They continued for several more hours before pulling up at a gated trail, where four rough looking armed guards were standing watch. After a terse exchange, the wagons were allowed through. Here the forest thinned, and Akiri could smell a stream or small river nearby, which he caught a glimpse of when they came to a rickety wooden bridge spanning a ten-foot-wide creek. Again, there were men standing guard, but unlike those at the gate, these took a special interest in Akiri, whispering to one another and smiling wolfishly.
The whistle of flutes combined with loud shouts told him that their destination was fast approaching. Soon the trees gave way to sparse patches of trampled grass and red clay. The stench of unwashed bodies, urine, and strong spirits rose up to assault his sense of smell. Several dilapidated wooden shacks were scattered about, along with a stable and an abandoned trading post. A smugglers’ camp, Akiri reasoned, given its placement and state of disrepair. That or a dying settlement.
Ahead lay another group of shacks as well as a tavern, but what caught his eye was a tall, round structure with an open roof just beyond the last building. Akiri recognized it for what it was: an amphitheater, though a pale shadow of the kind found in cities throughout the world that rang with cheers and groans at the echoes of chariot races and lethal bouts. There, typically free men fought. Slaves did not make good fighters; they died too quickly. There was no entertainment in that.
This place was very different. Here, there would be no rules at all. Here, a man might be pitted against savage beasts, and terrified slaves would be slaughtered by heavily armed champions purely for the delight of the fanatical crowd. This was the kind of place where the demons of the world came to enjoy their sport.
Akiri was pushed into an individual holding cage beside the arena. Several other unfortunate men were also awaiting their fates in similar cages – though all but himself appeared half-starved and already on the verge of collapse. They were fodder, nothing more. Obviously, he was to be the main attraction of the evening.
Killian left four men to watch his cage while he vanished into the crowd, and Akiri’s thoughts turned to escape. He needed to be free of the Sylfari shackles, and that should come about soon enough. Almost certainly, they would be removed before he was made to fight, if only to prolong the entertainment. He looked over at the other men, certain that none would pose any kind of challenge even in his reduced state. He would try to end their lives quickly and cleanly. No sense in causing a condemned man to suffer needlessly.
Dozens of people stopped by to view the latest combatants, with all of them taking a special interest in Akiri. By nightfall, the place was abuzz with activity. The numerous blazing torches served to highlight even further the sheer squalor of the smugglers’ haven. While whores and thieves plied their trades on the inebriated and unwary, small groups of ragged children darted about the debris-strewn ground, begging with sorrowful expressions for coins and food. Mostly they were ignored, or occasionally sent on their way with a sharp blow to the head. Akiri could feel only disgust that people would choose to live such callous and pointless lives.
From inside the arena, the impatient shouts of the rapidly swelling crowd began to drown out all other sounds. Killian returned, a scowl carved deeply into his face. He regarded Akiri with what might have been the slightest hint of pity. “You’ll be going in last,” he said, raising his voice to overcome the roar.
“And should I survive?”
He sighed. “You won’t. You are without hope.”
Akiri watched as he stalked away. The Sylfari’s reaction was significant. Clearly, whatever he would be facing, it would not be the pathetic men imprisoned beside him. This was confirmed less than an hour later when, one by one, they were taken from their cages and led into the arena. Akiri could hear feral snarls and screeches, quickly followed by the screams of dying men and hideous shouts of approval from the crowd. A beast. He could not recognize the sounds it was making, but he was certain that this creature was what he would soon be forced to battle.
In less than two hours, only Akiri remained. He calmed his breathing and slowed his heart rate. Three men approached with crossbows, while a fourth unlocked the cage and pointed to a small archway.
“We’ve been warned you might try something,” he said, eyeing Akiri warily. “These lads are here to see that you don’t.”
The crossbowmen were wisely standing too far back to be rushed. With little choice, he entered the archway as instructed. An iron gate slammed shut behind him, and he found himself in a short, narrow passage. Straight ahead, a wooden door remained closed. Akiri could hear someone announcing the next fight, promising the baying mob that this would be the most exciting spectacle they had ever witnessed.
“I’ll have my shackles, if you don’t mind.”
He turned to see Killian standing on the other side of the gate. “What am I to fight?” he asked.
“Does it matter? But do you really wish to fight with them on? I could always remove them from your corpse instead, if you wish.”
Akiri presented his hands through the bars. With nimble fingers, Killian removed the shackles and sighed. “I’m sorry about this. I had hoped you’d have at least a fighting chance to live. But it was not meant to be, I’m afraid. Farewell.”
A moment later the wooden door was pulled open, allowing light from the arena to flood through. Cautiously, Akiri approached, pausing on the threshold. The fifty-foot-diameter sand-covered floor was soaked with large patches of fresh blood and littered with chunks of mangled flesh. The spectator seats climbed all the way to the very top of the building, every one occupied by a chanting customer eager to witness more carnage. With bloodlust-contorted expressions, their shouts and whistles grew to almost ear-shattering proportions as Akiri stepped further in. The door closed behind him with an ominous boom.
Directly across from him lay an identical door. On a small platform three rows of seats up stood a tall man in colorful robes holding a long wooden staff. He smiled at Akiri with a mouthful of half-rotted teeth.
A semi-hush developed as he swept the staff over his head ceremoniously. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “I give you the mighty – the brave – the legendary – Akiri!”
The crowd erupted once more, the furious cheers shaking the very fabric of the arena. Ignoring this, Akiri’s eyes searched for an escape route. The wall surrounding the arena floor was ten feet high, with armed guards spaced evenly all around the top. It was hard to imagine any hope of being able to scale this barrier before being hacked to bits.
He was still looking for a possible escape route when the door opposite began to creak open. A low growl emanated from the darkness beyond. A moment later, a pair of reptilian eyes glowed bright yellow. Akiri crouched, ready for whatever might come forth; but when it appeared, he quickly realized that this was a creature he could not have prepared himself for.
Its crimson scales shimmered in the torchlight as it crept out onto the sands. Akiri was momentarily stunned. A dragon. Although a juvenile, standing no higher than a large dog, its dagger-like talons and razor-sharp teeth more than made up for its size. To prevent it from flight, its wings had been tied to its body by a leather harness wrapped around its torso. Not that this was going to restrict it in any other way. Muscles rippled with each step it took.
Dragons this young could not breathe fire, Akiri knew this much, but it would not need fire to rip him apart. Even with his former strength and speed to aid him, defeating this creature would have been a monumental task. But now he didn’t stand any chance at all. At best, all he could do was delay things for a short time.
Akiri noticed a chain fastened to the beast’s neck that led back into the holding area. As he circled left, the dragon matched his movements precisely. He had no idea how intelligent these creatures might be. None had been seen in Acharia since the uprising, and in other lands they were remorselessly hunted. Some folk had even claimed they were now extinct, but this one was very much alive and moving with clear in
tent.
He waited until he was close enough and had a clear sight of the chain before diving low to make a grab at it. The dragon reacted instantly, but Akiri was able to raise the chain with both hands just in time. The dragon’s jaws clamped down on it, its teeth biting on the metal that had been shoved inside its mouth much like the bit on a horse. The force of its body pushed Akiri back to the wall; its snout was only inches from his face, easily close enough for the stench of flesh on its breath to fill his nostrils. The dragon shook its head wildly and swiped a claw at Akiri’s head and chest. He twisted away and kicked with all his strength. For an instant, he thought he had pulled himself clear. He had saved himself from being shredded to pieces, but it was not a total evasion. His trailing shoulder was caught. The contact was little more than a brush but was still sufficient to open a row of painful cuts. Blood seeped rather than gushed.
The dragon backed away, angrily spitting the chain from its mouth. Akiri scrambled to his feet, preparing for its next attack, but he didn’t have to wait very long. With an ear-splitting screech, the creature leapt for his throat. Akiri sidestepped, but with an incredible display of agility, the dragon twisted in mid-air and brought its long tail swooping down to strike him squarely on his already injured shoulder. He fell hard on the sands, knowing immediately that the shoulder was dislocated.
Ignoring the dull throbbing pain, he grabbed his useless arm and shoved upward to pop the joint back into place as the clack of talons told him there was no time to get back on his feet. All he could do was thrust out his arms, planting his hands around the creature’s neck just as it reached him. The smooth scales were almost impossible to grip, but Akiri squeezed with all he had, at the same time pushing at the ground with his feet in order to keep scrambling back just beyond the dragon’s vicious bite.
There was only ever going to be one eventual winner. The creature’s strength was tremendous. In less than a minute, Akiri found himself unable to hold the beast back any longer. His arms were on the point of collapse. He was beaten, but he would not die sniveling. Just as the dragon opened its jaws to deliver what would most certainly have been a fatal bite, he looked it fully in the eye.
It was as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. His limbs instantly became numb and his head began spinning. Several seconds passed before he realized that he was now lying flat on his back, eyes staring vacantly up at the night sky. As he regained his senses, the noise of the crowd, all but forgotten during the heat of combat, filtered back in. Gasps of disbelief and vile curses were descending like a vast, vulgar cloud. Scrambling to his knees, he urgently scanned the arena and found the dragon. Incredibly, it had backed away and was crouched close to the door where Akiri had entered.
He realized that somehow the power was returning to his muscles. Not a normal man’s power, but the same incredible power he had been gifted through the magic of the oath stone. And there was more. He could sense the dragon’s thoughts. Not in human words, but in emotion and intent. He felt its distress. Whatever had just happened, the beast was frightened and confused.
For a moment, all eyes were upon the cowed creature, the promise of human sacrifice seemingly forgotten. This was the chance he had been waiting for. The ten-foot-high wall was no longer an obstacle. In little more than a single breath, he was over it and had disarmed the nearest guard. Before the man had any proper grasp on what was happening, Akiri rammed the blade through his gullet and kicked his body into the crowd.
The other guards started rushing toward him, shoving people aside as they advanced. Akiri grinned viciously. With all of his strength returned, he could slaughter this lot like sheep. Only a pained cry from the dragon diverted his attention. The chain attached to its neck was being pulled tight, dragging it back into the holding area. As if driven by some protective instinct, he leapt back down onto the arena floor and swung the sword hard down on the chain. As the metal links parted, the blade shattered, leaving him with only a few inches of steel on the hilt with which to fight. Still unable to understand what was happening, the dragon backed away fearfully.
“It’s all right,” Akiri told it in a firm yet reassuring tone. “I’m going to help you.”
Two guards jumped down, swords drawn. Akiri turned to face them, and in a movement far too rapid to follow, thrust what remained of his weapon sharply across the first man’s chest. Without armor to penetrate, the jagged end of the blade sliced deep.
The second man, startled by Akiri’s newfound speed and agility, drew back. Akiri sniffed contemptuously. Coward. As the first man crumpled to his knees, blood gushing down his stomach, Akiri relieved him of his sword and, in a series of blinding strikes, cut the remaining guard to ribbons before he was able to so much as raise the tip of his blade. The rest of the men atop the wall wisely decided to stay where they were.
Akiri turned back to the dragon and held out his palm. “Stay calm, my friend. I want to cut the harness from you. Then you will be free to fly again.”
The dragon seemed to accept what he was saying and lowered its head. Akiri carefully slipped the blade beneath the harness and sliced through the main strap. For a short time, the creature remained motionless. Then it looked up, once again meeting Akiri’s eyes. Waves of appreciation washed through him like a torrent. The dragon then spread its wings. They shivered at first, blood coursing through them as they unfurled, beating at the air to work out the pains from having been tied down for so long.
Akiri could not help but smile as it craned its neck and let out an elated cry. Its wings began pounding furiously, stirring up great clouds of sand and dust. Within seconds, it had risen above the level of the surrounding wall and had turned its gaze on those in the seats.
Their terrified screams quickly reached a crescendo. Only minutes before, they had been baying to see the blood of others; now they were desperately trampling over one another in a blind panic to preserve their own. After completing a slow full circuit of the auditorium, the dragon let out a mighty roar that spoke more clearly than anything of the contempt it felt for them. With a great thrust of its wings, it then rose straight up through the open roof and into the night sky.
Back down on the arena floor, more armed men poured in through an entrance in the stands, these carrying bows. Akiri sprang forward and once again scaled the wall. Only two men barred his way, but both quickly fell back when he approached. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to chase them down and exact revenge for their part in the capture and confinement of the dragon. Only his iron discipline forced him to push these feelings aside.
Outside, people were either running aimlessly or standing rock-still and gazing skyward with fearful expressions as the call of the dragon drifted down from the darkness above. People cringed and cried out in fear, but the sound was a beautiful melody to Akiri’s ears. It was the sound of joy. The sound of freedom.
He scanned the chaos until spotting one of Killian’s men. Like most of the others, the man was occupied solely in looking upwards for the dragon and paying no heed to his surroundings. Akiri simply walked up behind him, grabbing his collar with one hand and pressing the sword to his throat with the other.
“Where is Killian?” he demanded in his ear.
The man froze for a moment before answering. “He…he’s over there.” He pointed to a nearby row of buildings.
“Thank you,” Akiri said. With a swift tug, he ran the blade across the man’s neck. Before his body even hit the ground, Akiri had already removed the dagger from his victim’s belt and was heading toward the direction indicated.
Pushing his way through the still frantic crowd, he rounded the side of the first building and immediately spotted Killian readying his horse. The same three men were already mounted nearby. The wagons, now empty of goods and horseless, were obviously being left behind.
“Quickly, lads,” Killian ordered. “I want to be well away from here by dawn.”
Akiri crouched low. Killian’s men would be easy enough to deal with. But the Sy
lfari still had his bow strapped to his back. If he wasn’t careful, that could still pose a very real threat.
“How do you think that bloody dragon got loose?” asked one of the men.
Killian didn’t bother to respond. A rough voice calling his name from the corner of the next building a moment later captured his attention. Into view stormed the dark-skinned man they had encountered earlier that day. His eyes were blazing, and his hand was resting firmly on the hilt of his sword.
Killian looked up and smiled. “Ah, Jerral. I hear you’ve had a spot of trouble.”
Three more of Jerral’s gang appeared and took up position just behind him. “That slave you sold me has killed three of my men, and cost me my dragon,” he growled.
Killian shrugged. “I did warn you to be careful. You knew who you were dealing with. Or did you think I was lying when I told you who he was?”
Jerral continued to glare, his muscles flexing and his jaw tight. “You knew damn well what you were doing, you bastard. Unloading your problems on me. That’s what. Now I’m out a whole heap of fucking gold because of you. The dragon alone was worth at least a thousand.”
“I’m sorry to hear this,” Killian replied. “But why is it my fault? It was your arena. Your dragon. And your responsibility.”
His three men on horseback eyed the trio accompanying Jerral. The hostility between the two groups virtually crackled. Finally, Killian held up his hand.
“Look, my friend,” he said. “I genuinely feel bad for your troubles. And to show you the extent of my goodwill…” He paused to reach into his saddlebag and pull out a small purse.
Jerral sneered. “You can’t honestly think that is enough to compensate me.”
“Here’s what I think, old friend. I think you should take the gold I am offering. Then run and find a nice dark place to hide. You tried to send Akiri to his death, after all. He could be anywhere by now. And from what I’ve heard, he is not the forgiving sort.”
Akiri: The Scepter of Xarbaal Page 8
