Jordel

by Richard Young

  ***

  "Jordel Manere!" My name reverberated in the air, amplified by an Illusionist to reach those furthest back from the speaker. I stepped out from the entranceway and blinked in the sudden sunlight. The place was like a pit, surrounded by row upon row of seats, each one filled. A twenty foot high circular stone wall surrounded the sand floor, broken only by the entrance I had come in and another on the opposite side. A dull roar filled the air, the sound of a thousand people all speaking at once.

  My hammer felt heavy in my hands. It was the only weapon I felt comfortable with - others drew too much blood. As I watched the other entrance, the noise of the crowd suddenly grew in volume as people started to shout and cheer. I didn't even hear my opponent's name as he stepped in from the entrance, the cheers were so loud. It was obvious who the crowd favourite was. Not that I blamed them. This was my first fight.

  As my opponent basked under the cheers, I took the chance to study him. He was slim, with dark hair, and short - well, shorter than me, anyway. The weapon hanging at his side suited him - a slim blade, it looked barely wider than two of my fingers. To a roar of thunder from the crowd, he drew and brandished the sword. Sunlight glinted off steel, and I almost forfeited the match right there. This wasn't going to be anything like the fights in the schoolyard.

  This was to the death.

  Before I could turn tail and run, he leveled the blade at my chest, taunting. I hefted my hammer in my hands. It was a dangerous weapon as well, a solid oak shaft connected to a steel plated head that had a diameter the size of my hand. One solid hit from that would shatter ribs, or cave in a skull. Courage restored, I took a deep breath and met my opponent in the middle of the ring.

  My best chance was to go offensive. All I needed was one hit.

  The man kept his blade in front of him, in some kind of fencing pose. He moved smoothly, nearly gliding across the ground toward me. A stupid smile flickered across his face as I stood and watched him approach. When he was just out of my range, he stopped and jabbed the point of his sword in my direction. Avoiding it easily, I took a step forward and swung my hammer with all my strength at his chest.

  To my surprise, he stepped back out of range and the head of my hammer passed by without so much as glancing him. The weight of it carried me off balance, and my opponent took advantage to move in and strike like a viper.

  There was no way I could have brought the heavy hammer back up fast enough to block the thrust aimed at my chest. Instead, I let gravity take the head toward the ground while the handle rotated around my loose grip. The thick piece of oak whipped between the two of us in a blur, catching the blade and knocking it off course.

  While it was no longer a killing blow, the point still caught me on the arm, ripping a gash into the flesh. I swung back at him, but he jumped backwards and backed off a couple of steps. Gritting my teeth, I clenched my hand on the handle of my hammer and tried to ignore the blood running down my arm and dripping from my elbow. For the most part, I succeeded, though my stomach still felt queasy.

  I had no time to dwell on it, however, as my opponent came at me again, smile replaced by a look of concentration. This time, I didn't let him get close enough to strike. Instead, I charged him. I kept more control over my weapon this time, shifting one hand up toward the head to more easily shift the direction should it be necessary.

  Surprised, the man froze where he was and pointed his blade at me, seemingly hoping I would impale myself on it and save him the work. As I wasn't in the mood for doing favours, I knocked his sword up so it was pointing at the sky instead of my chest. In truth, I had hoped to loosen his grip and send the sword flying, but he managed to hold on. Hammer already raised, I heaved and brought it straight down at the man's head.

  I still find it hard to believe that any man could move as fast as he did.

  At the last possible moment, he swayed out of the path of my hammer. Having been expecting this, I altered the course appropriately, but it was too late to make much of a difference. My weapon glanced off the man's shoulder rather than caving in his skull, and I saw him wince in pain. The momentum of my swing carried the head of my hammer down, pulling my shoulders down with it.

  Before it struck the sand, something flashed in front of my eyes and pain blossomed in my chest. I looked up to see the crossguard of a blade nearly hitting my chin, with a once again smiling face behind it. When he withdrew the sword, the crowd exploded in cheers. I tried to lift my hammer - it wasn't over yet! - but my strength seemed to have fled. I tried to draw a breath, but it was ragged, catching in my throat and making me cough. Blood flecked the sand as I fell to my knees.

  Still struggling to breathe, I put a hand to my throat. There, above the collarbone, I found a small hole the width of a slim blade. In shock, I looked down at the blood streaming down my chest, and back up at the man lifting his sword to the cheers of the crowd. His back was to me, which was almost enough to spur me into action. Instead, I lurched and fell to one side, gurgling from the hole at my throat. It was becoming excruciatingly difficult to breathe, as if none of the air I was taking in was actually reaching my lungs.

  Only then did the pain start to filter through to my mind. I passed out.

  A moment later I experienced the single most painful experience of my life. It was like all my bones split in half at once, stretching my skin until it tore apart. It was like my head was filled with razor blades that bounced around my skull before falling through my neck and slicing my body into ribbons. It was like bathing in a sea of acid and fire while hooks ripped at what pieces of flesh hadn't yet been eaten away and blunt nails drove themselves into my eyes. It was all these things, and more on top of that.

  I would have screamed had I possessed the ability.

  Fortunately, the experience lasted no more than a moment, though it felt like a lifetime. It was followed by a wonderful feeling of lightness, which was all too brief. Before I had even puzzled out that I was dead, a weight dragged at my feet, keeping my firmly rooted in the physical world. Though from the bluish tint and the odd silence, I was still in the spirit world as well. Light flashed in front of me, and when it faded, a man stood there. He looked almost bored.

  "Just a moment," he said in a monotone voice. "Your body will be Healed as soon as they drag it out of the pit."

  "I lost?"

  The man - obviously a Necromancer - looked at me as though I was stupid. "Of course you lost." A flash of a smile crossed his face, gone almost as soon as it appeared. "Bet you're regretting registering for the 'To the Death' competition now, aren't you?"

  I had been trying not to think about the experience of separating my spirit from my body.

  "No," I said. Then, after a moment's hesitation, "Going back isn't as bad, is it?"

  The man's smile remained on his face longer this time. "Worse," he said. He faded from view briefly, then returned. "Your body's ready," he said. "Here we go."

  I was glad to find the Necromancer was lying. While I missed the freedom of floating in the spirit world, fusing my spirit back to my body was not nearly as painful as being ripped apart. It was uncomfortable, like a tightness closing in around me, but the feeling only lasted a short moment before I opened my eyes.

  I was on my back in a small room filled with beds. The roar of the crowd had faded to dullness through the stone walls. I coughed once, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I spat to the side and took a deep breath, relieved to find that I could. My fingers automatically went to my throat, searching for the wound. Only scar tissue met my touch. It was only then that I noticed the two faces peering down at me, disinterest heavy in their eyes. I recognized one as the Necromancer.

  "How are you feeling?" the other man said.

  I coughed again, and when I spoke the words came out in a croak. "Fine."

  "Good." Both men straightened and left the room without a second glance at me.

  It was good to see that they took their job so serio
usly.

  Now alone in the room, I tried sitting up on the bed. My muscles obeyed without protesting, which wasn't a surprise. After so many Healings at school, I was used to the effects. Hunger and fatigue should be the only effects.

  I glanced around the room. It was empty, cold, and smelled vaguely of blood. My hammer leaned against the head of my bed, which I was grateful for. The weapon had cost me the last of my dwindling supply of coins. Without it, I'd have to fight bare handed.

  Sound and movement from the door made me turn my attention that way. Two kids - one male, one female, no more than thirteen, and wearing white robes - entered the room, carrying cloths and a bucket of water.

  "Well," the girl said with a smile, "good to see you up already. Let's get you cleaned up."

  It was then that I remembered the warm blood dripping down my chest. I looked down. While my bloody shirt had been removed, a red sticky mass still clung to my chest. My stomach roiled, and before the two had reached the bed, I leaned over and emptied my breakfast on the floor.

  "Sorry," I said, wiping my mouth.

  "Don't worry about it," the boy said. "We see that a lot." He took one of the cloths and began to scrub at the floor, while the girl tended to the blood on my chest.

  I tried my best to ignore the way the cloth became red, in turn colouring the water in the bucket. The two in white worked quietly, which suited me fine. Only when they finally finished did the girl speak up again.

  "Are you in more than one fight today?" she asked while picking up the bucket.

  "No," I said.

  She nodded. "Probably wise. Well, if there's anything else we can do..."

  I shook my head. "No, thank you."

  "All right. We'll see you around then."

  And I was alone again. I pulled on the shirt that the two had left for me, and tried to think of what I was supposed to do next. Fortunately, the decision was taken away from me. A roar of the crowd penetrated the walls, and a moment later a body was rushed through the door. I felt the blood drain from my face when I saw how injured he was. It looked like he had been disembowelled. The Healer who was with him spared a glare for me.

  "I thought you said you were fine," he said.

  "I am."

  "Then get out and let me work!"

  I barely remembered to grab my hammer before I fled the room.