundred feet out of the desert sands, crowned with imposing ramparts. Each of the nine original hills could be cut off from the others in case of invasion, and to this day the elegant arched bridges of fitted stone were the only means of travel from hill to hill above ground level. Gavin had heard a rumour that the Chosen could collapse any of the bridges with a single command word.
Clockwork lifts had been recently added to each hill, bringing goods and passengers to the heights above, but traffic was such that the original chain and weight lifts were still in use as well. The metal of each link on these was thicker than a man's chest, holding weights and counter-weights that were each the size of a small house. Gavin felt a strange desire to ride on one of those old relics, to feel the shaking platform beneath his feet jolted by the slow rolling of the great metal links, but he did not want to invite laughter from his friends by expressing this unreasonable desire.
Originally each hill-fortress had a great cistern and massive stores dug into the thick rock of the hill beneath. These now served as homes for the city's ever expanding population; the Chosen would not allow the aesthetic of her city to be spoiled by too many buildings at ground level. Supposedly there were underground farms within, places making use of the Dwarven arts of deep agriculture. Gavin wished he could get a better look at these underground grottoes, and learn their secrets.
The central hill was not the largest, but it was the tallest, and it housed the palace of the Chosen. The famed hanging gardens, attended by skilled vassals and an army of workers, decorated the sides of the rocky cliff, like vast opulent window planters for Chosen Giselle's glittering copper-roofed palace. The gardens were said to house every flower known to the Domains, attended by experts of great renown. Legends, some bawdy, some bloody, had arisen about what lengths the Chosen Giselle was willing to go to get hold of rare specimens.
The palace itself was built in the style of classical pre-Reckoning Krass architecture. Huge columns of pink veined white marble, imported from distant quarries far to the north, fronted every serenely built structure. The Chosen did not appear to like rough edges; each section of her expansive palace was dominated by a large rounded structure topped with an impressive copper dome. He had seen many of those domes in the south; perhaps they were a remnant of some local custom that caught The Chosen's eye during her campaigns. A series of smaller buildings, each a mansion in its own right, provided housing for the Chosen's vassals, servants, and her favourite Gladiators. Gavin's heart fell. Sadira would soon be staying here, called away from him by the irresistible will of the Chosen. He consoled himself with the thought that it was what she had always wanted.
He imagined himself coming here a few years from now to see his love, only to find that surrounded by such beauty and opulence she had quite forgotten him. He told himself that this was just a maudlin fantasy, a dark thought that did him no good, but he could not shake it. Perhaps it would be better that way.
-----o
They met with Azure Dream, Minerva to her friends, and a trio of blue Gladiatrices at the entrance to the bazaar. If people were flowing in and out of the vast market like a river, then the haughty Blues and their retinue were a jagged islet in the stream. Some people bowed, others smiled, some showed signs of fear, but none dared approach them without deliberation. The people seemed to pay less attention to their Grey-Robed escorts Gavin noticed. The minotaur, Bull Dangerous, was the only male among the Blues.
"Sadira!" Minerva's smile, broad and infectious even in the arena, lit up her face as she saw her friend approaching. The two women kissed each other's cheeks. The other Girls followed suit. Gavin looked at the massive Minotaur.
"I won't be offended if you pass," said Bull Dangerous with a smirk.
Gavin chuckled and offered his hand in the Krassian manner of greeting. "I'm glad; I never really bought into the whole kiss of greeting tradition, Bull, even with pretty women." He wondered if this made him homophobic, but perhaps he was just uncomfortable with that level of intimacy as a greeting. He overheard Minerva mention that Tenisha and Rishelle were already in the Bazaar.
"I can agree with that," said Bull, looking around. "Please call me Julius."
"City born?" asked Gavin. The minotaur nodded. "Me too. call me Gavin if you wish."
"Weird," said Julius, twisting his mouth thoughtfully. Like most Gladiators, he was very different outside of the arena, where he wasn't performing for the crowd. "I expected a different name for the fearless Lionfang."
Gavin shrugged. He rarely used his arena name; it was just an affectation for the crowd, chosen to reflect his armour. At least that is what he had thought at the time.
"So... Bull. Do tell me why you chose such an... interesting arena name," asked Vintia, coming alongside them as they followed Sadira and Minerva, who walked arm in arm into the Bazaar talking excitedly, heedless of the crowd which parted before them in equal parts adulation and fear. Gavin felt a stab of jealousy at
the sight, not sure if it was because he had to share his love with the world or because he was envious of the way Sadira and Minerva confidently endured the throngs around them. He noticed Karmal staring a little angrily at Minerva's back.
Julius chuckled. "I lost a bet in my last day at the Campus Gladius. So I had to use the name, Bull Dangerous, for my first fight; I've grown used to it. I like it actually; I've heard every stupid taunt the skirmishers can come up with by now."
Vintia nodded. Gavin chuckled. "I wish I could take that attitude. Well, Bull, Vintia and I are going to search out the book-stands here. Want to join us?"
"Beats looking at dresses," responded the Minotaur, "at least until the ladies start trying them on..."
Gavin laughed.
Vintia half-smirked in response. "Perverts. I also want to check out the weapons. We may not be able to buy here, but we can still look."
"I like the way you think, little sister," smiled the Minotaur.
"Not you too!" wailed Vintia.
Gavin laughed at Bull's puzzled expression as Vintia pivoted and walked off furiously. They followed in her wake as Gavin explained her reaction.
The great bazaar, so full of people selling wares of every kind, was in the shadow of the palace by the time they left to return to Scorpion's Oasis. Gavin and Sadira were to be tested for the sixth rank together that evening. Sadira had enjoyed their outing immensely, especially the time she could steal with Gavin. But she never once looked toward the awe-inspiring Palace of Chosen Giselle, with its glittering roof and its voluptuous gardens.
-----o
And so, as darkness wrapped the desert in stars, Gavin and Sadira found themselves looking out on the small, but luxurious arena of Scorpion's Oasis. This was a ranking match; Gavin was unsure what to expect. He was still relaxed from their outing, and having Sadira by his side filled him with confidence. The white sand of the fighting ground glistened strangely under the stars.
"You're wearing that thoughtful look again, beloved," Sadira said, smiling warmly, enjoying his presence.
"I think they've gone and turned the sand into a swamp," he said after a moment. Something about the smell reminded him of the marshes around Dreadwood Junction.
"Great, there goes my mobility," said Sadira with an exasperated sound. "They always have to have some kind of angle in the Ranking matches. Or do you think it’s just some perverted Grey-Robe who wants to see me covered in mud?"
Gavin laughed, "I'm sure the crowd will appreciate that."
"What about you, beloved?" she said with mock sweetness. "Don't you want to see the Vixen Gladiatrix Red Scorpion all wet and dirty?"
"Absolutely!" he chuckled. "But, I much prefer her alter ego Sadira, reading, laughing, or sleeping... wearing her secret innocent face when no one is watching."
She bit her lip, leaning forward, eyes shining. The trumpets interrupted her.
The sand in the arena was the consistency of thick, deep soldier's oatmeal and both Gladiators sank halfway to their knees after a single step. The muck seemed to suck at their feet. Sadira immediately made a rude gesture at the watching Arena Master, Hork Bloodsmith, who smiled at her in return. The small, lazy late night crowd cheered her display of spirit. Gavin had no illusions about which of them the fans were here to see.
Sadira stood for a moment with a frown on her face, watching Gavin move slowly through the thick muck. She did not like the idea of fighting in some sandy swamp designed to rob her of her biggest advantage. She seethed for a moment, then let go of her frustration; there was simply nothing she could do about it.
Gavin heard Sadira whoop and the sounds of her feet splashing as she ran forward. Mud, not unexpected, splattered against his back as she flew past, pushing through the thick muck with powerful strides. She picked up enough speed to leap into a forward flip, drawing her twin obsidian blades, and landing with a tremendous muddy splash, saluting the crowd as she did. He laughed. She favoured the Arena Master with yet another obscene gesture. The Orc shook his head. The crowd laughed and cheered calling out loving obscenities in response.
The trumpets called again. Gavin's heart hammered. He suddenly thought of the disappointment on Sadira's face if he should let her down and cause her first loss. What would they be up against?
Two sets of gates opened, and tall, lithe figures glided out. Their feet touched the muck as they elegantly stepped into the starlight, but they did not sink in at all.
The trio of figures were lean and graceful, with faces like strangely feral Elves with catlike eyes. Their foreheads were sharply ridged and they had hairless skulls, covered in bony protrusions and sporting curled horns, larger on the male. Each was clad in fell-runed armour coloured like the full moon on a clear desert night. Their weapons were elegant and terrible, each serrated edge or wicked barb an artfully crafted instrument of pain and destruction. Sadira felt a cold thrill of revulsion crawl down her spine as she realized what manner of enemy they were facing.
A collective shudder rippled through audience as they beheld these creatures, alien and beautiful, living representations of the Reckoning's twisted magic.
"Wirn!" spat Sadira, shaking with hatred and disgust, the very name for these creatures tasted foul in her mouth. "DESPOILERS OF MY KIN, I WILL BRING YOU PAIN AND DEATH...."
The Wirn were lords of a powerful Empire west of the Domains. They claimed to be the true descendants of the Elves of old, changed by the tainted magics of the Reckoning. There was a long history of warfare between the Chosen and the Wirn, but neither had managed to overcome the other and their clashes were very, very costly to both in terms of blood and treasure.
The Elven races, both of the light and the shadow varieties, have a special hatred for the Wirn. Early in the history of the Domains, the Wirn infiltrated and betrayed the Domain of Avenholt, slaying Chosen Sonarion and Chosen Vilonia and claiming the ancient Elven homelands as their own. The resulting war had been won by the Domains, and for a time the Wirn were thought to have been broken. Avenholt was a cursed place now, and few dared dwell there. The story was constantly retold in the "Rape of Vilonia", one the Domain's greatest tragic works. The two Chosen had united the Elves of the Domains in joy, as apparently the Wirn now conjoined them in hate. Sadira's righteous wrath was a tangible thing; Gavin could feel the bloodlust emanating from her as the lively twinkle in her eyes turned to molten fury.
Some Wirn criminals, exiled as punishment, arranged their way into the Domains where they could gain the forgiveness of their people by facing a Gladiator in the arena and surviving. Scholars theorized that for some Wirn this was a form of ritual pilgrimage, a rite of passage, or training for some darksome deed. The Deliberative and the Chosen approved of this practice; it allowed the people to see their enemies up close and help them understand that not all the menaces the Chosen protected them from were simple beasts and blighted monsters. Thus, they escorted the Wirn exiles to the arenas, and to the borders again on the exceedingly rare occasions that one survived.
Sadira stared into the cold, catlike eyes of the Wirn. Her ancestors had died, betrayed and humiliated, at the hands of these abominable creatures. They had despoiled the ancient home of her people. One of them smiled mockingly at her; the other two tittered, a brittle sound like heat-warped bells, off-key and grating. Red rage jolted through her, eclipsing all compassion. Her kin were at Avenholt when it was betrayed; she could trace her bloodline to Chosen Vilonia the Shadow-Elf queen whose body had been carried off by the Wirn. She relished the chance to gain her measure of vengeance for this ancient wrong.
Sadira's banshee war-scream startled Gavin with its anguished intensity. The Shadow-Elf sprang forward, abandoning grace for power as she ploughed through the muck. Gavin slogged after her, keeping pace as best he could. The three exiles fanned out, moving gracefully across the surface of the mud as if it were solid ground. He wondered if they were elementalists of a sort; he knew Vintia could perform a similar trick with her spells. He knew nothing about the power
s of the Wirn.
Curious, Gavin tried to probe the creatures, to read their minds with a simple spell. He picked up a strange pattern with his Cogimantic magic, elusive, yet disturbingly alien. The pattern connected all the Wirn like some form of communication spell. He examined it for a moment, but then decided to ignore the Wirn's ephemeral, tainted magic, focusing fully on how to defend wild Sadira. To his surprise, his sense of the Wirn's tainted pattern did not abate as he broke contact, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
Drawing near to the closest Wirn, a tall, angular, eerily beautiful female, Sadira snarled, leaping into the air. She brought her obsidian sabres down in a deadly arc toward her hated foe. The Wirn flitted backwards, moving out of reach with lightning grace, leaving the barest of prints in the quicksand muck. Sadira landed with a splash, snarling.
"So clumsy, cousin," its singsong voice mocked. "Too bad you were not brave enough to risk your life on this match. We would have gladly ended your warped existence; you and your kind are a blight upon this world, Lost one."
Sadira answered with a harsh war-scream as she splashed forward, swinging her swords at the smirking Wirn, who parried her attacks with seemingly effortless ease. The mud hampered her efforts, making it all but impossible to use her war-dances or acrobatic grace to gain an advantage over the target. It was no doubt part of the test. The Gladiatrix snarled, "Laugh while you can betrayer! Your tricks will not save you this day... You will not see your home again!"
Gavin slowed, turning to guard Sadira's back against the two Wirn now on their flanks. They closed in with lazy grace, moving in perfect harmony. The haunting sensation in his head, distant and strange, became more insistent. He knew it was some kind of warped magical pattern, but he did not want to expose himself to it again. He braced himself; the Wirn did not have the Gift, but they were not without magic of their own and they were fast and deadly.
Bloodlust: A Gladiator's Tale Page 48
