His thoughts drifted to the dagger hidden in his boot. The blade was his ace in the hole, and he dared not attempt to draw it, lest it draw attention. The blade had gone unnoticed in its hiding place beneath Boris’ cot. The day after the failed assassination attempt by Sansa, Darin had been furious. He had ordered all of the gladiators out into the yard and worked them harder than any time previously. Perhaps he had hoped Boris, still recovering from the wounds he had sustained, would succumb to his wounds. Boris, however, had persevered and made it through that day and every day since.
At last the gates stood open. Across the arena, Boris could make out the distant figures of the opposing team. He assumed they would be of equal numbers.
Rather than the two teams meeting in the middle, the rules of this match dictated the two groups would wait for the blowing of a horn to leave the tunnels and begin their fight. Boris tensed, his muscles ready to propel his feet forward headlong into his enemies. Though he did not appreciate the tactic - his way was to strike from any direction but the front where possible - he knew of no better way for such a mass encounter to be conducted.
The horn blew three times, but Boris was charging before the first blast had ended. Behind him, he heard the others running, their gear clanking.
Across the arena, the opposing team was charging as well, roaring in defiance, attempting to intimidate Boris’ team. If the tactic worked, his fellow gladiators did not show it.
As Boris neared the enemy ranks, he withdrew one of the javelins on his back, not slowing his run. Taking aim as best he could while moving at a full spring, he reared back and launched the javelin into the air. The forward momentum of his body, coupled with the strength of his arm, propelled the javelin in a slightly arcing line straight toward the enemy group.
The javelin struck one of the men in the chest, flinging him backward, the force of the blow knocking him to the ground. Other javelins, thrown by his companions, flew toward the enemy, though not all with the same accuracy as Boris, for only another two men fell that Boris could see.
The enemy had not idly been running forward either - they had drawn their own javelins and even now released their volley like a swarm of angry steel-tipped hornets. Boris raised his shield in front of his body and felt the thump of a javelin striking it. The weapon weighed down his shield, but he did not discard it. He spared no glance behind him to his companions, his eyes focused on the enemy, though he heard the scream of one man and a grunt of pain from another.
Before Boris could draw his second javelin, the two groups were upon one another. He drew his short swords from the scabbard at his waist and raised his shield in a defensive position, the enemy javelin acting like a very large, cumbersome shield spike. The first opponent swung his blade in a frenzied strike. Boris brought his shield around, blocking the blade. The haft of the javelin lodged in Boris’ shield slammed into the side of the assailant, but with little effect. The man leaned against the haft, attempting to turn the shield aside to clear a path to strike. Boris’ muscles strained against the weight of the man, holding the shield in place with effort.
As the man leaned into the haft with a concerted effort, working at it, Boris moved his shield rapidly to the left, spinning and assuming a crouching position. His opponent, overcompensating, stumbled to his right. Boris continued the spinning movement, bringing the haft of the javelin around and sweeping the legs out from under the man. The man toppled onto his back, but brought his shield up, expecting a strike that did not come. Boris took the valuable moment to sheath his sword and remove the javelin from his shield.
The man struggled to his feet and glared at Boris. Boris began to charge, javelin held high as if he were going to launch it at any moment. The man raised his shield, again expecting an attack. But instead of striking with the javelin, Boris raised his own shield and slammed it into the other man’s shield. As they clashed, Boris leapt, somersaulting over the man. Coming down behind him, he jabbed the javelin into the man’s back, straight through where he knew his heart to be. The man fell to his knees and crumpled forward, blood gushing from the wound in his back.
Withdrawing the javelin from the back of the man, Boris spun and lifted his shield to protect against a potential attack from behind. When no attack came - in fact, there were no combatants near him - he took stock of the situation.
Boris and his opponent had been fighting off to one side of the arena. The others had not been so lucky. In the center of the arena, bodies mingled as men slashed and blocked and stabbed. As he watched, one of the men on his side, Demyan, was stabbed from behind by a javelin while fighting another man. Following the assault on Demyan, however, both men were set upon by Andrey, whose roar was lost among the cacophony of battle. With a sweep of his shield, he knocked one of the men in the chin, sweeping him off his feet and causing his neck to snap back violently, breaking it. Without losing any momentum, Andrey pulled the javelin from Demyan’s back, hoisted it and threw it toward the second opponent. That man, too surprised to react, took the javelin through the face, the steel point causing brain matter to eject from the back of his head.
Boris’ eyes fell upon Clarence, who faced off against a man much larger than he. A man lay on the ground nearby, wearing the colors of Boris’ team, though Boris could not tell who. Without further thought, Boris charged toward the hulking man, just as he raised a heavy mace - how had he gotten a mace? - to smash it down toward Clarence. Clarence raised his shield, but Boris knew what the results would be. The heavy mace would slam into the shield and the vibration would shatter bones, driving Clarence backward. The big man would then follow up with a final crushing blow while Clarence fell back in pain.
Withdrawing the last javelin from his back, Boris stopped. Aim was more critical than power in this moment. Cocking his arm, he let the javelin fly with all his power. The javelin slammed into the large man’s side, causing him to jerk the mace around and slam it into the dirt beside Clarence.
The man lifted the mace and turned, thoughts of crushing Clarence forgotten. He roared in fury and charged toward Boris, two-handed mace poised to strike.
Boris lowered his shield and drew his blade as he charged, expecting the man to repeat the attack he had intended for Clarence. He did not disappoint. As the mace came down, right where he expected Boris’ shield to be, Boris released his shield, letting it fall to the ground directly in the path of the mace. Without slowing, Boris darted around the side of the man and slashed at both legs at once, hamstringing him.
The mace came down with a mighty clang, and the strike on the man’s hamstrings caused him to stumbled forward. Wheeling around, Boris capitalized on the disabled man and slammed his blade into the nape of his neck, severing his spine and almost taking his head off. The man did not rise, but rather fell, soaking the sand with blood.
Boris picked up his shield, which, although dented, was functional, re-attached it to his arm and turned once again toward the symphony of battle playing out in the center of the arena. The tides, though at first on the side of Boris and his companions, seemed to be turning again. More of his own men lay on the ground than did enemies. Andrey stood in the center, facing now three men. The enemy had identified the major threat among Victor’s gladiators and sought to eliminate him.
Before Boris could react and move to help, a javelin streaked and struck Andrey’s ankle, causing him to stumble forward in the motion of striking one of the three assailants. Another man sliced and stabbed him in the gut. The last man, seeing Andrey limping and holding his guts in, ran forward and kicked him in the head, causing him to flip onto his back, wincing in agony.
The man who had kicked Andrey fell to his knees beside Andrey. Grabbing him by his long hair, the man lifted his head. Andrey was dazed, his feeble attempts at grabbing his attacker failing. The assailant drew his swords across Andrey’s neck, spilling his blood down the front of Andrey’s bare chest. The brutal man continued his sawing motion until the head was severed. Lifting Andrey’s head up by t
he hair, he shouted in triumph and tossed the head up into the air.
Boris motioned for Clarence to join him.
“What, what are we going to do?” Clarence asked.
Boris did not look at Clarence. “We have to work as a team.” He pointed toward the group of three who had succeeded in bringing down Andrey. “We will be slaughtered one-by-one if we do not unite.” Stepping forward, Boris shouted, “Gladiators of House Helgstad! To me!” He shouted several more times before anyone began to notice. Those who noticed glanced in his direction, not daring to take their eyes off their opponent for more than a moment, and began to move toward Boris.
“Follow me,” Boris commanded. Together, the two men rushed toward a cluster of their own brethren who fought near each other. Boris rushed between two of his allies and capitalized on the element of surprise. Up came his shield, slamming to the left into the body of one assailant, throwing him off balance. Without stopping, Boris spun and pressed his attack with blade on another assailant, who, assailed on two fronts, faltered and fell to a blow from Makar. Boris looked back to the man he had shield slammed, but he was now lying on the ground, slain.
“We have to fight together,” Boris announced to Makar and the other man. “Form a circle. Clarence! Get over here!”
Clarence, who had been assisting Pavel, retreated with the man toward the growing circle of Helgstad gladiators. Two more fellow gladiators fell back into the circle as well, but three others were overwhelmed and died. The gladiators were in poor condition after the prolonged fight, with limps, many bleeding wounds and even a lost limb in one case. They could not afford for the fight to drag out much longer - but neither could the enemy.
The circle of slaves complete, Boris shouted, “Stand firm, men! Lock shields and let none pass!” The men closed in, their shields touching side-by-side, swords held above the shields. “Do not leave this circle! If one of your brethren fall, pull back to fill the gap!”
The enemy gladiators, for their part, did not wait to strike as a concentrated group, despite shouts from one of the men - the man who had stabbed Andrey in the ankle. They surrounded the group and began attacking wildly, bloodlust taking hold. There was no pattern of coordination evident in their strikes - they wanted to be the one to single-handedly destroy the enemy formation. The enemy gladiators washed against the locked shields, and were repulsed. Several of the attackers took wounds in the process, though the defenders took their share of wounds as well.
Again the attackers advanced, and again they were beaten back, resulting in three dead gladiators on the assailants side and one from Boris’ group. Several more times the attacks came, and the numbers of both groups began to dwindle.
At last, with only six defenders and three attackers - the coordinated men from earlier - Boris told his fellows to expand and encircle the enemy on his order. “Now!” He and Clarence formed the center of the encircling pattern, with two from behind Boris and Clarence coming up on the flank and curving in toward the enemy gladiators. They formed a semi-circle, with two Helgstad gladiators for every one enemy gladiator.
The first enemy fell, then the second, while two men, Rolan and Stepan fell. At last, only the third enemy gladiator remained. It was the large man, who had beheaded Andrey in such a brutal fashion. Boris motioned the other three back. “This is my fight,” he declared.
Boris sheathed his sword and bent to pick up a javelin. While in the process, he drew his dagger from his boot and placed it in his shield hand. Running his javelin through the strap on his back, he drew his sword and advanced toward the beast of a man.
The large man gave a feral grin as Boris approached, and roared in fury like before. He clanged his sword on his shield and assumed a battle stance.
Boris began with a stab to test out the other man’s defenses. To his surprise, the larger man rushed forward like an angry bull, absorbing the stab with his shield and causing Boris to leap out of the way. His leap became a controlled roll, and he spun to face his opponent.
The brute discarded his shield and picked up a nearby sword. Wielding two blades, the man began to run full speed at Boris.
Boris discarded his sword and withdrew his javelin from the sheath on his back. He readied the weapon to throw, but was halted when the dual-wielding man leapt into the air and sailed toward him. Thinking fast, Boris slammed his javelin butt-first into the ground, pointing it toward the falling man.
The man, seeing the javelin, opened his eyes wide, but could not stop. He impaled himself on the javelin, the point sticking through the soft flesh of his belly. He fell to the ground on his side and let out a cry of agony. Dropping his shield to the ground, Boris approached the man. He looked down at him, seeing the contortions of pain on the man’s face. Boris bent down. “Die you bastard.” Taking his dagger, Boris thrust it up beneath the man’s rib cage, shoving it toward his heart and removing it once, twice, three times. The man kicked his legs in the throes of death, before his legs straightened and his eyes glazed over.
Boris straightened and looked around. Only Helgstad gladiators still stood. For the first time, Boris noticed the roar of the crowd. Men and women cheered around the arena, the sound deafening, echoing through the arena. The smell of dying men - urine, feces, sweat and blood - threatened to gag Boris. He turned to the crowd and hoisted his bloody arms into the air. The crowd roared louder.
Chapter 27 - An Embrace
Dawyn entered the Dancing Mare, followed by Anwyn. It felt good to return to such a familiar place. Dawyn considered the Dancing Mare as a home more than any other place in the world. Greeting the innkeeper’s wife, the two walked back toward the usual private dining chamber. It was mid-day, and Dawyn expected the students from Earth would be at the Tower training. He was not wrong. Dawyn and Anwyn settled in to wait for their fellows, ordering food and drink and making idle conversation or reading to pass the time.
As the day wore on into evening, the door opened and John, Ashley and Jason entered. “Dawyn, Anwyn!” John exclaimed when he saw them. “You’re back! How did the trip go?”
Dawyn smiled and nodded back at John and the others. “We were successful. The slaver Ferdinand is no more, my friends.”
“What a relief it is, too!” Anwyn remarked.
“Have you three been up to anything interesting or exciting?” Dawyn asked.
“Ummmm, well,” Jason began as he took a seat near the corner opposite to that which Dawyn sat at.
“Spit it out, Jason,” Dawyn said, bemused.
“It’s about your sister.”
Dawyn’s brows furrowed. “What about my sister? Have you seen her?”
“Yes, we all have,” Ashley blurted out. “But, there’s something you should know.” When Dawyn did not speak, only glared, Ashley held out her hand to invite Jason to speak. “Tell him.”
“Bridgette and I sort of ran into one another at the palace. But we were caught by the king and his guards. The king gave me a choice - take an action to save Bridgette’s life, or watch as she was imprisoned for life or executed.”
“Which did you choose?” Dawyn asked, his body tense.
“Oh, I chose to have the king spare her, of course, Dawyn!” Jason appeared horrified that Dawyn thought he would be heartless enough to let his sister die.
“What was the price?”
“Well, we are linked to one another now.”
“Linked how?”
“Linked in that if I focus on a specific part of my brain and start thinking, the device will transmit those thoughts to Bridgette. It supposedly works regardless of the distance involved.”
Dawyn’s eyes widened. “The king used the Rod of Binding on the two of you?”
“Yeah, that’s what he called it. You’ve heard of it?”
“I served as a Shadow Watch Guard for many years, of course I haveheard of it. It was always reserved for royalty, until now. Where is she?”
“Ummm, she left town. Said she had unfinished business with some Lord Garik fellow.
”
“Can you locate where she is right now?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”
Dawyn leaned forward in his chair. “Try. Concentrate on her and try to determine her location.” Dawyn was frantic to find Bridgette. Wherever she was, he would race after her and try to bring her back to Tar Ebon safely. He would not lose her for a third time.
Jason closed his eyes. After a minute or two, his eyes popped open. “She is in the city. I’m asking her when she returned. She said she just got back to town. I’m asking her to come here. I told her that you are here as well. She’s on her way.”
Dawyn leaned back, relieved. “Oh good.” Nervousness set in, however, and he began to wonder if she would still love him, or if she still remembered him. She had recalled him during their fight several months earlier, but Lord Garik could have somehow suppressed her memories again. It was a risk he had to take.
“While we wait, let me get you guys some food,” Anwyn said and exited the room.
“How has your training at the Tower been going?” Dawyn asked as the door closed behind Anwyn.
“It’s been very fast,” John answered. “Alivia has us in class from sun up to almost sun down. But we’ve learned so much. Watch.” He closed his eyes and held his hand out, palm up. Dawyn felt a chill run down his arm. After several moments, a small flame appeared, floating above his hand. He opened his eyes and the flame extinguished. “It takes energy to create a flame without a direct source of heat. I pulled from the air in the room.”
“Yes, I felt the chill on my arm. Impressive! How much more training do you have to go?”
“I’m not sure,” John said. “Alivia suggests we are coming along very well, but has not said how much longer we have. She said she wants us to master using the magic before we try using it while doing other things, like seeing or walking.”
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