A Warrior's Redemption (The Warrior Kind)

by Stanton III, Guy

  I had done the most with the time and resources provided to me over the years. I had learned and mastered dozens of fighting styles and weapon proficiencies. But most valuable of all I befriended the men around me.

  We all knew that we could die from each other’s hand, as easy as that of a rival school’s fighter, because of the whims of our masters so why not be each other’s friends and help each other as we could to make the short brutal days of our lives better. When I was forced to fight against my friends we fought with dignity not holding ourselves accountable for the death of either one of us, if it was required by the crowd or our masters.

  Perhaps no one would understand how one could fight with a friend to the death, but my answer to them was that they hadn’t been there so what did they know about it. In addition to fighting skills I had learned all that I could about the tactics of war. I even discussed the merits and lessons to be gleaned from the literary works of wisdom of our time, which I had known nothing of previously, but which many thrown into the arena dungeons did.

  We thought of, dreamed of, and planned every day for a chance at acquiring freedom for ourselves once again and the vengeance we would bring down against our captors, but freedom eluded us. Then one day we got a lucky break.

  It was the festival of the moon goddess, which was the patron god of the city of Carsea. Games of extravagant proportions had been planned for the festival. All six of the Zoarinian governors of the Rings of Hath were going to be in attendance.

  This was a rare occasion, within the empire and it would require only the finest in amusement offerings. Our handlers taunted us in glee over the special ordeal that would be faced by us fighters in the arena the next day. The spectacle was supposedly to be well beyond the usual by all accounts. The fighters from the city of Rauin were to be the first to face this new height in crowd amusement offerings.

  The night passed, as all nights did before a fight, it either went by to quickly or passed by to slowly. It had been raining softly, as I had looked through the bars of the door that opened out into the great arena.

  The fighters from Rauin numbering a little over forty in number, stood expectantly in the middle of the arena as rain dripped off their helmets making moisture trails down their armor clad bodies. The rain would have normally put a damper on the crowd’s mood, but not today. They had been promised something special today and they were eager for it to begin.

  The noise of the crowd was suddenly drowned out by the enraged, crazed screams of an animal I had only heard of, but never seen before then. The big doors at the other end of the arena had been shoved open suddenly and three large bull elephants, from the southern lands of Kharta rushed into the arena. Angered and driven mad with rage, by their handlers who had poked at them with spears they looked around feverishly in search of something to take their rageful aggression out on. Unfortunately the only prey available was the men of Rauin.

  Grimly, I had watched as each man was chased down, by the enraged beasts one after the other. The elephant’s were inconsolable with rage and wanted to kill anything that walked on two legs, because of their mistreatment by their handlers. I had continued to watch the spectacle even as the other fighters with me had turned away from the horror of it knowing that soon enough it would be them out there.

  Some fighters were crushed under the heavy feet of the beasts, while others were caught by the swinging tusks and thrown across the arena to crash with deadening force into the high walls of the arena. The men of Rauin were soon trodden down to a bloody pulp. Unsated in their bloodlust the crowd had cried out all the more for even more of this new level of violent entertainment. Which I would make them regret, because in their thirst to see our blood spilled I had seen the greatest opportunity for a mass escape that had ever presented itself before to us, not to mention the perfect diversion that would be needed to successfully escape.

  The walls of the arena were not of a sufficient strength to hold the raging animals contained within at all places. Our captors had probably been counting on the elephants giving their full attention to exterminating the human ants running around in the arena screaming for their lives and not attempt their own escape. They had probably intended on killing the elephants near the end of the act anyway. Briefly I had relayed my plan to the other fighters, who had listened intently scarcely daring to hope for even a chance at attaining their freedom and escaping the grisly death awaiting all of us within the arena.

  There weren’t as many of us as there had been of the men from Rauin, but that didn’t matter as we weren’t going to be fighting the beasts. When our dungeon doors had been raised with a resisting creak of the rusty iron draw chains, we had boldly stepped out and gotten the attention of the three elephants. Instead of running aimlessly around the arena away from our superior foe, we charged right at them.

  Several of us had fallen in the initial contact with the three crazed lumbering beasts, but those of us who survived quickly started slashing away at the undersides and legs of the great beasts towering above us as we ran past them. This only incited the elephants to an even more insane rage, which is what my plan had needed to happen. As one man, we had broken off from our harassing of the beasts and ran as hard as we could for the far wall of the arena that featured wooden bleachers and pavilions, instead of those made of stone on the fancier end of the arena.

  How I made it in one solid piece to the wood boarded wall I don’t know. I had felt the hot breath, of one of the elephants pulsing against my back and the swish of its sharpened tusks just behind my legs for what seemed like an eternity, before I reached the far arena wall.

  Everything had seemed to be moving in slow motion and then abruptly it had returned to fast paced reality. At the last possible second before we ran headlong into the arena wall, we dove off to the sides of it and hit the dirt as each of us prayed that a heavy foot of one of our pursuers didn’t set down on top of us and squash us into the sand.

  The three beasts stampeding behind us had no time to veer off after us, but instead they slid onward across the slick wet sandy clay of the arena floor. The shear momentum of their charge and their own bulk sent them plowing through the arena wall with the snapping of breaking boards and beams.

  The outspoken glee of the crowd at the spectacle before them turned to screams of fright and pain, as the three bull elephants rampaged out of the arena an up into the bleachers creating complete havoc and pandemonium within the crowd. Those of us left alive picked ourselves out of the dirt and slipped through the smashed remains of the arena wall following in the wake of the elephants’ destruction.

  People were running everywhere in mass panic and had payed us no attention as we slipped through them and away from the arena and into the city. Looking back I had seen several of the men from Rauin hobble up to their feet from where they had been playing dead on the arena floor and make their way towards the gap in the arena wall. One of them started to follow us, but then hesitated. I had gestured him onwards and he had broken into a run to catch up to us.

  We had made it to a narrow alley between two buildings and I had held a heavy rug back that had been hung out to dry. The stray fighter from Rauin ran hard towards us, even as I could see doing so hurt him greatly. All was still complete pandemonium around us with people running to and fro as they screamed hysterically in fright over their escaped entertainment. The fighter made it to the alleyway and stopped before continuing forward looking as if he needed to say something, but couldn’t frame the words.

  “Don’t mention it, get going!”

  I had said as we both ducked under the rug and ran down the alleyway towards the other fighters gathered at the far end of it waiting for me. After running through side streets and down alleys for over an hour we had reached the edge of the city and from there we had headed for the open country beyond the city as fast as our legs could carry us. The chance at gaining freedom giving power to our legs as no other inducement could ever have.

 
; It had been a long run to make it past the crop fields needed to feed such a large population, but finally we had reached the edge of a forest. I had fallen against a tree heavily and let my burden, the man from Rauin, slide to the cool spongy forest floor.

  He hadn’t been able to keep up so I had helped carry him along the last part of the mad dash from the city limits. I slid down the tree with my back to it. My lungs had felt like the bellows of a blacksmith’s forge. Sweat had been running into my eyes causing them to burn, but the sting of the sweat couldn’t dampen how I had felt inside. Freedom!

  I would remember that jubilant moment to the day I died. My fingers had curled into the rich forest dirt and I had sucked in moist forest air like it was fine wine.

  The feeling of euphoria at my release from hell had been so sharp I could fairly taste it, even smell it with every breath I had taken in. My companions had been right along with me in what I had been feeling in the moment. We had begun to grin and then laugh, which soon overtaxed our already worn out lungs. Wheezing from laughing I had shakily gotten to my feet and walked to the forest edge. The laughter had disappeared from me at the sight of the glistening city in the distance. The others had gotten to their feet and come to stand behind me.

  “Zeventhal what will we……?”

  I had held my hand up cutting off the speaker’s voice.

  “Call me by that name no longer! My free name is Roric. Call me by that name only from now on.”

  Seething anger had coursed through my body as all the injustices done to me flashed by in my mind starting with the unjust death of my father and the breakup of my family.

  The anger had left me cold and full of resolve as to what I wanted to do.

  “What is to be done Roric?”

  Asked the man from Rauin quietly. I had turned and looked at him and then the rest of the men for a moment and then I had glanced back at the city in the distance, where it sat gleaming like a jewel in the fading afternoon rays of sunlight. My fists had tightened at my sides and my jaw hardened.

  “I intend to make the Zoarinians pay for what they have done to me. To all of us! They will rue the day they took me captive, as I will become a scourge to their empire and if they plead for mercy, all they will hear will be my laughter! If you wish to share in my revenge then its welcome you are, if otherwise then just go!”

  A big rough looking fighter, who came from the northern coasts gruffly broke the silence.

  “Roric?”

  Turning I had faced the man not sure what to expect from this man, who I had seen crush the backs of grown men, but hold and care for a pet sparrow with only one wing, as if it were a beloved child.

  “In this plan of yours boss does it involve eating soon?”

  My seriousness of focus had dropped away as we all had broken into laughter. “Yes, Olaf we’ll eat soon! I promise!”

  The three years that had followed our escape from the arena had been both profitable ones yet frustrating as well. We found other escaped men such as ourselves and we united together in a common purpose, which was to cause as much trouble as we could for our former captors and enjoy ourselves doing it. Our number swelled to well over eighty fighters and we became organized, as we took on bigger and bigger targets of interest.

  We had informants entrenched throughout the Plains of Zoar, that we payed handsomely to keep us informed of everything going on. They told us where we should turn next for a profitable target, but it was an uneasy alliance.

  All alliances founded on a system of monetary payment are by nature susceptible to an underhanded betrayal, if enough money is thrown into the mix. We were betrayed several times, but we always seemed to slip out of the traps that were set for us, largely because of me.

  I followed my instincts and they had yet to lead me astray and in time the others came to trust my instincts as much as I did and I became the unofficial leader of the group. None of them wanted to challenge me to a fight either, which might have helped make up their minds as to who the leader of the group should be.

  Under my leadership we had unbridled success in robbing and pillaging the Zoarinian Empire of its bounty and we succeeded in being a major thorn in their side. We had also become wealthy as kings on top of that. But after years of unmitigated successful revenge all I was left with was an empty hollow feeling inside, that made me feel as if I hadn’t achieved anything of noteworthy value.

  I wanted my life to have meaningfulness again! Fighting for my life in the arena and not turning into a soulless animal feeding upon my own kind had been meaningful and I had thought a life spent in reaping revenge on my former captors would be even more fulfilling. I had been wrong. In some ways it was as if I had become like them instead. Cold, heartless, out for only my own gain and amusement; were all character traits that befitted the people that had payed to watch me fight. I was becoming like the people I hated by following this path of endless revenge. As I had realized the graveness of my mistake the desire to find something worth devoting one’s life to had been born.

  Good deeds, at least nobler purposes, other than my current pursuits had seemed the best place to start in redefining the purpose of my life, hence the boy sleeping over by the fire. I wasn’t at all sure that I had chosen the right path in the reformation of my character, but it was too late to go back now. I had accepted the responsibility of both the secret information that I carried in a waterproof satchel on the horse behind me, and the boy too.

  I had no sooner looked for the opportunity of consciousness redefinement, when I had become embarked on the journey to accomplish it. My new change I had been about had found me in a neat feat of timing that supported the notion that there was a greater overall design at play behind the scenes of my life.

  I thought of my parent’s and again I could see the evidence of a higher power involved in the interplay of the daily emotional mixture that is life. They had known something of the Divine nature that lies behind all of creation’s excellence and it had defined them as people. They had been people that were worth emulating, because of the decisions and strengths that they had structured their lives by. They were people that I should be like, should have been, but was so far from being like. I could only imagine what my mother would think of how I had turned out in life.

  “She would love you and forgive you even as I love you and am willing to forgive you, but you must turn away from doing what you know displeases Me!”

  I had known the origin of the voice, when it had whispered into my consciences several weeks back. It had been the intense overwhelming feeling of the Author of life itself, which had spoken to me as a boy and had continued to prod my consciousness into action lately in order to help me find my way.

  During my darkest moments in the dungeons and in the arenas above, the voice of the Creator had been a source of encouragement that had filtered into my soul and had sustained me with the hope that one day life would be better and that it was worth it to continue on with the struggle to survive one more day.

  That familiar voice in my consciousness finished my decision making for me and I had been ready to accept the first opportunity presented to me to begin my life’s journey anew. I just hoped that I had chosen the right opportunity, because this path I was now embarked on promised death at every turn. I had been desperate for change, who knew how many more times mercy would be offered to me, if any at all. Facing life without that glimmer of hope would be completely intolerable and pointless.

  I had decided to make a change that night several weeks ago. I had headed my horse back to camp from a natural scenic area that I went to, when my mind was burdened down in thought or when I was heavy in spirit. When I had gotten back to camp it was to find a visitor waiting for me. His horse had been an exceptional beast, which is when I knew that he had to be a man of some importance and influence, as he didn’t have the bearing of a horse thief. He was a Valley Lander or close to being one at least, which was an unusual occurrence so far within
Zoarinian held territory.

  His gaze on me had been steady, as I had dismounted by the fire. I was curious why the others had let him live let alone bring him to our hidden camp. He spoke.

  “Are you the one they call the Zeventhal?”

  There was a ready intelligence in his steady gaze, causing me to again wonder why such a man as him would risk being here.

  I replied, “I have been known by that name, but I am called by that name no longer. Call me Roric.”

  He smiled and extended his right hand toward me, but I didn’t take it. He held his hand out a moment longer looking uncomfortable as I left it there in space unshaken. He let his hand fall back to his side.

  “I have come a long perilous way to find you. I hope it was worth the effort.” He said with a slightly aggravated tone to his voice.

  “So you have and your perilous journey will end tonight, as you won’t leave this camp alive unless you convince me to do otherwise.” I said.

  His face whitened some at the seriousness of my words and I waited for him to speak, drawing him out with my silence.

  He began slowly, as if considering his words carefully, “I, as you have surely guessed, am a Valley Lander, a sworn enemy to the people of this land, the Zoarinians. However we are not enemies by choice, but rather the state of war between our two peoples has been one of the Zoarinians making, entirely spurred on by their continued and constant aggression towards us, because of disagreements in the ancient past. We have been expecting them to mount an all out assault on us for some time now.”

  “What has any of this to do with me?” I asked feigning a disinterested tone of voice, as I drew a knife from my belt and tested its edge for sharpness with my thumb looking at him suggestively as I did so.

  With a desperate tinge to his tone he asked, “Are you aware of who your father was?”

  Now he had gotten my attention, but I kept it from showing on my face, “Why don’t you tell me?” I said in a measured tone.