He smiled, looking down to make sure her favour had not fallen out of place. They'd made a romantic bargain and he intended to keep his side of the deal and win the match. He looked forward to the reward, his imagination buoyed by countless tales of Gladiators and their lovers, romantic and raunchy.
A trumpet sounded, signalling the start of the match. There is little ceremony at simple matches for Gladiators who have not even attained the first rank; the boyish attendant, voice full of youthful enthusiasm, yelled "good luck" to Gavin, as he began to turn a wheel to crank the portcullis open.
The most common fights in the arenas of the Domains are monster-fights; these matches pit the noble Gladiators against the savage magic-tainted animals, unnatural beasts, and strange clockwork golems. Monsters, in the legal-technical jargon of the arena are actually anything that is not another citizen of the Domains, but when a spectator goes to a monster fight they expect to see a fantastic creature or nightmarish beast.
In the monster-fight it is tradition, part of the ritual, that the Gladiator enters from the east, as the representative of the Chosen and the people of the Domains, facing a savage creature that represents the danger that lurks outside the safety of civilized lands. It is a matter of debate if the east is meant to represent the sun, since the Chosen are the light of the world, or the position of the City of Krass, heart of the Domains, which lies on the eastern shores of the continent. The Gladiator usually enters first, allowing the people to admire their Champion before the fight begins. Some monsters are so rare or spectacular that they upstage the fighter and start in the arena for the crowd to wonder over before the match begins.
Gavin stepped forward into the arena as the sound of the trumpet died away, moving slowly in spite of his pounding heart. The light caught the radiant silver-white mithril of his breastplate and shield. This, in turn, caught the attention of the watching spectators. Tall and noble, decorated with proud Lions, Gavin looked every inch the story-book hero to many of those gathered in the small gallery. He raised his grim war-spear in salute to them, holding it high in a classical pose, and was greeted with a raucous cheer from Isabelle and her friends. His clear blue eyes met hers and he revelled in her obvious excitement.
A few passersby, on their way to other places in the vast maze of arenas in the pits, found themselves drawn in by the familiar spectacle, slowing to watch the fight.
A second trumpet sounded and Gavin lowered his weapon, his attention now focused on the gate-tunnel from which his opponents would momentarily emerge. He wondered what he would be fighting. His heart beat hard and his gaze narrowed in anticipation. He became less concerned about how he appeared to the audience and more focused on the coming fight. The iron bars of the portcullis withdrew into the roof of the dark tunnel, agonizingly slow in his mind's eye.
He heard a deep, rumbling growl resonate from within the dark confines of the monster's entrance. The distinct clink of heavy restraining chains falling onto stone preceded the sudden emergence of three large, bestial forms covered in dark fur onto the fighting grounds. They moved quickly, but Gavin immediately recognized them: Beastmen.
Everything he had learned about Beastmen in his years of training flashed through his head. They were larger than most men, over seven feet tall on average and ferociously strong. They were humanoid, but each had a variety of beastly features. The lead beastman, with huge slavering jaws, looked as if a wolf and a man had melted into each other, while the others had more feline features. Beastmen suffer from a tainted strain of rabies that drives them to attack anything but others of their kind in a violent, instinctive frenzy. They attack as a pack, and are drawn to the smell of blood. Historians agreed that they had been created for use as soldiers during the Reckoning, but there was little accord beyond that. Some experts felt their rabies was a side-effect of the mystical process used to create them, while others felt it was caused separately by tainted magic. It mattered little to Gavin at the moment.
Beastmen attacks plagued much the Domains, unpredictable and violent; captured members of this hated species were shipped to the arenas for use as fodder for the Great Games. Arena goers of all sorts loved watching these creatures get slaughtered and Arena Masters preferred the creatures for the ease with which they could be altered with magic. A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd as they recognized the Gladiator's foes.
Ten years of training allowed Gavin to keep his composure as the drooling, sharp-mawed beasts bore down upon him, churning through the white sands.
To most of the spectators the beasts moved with incredible speed, but time seemed to pass more slowly in Gavin's focused mind. He let his breath out, dropping into a wide, low stance to steady himself, planting the butt of his spear in the sand, and holding his shield out before him to hide its wicked point.
The pack separated as they moved in on him, one throwing itself straight toward Gavin while the others angled toward his flanks. The bloodlust was plain to see in their mad, rolling eyes as they charged. Their teamwork was uncanny, but the Gladiator was ready for this as well. He could see flecks of foam flying from the lead beastman's jaws as it leapt, powerful legs launching it forward, huge, stained teeth glinting in the light. Gavin tensed, waiting for his moment. The audience tensed as well, anticipating bloodshed.
Just before the first beastman collided with him, the Gladiator dropped into a crouch, swinging his shield out to the side. The middle, wolfish beastman ran straight into his spear. The impact ripped the spear-point clear through the creature, bloody red chunks caught in the spearhead's cruel barbs. Gavin fell back with the impact, rolling and twisting the spear to place the dying, flailing beastman between himself and its comrade coming from the right, while bracing his shield against the other coming at him from the left.
The crowd saw the gore dripping from his spear and cheered. The sight of red blood on white sand is by far the most beloved of the savage sacraments of the Great Games. But Gavin paid little heed to their cries as another of his opponents hit him.
Huge feline fangs, like daggers, snapped inches from his face as the creature tried to tear his shield from his grasp, heedless of the wicked edges that cut its hands. Gavin staggered under the creature's weight and inhuman strength but kept his feet. The other beastman had avoided its impaled brother, and now attacked him from behind. He moved, trying to step away, but felt pain as it slashed long claws into his unarmoured back, leaving long furrows of torn flesh. Snarling, he rolled forward into the sand, tearing his spear free from the dead beast as he did so.
He came to his feet, nimble in spite of his wound and the weight of his armour, and immediately slammed his shield into the nearest foe, sending it staggering back and away.
Gavin braced, turning to face the third beastman. It pounced at him, catlike, swatting his spear aside with surprising deftness while slashing its talons toward his neck. He backpedalled, trying to bring his shield up between them but at that moment the other beastman recovered from his shield-blow and grabbed him from behind, with powerful arms clamping around him like a vice and lifting him off the ground.
His focus sharpened; he could see the fangs of the beasts and the teeth of the crowd flashing, feel his muscles straining, smell the fur, metal and blood.
Many novice warriors would have died there, overpowered and outmanoeuvred; beastmen are inhumanly strong and animal fast. Many in the small crowd gasped, seeing themselves in his place. But Gavin was one of the Gifted, wielders of magic, with more weapons than just his spear and shield at his disposal. Isabelle, who was one of the Gifted as well, could sense him channelling power, even though it took less than a heartbeat. Gavin wove a pattern and sent power through it, shaping the raw magic he channelled into a spell, giving it form and function. Few who watched could sense this, but all the spectators caught what happened next. The Gladiator's gaze caught the beastman's eyes as it came in, jaws wide to bite his throat. Gavin's clear blue eyes flashed and there was a pulse, a distortion in the air that could b
e seen and heard, as he felt his spell hammer into the mental pattern of his foe. He felt the creature's mind shatter, a curious sensation he would compare to pottery imploding, although it really defied explanation to the Ungifted.
The beast stopped, eyes wide and unfocused, slavering jaws inches from Gavin's face. He could smell its hot, rancid breath as he struggled to free himself from the grasp of the one holding him. He watched as it staggered backwards howling in agony, blood gushing from its nose and ears. It was as if an invisible fist had closed around its brain, squeezing the grey matter to a hemorrhaging pulp without disturbing the skull. The crowd cheered, awed by the display of fearsome magic. A few eyes darted reflexively to the protective wards; many still feared magic, the force that brought about the Reckoning.
Gavin was in the moment again, magic rushing through his mind, grim war-spear in his hand, and the anticipation of victory in his heart.
The final beastman, still holding Gavin from behind managed to bite the Gladiator, tearing a chunk out of the side of his shield arm. Diseased saliva burned into the wound. Gavin dropped his spear, grunting in pain, gritting his teeth. With a sudden motion he dropped forward, twisting out of the creature's grasp, reaching with his free hand to grab the beast. He felt fur in his grasp and leaned forward pulling the creature down and slamming it into the ground head-first with a well executed hip-throw. As it struggled to rise, he drew his short sword with a quick, fluid motion and drove the blade into the back of creature's thick neck. It shook and pitched forward to lie beside its dead brethren, blood leaking from its wounds.
Gavin looked around. The spectators were clapping and cheering, happy with his victory. He had won and entertained the small crowd as well, and he felt a deep feeling of accomplishment. His first professional match was a real victory, more than just a training battle. Isabelle and her friends were chanting his name with girlish gusto. He raised his bloody spear to salute them and the rest of the small crowd in the gallery. The trumpets sounded again.
Turning to head back to his arming room, he looked down again upon the still forms of the beastmen; their eyes had lost all their rabid lustre after death. They looked almost pathetic now.
Thus ended Gavin's first professional match as a Gladiator: a quick, but bloody victory against three beastmen in a small arena in the Campus Martius with twenty-six spectators attending.
-----o
By the time he made his way to the arming room, the claw slashes on his back had stopped bleeding and were worming their way closed. All Gladiators are conditioned to use their magic to regenerate, rapidly healing from most wounds automatically. Even disfiguring and mortal injuries, poison, and disease could be overcome by a Gladiator's powerful constitution. Indeed, if a Gifted healer was at hand, a Gladiator could survive just about anything with additional magic. Gavin could even recover from a beheading, if he attuned himself to the life sustaining Keystone before a fight. He knew this because it was something that all Gladiators went through as part of training.
Yet his arm still throbbed; it had been a sloppy fight. He needed to do better if he wanted to prove himself. At least the crowd had enjoyed the drama.
Isabelle was waiting for him in the arming room, having sent the masseuse away before her Gladiator arrived.
"Hail Victorious Warrior!" She spoke as he entered, using the formal victor's honorific, very much at odds with her intimate tone and inviting smile. "That was a pretty impressive first outing Gavin. Take off your armour and sit down. I will tend to your wounds."
She washed away the blood and touched his wounds gently, using her magic to encourage his body to heal even more quickly. He could sense her channelling power and weaving a spell pattern, but it did not alarm him. Having grown up among the Gifted in the Campus Gladius; he was used to such things. Magic was as much a part of him as his hands, or his sense of touch. The wound on his arm closed under her deft hands and skilled application of her Gift. Her fingers were very warm and soothing, and Gavin could not help but relax as the last adrenaline from the fight left his body.
"Good as new," she said lightly, moving to stand before him. He looked up at her graceful figure, meeting her flashing emerald eyes.
With a graceful motion she unclasped her clothes, letting her expensive dress fall to the floor where the silk and lace mingled with the bloody metal of Gavin's armour. Desire surged through him, like a bull, driven wild by the primal feeling of brute victory. He could smell blood and metal and her. She moved forward, kissing him roughly as she lifted his kilt and straddled him. He grabbed her roughly. Soon afterwards the little arming chamber echoed with the sounds of their passion.
-----o
"Where did you learn that, Gifted Healer?" he asked as they got dressed.
She raised a well-sculpted eyebrow. She looked fresh and clean despite their amorous activities; Glamour magic saw to that.
"I mean the healing," he said, blushing.
She laughed. "My first placement as a Vassal was tending to the Gladiators at a small arena in the town of Hillgrave, out west. I developed a genuine fondness for the games while I was there; I just love the ritual and the drama. I am actually older than you might think Gladiator. I earned my freedom years ago, but I still hang out at the Campus because of the games... and the Gladiators..."
She paused, looking at him, eyes bright with lust.
"Now, I promised you a celebration if you won. This is only the beginning. I have a feast ready at my apartment. I will give you a proper massage and bath after we eat... if you still wish to accompany me?"
"I would like that very much," he said. "I'd be grateful, in fact."
Arm in arm the Gladiator and the Gifted woman left the small arena, moving out into the Campus Martius, ignoring any other fights they passed.
Chapter Two: Luck
City of Krass, Campus Martius,1138/10/12 AR
"Luck will often come to a man, so long as his courage holds true." Northlands Saying
"A Gladiator's body can survive almost any wound if they are sustained by the magic of a Keystone. This does not lessen the mental trauma of the wound however. The body still feels as if it should be injured or dead. This can lead to severe mental disorders..." Mind of the Gladiator: a handbook.
Gavin was still hurt over Isabelle more than a month after she had stopped seeing him, which was a longer span of time than their relationship actually lasted. After a few nights of passion she had simply said she did not want to commit to a serious relationship. He had begged her to reconsider, then later felt shame that he had shown such weakness. Soon after he saw her with another man, a newly minted Gladiator much like himself.
He spent most of this time engaged in long, sorrow-fuelled training sessions, decidedly avoiding the company of his peers. Jealous of every happy couple he saw, he could not abide the presence of anyone who did not share his solitary status.
He did not watch any matches, which is as popular a past-time for Gladiators as it is for the rest of the citizens of the Domains. It is also a good way for a fighter to scout potential competition. He did not join the everyday festivities at the sprawling Quirky Quickling tavern, where many young Gladiators learn the pleasures and pains of strong drink. And he most assuredly abstained from going any place that he might see Isabelle, especially the lacy confines of Madame Chloe's tea house, where they had breakfasted after their first night together.
His neighbours in the south residence thought him strange because of his quiet nature and mournful features, but they just assumed he was a practitioner of necromantic magic and that he must prefer the company of ghosts. This was a natural assumption among the Gifted, and so they left Gavin alone.
In truth Gavin acted like any young man, at least one with a truly romantic nature. A person who models his life on the tales of heroic Gladiators like Arius of Sylvanwood or Balvuk Dragonsbane can hardly be expected to take rejection in stride. It is worth noting that Gladiators are not trained in the social arts, excepting performance skills
used in the arena; they must acquire these vital skills on their own time.
It was during one of his late night training binges, after a long run followed by three hours of practice reversing his grip on the spear haft, and then three hours of reviewing the proper footwork and technique for spear-lunges, that his mood changed. Beaded with sweat and aching all over, his depression broke, and Gavin was struck by a fierce desire to fight. He felt a sharp surge of guilt for not sticking to his earlier plans for an aggressive match schedule; he should not allow romance, especially a failed one, to get in the way of his career. His rallying resolve burned away much of his lingering angst, leaving him feeling lighter.
Since it would be bad form to stop, he completed his last kata with an energetic flourish, gathered his gear, and marched toward the Office of the Arena Registrar with determined steps, hoping that even at this late hour he could arrange a match.
Gavin had no doubt that Isabelle would regret spurning him when he took his place in the ranks of the immortal Chosen!
-----o
The crystal-lit streets of the Campus were crowded with Gladiators as Gavin made his way from the south training grounds to the cluster of administration buildings attached to the Pits. Most of his peers were on their way to or from the evening revels, drunk and happy. Drinks and meals were free in the Campus Martius, and the young Gladiators were known to take full advantage of this; some of them would over-indulge and spend years here before finishing their testing match for the first rank. Gavin frowned upon this kind of behaviour. Consequently he moved so quickly through the streets, lost in his own plans, that few of the impressive scenes of this veritable carnival made any impression on him.
Bloodlust: A Gladiator's Tale (Domains of the Chosen Book One) Page 3
