by Raymond Cain
With each passing moment, Flynn’s nervousness grew. He fidgeted and wiped his sweaty palms on his robe. It felt uncomfortably warm under the garment and he stood up to pull off the robe and toss it on a bench. As he sat back down, a glimpse of the battle outside the cage doors revealed an azuran gladiator getting disemboweled by a pair of orcs. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath.
“You look more pale than I do,” Theoric said. “Maybe you should. . .”
“Do you ever shut up?”
Theoric held up his hands defensively. The pirate wore a broad smile and it reminded Flynn of the visions he had of Theoric’s battles in the arena.
“You’re looking forward to this, aren’t you?” Flynn asked. “You miss the arena. You miss killing your opponents and igniting the crowd.”
Theoric smiled broadly. “Perhaps you’ll feel the same way. When you strike someone down and thousands of spectators scream your name, it’s intoxicating. When the ground vibrates under your feet and their cheers shake the very air, how will you feel?”
“Not as good as I’d feel about striking you down,” Flynn replied, coldly.
A thick chain rattled outside the gates and the c-chnk sound of a padlock getting opened made Flynn’s stomach clench. A pair of arena guards opened the gates and four more entered the room wielding tridents, prodding at Flynn and Theoric to enter the field.
Theoric grinned. “It would appear it’s time for the main event.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Come on, Flynn,” Theoric said, stepping out from the cell and onto the sands.
The trident-wielding guards positioned their weapons at Flynn’s back but they weren’t necessary. A calmness fell over Flynn as he entered the arena. He stepped out onto the battleground and did not flinch when the gate was slammed shut behind him. The crowd cheered as the pair headed into the middle of the arena and the noise passed right through Flynn like a tidal wave tearing through a kelp forest.
The calm began to dissipate and Flynn clenched his fists to hide his trembling hands. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his head and he wasn’t sure if it he was experiencing fear or excitement. He wiped his sweaty palms off on his armor and brushed a lock of greasy brown hair out of his eyes. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and he wiped them off with the back of his hand.
“I don’t know what we’ll face,” Theoric began, “but the first thing you need to do is empty yourself of emotion. Fear leads to death and if you can accept the fact that your life is already forfeit, then you have no reason to fear what’s coming next.”
Flynn barely heard the pirate. The field was surrounded by tier after tier of seats occupied by tens of thousands of spectators. Azurans were crammed together like white-tipped plants shifting in a slow-moving current. The murmur of so many people vibrated the air, as though the sound emanated from the cavern walls surrounding the city. His legs felt heavier after each step toward the center of the arena and he gulped when a pair of tall gates opened up and two hulking monsters stepped onto the sand.
A pair of cave ogres, each one half-again taller than a man, entered the arena. Their necks were wider than Flynn’s waist and their tree-trunk legs were so muscular that they walked with a wide-footed gait to prevent their legs from rubbing against each other. The enormous brutes’ arms were nearly as wide as their legs, and even more muscular. The ogre on the left was bald, and a scar on its head stretched from ear to ear. The second ogre had three prominent scars along the left side of its face and its left eye socket was empty.
The sight of the brutish creatures stole Flynn’s breath. For a moment, he was too paralyzed with fear to move and when it passed, he reached under his armor’s collar and untucked a golden necklace hidden beneath. A crystal pendant depicting a sword flanked by two fins dangled from the chain—the gift from his mother—and he kissed it for luck. He tucked it back under his collar.
Flynn scanned the crowd. Their excited cheers grew loud enough to echo off the cavern walls and reverberate throughout the city. Hundreds of them were shouting and punching their fists into the air, but he couldn’t make out what they were cheering. “Who do you think they’re rooting for?”
“Not for you, certainly,” Theoric replied. “They’re rooting mostly for the cave ogres—I hear they’re quite the crowd-pleaser. But mostly they don’t care who wins, so long as it’s bloody.”
Flynn scowled. “Your people are repulsive.”
“And if your people were here, they’d be in the stands cheering just as loudly. Humans built gladiator arenas long before azurans did.”
Flynn sniffed derisively. There was no point arguing the matter. He gripped his sword and was about to unsheathe it when Theoric put a hand on Flynn’s wrist, stopping him.
“Grab a handful of sand first,” Theoric said.
“Sand? Why?”
“Because your palms are sweaty and you’ll lose your grip on your sword.”
It felt strange to receive advice from the one he despised most in the world but the pirate’s suggestion made sense. Flynn scooped up a handful of sand and rubbed it between his palms. He unsheathed his sword and seriously considered stabbing Theoric with it, but he held it at his side.
“Just stay alive,” Theoric said, unsheathing his jeweled cutlasses. “Once I’m through with my opponent, I’ll help you with yours. Their legs are too thick to move quickly, so run if you have to. The crowd won’t like that but don’t worry about what they think.”
Flynn had a strong sense of how experienced the pirate was, especially in a gladiator arena, but the azuran’s confidence still surprised him. It seemed ludicrous to be so certain of victory and Flynn wondered how much of it was bravado. “I’ll take the one on the right,” he said, reasoning that due to its damaged eye, that ogre would be the easier of the two to fight.
Theoric nodded. “Either stay out of his range, or get in too close for him to use his club on you. And try to stay close to me.”
Flynn nodded. It pained him to take orders from the despicable man but he had to admit, Theoric was the superior warrior. He would simply have to work with the azuran until the battle was over, and then find a way to kill him later. Unless the ogres killed them first, which seemed likely.
With a snarl, the ogres charged. Their footsteps sent vibrations through the ground and Flynn was gripped by fear. To his surprise, Theoric charged ahead to meet them. The bald ogre slid to a stop and swung his club downward, directly in the pirate’s path. But Theoric’s charge was merely a feint. The pirate paused, just long enough for the club to miss, and the weapon slammed the ground, sending more vibrations through the dirt. As the ogre stepped back and retreated its club for another swing, Theoric stepped in too close for the ogre to bring the club to bear on him. He spun with his arms out wide, his jeweled cutlasses scoring slashes along the ogre’s forearm and thigh.
Theoric’s first attack opened a gash on the ogre’s right arm that extended from wrist to elbow. The monster released the club with its right hand, catching it in its left, and did a backhand swipe with its injured arm that struck the pirate in the shoulder and sent him flying. Theoric landed hard on his back and slowly rolled onto his side as the ogre marched toward him.
Swallowing his fear, Flynn tried the same tactic that Theoric used. He charged the one-eyed ogre, hoping to trick the brute into overextending itself with a downward swing. Flynn ran forward and stopped, just outside of clubbing range, but the ogre didn’t fall for it. It kept its club held high, ready to clobber him once he came closer. The ogre smiled, revealing a wreckage of rotten, yellow teeth, and Flynn knew he made a poor choice about which ogre to fight. The brute had only one eye, but its cunning more than made up for that disadvantage.
A backward glance revealed that Theoric had gotten back to his feet, but he moved sluggishly. The ogre he faced bled from its leg and forearm, but it seemed unfazed by its wounds. It swung its club again and again, and Theoric barely avoided the attacks. The brute’s club wa
s getting closer and closer and it seemed inevitable that eventually one of the ogre’s attacks would connect, and the fight would be over.
The one-eyed ogre swung its club horizontally, at neck level. Flynn ducked, dodging the club by so narrow a margin that the wind from it blew his hair to the side. The ogre stepped back, wisely avoiding a counterattack. Flynn studied his opponent for a way to get past its defenses. Finding none, he spun around and hurled his sword at the bald ogre that Theoric was fighting. The blade flipped end over end and plunged deep into the creature’s back. It roared, and reached behind with its injured arm to try to pull the sword out.
Flynn’s one-eyed opponent marched toward him and, to his horror, he berated himself for throwing away his best weapon to aid his greatest enemy. He unsheathed two daggers from his swordbelt and backed away, matching the ogre’s speed. The brute charged faster and the ground trembled.
“Crouch!” Theoric yelled.
Crouching in front of a charging ogre seemed like certain death but Flynn did as he was told. He knelt down in front of the towering brute and it raised its club high. A moment passed without any help from Theoric and Flynn silently criticized himself for trusting the man. At least the final blow would be quick.
A jeweled cutlass flew over him, flipping end over end until it stabbed into the ogre’s chest. The ogre halted its blow and stepped back, narrowing its single eye in confusion. An instant later, a second jeweled sword flew overhead, stabbing into the creature’s abdomen. A moment later, Flynn’s wide-bladed rapier flew over, stabbing the ogre’s chest a few inches from the first blade. Blood gushed from the brute, drenching Flynn, and the creature dropped its club. It staggered back a few steps, then fell onto the sand, lifeless.
Forty thousand spectators cheered and the noise was so loud, Flynn could feel it on his skin. The uproar tore through the cavern and surely reverberated for miles down the surrounding tunnels. It sickened Flynn to see them so excited over something so gruesome. Equally sickening was Theoric’s response to the crowd. The man was bowing toward each section of the crowd, clearly savoring the attention.
Flynn retrieved his sword and wiped the blood off on the ogre corpse nearest him. He sheathed the weapon and removed Theoric’s blades from the ogre. The pirate finished one final bow and held his hand out for his swords. Flynn hesitated, torn between returning the man’s weapons or killing him with them.
“If you kill me now,” Theoric began, evidently reading his thoughts, “your life is forfeit as well. We haven’t completed our side of the deal until we both leave the arena, alive.”
Flynn shrugged, as though the thought had never occurred to him. He dropped the blades in the dirt and walked away, looking around for a way out.
“I didn’t need your help, by the way,” Theoric said after retrieving his swords. Next, he picked up his leather tricorn and wiped dust from it. “I would have killed that ogre.”
“Of course,” Flynn said, sarcastically. “That’s what it looked like.”
Theoric smiled knowingly and donned his hat. “You did well, for a human. And I’m touched you’d risk your own life to save mine. It’s nice to see you’re finally starting to like me.”
The taunting remarks did not provoke Flynn because he was too busy worrying about whether Migorn would honor the promise to let him go. A portcullis raised on one side of the arena and he flinched, expecting more monsters to come out. None did.
Theoric nonchalantly headed for the opening and Flynn walked a few steps beside the pirate. As the pair neared the exit, Flynn flinched when a dozen azurans in ragged clothing emerged. He readied himself for battle but he relaxed when the men started hauling the dead ogres off the field.
As the pair passed under the portcullis, a musky stench hit Flynn like a punch in the face. A small army of workers shoveled refuse and dissected creatures into wheelbarrows and hauled it away. The sand was wet and squishy from all the gore it absorbed over the years. His boots made slurping sounds as he marched through blood trails left behind by former combatants.
Flynn and Theoric followed a downward-sloping hallway flanked by caged beasts. The first cage contained a pair of burly, fur-covered humanoids armored in spiked, metal plates grafted directly into their skin. The next cage contained a reptilian humanoid with pincer-like hands and a forked tongue, along with an insectoid creature with chattering mandibles. One cell appeared to be empty save for a stone tub until a scaly creature reared its head out of the water, scowled at them, and then sank back down. Flynn kept his distance from one cage containing a creature that appeared human save for a beast-like head and tentacle arms that reached for him through the bars.
“They’ll eat well tonight,” Theoric said, nodding toward the caged beasts and glancing over his shoulder at the ogre corpses getting dragged off the field.
The thought of eating ogre meat made Flynn nauseous, and he wondered if that’s what he had to look forward to if Migorn decided to keep him prisoner. But his main concern lay with Tasker, Kylara, and Lycia. He wondered if he would ever discover whether they escaped the darkcats in the tunnels and made it back to Seahaven.
The path led to an open area in the basement level of the arena. Theoric’s ten crewmen were waiting there, but Gideon was conspicuously not among them. Flynn suspected the assassin entered the sewers to hunt down Kylara and the others, and the thought of them having to evade the assassin as well as the deadly beasts tied his stomach into knots.
“Theoric! Flynn!” Migorn said, entering the area with an entourage of twenty arena guards. He removed a silk handkerchief from his jacket with a pudgy hand, and used it to dab beads of sweat on his forehead. His pale face was flushed, and Flynn was previously unaware that an azuran’s complexion was capable of change. “A fine showing. The ogres’ deaths are a painful loss—they were two of my finest competitors—but it was a fine battle. The two of you work well together. Perhaps Theoric could find room for you on his ship.”
Flynn snorted.
“A fine idea,” Theoric said, smiling evilly. “I know just the place for him.”
Flynn sneered, knowing what the pirate was referring to. He would never allow his soul, or his bones, to strengthen the vessel.
“Or,” Theoric continued. “perhaps I should take his soul and he could serve me the way his father did. He could be my loyal, mindless bodyguard that spends the rest of his days protecting me and doing my bidding. I rather like that idea.”
Flynn ignored Theoric and turned to Migorn. “It would seem that this pirate feels that you have no honor. He feels that you will go back on our agreement and turn me over to him. So is he right in assuming that you’re a liar, or are you a man with integrity?”
“I’m a man of my word,” Migorn replied. There was a mischievous glint in the administrator’s eyes when he added, “You are free to go.”
Flynn tilted his head as he regarded the obese man.
“What were you expecting?” Migorn continued. “An armed escort all the way back to your human city? You’re free, Flynn. Free to leave the arena and enter Deepstone. Good luck making it out alive.”
Migorn and Theoric burst with laughter, and the other azurans in the area laughed with them. Flynn backed away, drawing his sword, and saw no way to escape the throng of azurans surrounding him.
The thud of wood striking stone made Flynn jump. Behind him, three azuran laborers in tattered cloaks dumped their wheelbarrows by an open sewer grate. A blue light flared in one of the laborer’s sleeves and shards of ice flew from it, stabbing into three of the pirates. A red light appeared in the other sleeve, and a sheet of flame scorched more azurans and sent others retreating. The second laborer removed a pair of darksteel staves lined with glowing red crystal, and struck down three members of the unsuspecting crew before they realized they were under attack. The wheelbarrows were filled with water, not refuse, and when it splashed against the stone floor, there was a blue shimmer in the water. The third laborer threw back his hood, revealing a mop of unrul
y black hair, and fanned his hands out in front of him. The aquazite-enriched water obeyed Tasker’s command, and a score of water tentacles entangled the azurans standing next to Flynn.
“Come on, Flynn,” Tasker said, nodding toward an open sewer grate. “This time you’re coming with us.”
Flynn unsheathed his sword and parried clumsy attacks from entangled pirates that managed to get their sword arms free. He nearly reached the open grate when Kylara grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.
“This is something I’ve wanted to do ever since we met,” Kylara said as she shoved him into the sewer.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Flynn flipped around and did a belly flop in the muck. He lay there for a moment, winded, floating face down in excrement and other waste. When he regained his senses and stood up, his brother splashed into the muck next to him and covered his face in more feces. He wiped off a handful of the foul substance just in time to get another face-full when Lycia landed. Kylara was the last to jump in and she made little effort to avoid splashing the others.
Tasker lifted his filthy hands and the crystal-enriched water he used to entangle the azuran crewmen slammed the gate shut. The water oozed down through the grate and hung from it, like slime.
“Lycia,” Tasker said, nodding toward the water. “If you don’t mind.”
Taking the hint, Lycia released a gust of freezing wind that froze the water. The grate was sealed shut and the men above began smashing the ice.
Flynn wiped fecal matter from his face and flicked it into the sewer. “I’ve definitely had enough crap splashed on my face for one day.”
“This way,” Kylara said, pulling herself out of the muck and onto one of the litter-strewn walkways flanking the sewage-filled canal. “I know a place where we can climb out of the sewer and enter the tunnels.”
The other three companions joined Kylara on the path and the four of them ran with her. Behind them, the sewer grate opened and the sound of more grates creaking open signaled pursuit from other locations.
