Mox's real business was to use his position to collect favours from most of the Gladiators who passed through his arena, helping their careers if they showed a willingness to bow to his interests. The money from these "donations" had made him wealthy, but his favourite "gifts" came in other forms. He particularly savoured the thought of young Gladiatrices on their knees before him; it made him feel powerful and virile. For this reason he had taken an instant dislike to Sadira, for although she was quite beautiful, her ferocity and determination were both galling and frightening to someone like Meady Mox. He told himself that she simply did not understand that he held power over her career, but in truth she simply terrified him. Perhaps deep down he understood the power that she might one day wield.
Mox was quite adept at hiding his proclivities from those above him. He used paperwork like a shield; well-tended records and iron-clad statistics justified every action that occurred in his arena. He was very comfortable in his position as Arena Master.
Mox had many friends among the Factions and independent arena owners. He used these contacts to ensure than the Gladiators who gained his favour were quickly promoted and to ensure that Dreadwood Arena was promoted abroad as a good place for up and coming fighters to build their reputations. One of these contacts had made sure to mention the arena to Sadira when the ambitious Gladiatrix was researching her next move.
Although the Deliberative had fielded several complaints against him in recent years, Mox had fended them off with a series of carefully prepared studies showing the Gladiators in question just did not appeal to the arena patrons of Dreadwood Junction. He was quite skilled at twisting the law to his advantage. He also produced a series of testimonials from the Gladiators he had helped; after all he had advanced their careers and any charges against him could reflect poorly on them. Mox felt certain that he had outsmarted the Deliberative, so instead of becoming more cautious about his corruption, he became more brazen.
The Deliberative had other options open to it: thus Ravius and Karmal were not in the stands for Gavin and Sadira's impressive first match in the Dreadwood Arena.
-----o
The ancient arena in Dreadwood was built around a natural amphitheatre situated in the middle of the town. Hard grey stone had been carved into large "steps" that served as seating for the spectators; the stonework was so regular and smooth that most people assumed it had been shaped with magic. The fighting space in the arena was about twenty yards across, semi-circular like the seats and also made out of hard grey stone. A kind of pale blue-green moss lined the bottom of the arena instead of the traditional white sand; Mox felt this moss was nearly as effective at absorbing the blood spilled in the games, and it saved a great deal of money, despite complaints from the fans and Gladiators. In some places the grey stone had been stained with blood or charred by magic giving the whole arena the air of an ancient ruin which speaks of blood sacrifices to old Gods and dark, blasphemous rites held in the mad light of the full moon. Local patrons claim this is part of its charm.
Unlike The Pits, the arenas attached to the Campus Martius in the city of Krass; which are run by the Deliberative and the Assembly of the People, the Dreadwood Arena is privately owned and operated. Matches in such arenas have to meet guidelines set forth by the Deliberative, but a creative Arena Master has a great amount of freedom in setting them up. He sets the rules, determines the victory conditions, and provides the monsters for the Gladiators to fight.
The Gladiators themselves often have little say in the fights they are offered in private arenas. This is a marked difference from the Campus Martius where Gladiators can sign up for a variety of matches or even ask the office of the Arena Registrar to set up a match according to their own specifications. Young Gladiators often chafe at the sudden lack of freedom in private arenas. They are especially unhappy when they see their careers in the hands of a person like Meady Mox who cares nothing for them. Reforms are often made to address these concerns, but they seem to have little effect; perhaps because those who have the power to change the system cannot agree on how to do so.
Arena Masters in these arenas are more interested in the health of their business than Gladiators who will move on to a bigger and better arena as quickly as possible. They often see young fighters as overly idealistic and too energetic for their own good. The owners argue that small arenas have to go with the most popular match types to maximize profits and that any regulation by the Deliberative limits the viability of their business. If the local patrons prefer to see scantily clad, attractive light Gladiators bathing in the blood of furious beastmen, then that is what the Arena Master must provide to keep the money flowing. After all, they say, who wants to see a traditional re-enactment of the epic-tragic arena duel between Chosen Vandurion and Chosen Moltar? It just wouldn't bring in the same crowds.
Both sides have reasonable arguments and are quite entrenched, so change comes very slowly. This allows men like Meady Mox, who abuse the rules, to thrive, at least until they get caught out in the open.
-----o
Meady Mox enjoyed punishing Gladiators who did not bow to his superior position, especially uppity bitches like Sadira. Giants were expensive fodder, but this particular beast was tough and very aggressive. Mox had invested in some strong leg armour and a heavy giant sized club for special occasions like this. He was going to enjoy watching Turg squash that arrogant Shadow-Elf slut! Hopefully it would teach her some respect and she would be more accommodating to his desires when arranging their next match. His own brilliance made him smile. Since he was not technically forcing her to fight, the match counted as voluntary and the Deliberative could not blame any unfairness in it against him. She had known exactly what she was signing up for. Sadira and her partner would have to fight several beastmen alongside the giant. They would be quickly worn down defending against the fast, aggressive beastmen and the massive, powerful giant. He was sure they would lose. The best part was that the Arena would also save money on not having to buy a replacement for the expensive giant, Turg, money that Mox could then use for his own aggrandizement.
Mox felt a tingle in his loins when he fantasized about making it a Deathmatch so he could watch Sadira's pretty face as the crowd gave the thumbs down. Sadly he lacked that capacity; the Deliberative took a much more direct hand in any match where a Gladiator's potential death was sanctioned. He was also quite excited to be watching the match with the luscious Gladiatrix Karmal, a red-haired beauty who had come around after initially resisting his offers. He was blinded by lust and arrogance and did not realize Karmal was Sadira's friend or that she had already complained of him to the Deliberative. Mox felt Karmal was just much more agreeable toward people who held sway over her career, a smart move on her part. He had no idea how wrong he was.
-----o
Sadira surveyed the audience from the stone archway that served as the Gladiator's entrance. She smiled at the thought of descending through the crowd and springing into the arena, weapons in hand, like some invincible heroine from the old legends of the games.
Most of the people in this arena were well dressed and well mannered; Ravius had told her only the town's upper class could afford regular seats. The front row of spectators, sitting level with the fighting ground with a barely visible ward wall between them and the combatants, were the most prominent citizens of the town. For many of them it was just another day at the arena; they were mostly there to show off their wealth and social station, and to network with their peers. Sometimes they seemed more excited by the nude acrobats that took to the field between fights or in conducting business with their peers.
The back row benches were more rowdy, closely packed with brawny young men who worked in the lumber mills, some curious travellers, and anyone else who could not afford regular seats. Sadira could read their anticipation in the animated way they talked with their neighbours, faces flush with excitement. To them this was a special occasion, a rare indulgence that cost months of pay, and they enjoyed ever
y minute of it. She watched them carefully for a moment, drinking in their nervous vitality. These were her kind of fans; she would not disappoint them.
Sadira smiled. She looked forward to the Challenging match ahead. All of her earlier irritation had evaporated, even her anger at Meady Mox was lost, as the desire to fight took hold of her. She would make sure that even the most jaded of the Dreadwood Arena regulars would remember this fight; the true fans in the back rows who'd scraped and saved would get more than their money's worth. She wanted them all to remember seeing her here, perhaps looking back to this day when she took her place among the Chosen.
Gavin, for his part, was quite nervous. He had taken a good look at the Giant earlier in the day; the other Gladiators in town had warned him that it was a mean beast, having survived a half dozen fights so far. Gavin had been stunned by the size of the shaggy creature; it would be a difficult enough fight for two Gladiators of their calibre on its own, but the addition of a half-dozen beastmen would be too much for the two of them to handle. He certainly did not like the idea of a giant's club the size of a small tree trunk swinging at Sadira.
"I'll keep the giant busy while you dispose of the beastmen," he said.
"That sounds like a good plan, my love." She turned, her flashing purple eyes meeting his full force. She was thinking of the audience, and not worried about the giant. "I'll cut them to bloody ribbons; the crowd will love it. Don't kill the giant without me, alright?" She seemed so full of confidence, making his worries seem foolish.
The arena announcer, an ancient man with a deep, drink-scarred voice, called out their names before Gavin could respond to Sadira's query. As their entrance gate swung open, Sadira planted a quick kiss on her lover's lips before walking into the arena where her scanty costume immediately provoked a loud cheer from the back rows. She smiled at this then leapt forward, cartwheeling, jumping up, flipping forward in the air, and then drawing her elegant obsidian blades in salute to the crowd as she landed; even the jaded front rows cheered her dazzling display this time. Her lips curled wickedly as she gazed over her audience, trying to look them all in the eye. Gavin, trotting in behind her, timed his salute to match hers.
"And now," the announcer waited for a moment while the cheers died down, "facing our two brave Gladiators..."
A massive trap door began to open in the middle of the arena. A huge shaggy head appeared out of the yawning void, eyes casting about.
"YOU KNOW HIM, YOU LOVE HIM, TURG THE GIANT!" The crowd gasped as Turg stepped up off the slowly rising platform. The giant roared and walked toward the audience, casting his shadow over the front rows. Turg pushed at the nearly invisible ward wall that separated him from the awed masses, crackles of blue-white mystic energy cascading down his arms. The spectators jeered the giant as he moved away, turning back to the Gladiators.
"And patrons of Dreadwood Arena, for your entertainment, Turg will be fighting alongside some beastly allies today!" A gate opposite from where the two Gladiators had made their entrance opened admitting a half-dozen hulking beastmen. Gavin wondered for a moment if the Giant would attack them, but Turg ignored the beastmen and stepped forward, swinging his tree trunk sized spiked club over his head and sending it crashing toward Sadira's lithe form.
Swift-footed Sadira danced aside, and the ground shook as the monstrous club thundered into the stone and moss. She let out a shrill war-scream in response, vaulting over Gavin and leaping into the midst of the beastmen. Her twin blades flashed bright in the fading afternoon sun, splashing blood as they connected with the first enemy that leapt at her. The beast's howls mingled with the crowd's cheers as bright blood splashed against the arena wall.
Gavin darted forward as Turg moved toward the melee, stabbing the giant in the back of the leg. Turg grunted and turned on Gavin, bestial face twisted into an ugly snarl. The giant raised a hairy, clawed foot and slammed it down at Gavin, trying to stomp him into bloody paste, but Gavin read the movement and sidestepped easily. The foot slammed into the ground beside him, shaking the ground. He responded by swinging the razor edge of his shield, which glanced ineffectively off the giant's thick leg armour.
"DOWN HERE UGLY!" Gavin shouted, making sure he kept the giant's attention while Sadira fought the beastmen. Turg ignored Sadira and the Beastmen now, intent on smashing the puny Gladiator challenging him. Gavin slowly led him away from where Sadira fought, avoiding the giant's powerful swings.
Nimble Sadira danced with the beastmen, her wicked blades kissing their flesh, leaving bloody cuts. The scent of blood drove the creatures to frenzy, and they leapt at her from all sides. She jumped, planting her heel spikes in the shoulder of a seven foot tall grey furred, ram-horned monstrosity, and pushed off, whirling in mid-air, cutting deeply into its back and severing its spine. The beast fell to the ground heavily.
The others were on her quickly, driving her backwards. She was forced to call on her magic as she backpedalled, channelling power into a quickly woven spell pattern. Two of her foes stopped moving as grasping green vines, rapidly erupting from the ground beneath them, entangled their legs.
She dodged out of the way of two sets of snapping jaws but could not fully avoid the claws of her third attacker which raked her flesh, leaving bloody red lines across her bare thigh. Spurred by pain, Sadira rounded on it, eyes wide with fury, weapons seeking vengeance. She attacked it recklessly, hacking off the offending claw, and then rapidly stabbing the beast in the groin and throat. Her other opponents leaped at her again and she screamed her defiance as the crowd cheered.
Cunning Gavin could just block Turg's massive club with a deft, perfectly timed movement of his lion-headed shield. It was a matter of angle and timing, an interesting challenge for the thoughtful defender. Yet, strong as he was, Gavin could not hope to put his shield in the way of an attack from a giant three times his height and absorb the force head on; he had to make sure most of the force was directed away from him. Even so he was knocked off his feet a few times. A ungifted man would have lost his arm at the very least. Meanwhile the Gladiator used his magic to keep up a steady assault stream of mind-rending mental blasts. Turg was now suffering a blinding migraine and bleeding from his nose as well. It did not seem to be slowing the Giant much, but it did make him more angry and less accurate. It also kept his attention on Gavin, which was the Gladiator's main goal.
Sadira kicked a beastman away from her, drawing blood with her boot-spike, and buried one of her elegant swords in the skull of another. The three remaining beasts fearlessly attacked the deadly Gladiatrix, trying to grab her, bite her, and rend her soft flesh. She rolled away and let them run at her, slashing at them as they closed. They danced: claws ripping, teeth snapping, black blades whirling, snarling and growling. One of them fell and did not rise, life leaking away from a half dozen cuts.
Cruel Sadira took her time with the last two, bringing the fight close to the patrons in the front row. She savoured the beastmen's rage and frustration as she wove her blades, cutting them a dozen times while the crowd roared in approval. One fell over, too weak to continue, and she ended her dance with a slash across the throat of her last rabid opponent. It struggled, still trying to reach her with its final breath. She kept just out of reach, teasingly so, then turned toward where Gavin was fighting the giant.
Turg was aiming more carefully now and Gavin was having trouble avoiding his attacks. An armoured toe the size of a man's head caught his shoulder and sent him flying. He landed on his back and felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder as he rolled out of the way of the Giant's next attack.
Although Sadira was raised to be ruthless, love filled her with alarm as she realized the distress Gavin was in. She wondered if she had toyed with the Beastmen too long. She read the pain on his face and channelled a powerful burst of healing energy to him.
Gavin could feel the spell fill him with comforting warmth as he jerked down under a sweeping blow of the giant's huge club. The pain ebbed a little and he smiled in thanks as Sadira ran in to
join him. She dove between the giant's legs and thrust her swords toward the shaggy monster's groin. The audience gasped in anticipation, but her blades only glanced off the beast's armour, and she was forced to quickly throw herself backwards to avoid being crushed under Turg's huge, hairy iron-clad foot.
The Giant roared his displeasure at this impetuous newcomer, and Sadira howled her war-scream back at him in answer. Gavin used the distraction to move forward and slip his spear into an unarmoured part of the giant’s leg. The beast howled and rounded on him with surprising speed, swinging his club low to the ground. Gavin was forced to jump over the club, but a spike caught his boot and sent him sprawling to the ground, his bones crunching as he bounced off the moss covered stone.
Turg moved in, raising his foot to crush Gavin, but he had forgotten about Sadira and her hungry blades once again. She launched herself at the unsuspecting Giant, raking both of her swords across the back of his unarmoured knee. The swords bit into the beast's thick skin, drawing blood and causing Turg's attack to falter, so that Gavin could roll out of the way. The crowd cheered as Sadira ducked under the backhand from a barrel-sized fist and then sprang out of reach as the giant's massive club swung down, shaking the closest spectators with its impact on the stones.
Stalwart Gavin regained his feet, glad of the protection his armour had afforded him when he hit the ground. As he ran forward he could see Sadira was in trouble. The Giant was herding her toward the back wall of the arena, cutting off her escape with broad sweeps of his huge weapon. She would soon run out of space to dodge. He blasted the giant with his mind magic, but the beast paid him little heed this time.
Bloodlust: A Gladiator's Tale (Domains of the Chosen Book One) Page 10
