The Warrior (The Rebellion)

by Jordan Magera

  "Not after I made a comment about Lord Barkley."

  Kyle spun around and had a hand over Barst's mouth before the fighter knew it. His hand still clamped over Barst's mouth, Kyle looked into his eyes and menacingly murmured, "Don't ever speak like that in the castle. Or anywhere, for that matter. You never know who is listening."

  Kyle waited a second to let his words sink in before releasing Barst. A solemn air ended the conversation, and Barst followed Kyle though the door. After exiting, Barst couldn’t resist looking back, half expecting to see a man crouched outside the door listening. His fears eased, Barst turned forward to encounter a hallway, or rather a tunnel, which was lined with torches that lit the passage with a flickering dark orange light.

  "We're walking through the wall to the gate house," Kyle stated, confirming Barst's suspicion "It's about half-a-mile. This whole tunnel goes a total of eight miles though."

  The question that had been festering in Barst's head leapt out, causing him to change the topic suddenly "Force said I'm on Horst's team. Is it really as bad as he said it is?"

  Even from behind, Barst could see Kyle wince, "Well I don’t know how bad Force said it is, but it's pretty bad. Were not even allowed to mention it since Lord Barkley doesn’t want the guests to know he’s cheating. Would give him a bad rap, you know? The stacked team is Eronde's team."

  "Who's Eronde and Horst?'

  "They're Barkley's sons. He has four, and each will be in charge of training a team for the tournament. Eronde is the second oldest, but Barkley's favorite. Horst is the third oldest. You're supposed to have a training session in two days."

  Barst nodded, "So when do we fight Eronde's team—first or second round?"

  "Well, first we don’t fight them—that would be your team. Second, you will have to make it to the second round to fight them. I'm sorry, but if I had any encouragement I would give it. But as it stands, if I were you I would get ready for death."

  "Anything can happen in the arena," Barst replied with false optimism. Kyle kept walking and didn't even spoil the comment with a response.

  C H A P T E R 12

  The Cell

  The Cell, or so the other occupants called it, was fashioned in a way that made Barst feel like a convict. Three stone walls were lined with cheaply made bunks which were stacked four high, while the fourth wall was composed of iron bars. The bars allowed no privacy and gave Barst the feeling of being on display when various guest of Lord Barkley would walk by.

  Gamblers would sometimes stop by to examine the fighters and decide on which team to place their bet. Sometimes little children would gaze through, awed by the size of the men. Barst found himself having to check his anger at these blatant spectators. More than once he had the strong desire to rush the bars, grab the protruding hands, and to pull the insolent person into a crushing embrace.

  If their stares weren't enough, sometimes they felt the need to say brutal comments that were more commonly used in a stable. Comments like, "Who do you think is going to die first?" or "Let's get out of here. I can't stand the smell much longer," weren't uncommon, and Barst had to check himself to avoid a violent retaliation.

  The place definitely smelled. Forty grown men, who were in top physical condition for their age, truly reeked. The temperature didn’t help. The heat kept most of them sweating at all times. They tried to keep cool by fanning themselves, but it only resulted in circulating the stench.

  Kyle had led Barst to Horst's team "barracks," as it was officially called, yesterday. He was one of the last ones to arrive and the team had already picked a leader. His name was Rudy—a medium built, deeply tanned fighter, who had an intelligent head as fighters went. Barst was content with their pick and tried, for he wasn't accustom to it in any way, to mingle with as many teammates as possible to ascertain their talent. So far, he had discovered that only fifteen of the men were professionals in their prime. The rest were either rookies or well-seasoned veterans. Even so, a couple of the men had made a good impression upon him.

  One of these was Brian. Largely built and extremely strong, from his home near the mines, he wielded a quick wit, and was ever the optimist. He had already attracted a small crowd of admirers, who flocked him wherever he went. He had been a fighter for six years, but was still in his prime at twenty-five years old.

  The other, Frank, was the polar opposite. True to his name, he only spoke with a minimal number of words and never left his bunk. Brain had tried to entertain him only to be met with an icy stare. Barst had heard from the others that Frank was supposed to be one of the quickest fighters. One man said he had seen Frank go into an arena alone against four confident Class-two warriors and leave the victor. When questioned why he wasn’t on Eronde's team, they had proposed that Frank must have been added to keep things interesting.

  Barst's thoughts were interrupted when Rudy sat down on the edge of Barst's bottom bunk, where Barst had been lying. Barst sat up, almost hitting his head on the overhead bunk, and gave Rudy a questioning look.

  "How you doing?" Rudy asked in a gruff voice.

  Barst just nodded in reply, and Rudy let out a long sigh.

  "Okay, to get to the point, I've decided that we need to divide the team into smaller units, each with their own leader—kind of establishing a chain of command."

  "And you want me to be one. Why not? Who else were you going to pick?"

  "Brian was an obvious choice. He agreed. I chose Thern second, but he is a little dim witted." Rudy glanced around to make sure they weren't being overheard "Then you, but, no offense, you don’t seem to be a people person." He cringed a little, eyeing Barst to make sure he didn’t lash out. When Barst didn’t react, Rudy continued, "But I heard from some of the men that you've led teams before, so I figured you'd be good. Then I picked Harst." Picking up on Barst's quizzical expression, Rudy expounded, "The red head over there. I don’t really like him, but he's supposed to be the son of some scholar, so he must be smart." Rudy sighed and studied his hands that were clutched together. "Then there's the problem with Frank and me. Frank has immense skill. I've seen it myself, but he can in no way lead. Way to laconic for any type of leadership position. I figured that I would put him in your group, since you’re both cut from the same cloth it seems. I will go in Thern's group, and make him a sort of second in command. He has no amazing intelligence, so maybe he will pick up some strategy from me. You're okay with having Frank in your group, right?"

  Barst shrugged his shoulders, "Sure. I'll have to get to know him a little better though. What does he fight with?"

  Rudy put on a pensive look. "He fights in a very unusual fashion. He has two small rapiers that he uses—one in each hand. He's so quick that he practically dances around his opponent's blade. I have seen him fight four times, and not once has he even gotten dirty or even shown the slightest emotion.”

  Rudy clapped his hands on his knees, and began to push himself off the bunk. “I have to tell Thern about his job. I'll call a meeting for all the captains in an hour or so. We'll assign groups just after."

  Rudy stood up and abruptly walked away. Well he's all business. There are worse possible leaders, Barst thought.

  Barst lay in his bed for a little longer and let his thoughts wonder. Soon Rudy called for all the leaders to meet over by his bunk. Barst entered the small group gathered beside the bunk, and Rudy nodded to him and then began.

  "Alright. There will be four groups of ten that each of you will be in charge of. You can get to know your men, and will be able to trade your men with other leaders if it benefits the team."

  "Why would we do that?" a man, who must have been Thern, stupidly asked. Barst cringed at the man’s ignorance and felt an inward pang of wonder that this idiot had been chosen for a leader before himself. Rudy threw an annoyed glance at Thern and continued as if the interruption hadn't happened.

  "You may want to do this if some of your members don’t get along or if they all use the same weapon. You must also discuss strategy w
ith your squad and tell them what role you want them to play. On the battlefield, I want Barst's and Brian’s squads trying to flank on the sides, and the other two squads holding the middle" Rudy paused and glanced around to make sure everyone had understood him. Reassured by the fact that even Thern looked confident in what to do, he turned around and yelled for everyone to line up along the bars.

  Choosing squads was done in the simplest fashion. Each leader was assigned a number and the fighters were counted off from one to four. Barst led his team to his bunk and the whole group sat down in a circle except for Frank, who just pulled himself onto the bunk above Barst's and stared at the ceiling.

  Being unprepared to speak, Barst glanced around, gathered his thoughts and extemporized. "Okay. I'm Barst. I've been a fighter for six years, and have led squads many times, though none in a battle of this scale. First, I want to know how long you have been a fighter and what weapon you use. I use a one-and-a-half sword and I know Frank uses two rapiers." Barst paused for confirmation and when none came he motioned for someone to start.

  In total, his group had two men who used two-handed swords, three who used flails or maces and three who used pikes or some sort of spears. The whole team was pretty green in experience, most of them being Class-one fighters for their size only. Barst excused himself and went to Brain's group where he traded one of his spearmen for a sword-man. Coming back he sent off the biggest spearman and began talking strategy.

  "This is my idea of how this squad is going to work. We're going to take the flank probably, and nine of us will fight as a group including the two spearmen behind. Frank, I want you lingering behind us all and picking off any of the other team's loners. I think that will make you the most effective. Sound good?"

  Frank grunted a confirmation and Barst resumed, "We will be moving fast. Flails and swords hit first and once a line is established then the spears will begin supporting us. Try not to be separated. Uhh, that's about all I can think of. Oh, our squads called squad Two."

  One of the swordsmen scrunched up his face "That's no name. Can we name it something different?"

  "Yea." A spearman joined in, "How about after a girl?"

  "Ships are named after girls, not squads dummy," the swordsman retorted.

  "Well they can be. How about it Barst? Why don't we name it after your girl?" a flail man asked. Barst remembered his name being either Carter or Sutter, but he was leaning toward Sutter.

  "Well, first because we don’t want to be screaming a girl's name when we rush into combat, and second because I don't have one."

  "Oh sure," Sutter said, winking. "So you’re a shy one, hu? Never of guessed. So what is she? Friend, admirer, Lady?"

  A few of the other men laughed stupidly and Sutter smiled, obviously proud of himself. Barst stood up and leaned, directly over the man's face, and said darkly,

  "She's dead."

  Sutter froze, and tried to sputter off an apology, but Barst was already walking away, his emotions in a free-fall as his thoughts came tumbling back to Her.

  C H A P T E R 13

  Training

  Barst parried the coming blow and returned with a low strike. His squad member, Trony, cursed as he tried to leap over the wooden blade, but tripped over it instead. He collapsed onto the dust and lay there, starring at the sky.

  Barst looked down on him and shook his head in disappointment.

  "I hope you don't give up that easy in the arena."

  "Cours' not. But this is practice with wooden swords. Besides, I don't want to get hurt." Trony said, wincing, as he slowly picked himself out of the dirt.

  "You’d better improve your practicing speed then, or you're gonna be hurt. This is training; it's supposed to make you better. And trust me, you need it most of all."

  The man growled before launching himself at Barst.

  Training had been going on for an hour and so far, Barst had been majorly disappointed. Horst hadn't even shown up, and the fighters were left to train on their own. If that wasn't frustrating enough, his men seemed to know nothing about the art of fighting. They gave up too easily, and never pushed themselves beyond their limits. They fought fair, and never went for cheap shots—a habit Barst was trying to break.

  Trony knocked Barst's sword away with a wild slash, but at the same time ex-posed his unprotected front. Barst saw his opportunity and crashed his fist into the man's chin. Trony spun once, then collapsed once again to the floor in a daze.

  Barst turned to where his squad was watching. All of them were looking at him with disapproval. Shrugging, Barst offered Trony his hand and picked the moment to make his point.

  "It's a battle, not a contest. You want to live, and any move necessary to assure that is accepted. So, who wants to fight next?"

  Four hours later, Barst was content with the improvement he'd made. His men were brawling, and seemed to understand the concept of fighting for survival. A couple of them had collected minor injuries, but it only seemed to make them even more furious, much to Barst's delight.

  Barst noticed Rudy rounding up his group and called for his group to do the same. As they gathered around him, Barst noted their silence and was grateful for their respect. It would be imperative for the fight that his group took orders without question.

  After congratulating the men on their success, Barst led them out the exit where they were escorted by guards to their quarters. Barst didn't realize how tired he was until he sat down on his bunk. Exhaustion soon overcame him, and he quickly found himself slipping out of the conscious world.

  C H A P T E R 14

  Frankly...

  The small page seemed to shrink in the midst of the huge warriors. His eyes darted back and forth and his trembling voice betrayed his nervousness.

  "Your team will be provided weapons in the north suiting room. The rest of your gear will also be there. A mage will be present so if anyone of you tries to end his suffering or that of another team member, the mage will inflict a slow and excruciating death upon the perpetrator and any other accomplices. Upon entering the arena, your team must remain docile and not move past the red line until the trumpets sound. This allows for last-minute bets to be placed. Failure to meet these deadlines will be reprimanded using the same punishment mentioned above. The winning team will advance to the next round, which is to be fought later that day. Any losses in the first round will not be replaced in the second round. Good Luck. Lord Barkley."

  The room was quiet as the men digested the rules and the page scurried out through the heavily guarded door. Someone muttered, "Well that puts a hole in my plan," and a light ripple of laughter went through the group.

  Barst turned and went back to his bed. The rules didn't really bother him. He just hoped that Force wasn’t their mage. The Legion member might just give him a slow and painful death for the enjoyment. Barst figured his main goal should be to try to get some sleep before Haddix tomorrow.

  When he arrived at his bunk, he found Frank sitting on the side of his be, seeming to study his hand. Unsure of what to do, Barst decided it was best not to talk and he took an awkward seat next to Frank. The silence began to stretch on, and Barst wondered if he should say something. Right before he opened his mouth, Frank spoke.

  "You lost someone too?" Barst was knocked off guard by Frank's voice, which was slightly higher than he had expected. He recovered enough to digest Frank's question, but not enough to formulate a response.

  "I lived in Lokueq," Frank continued, not waiting for a reply. "It was a small, helpless country outside your kingdom." Frank lifted his gaze and stared straight ahead. "A plague swept through and killed my parents. I was their only child, so I was taken in by my aunt who lived in a village nearby. It didn't seem so bad at the time, since all the other families were going through similar troubles, and I was very young. After I got over my loss, I began to get along with my aunt and we lived as happily as possible for many years." He exhaled loudly. "Meanwhile, the plague continued to ravish our country and because
of it, the king thought he had an excuse to annex Lokueq and take the people under his "protection.” Our government agreed—they were already in shambles—but other "Nationalists" had different ideas. They attacked an army the king claimed was bringing supplies for us. A huge debate began, but it made no difference. The king's armies swept in and, before we knew it, Lokueq was formally occupied."

  Barst was beginning to wonder if Frank really wanted him to talk or if he was just supposed to remain silent. No one else was around; the rest of the team was still over where the page had proclaimed the rules. Frank suddenly stood up and walked to the bunk across from Barst's. He put his hands along the sideboard of the top bed and hung his head low. Barst couldn’t help, but wonder if Frank was crying.

  "I was only seventeen, yet the Nationalists came to me and tried to recruit me for their cause. When I refused, they began mocking me and I became a social outcast. My aunt was the only one in my village who would talk to me. I stayed at home most of the time, so I don’t really know the events that led up to what happened next. All I know is that more soldiers came in and Nationalists tried to drive them out of my village. I was in my house, but I could still hear the screams that were coming from outside. Some Nationalist kicked down our door and demanded to use it as a stronghold. I was paralyzed with fear, and just hid in the corner. My aunt was complacent until they began throwing around furniture in an attempt to barricade the house. She stepped forward to protest, and one of the men lashed out, killing her instantly. This whole time I was shivering in fear, trying not to draw notice to myself. I didn’t even go to my dead aunt. I was an utter coward." Frank's voice was rising and he began to accent his words by slamming a fist against the sideboards. "I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even comment when they killed the woman who had taken care of me for nine years!"