by Umut Ersezer
The crowd erupted as Trajan’s challenger stepped into the arena. He was smaller than Trajan and carried two swords rather than an offhand shield.
It was an aggressive option that suggested to Trajan he wanted to end this quickly. His opponent had messy blond hair with blue eyes, soft facial features, he looked young and not particularly intimidating.
Trajan knew looks were often deceiving, he never underestimated his opponents in combat. Trajan’s own appearance was deceptive for he made an effort to not look intimidating to his opponents, shaving his beard, sagging his shoulders slightly. They had no idea who they were facing. He would make his opponent yield, he would make all of them yield to him, they did not know it yet, but he did.
King Hastam raised his arm and the crowd hushed, waiting in anticipation for him to commence the bout.
“Let the games begin!” proclaimed the king.
The crowd erupted once more, the sound now deafening. Trajan closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, calming his breathing and heart rate. He tuned his ears to block the noise, mentally felt the simple leather armour hugging his body and limbs, he wriggled his toes, feeling the inside of his shoes, shifting his feet to understand the traction he had underfoot against the sand. He extended his consciousness to his fingertips, feeling the grip of the sword and shield intently. He opened his eyes and stared down his opponent. This is where I hurt you, he thought to himself.
His opponent charged at him with his swords raised, yelling at Trajan in an attempt to intimidate him. Amateur thought Trajan, this was an overzealous boy competing in a tournament of men. I will have sport with him to entertain the crowd. I shouldn’t fully show myself this early, thought Trajan.
They locked swords, Trajan using his shield to block his opponent’s second sword. They exchanged blows, Trajan even letting the boy hit him inconsequentially. It did open a cut, and a bruise was forming around it, but Trajan only fed off the pain. That would be the only hit Trajan would allow. After several minutes of exchanging clashes and blocks, Trajan rammed his shield into the face of the young man, breaking his nose.
Blood poured down his face like a fountain, staining the sand below. The crowd cheered at the sight of blood, Trajan would give them plenty more of that in the matches to come. He ran toward his opponent, launching himself into the air and landing a single footed kick to the young man’s gut.
A sword was no match to block such a powerful kick. He went tumbling back, rolling over himself. He hunched over spluttering blood from his mouth, leaving himself exposed. On the battlefield, Trajan would lop off his head at this very moment, but he took his time approaching the young man. He pointed his sword at him.
“Do you yield?” Trajan asked in a controlled voice.
His opponent looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, nose and mouth pouring blood, his leather armour covered in it. He raised his fist to the king and pointed his thumb downwards.
That was the end, Trajan had won his first Warrior Games match. The crowd erupted into chants of “Trajan! Trajan! Trajan!” They had enjoyed the spectacle and would be treated to more from him.
Trajan didn’t notice, however, a black hooded figure observing him with piercing intent. There were others in the crowd also watching him beyond the enjoyment of the spectacle he provided. People regarded him as a serious threat, for his reputation in duelling around the lands followed him to the games.
It may be his first time competing here, but he was already well known to those who also coveted the prize. Trajan retreated into the corridors that snaked underneath the stands, housing the other competitors in between matches. He would need to fight two more times today. He relished it, looking forward to the final in six days.
**
Trajan lay in bed, trying to get to sleep. His body ached from bruises and cuts, but this tournament was equally about endurance as it was the skill with a sword and shield. Even if a competitor had won their match, it wasn’t guaranteed they would be able to continue in the competition.
Some competitors would get injured during their bout, preventing them from moving on to the next round. The random draw to determine who would fight who would be continuously updated, this added to the drama of the games.
Both competitors and spectators couldn’t predict matchups, fuelling the heavy betting that would occur during the games. It was ideal to finish matches quickly, without sustaining lingering severe injuries. Trajan had done just that, mostly, some hits and cuts couldn’t be avoided.
After each match the tournament surgeons and nurses tended to the competitors, doing all they could to stitch cuts and compress swelling, giving them a chance to fight again, often on the same day.
He had eliminated all of his competitors to secure a position for himself in the final tomorrow afternoon. He had learned that his opponent was Karda, a master swordsman and a high commander in the military.
He was a real force to be reckoned with, a seasoned veteran of war. He had achieved all he wanted in his career, but his next goal was to win black plate and be elevated to the rank of general. Trajan could relate to the high commander’s aspirations for he shared them, but tomorrow he would not only stand in the way of Karda’s goals, he would crush them.
Trajan was determined to put on his most vicious display of skill for the crowd and king. He rolled over in his bed, willing his mind to calm, steadying his breath, visualising success, which he hoped to carry into his dreams.
As the night wore on, he drifted into sleep, his aching body guiding him on his way, easing their ache as his mind turned off to the outside world, until he was asleep.
Outside his room, in the deep darkness of the night, two towering figures with masks crept up the stairs, approaching Trajan’s door. One of them pushed their ear to the door, listening for any movement, while the other held a single lit candlestick in its holder. All was quiet. He looked at his partner and gave a nod of satisfaction. He slowly turned the handle and gave a slight push, it was locked, not surprising. He pulled out a key, stained with dried blood, forcibly taken from the landlord living not far away, commanded to remain silent of the event by the assailants.
As gently as his large hands could, he turned the key within the hole and clicked the door unlocked. They pushed the door open, holding their breath, the door creaked in protest but did not stir Trajan’s deep sleep.
They walked in slow motion towards Trajan’s bed, one of them pulling a cloth bag out from his pocket and setting the candle down on the table nearby.
Dust particles dispersed in the room reflected in the warm light of the candle, casting a haze over the scene while shadows flickered about the room. The other assailant pulled out a short knife as both men edged towards Trajan. At once they leaped on top of him, their sheer bulk doing most of the work to keep him pinned to the bed. One of them covered Trajan’s head with a cloth bag before he got a chance to wake and comprehend what was happening.
Trajan opened his eyes to feel a tremendous weight upon him, unable to see. He tried rolling but couldn’t, he felt his hot breath within the bag as he released a grunt in his futile attempt to wrestle free.
The next second he felt a sharp splitting pain in the side of his left thigh, another in his back, he felt the heat of pain radiating out, he was being stabbed.
“Nooo!” Trajan muffled in the bag. He felt a hand grab his head, turning it to the side.
“Submit tomorrow, or we will be back to finish the job. The prize isn’t worth your life,” said one of the men in a shallow raspy voice.
Trajan imprinted the voice into his memory. He felt a sudden thud against his head, then it was black.
The assailants, rose, pleased with their work. They left Trajan’s room making sure to take the candle and lock the door behind them, evaporating into the night.
The Warrior Games – Part 2
The sun peeked over the horizon, shining its first rays of brilliance through Trajan’s window. The light stirred his eyes to move as his brain regain
ed consciousness.
He lifted his heavy eyelids, his head feeling like it was being squeezed in a vice. He rolled onto his side but found that his bedding was stuck to him. He had soaked the bed in his blood, drying to a dull brown crust.
He reached to his leg and then back, feeling where he had been stabbed, the blood was only trickling out now, but he had lost enough to leave him feeling lethargic. It felt tender and sore to the touch, the heat was replaced with a throb.
“Bastards!” Trajan said to himself. I’ll kill them, I’ll hunt them to the ends of the world if I have to, they will taste the metal of my sword, he thought.
He lifted himself into a seated position in the bed, placing pressure on his thigh with his left hand and on his lower back with his right. I need to get these stitched, damn it! Trajan urged himself to stand, his linen pants and shirt soaked in his blood.
He walked to his wardrobe and took out his longest coat. He threw it around himself, each action aggravating his wounds and causing him pain. He grit his teeth and walked down the stairs that took him to the main street below. He exhaled slowly, the chill of the morning highlighting each breath he took.
Trajan stumbled down the street, the surgeon who had been treating him during the games lived four blocks away, it was a considerable distance, made more challenging in his state.
The streets were still calm, most residents and tourists still enjoying the warmth of their beds, only the merchants were stepping out and heading to their shops and stalls to prepare for the day’s trade. Trajan marched on, small drops of blood trickling behind him, staining the ground below.
He arrived at the door of the surgeon’s home, it was considered highly rude to disturb a man or woman of medicine in their home rather than their practice, it would more often than not result in being turned away. They would only treat the most serious of cases, and this was one of them Trajan deemed.
He banged his fist on the door as hard as he could in his condition.
“Doctor! Doctor Nelk!”
He listened for footsteps through the maroon painted timber door. They came. After three clicks from locks opening the door swung open to show Dr Nelk peering at Trajan with an annoyed face at first, then slowly morphing into a look of concern.
“Trajan, what has happened!? she exclaimed.
Nelk was a large woman who enjoyed the luxury of an excess of food her salary provided. She wore a white silk nightgown which didn’t highlight her figure but did complement the smooth skin tone of her face.
“They came for me in the night, to sabotage my fight,” Trajan replied with a pained voice.
“Come in, let’s see what we can do.”
Nelk held onto Trajan’s arm, helping him make his way into her home office where sometimes she invited the more high-status patients to be treated in greater privacy than the public practice of the city.
Nelk’s home was constructed from rich dark timbers with very little stonework. It was filled with more wood and soft-touch flush furniture. Artwork adorned the walls adding to the beauty as rays of sunshine poured through the tall windows. She was a strong woman, matching Trajan in height and had dark features to contrast against her light skin.
She ushered him into the patient room where Trajan slumped onto the bed. Nelk assessed his injuries with a furrow in her brow.
“Yes…these wounds were not intended to kill, only to slow you,” she concluded.
“They still want me to fight, Karda wants to be seen to beat me, even if it’s a hollow victory. I wonder if he did this to his other opponents?” he wondered out loud.
“I doubt it, I haven’t heard of such instances, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn of such things happening in the past.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Trajan stated
“Not in this condition you won’t. Be still, I need to apply strapecot and stitch the wounds closed. It should heal without lingering issues, but fighting will tear the stitches apart, getting dirt and sand into them will induce infection. I must tell you that small injuries can escalate into life-threatening ones if not given the proper treatment,” explained Nelk.
“I won’t let them get away with it doctor, all my life people have been taking from me, trying to push me into the dirt with the heel of their boot. I promised myself no more, no more would I cower and surrender, no more will I allow the gods to punish me for merely existing,” Trajan proclaimed, almost sounding hysterical in his frustration.
“I cannot pretend to understand the pain you carry inside, or what has befallen you in your past, I can only treat you here, at this moment. I have to warn you that you risk yourself serious injury if you carry on,” Nelk said with a hand on his shoulder.
“Today doctor, only one man will leave that arena, I intend it to be me. Now do what you can to ready me,” Trajan instructed.
“Very well, try to relax, I will administer milk of the poppy to numb your wounds as I work.”
“No, I wish to feel it. I do not fear pain, I welcome it for I find that it focuses ones will. That is the nature of my training, and I would harness it today,” Trajan said.
Nelk gave an audible sigh and got to work cleaning and closing his wounds. She worked quickly with deft and precise hands. Within minutes her work was done.
“Wash yourself in the bathroom, this home has been fitted with filtered rainwater tanks and plumbing, you will find the flow to be quite refreshing if you’ve never experienced it before.”
Trajan carried himself to the bathroom while Nelk cleaned and tidied the patient room. He lifted the lever to the bath, and indeed water did flow into the tub from some unseen place above, it was the first time Trajan had seen such a thing but did have plumbing in the plans for his newly constructed home. He looked forward to using it for the first time and now that he had seen the convenience of it, he was glad to have paid the extra expense for such luxury. Although the tank of water could have been heated with fire, it hadn’t been prior to Trajan’s emergency visit. He closed the lever, removed his clothing and stepped into the cold water. It was difficult at first, drawing the breath out of him, but as he settled, the chilliness was refreshing and had an oddly soothing effect on his wounds and muscles. He closed his eyes focussing on calming his mind and body, willing it to heal. How am I going to do this? Can I actually beat him in this condition? I have to. Damn him!
After a while, Trajan pulled himself out and wrapped his body in a towel to dry off.
“I have placed the fresh clothes in the room next to you,” called out Nelk.
“Thank you,” replied Trajan.
He dressed quickly, his wounds feeling much better. He made his way to the front door, wanting to get back home.
“Wait, your treatment is not quite complete,” Nelk called out behind him. Trajan turned, eyeing her with a raised brow.
“I’ve prepared you a meal, it will go a long way to making you feel better, you are my patient, and I intend for you to be in the best condition you can be. Come this way,” Nelk said while holding out her arm showing Trajan the way to the dining room.
He now took notice of the smell of keef meat rising into his nose, he suddenly realised he was starving. Trajan walked with pace to find fruit and vegetables also placed onto the table. It was a feast.
He turned to Nelk and gave an appreciative smile. He sat and filled his belly to the point where he thought he would burst, he hadn’t eaten so well for months. Food during deployment was bland at the best of times unless there were dedicated chefs and slaves committed to feeding the soldiers. These were generally reserved for only the largest of garrisons though. Nelk placed a glass of red liquid next to his water.
“Trajan looked up to her asking “What’s this?”
Nelk sighed. “I call it, Korali’s Wrath.”
Trajan raised his eyebrows staring intently at the red liquid.
“You see, sometimes the archaeologists discover strange buildings and artefacts deep in the ground. Most of these discoveries are bro
ken and damaged beyond comprehension, but a tiny fraction of the old world survives. The king has vast teams out there searching for these remnants in secret. But…not all secrets are kept, artefacts are smuggled out, information is leaked. What you’re looking at is said to be a potion of vitality. The texts that accompany it, although not well translated, insinuate this particular recipe of rare ingredients will stimulate accelerated healing and give its drinker…abilities they normally wouldn’t possess,” Nelk explained.
“How did you come by it?” asked Trajan wide-eyed.
“You don’t need to know, suffice to say being in my line of work allows me to harvest…delicate elements and ingredients that may, or may not have possessed a life essence. I have been experimenting for quite some time, refining my recipes as more knowledge is discovered,” explained Nelk with a look of seriousness.
“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Trajan said, shaking his head. Nelk simply smiled in return.
“You see Captain, the man you fight today is cruel to his core. He hurts innocence for his pleasure, nothing more. One of that innocence was my daughter. I have longed for his death, but my Hippocratic oath runs deep into my core, in short, I don’t have what it takes. You present yourself as a unique opportunity, one in which I now believe the gods themselves have sent me.
“Drink,” she said with a broadening smile.
Trajan looked at the concoction with suspicion, he didn’t know what it was, he didn’t want to know. But he also understood he would not win this fight without help, destiny had led him here, and he would not let it slip, he would seize it.
**
Trajan stood tall, waiting for his moment to enter onto the fighting arena. He could hear the crowd cheering, their excitement reaching fever pitch in anticipation of the final battle.
