Death and Glory
Author: Luke Chmilenko
Date: 2022-01-25 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: Gavin fights for freedom, Sadira for glory. Together, they will face death. Together, they will seek ascension. In the Domains, those born with magic have only one place where they can prove themselves worthy of it: the brutal pits of the arena, where they will either grow in power and build a following with every victory, or risk dishonor and death in defeat. For these “Gladiators”, the ultimate prize for their struggle is a place among the Chosen, the immortal rulers of that vast and decadent empire. Gavin is an unlikely warrior trying to find his place in the savagery of the arena. Sadira,
Publisher: Wraithmarked Creative

BOOK ONE OF IMMORTAL’S ASCENT

By Luke Chmilenko & Chris Harris

Special thanks to my parents, my siblings, everyone who helped me with the book, and all the wonderful authors and game writers who kindled my love of fantasy.

-         Chris

(A Glossary is included at the end of the book for your convenience.)

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Book One of the Immortal’s Ascent series

Copyright © 2021 by Chris Harris Inc. All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or fictitious recreations of
actual historical persons. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
unintended by the author unless otherwise specified.

Editor: Emmie Mears

Cover Illustration:

Cover Design and Interior Layout: STK•Kreations

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-955252-14-0

Worldwide Rights.

1st Edition,

Published by Wraithmarked Creative Inc.

Table of Contents

Chapter One: First Fight

Chapter Two: A Gift of Lions

Chapter Three: The Golden Giant

Chapter Four: Luck

Chapter Five: Hounds in the Sands

Chapter Six: Ravius Vergerus

Chapter Seven: The Execution

Chapter Eight: Enter the Scorpion

Chapter Nine: Dreadwood

Chapter Ten: Giantsbane

Chapter Eleven: Venom

Chapter Twelve: Death of a Gladiatrix

Chapter Thirteen: Camp Valorous

Chapter Fourteen: Insecticide

Chapter Fifteen: Manticore’s Business

Chapter Sixteen: Beautiful Monsters

Chapter Seventeen: Bonedance

Chapter Eighteen: Valaran

Chapter Nineteen: A Dance with Trolls

Chapter Twenty: Brain Burster

Chapter Twenty-One: Under the Bridge

Chapter Twenty-Two: To the Future

Chapter Twenty-Three: Farewell

Chapter Twenty Four: Scorpion’s Oasis

Chapter Twenty Five: Disharmony

Chapter Twenty Six: Regina’s Gambit

Chapter Twenty Seven: New Seasons

Chapter Twenty Eight: Image

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Six Bladed Blossom

Chapter Thirty: Finding Flaws

Chapter Thirty-One: On the Training Grounds

Chapter Thirty-Two: Red Days

Chapter Thirty Three: Old Friends

Chapter Thirty-Four: Sadira’s Loss

Chapter Thirty-Five: Double-Edged Debutante

Chapter Thirty Six: Silk and Steel

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Machine Man Massacre

Chapter Thirty-Eight: In Formation

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Revelation

Chapter Forty: Laurels and Thorns

Epilogue

Thank You All! Please Read!

Glossary

Magic is the ability to weave the patterns of reality.

Those who develop this power are called the Gifted.

In the past, the Gifted were free and created many wonders.

The strongest were immortal and potent: gods among mortals.

Yet some among them thirsted for ever-greater power.

And so they fought against each other with army and spell.

The magics invoked destabilized the pattern of the world.

Called the Reckoning, this war resulted in cataclysm.

Even now, more than a thousand years later, the land remains tainted.

The Domains are the last bastion of the old civilizations.

To prevent a second Reckoning, the Gifted are controlled.

They may choose to surrender their most powerful magics,
and become free, but only after serving a lifetime as a Taskbound.

Or they can choose to earn their freedom with blood
and fight in the arenas as the people’s Champions.

These Gladiators keep their magic, but they are not free.

But the very best of them can win the greatest prize:

A place among the Chosen, the immortal rulers of the Domains.

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Chapter One: First Fight

1138/09/01 AR (After Reckoning), Campus Martius in the City of Krass, Capital of the Domains

“In the Domains of the Chosen, the Great Games never end. Even when the arenas stand empty, the Gladiators still hone their skills, the factions still plot their victories, and the fans still tell their tales, all eager for the next match.” Chosen Giselle, the Silken Scorpion.

The brazen roar of the first trumpet, the call to arms, roused the Gladiator from his preparations. He checked the straps on his greaves and breastplate one more time, a move that would have betrayed his nervousness if anyone saw him in the arming room. But of course he would be nervous on a day like today.

This match counted after all.

With swift strides he moved to the Gladiators entrance, coming to rest behind the massive door. He stood ready and tried to calm himself, waiting for the gate to raise. One of his masters had said that it was wise to enter the arena with a clear mind and light heart, instructions that seemed so easy in the abstract. But the Gladiator’s mind raced, his heart pounding, and he felt a little twist in the pit of his stomach. It was his first ranked match, and even though he had fought and shed blood on the white sands a hundred times as a student, the fear and excitement of the moment was proving hard to put aside.

This is it; this one counts, he thought.

Willing himself to be still, the Gladiator tried to clear his mind. It was better to concentrate on the fight than the weight of the moment. He knew this and yet still found it impossible. This was a ranked match, his first irrevocable step on the path to destiny. He was excited.

Looking down at his spear, the Gladiator frowned. His equipment was serviceable, but dull, not designed to win the eye of the people like proper arena gear. The armor was a simple medium armor class harness of a type that he felt offered mediocre defense. He reproached himself for not making a final decision on weapons and armor, but his eagerness to sign up for this match, a more difficult fight, had left him little time to make such an important—and permanent—choice. These would have to do, for now.

A second trumpet blast, the call to the people, sounded. The Gladiator looked up, ready. The thick, warded door of his entrance opened, and the Gladiator stepped out onto the pure white sands of the fighting grounds. He blinked against the sudden brightness, but his eyes adjusted with enviable alacrity. The sand was familiar, from his training, and felt right under his sandals.

There was a smattering of applause and even some cheering from the tiny gallery overlooking the simple arena. A novice Gladiator rarely attracted more than a handful of spectators, but it was still a little underwhelming. Before he could dwell on it, however, a woman attired in rich, red silks, flanked by her friends, screamed down at him.

“Make the sands run red for me, handsome!”

Gavin smiled at the catcall and raised his spear in salute to the little gallery. He did not recognize the woman, but he could see the smile on her face and read the bloodlust in her eyes through the shimmer of the warding that protected the audience. The woman’s alluring stare and red lips made an immediate impression on him. It was good to see some enthusiasm in the gallery. He hoped that if she was not a fan yet, she would be soon.

The trumpets sounded again, the call to battle, and Gavin felt a jolt of adrenaline followed by the indescribable feeling of his Thaom being unleashed. Magic, pure and unchained, flowed into him, filling his reserves like a river flowing into an empty lake. As his Thaom and Thune awakened, the magical world came into much sharper focus. He began to feel stronger, faster, and even his regular senses felt more acute. The audience went quiet with anticipation. He could hear the woman in the gallery as she whispered to her friends, something about blood coming, even across the fighting grounds.

The quiet did not last. They all knew what came next. Chains rattled as the portcullis opposite the Gladiators entrance began to lift. Gavin readied his spear and raised his shield. Growling, deep and bestial, rumbled out from the shadowed passage of the monster’s entrance. Gavin shifted his footing, putting weight onto his back leg, bracing for the coming onslaught.

Huge, furry forms exploded from the dark of the passage into the light of the fighting grounds. They moved with terrible speed, all claws and fur and teeth, jaws foaming with rabid fury. Gavin heard a gasp and laugh as the beastmen startled his audience with their sudden ferocity. Pure white sand kicked into the air as they closed in but he did not move. He watched their movements patiently, reading, studying, planning. The three beasts loomed over him as a pack and attacked.

Everything that Gavin had learned about beastmen in his schooling flashed through his mind unbidden. He had killed several in training, knew their strength and rabid fury. These were regular beast types, not alchemically or magically enhanced for the arena but still seven feet tall and strong enough to rip a man limb from limb in a heartbeat. Their foaming jaws could crush skulls and they were driven by a magical curse that filled them with mindless bloodlust. His Gift allowed him to sense that curse upon the pattern of their being as they separated and closed in on him, two of them coming from opposite flanks while the largest charged right into him, howling loudly.

The animal musk of their bodies and the toxic tang of their rabid saliva washed over him as they lunged. Their teamwork was uncanny, but the Gladiator was ready for this. Waiting until the last moment for the sake of performance, Gavin dropped as the first beastman, a huge shaggy male with the head of a wolf pounced, jaws wide and claws reaching. The bloodlust was plain to see in its rolling eyes as the teeth snapped shut a finger’s length from his face, spittle flying. As the head thrust fully over him, Gavin rammed his shield up into Wolf-head’s belly, heaving him up and throwing him into the second beastman flanking from his shield-ward side. The two fell into a snarling heap as Gavin turned to face the third.

This one sported a beak and reptilian eyes and was swinging a brutal-looking, iron-shod club at Gavin’s head. Angling his shield to reduce the impact, the Gladiator deflected the blow, stepping past Beak-face as the momentum of its attacked unbalanced him. He turned and stabbed down with his spear as they passed. Gavin felt the weapon strike its mark, then a change in pressure as its point ripped clear through the creature, erupting from its chest covered in gore. Reeling from the mortal wound, Beak-face squawked and dropped its club, clutching at the weapon impaling its body. Still keeping track of his other foes, Gavin twisted the spear to push the dying, flailing beastman between himself and the others, foiling their attacks for the moment.

The crowd saw the red blood dripping from Gavin’s spear onto the white sands and cheered. In that moment, they relived what is said by many to be the most beloved of the savage sacraments of the Great Games: first blooding. The woman cheering Gavin and her friends screamed in delight.

“Kill for me!” she shouted, glorious bloodlust dripping from each and every word she spoke.

Gavin was momentarily distracted by the intensity of her voice, so clean and clear in such a small arena. She was pretty, and he was young and not quite in control of his desires. That tiny fraction of a second was enough to allow the second beastman, a more feline specimen, a chance to slide around the impaled Beak-face and rake Gavin’s leg with its claws.

As a medium armor class Gladiator, Gavin wore a half-breastplate with greaves and bracers. Gladiatorial armor was designed as much for style as for protection and purposefully left open spots for skilled opponents to exploit and skin-loving fans to gaze at. It did not cover enough to stop a well-aimed attack on his side. Such as the sharp claws that sliced into Gavin’s unarmored flesh above the knee, leaving deep red furrows that traveled all the way up to his thigh. He gritted his teeth against the sharp pain but did not stagger, instead focusing on the follow up swipe coming and swatting it away with his shield.

The crowd loved this too, enjoying the drama of seeing the heroic Gladiator suffer a little. They of course wanted the Gladiator to win against the beasts but craved a little drama in the process. Gavin heard them shout a wave of encouragement towards him, but he forced his focus back on the match, chiding himself for his earlier lapse.

The feline beastman kept coming, pouncing on Gavin. Huge fangs, like those of a full-sized lion, snapped in his face as it tried to bear him to the ground. Gavin staggered under the creature’s weight, trying to keep his balance. If he fell, they would tear him apart on the ground in an instant. With supreme focus, Gavin stopped, set his feet, and then heaved the screaming, clawing feline form from him. The crowd screamed and cheered at the display of strength.

Gavin had no time to enjoy their praise as he heard Wolf-head coming at him from behind. Through instinct and endless drill, he knew that it was too late to dodge. Part of his training though was knowing how, and perhaps even more importantly, when, to take a hit. A Gladiator could not avoid the tithe of blood that the sands demanded, after all. Gavin shifted as much as he could, angling his right pauldron to take most of the incoming attack. It worked better than he expected, and Wolf-head’s claws sparked off his armor before the Gladiator hooked his leg, sending him sprawling into the sand. Gavin then tore his spear from Beak-face’s limp form and threw himself into a forward roll as he saw the feline beastman pounce again.

Coming to his feet nimbly, Gavin immediately slammed his shield into Wolf-face, sending it staggering back, and then jabbed it in the thigh with his spear. The beastman snarled, heedless of the wound, but before Gavin could follow up with a lunge, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

The feline beastman came at him again from the side, faster and quieter than he expected. This one lunged at him again, clawing his spear aside with a deft motion while slashing toward his neck with the other claw. Gavin gave ground to avoid the attack, his feet sliding in the white sand, and brought his shield up between them. The feline beastman lunged, yowling like an angry cat, backing off when Gavin jabbed his spear at its face. It tried to dart around his weapon, but Gavin met it with a shield bash. He felt the satisfying impact as the beastman gave way before metal and muscle, stumbling back. He raised his spear for the kill.

Only to have the other beastman, working in uncanny coordination with its partner, choose that moment to ram into his back.

Immediately, he was thrown off balance as powerful arms clamped around him like a vice, lifting him off the ground as a set of wolf-like jaws bit down on his pauldron and neck. Gavin felt a tooth sink into his shoulder and felt a moment of primal panic before his training took over. His focus sharpened. He knew what to do.

Many novice warriors have fallen in such a situation, overpowered and outmaneuvered. Beastmen were inhumanly strong and animal fast, driven by a cursed rage that robbed them of any thought beyond destruction and hate. Three were considered a hard fight, even for a novice Gladiator. Gavin wanted to make a good impression in this match.

Man and beast struggled, snarling, kicking. Teeth grinding on metal and into flesh. The smell of blood and fur. Grunting, grit teeth, growling as they grappled.

Several people in the small crowd could not help but gasp or flinch as the deadly jaws clamped down on the Gladiator. Every Krassian knew the tales of unwary travelers and unlucky Legionnaires that were killed by the ravenous, raging beastmen. The Wolf-headed beastman towered over Gavin, a mountain of muscle and fur as strong as an Ogre. Even in a fight like this, the Gladiator sometimes lost.

But Gavin was one of the Gifted, wielders of magic, and he had more weapons than his spear and shield at his disposal. Ever since his Thaom had been unleashed at the start of the fight, he had been filling his reserves with magic; he had more than enough to cast a spell.

The spells of Krassian magic, and other complex forms, required weaves of magic. Gladiators with higher Thune were able to weave more complex spell patterns faster and more reliably. Gavin’s Thune was very highly rated for a novice, so much so that he rarely wove his spells until he needed them, finding it easier to call upon what he needed in the moment than to prepare it beforehand. Krassian Gladiators were taught to weave spells while fighting, but Gavin’s Thune was so swift and so sure he seemed to pull the spell out of thin air rather than weave it from strands of primal pattern. The Gifted in the audience could not help but take note of his skill in this regard. Or at least they could after the fact.

The Gladiator then directed his Thaom through the spell pattern. The weave shaped the raw magic into the form dictated by the pattern. This all happened in the time found between heartbeats. The speed and surety of their casting was the secret of the Krassian Gifted. Gifted of other traditions might match them in Thaom, or even Thune, but few melded fighting and spellcasting so perfectly. Gavin’s defense did not drop at all as he cast his spell.

The same wards that protected the spectators also helped those without the Gift see the magic used by the Gladiators in the arena. Bright colors highlighted an attack that they would not have been able to see without the Gift.

As the feline beastman pushed Gavin’s shield aside and came in to bite his throat while the other held him, Gavin met its eyes, and his spell hammered into it. There was a pulse, a distortion in the air that could be seen and heard only by those with the Gift or by the spectators viewing through the gallery ward-screens. The magic behind that shimmer hammered into the mental pattern of his foe, disrupting brain function. Through his Gift, Gavin sensed the feline beastman’s mind shatter and felt the effects of the spell spill over into the physical world. It was as if an invisible fist had closed around its brain, squeezing the grey matter to a hemorrhaging pulp without disturbing the skull. The beast reeled back as if struck, eyes wide and unfocused. Mind blast was the name of the spell, and it was a spell Gavin used often.

The Gladiator could smell the hot, rancid breath of the one holding him as he struggled to free himself. Wolf-head’s teeth dug deeper, and blood ran down Gavin’s shoulder. If his pauldron gave any more, it would be the end. But as the feline beastman stumbled away howling in agony, blood gushing from its nose, he felt victorious and struggled harder.

The crowd cheered, in awe of such a display of magic. A few eyes darted reflexively to the protective wards; many still feared magic, the force that brought about the Reckoning.

“Kill it!” shouted a vicious voice from the gallery above. “Kill it now!”

Gavin was in the moment now, his Thaom fully under his control, weapon in hand, and the anticipation of victory in his heart. He did not think of consequences, only of glory and the freedom it could bring. He cast a second Mind Blast at the feline beastman. His weave from the previous cast of the spell had not yet dissipated, making it that much easier to repeat the spell. The feline beastman arched its back in agony, clutching its head as the second Mind Blast hit. The creature staggered drunkenly, wild eyes clouded with pain and confusion before it toppled to the sand.

The remaining beastman, still holding Gavin from behind, bit down harder. This time the teeth worked in deeper. Gavin could feel his flesh tearing as diseased saliva burned into the wound. The Gladiator dropped his spear, grunting in pain. The beast held him fast, feet dangling off the ground. He could not afford to struggle with it like this, but he knew very well from his training how to escape.

With a sudden motion Gavin dropped his full weight back and then forward. The beastman reacted to the first movement by bracing and settling back, but was caught off guard by the sudden forward shift. He twisted out of the creature’s grasp, reaching back to grab its chest. He felt the fur in his hands as he pulled the creature down, throwing it over his hip and shoulder and then slamming the wolf-headed beastman into the ground.

As Wolf-head struggled to rise, Gavin unsheathed his sword with a quick, fluid motion and held the weapon up high, pausing for a second to allow the crowd a chance to cheer. Wolf-head looked up, dazed expression clearing into a feral snarl. Their eyes met, and Gavin’s arm flashed forward, driving the blade into Wolf-head’s throat with a lunge that was so swift and perfectly executed that the beastman did not even react before the blade bit. He pulled back, blood dripping from the tip if the blade and then spraying from the wound. The beastman shook and tried in vain to grab him as he moved back to position. It faltered. Red blood cascaded from the wound as if being poured from a decanter. Wolf-head clawed the sand, trying to get to him, eyes blazing with hate. Then life left it, and it settled beside its dead brethren in white sands stained red with their blood, theirs and Gavin’s.

The trumpets rang out one last time, sounding the call to the ancestors that ended each match.

Gavin looked around. His wounds were already starting to close, a sign of the powerful Thaom shared by all Gladiators. The spectators were clapping and cheering, happy with his victory. Gavin smiled; he had just won his first ranked match and entertained the small crowd as well. He felt elated. This was what he had trained for.

The striking woman in the gallery and her friends cheered him loudly long after the rest of the audience left, laughing and drinking wine. He raised his bloody weapons to salute them once more before leaving. This was Gavin’s first step on the path to the only freedom a Gifted can have in the Domains, and he hoped that his performance was a good one.

As he turned to head back to his arming room, Gavin cast his attention down to the still forms of the beastmen; their eyes having lost all their rabid luster after death. They looked somehow pathetic in death, despite all of their size and earlier ferocity. He felt a brief stab of pity for them, the emotion lingering for a pair of heartbeats before his training quashed it and he moved to leave the arena.

And so ended Gavin’s first professional match as a Gladiator. A quick, bloody victory against three beastmen in a small arena in the Campus Martius with twenty-six spectators attending.

Chapter Two: A Gift of Lions

1138/09/02 AR Gavin selects his arms and armor on the Campus Martius.

“A Gladiator’s Arms and Armor are their most important friends.” Arena Maxim

By the time he made his way to the arming room, the claw slashes on his leg had stopped bleeding and were worming their way closed. All Gladiators were conditioned to redirect a portion of their magic into the pattern of their being, allowing them to regenerate and enhancing their physical capabilities, a practice called Sui-Thaiune. Even disfiguring and mortal injuries, poison, and disease could be overcome by a Gladiator’s powerful constitution. Indeed, if a Gifted healer was at hand, a Gladiator could survive just about anything with additional magic. Gavin could even recover from a beheading, if he attuned himself to the life-sustaining Keystone before a fight. He knew this because as part of their training, all young Gladiators experienced death. He still woke some nights, in a cold sweat, remembering the feeling of the cold steel on his neck; he knew the kiss of death and remembered it despite his power.

Despite the swift healing, his arm still throbbed where Wolf-head had ripped off a chunk of flesh. Outside the fighting grounds, his Gift was leashed again, and he healed less swiftly. As a whole it had been a sloppy fight from a technical standpoint. He needed to do better if he wanted to prove himself. At least the crowd had enjoyed the drama.

After disarming, Gavin made his way to the baths to wash away the blood and sand. He already missed the free flow of Thaom, denied to him even in the warded bowels of the arena. He left his weapons and armor with the attendants to be washed and polished, perhaps even examined again for illegal runes by an over-zealous Grey-Robe. That thought brought a smile to his face since his armaments were on loan from the Campus Martius itself; he had not yet selected the weapons and armor that he would use for the rest of his career.

As Gavin settled into hot, rose-scented water, his mind turned to the match. He had fared well in a fairly difficult match. As a middle-weight cogimancy defender, he was at a disadvantage when it came to wowing the crowd. People loved flashy, fast, and sexy in the arena and a good defense was none of those. It did allow him to take on more foes with confidence though; he would have to gain attention that way.

Beastmen were a favorite in Hunter’s Matches, where Gladiators fought against dangerous beasts. As a threat to those who lived on the western frontier of the Domains of the Chosen, they loomed large in the minds of many. Few understood that the beastmen were cursed with hunger and hate and driven to frenzied attacks every year after they ate all of the game in their homelands. This curse was a legacy of the storms of wild magic from the Reckoning, another scar upon the world brought about ultimately by the reckless use of the same magic that the Chosen still wielded.

Gavin was lost in thought when a page entered the room.

“Excuse me, Gladiator,” the young woman said, averting her gaze politely. “You have a message.”

Gavin smiled and nodded. His heart beat a little faster; what could it be? He hoped it was an offer of patronage. All of the most promising Gladiators had patrons who helped them with food, clothing, and above all spreading the word of their skills to attract more fans.

“Place it by the table, thank you,” he said.

The page did as he asked, meeting his eye for a moment and smiling before darting out the door, leaving him wondering.

The letter was perfumed, a sweet, spicy scent that immediately drew his attention. It was sealed with red wax, a picture of a blade covered in runes pressed into it. Odd, given the perfume. He opened it, curious but ready for disappointment.

Greetings, Honored Gladiator,

I had the pleasure of watching your glorious match in the pits today. I know that you heard me and even looked right at me several times. Hopefully you enjoyed what you saw as much as I did.

My friends and I attended several dozen fights this week, but you stood out as the best Gladiator that I watched. While it was wonderful to see you strive valiantly against those foul beastmen and spill their blood, I could not help but notice that your arms and armor were standard issue. A Gladiator needs style, and style is my business.

If you can find the time, I would love for you to call on me at Runes and Weapons; I am sure you are familiar with it. I have what you need, and look forward to (un)dressing you.

Yours,

Isabelle Maria diProvincia.

Gavin shook his head, thinking of the blonde-haired beauty who had been cheering so savagely during his match. Was this her?

He was suddenly eager to find out.

Spurred by a heady mix of lust and curiosity, Gavin skipped most of his practice the next day in order to call on the mysterious Isabelle. He felt guilty doing only two hours of training, but while Gladiators were supposed to spend most of their days honing their skills, many of his peers seemed to be pursuing other interests now that they had tasted the freedoms of the Campus Martius.

As the Gladiator marched through the streets of the Campus Martius, he kept a wary eye out. He was still not used to his new home. After saying goodbye to his teachers and leaving the Campus Gladius, he’d been full of vigor and confidence and sure of the grand destiny that awaited him; he’d marched straight to the registrar and arranged for his first professional match as quickly as possible. That had been only eight days ago.

Gavin narrowly avoided bumping into an enormous heavy-class, who snarled and started to speak, only to go quiet when a Grey-Robe turned to them.

“Move along, Gladiators.”

The big Gladiator gave Gavin a hard look but moved on without comment. The Grey-Robe looked Gavin up and down but did not comment before moving on herself.

In training, Gavin had been a bit of a loner, spending more time with his teachers, whom he admired, and he still did not seek the company of other novices. He still planned to adhere to an ambitious schedule than was usual and to leave the Campus Martius as quickly as possible. He longed to venture out into the wide world beyond the walls of Krass. He dreamt about wandering through the empire, exploring ruins and experiencing the culture of distant Domains far from the capital. Most novice Gladiators, on the cusp of adulthood, were busy enjoying their newfound freedoms, exploring the training grounds, bars, and shops of the campus as well as each other.

Other than training, Gavin preferred to spend his time reading. Sex and food were in abundance in the wild, youthful atmosphere of the Campus Martius, but books were treasures. In his small apartment, nestled in the tall, maze-like South Residence, the desk was heaped to overflowing with well-worn volumes about history, philosophy, and weapons and armor.

Gavin loved reading and naturally turned to books to help him with his decisions. Venerable volumes of perfect pedigree like Mazurin’s Guide to Bladed Weaponry mixed with newer, more radical titles of uncertain parentage such as Giselle’s Killing with Style: The Red Scorpion’s Guide to Polearms. He’d read them all several times, wishing he had access to the bookshops in the rest of the city. Perhaps if he was lucky a patron could furnish him with some of the rarer texts he longed to read.

In his little Domain, the books were often left wide open, their spines on the verge of cracking, margins desecrated by Gavin’s small, overly neat writing, important exclamations such as “good point!” or more referential notes like “M. disagrees, need more research . . . check M pages 203-207 and also Cavarius.” Although the small space seemed messy, there was a kind of order to it, and Gavin could find what he needed effortlessly.

His most recent research was in order to help him choose a weapon type. A dozen scribbled sheets of paper littered his desk, the remains of numerous lists in which Gavin had attempted to reason his way through choosing the perfect armaments for a Gladiator of his fighting style. Most Gladiators decided on the weapons they used based on aesthetic evaluation, such as what they looked most appealing for the crowd, or if not that, what felt right in their hand. Some even based their decision on the weapons of the Gladiators they most favored in the arena, looking to mimic them until they further developed their own skills. To a thoughtful person of Gavin’s bent, any of the above behavior seemed irrational; every choice needed to be weighed and calculated carefully in order to maximize the chances of the best outcome.

In the Domains of the Chosen, each novice Gladiator, upon graduating from training, was allowed to choose two weapons, one set of armor, and either a shield or a third weapon. The only way for a Gladiator to get more gear was to purchase them with victory coins, a heavily regulated form of currency earned only from fighting in the arenas. If it were done any other way, the Gladiators from wealthy families or with powerful patronage would enjoy an immense advantage, being able to simply buy any armaments they desired.

The story most often used to illustrate this point was that of Siamar Lighteater, a shadow elf of distinguished and powerful lineage who rose to prominence in the early days of the arena. Siamar’s family, clearly seeing the advantages of having one of their kin among the ranks of the Chosen, gifted him with a powerfully enchanted suit of armor and a blade of legendary power. No other Gladiator of his time could stand against him in the arena, and he easily won his place among the Chosen, the rulers of the Domains.

The perceived unfairness of his rise to power, long ago, caused a massive public outcry, forcing the rules to be changed so that everyone could start on an even footing. As a result, the kit of modern Gladiators was now much more regulated. All ranks of Gladiators could buy and enchant their equipment only with victory coins, spending those only at shops approved by the Deliberative, the body that oversaw the Gifted. Equipment was inspected before each match, and occasionally at other random times, subject to the rules and traditions of the arena.

Pulling himself out of his wandering thoughts as a familiar building finally appeared, Gavin found himself standing before the aptly named Runes and Weapons, a sprawling, three-story shop where novice Gladiators got their weaponry. Like the other campus shops, this one was owned by the state. Selected smiths from all over the lands were invited to send their work to be sold within. This practice prevented any single group of smiths from gaining too much influence over the lucrative market of young Gladiators in the Campus Martius, considered important enough to have caused a few small trade wars before regulation. Each weapon in the shop was inspected by officers of the Deliberative before being put up for display, ensuring that it was not only of the highest quality but also did not carry any hidden runes or enchantments. It was a great honor to have a Gladiator wield one’s weapon or wear one’s armor, and there was never a shortage of equipment for novices.

Taking in a deep breath to steel himself, Gavin then entered into the shop and walked up to the front counter where a bored-looking orcish woman peered up at him through thick glasses.

“Can I help you, Gladiator?” she asked, her eyes tracing up and down his form

“I am Gavin Orphanus, here to meet with Isabelle Maria diProvincia.”

The clerk’s eyes locked onto his as a sudden smile crossed her face.

“Oh, I see. Let me ask if she is available to . . . take you.”

Then without another word, she left, leaving Gavin to wait and grow more and more anxious with every minute that passed. Eventually, he spotted her return, stopping first to say something to one of her coworkers on her way, the two of them immediately sharing a laugh as they both glanced towards him.

“She is readying a suit of armor and a shield for you, which will take a moment longer,” she said as she crossed the room towards Gavin, the smile he’d seen earlier reappearing on her face. “She bids you to select your weapons before coming to see her in half an hour.”

“Uh . . . thanks,” said Gavin, feeling a sudden burst of anxiety as he was faced with a final decision.

These would be the weapons he would likely carry for the rest of his career. Soon he was lost in thought as he wandered the weapon racks. Anecdotes and calculations raced through his mind, spurred by nervousness over his first match, which was now less than three hours away. The knot in his stomach gradually tightened the longer he spent looking, and before long, he was cursing himself with every step for not being able to choose.

Spear and Gladius worked quite well in my first match, Gavin thought, but will I miss out on an opportunity to distinguish myself by using such traditional weapons?

Swords were a common weapon choice in the arena. The aristocratic, even heroic, image of the weapon attracted many novice Gladiators. Swords were considered more versatile than most weapons and came in a large variety of makes and models. Those who favored swords often said that there was a style of sword for every fighter. Falchions and broadswords were better for brute-force chopping while rapiers were superb finesse weapons, and so on. The Gladius used by the Legions as a sidearm were excellent for getting close and thrusting into an opponent’s belly. Avenholt sabers were without peer in the realm of perfectly balanced slashing strokes. Trained as a defender, Gavin appreciated that most swords were excellent for parrying.

On the other hand, few weapons spoke of focused brutality like a fighting axe. The only issue was that axes were commonly seen as primarily offensive weapons, and Gavin’s training had leaned toward defense. Nonetheless, he found himself seriously considering the choice. The first time Gavin used an axe in training, he had lopped the arm clean off his sixth-year training partner, the much larger ogre Molg, a student known for his brutality. The vivid splash of blood and the shocked, stupid look on Molg’s face as the ogre looked down at his bleeding stump was still fresh in his mind. The rest of the class had erupted in cheers as Molg started wailing, which left Gavin with a favorable impression of the weapon. Even more so when the brutish ogre had returned from the arena with his arm mended showing Gavin a much greater respect than he had earlier.

Next on the list were maces, a weapon frequently overlooked by novice Gladiators. They didn’t draw blood like cruel axes and sharp swords did, and thus were considered less theatrical. Nor were they as impressive as the massive hammers or whirling flails that other Gladiators wielded. However, few weapons were as effective against heavy armor as a weighty, flanged mace, and as an added bonus too, blunt weaponry was much less likely to get stuck in an opponent.

Unfortunately, Gavin did not see a mace that he truly liked in Runes and Weapons, and after a short time perusing, continued elsewhere through the shop, passing by the hammer section without so much as a glance, having already ruled this weapon type out entirely. Warhammers, mauls, and massive half-sledges were best left to the immensely strong, who could take advantage of the weapon’s heft, which despite his pride, Gavin had to admit was not a category he fell into. At least not yet.

Instead, he continued on towards the flails, which were a difficult weapon to master, but full of possibilities. The heavy weight whirling at the end of the chain could inflict serious damage to a target, but at the same time required that the warrior wielding it learn to master these unusual motions. They were particularly good at getting around shields as well, the chain allowing the striking end to wrap around its edge with relative ease. The ability to use the weapon’s chains to entangle and disarm a foe was enticing to defensive Gladiators of Gavin’s mindset. But clever opponents could also turn the flail’s advantages against it, causing tangles and inopportune fumbles. There was also the stigma that the chain weapons brought, with it being one of the only major weapon types with which no Gladiator has ever won a Grand Championship. Gavin was well-versed in the history of his profession and was neither reckless nor confident enough to try to be the first fighter to win his way into the ranks of the Chosen with such a weapon.

That only left the spears and tridents, weapons that were nearly as common as swords in the arena. Generally made for both one- and two-handed use, they offered versatility, reach, and fairly good penetration of most types of armor. Even better, since weapons made for Gladiators were made from the highest quality materials, by the very best craftsmen, the usual vulnerability of a wooden haft to being shattered by an opponent’s attack was a negligible risk.

“Five minutes, Gladiator,” the clerk called out. “Do you need me to tell Isabelle you will be late?”

“No,” Gavin replied with a shake of his head. “I actually think I’ve made my choice.”

Which was exactly what he’d done in the split second the interrupt had taken. In the spear racks of the shop, his eyes had been suddenly drawn to a wicked-looking, broad-bladed barbed war spear from the city of Daer, made in the distinct style of that Domain. Picking up the weapon in reverent hands, he inspected the spear’s four-foot lacquered ironwood haft, its surface smooth enough for him to slide his hands along, yet somehow coarse enough to afford an excellent hold when he tightened his grip. The eighteen-inch blade was double edged and three fingers wide, heavy enough to slash with, yet narrowing gracefully to a slim point that could easily penetrate the links and plates of most armor to pierce the soft flesh beneath. It felt good in his hands, and he had done well with a spear in his first match.

But as he continued to inspect the spear, his concentration was interrupted by the sound of giggling, prompting him to shift his attention towards its source. As he did, he spotted both the clerk and the other attendant laughing once more, their smiling faces half turning to glance towards him as the spear he held in his hand. Realizing that it was him and his behavior that they were laughing at, Gavin immediately made to leave, and would have, were it not for his eye suddenly catching on an out of place Gladius, right where the spear had been.

They are a set? he thought, his earlier embarrassment draining away as if it were nothing as he reached out to pick up the weapon.

It was not a Daeri weapon, but was made by the same smith and bore some resemblance in decoration, enough so that it was clear that they both belonged together. A fact made all the clearer when he tested the blade’s grip that it happened to fit his hand perfectly.

“I will take these,” he announced to the clerk, ignoring the smile still on her face as he handed her the novice notes that allowed him to buy the weapons.

“Of course, Gladiator. Now, let me take you to mistress Isabelle,” she said in a coy tone while quickly filing the notes and then leading him towards the back of the shop, eventually arriving at a private fitting room. “She will be with you in a moment, Gladiator,” she said while motioning for him to wait, once again a hint of something lingering in her voice.

“Thank you,” Gavin replied a little shakily, still admonishing himself for being so flustered.

Of course, the clerks and assistants would be bored after spending their entire day in the shop and they would have to find their entertainment somewhere, why not at a Gladiator that was perhaps a little too serious about choosing his weapon?

Fortunately, it was a slow day for the shop, which meant that he didn’t need to wait for long before the door to the fitting room opened and a tall, athletic woman with curled silver hair, dressed in a beautiful low-cut dress walked out to greet him. Gavin instantly recognized her as the woman from his first match and felt his heart quicken as if he was about to step on the fighting grounds.

“Welcome Gladiator,” she greeted with a bright smile on her face. “Please come in. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Of course, uh . . . so how does this work?” Gavin asked a little nervously as Isabelle led him into the fitting room, silently kicking himself for not sounding as suave and heroic as he imagined he should.

“Easily, I should think,” she said, her smile only widening as she saw Gavin’s eyes travel up her body in the mirror’s reflection. “I’ve already set out several pieces that I think will suit your physique and style. Was I mistaken to think that you liked what you wore during your match?”

“Not at all,” he responded, unable to take his eyes off her as she closed in on him. “Breastplate, bracers, greaves, and also a shield will work well for me.”

“And have you given any thought to style and color, Honored Gladiator?” she asked, this time using the proper honorific in an attempt to tickle his pride as she came to a stop by his side, close enough to be intruding in on his personal space.

“Uh.” His thoughts turned suddenly blank as he became acutely aware of her scent and presence.

“Did they not teach you about the importance of style during your training?” she asked as she took a step away from him towards a large closet that filled an entire side of the dressing room.

“A Gladiator’s armor is not merely for protection; it is about how you present yourself to your audience,” she said as she drew open its doors, revealing a stunning collection of armor neatly organized within. “If you wish to be called to the Grand Championships, not only will you need to be a master of your arts, but you will have to excite the crowd so that they want to scream your name and cheer every step you take. The support of the people is important—nay, critical—in the Great Games. And I must tell you that people respond very well to style and proper presentation, Honored Gladiator. It is part of building your legend, your glory.”

“And here I thought you were just an armorer,” Gavin replied as he followed her movements, his attention split between her the graceful movements of her body and her words.

“Oh, but I am. But I don’t smith in this,” Isabelle answered, half turning with an exaggerated flair as she cast a stirring look back at him. “I put it on for you, actually. A lesson on what it means to dress to impress.”

“A lesson I find myself very much enjoying,” Gavin stated with a smile.

“Then perhaps there is hope for you yet,” Isabelle replied with a grin. “Now take a look at this armor, Gladiator. I think you will find that I suit you very well.”

Style was admittedly something that Gavin hadn’t given as much thought to as he should have, for there was a great deal of truth in Isabelle’s words. For as much as fighting in the arena was about winning, it was also about winning the crowd. Like it or not, popularity paid its own dividends above and beyond the pride and glory of renown. Tied or closely called matches were often decided by the favor of the crowds, and well-liked Gladiators were often sponsored by wealthy patrons, receiving gifts, invitations to social events, and even extra victory coins in special cases. In a Deathmatch, a Gladiator could even be spared from execution if they were loved well-enough that the crowd showed them mercy. Some fighters even learned to call upon the enthusiasm of the audience to channel additional Thaom for their spells.

But perhaps most importantly, only the most celebrated of the many qualified Master-Ranked Gladiators were ever invited to fill the hundred spaces when a Grand Championship was held. It was there that they competed for the most ultimate prize that a Gladiator could ever aspire to.

A spot among the Chosen, who could deny such power?

“I think you should go for a more classical, heroic look, bright metal, silver and steel. Pure and honest,” Isabelle said as she revealed his armor, showing him a mithril breastplate sculpted to look like the face of a ferocious roaring lion. “Take off your tunic, please. Let’s see how this looks on you.”

“Good,” she said a moment later as Gavin complied, her hands lingering perhaps a little too long as she pressed the breastplate against his bare chest. “Now hold this in place while I fix the straps. Once fitted, you should be able to devise a glamour to help you equip it yourself fairly effortlessly.”

“Thank you for your help, Isabelle,” Gavin said as she moved around behind him, savoring both the strange silky metallic feeling of the mithril against his skin and the swift motions of Isabelle’s deft fingers as she adjusted the fittings.

“This should fit perfectly with just a few minor adjustments,” she said while turning him toward a mirror, running her hand along the muscles of his shoulder. “Like all of the arms and armor made for Arenabound, it is enchanted to attune to the flow of your Thaom. The armor will change as you change, although heavy Sui-Thaiune body-sculpting will require some physical adjustments. Now take a good look—what do you think?”

Gavin almost forgot about Isabelle for a moment as he looked in the mirror. The roaring lion that decorated the breastplate looked, truly, almost life-like as the silver-white mithril caught and magnified the light. The lion was a powerful symbol with a distinguished history, speaking to him of courage and pride. It looked both fearsome and regal as far as he was concerned, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of boyish enthusiasm at its look

“I love it,” he said, putting every ounce of awe he could muster into his voice smiling. “You are a master at your craft.”

“Am I now? Be sure to save some praise for me until you see the shield I’ve picked for you as well,” Isabelle replied, a coy smile on her face as she stepped away to fetch the item, Gavin’s eyes widening the instant that it came into view. It was a round shield, made of the same silvery mithril as the breastplate, decorated similarly with a roaring lion emblazed across its face. So glorious was its craftmanship that it caused him to temporarily forget about her flirtation as he stared at the work.

“Do you like it?”

“It . . . it is amazing! Stunning, even. I should be so lucky to even hold let. Let alone call it mine.”

Isabelle laughed, clearly delighted at his words. “Inspect the rim. Gently, if I may add.”

Gavin did as she asked, running his finger cautiously along the edge of the shield, finding a razor sharpness waiting for him.

“A little added offensive flare, Honored Gladiator,” she said. “I hope it meets your approval.”

“It exceeds it,” Gavin answered as he continued to admire the work. “I don’t need to see the other suits. I want this one.”

“Then in that case, you will need some bracers and greaves to match, and I think this short kilt will go well with it as well,” she said as she began to hand him the items, waiting while he fastened the kilt. “I will have sky sapphires put in the lion’s eye sockets. They should match your eyes perfectly.”

Gavin looked at her reflection in the mirror, his gaze following her curves like a flimsy boat caught up in the course of a mighty river. His gaze met hers in the mirror, and the message in her glance was easy to read, even for him.

“You should try these on,” she said, holding up some under-kilt garments and looking him in the eyes so that her ploy was very obvious.

“But a Gladiator always goes regimental,” Gavin replied.

“Oh, no, whatever shall we do?” Isabelle replied in mock concern, moving closer toward him while running a finger along his bicep.

Her scent was enticing and Gavin found himself overwhelmed by desire. As she touched him, Gavin felt a little magic, like a knock on the doors of his consciousness, an invitation to speak mind to mind. He acquiesced eagerly.

<I want you. Here. Now.> Isabelle’s telepathic voice was as pleasant as her message was urgent.

<So do I.> Gavin answered eagerly, their dance ever since they’d entered the dressing room having sent his blood rushing.

She leaned in and his lips found hers. Passion took him then, and he pulled her to him. They pressed together and he lifted her, kissing her with increasing excitement. Desire burned through him, and soon Gavin was lying on the floor, Isabelle astride him, riding, harder and harder, their bodies entwined, moving toward ecstasy.

Afterwards they lay together for a moment.

“That was good, for a novice,” Isabelle said playfully. “Why don’t you join me for a bath, Gavin?”

“I would love to.”

Chapter Three: The Golden Giant

1138/09/09 AR, Training Grounds, Campus Martius

“A Gladiator is measured by their rivals.” Arena Maxim

The next few days were glorious. Gavin trained intensely during the morning and afternoon and then met with Isabelle each night. She met his passion with ardor, and they spent hours in each other’s company.

It was then on the fifth day after his first match that she asked him question that he didn’t realize he was waiting to hear.

“I have the day off today. Can I come and watch you practice?”

“Absolutely!” Gavin replied suddenly elated beyond reason, even going as far as to give her directions to the practice grounds before belatedly realizing that she likely already knew where to find the place.

“Then look for me in the stands, Honored Gladiator,” she said with an alluring wink before turning to depart.

The practice grounds were a place where Gladiators tested their skills against each other in a safe, controlled environment. It was still competitive for certain, but nothing as cutthroat as a real match would be. Fans of the games often came to such places to watch their favorite Gladiators in practice, getting a closer and more intimate look at their heroes.

The practice grounds were busy, as they often were at the end of a tenday. Visitors were not allowed to mingle with the Gladiators for the most part, for the practice grounds were one of the few places outside of the fighting grounds where they were allowed their full, unbridled Thaom.

Typically, Gavin did not seek matches while on the practice grounds, if only because they always found him. Gladiators trained as defenders were seen as the ideal practice partners for anyone who wanted to test their striking skills. Tests that often turned out to be quite competitive, if not also bloody. After all, most Gladiators still wanted to perform, even when the only audience was their peers. It was these sort of bouts that Gavin tried to avoid on general principle, for it was one thing to enjoy a challenging sparring match and quite another to manage another Gladiator’s ego.

So it was as he was checking the parapet galleries for Isabelle between bouts with a sword-handed, steel training automaton, that a shadow fell across Gavin. He looked up to see a mountain of muscle, an ogre Gladiatrix wielding a massive two-handed blade, looking down at him with hard eyes.

The kind of eyes he’d learned to avoid.

“I’m sorry, honored Gladiatrix, but I’m not interested in fighting you right now,” Gavin said without even waiting to hear her speak.

“I am not asking on my behalf,” the big woman answered, pointing to a huge, golden-haired man standing in a knot of admiring Gladiators. One that Gavin noticed had no fewer than three Grey-Robes watching over the group, nervous tension evident in the way they stood. “You would have the honor of practicing with Valaran diVolcanus. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

The name was indeed familiar to Gavin, even if he’d never laid eyes on the man. After all, not every would-be Gladiator trained in the Campus Gladius in Krass. Valaran was a novice Gladiator already famous for winning four Deathmatches in his home arena in Volcanus, each one ending in a bloody execution before a bloodthirsty crowd. No doubt this young star was here to show off his skills to the crowds in the capital for his promotion match out of novice.

Deathmatches were less common in the modern games, and executions rarer still. There were a few points in their careers when Gladiators were still required to face death, but in most arenas, it was more of a formality since the crowds usually showed mercy to a brave enough warrior.

In some Domains, however, a different view held sway.

Such as in the Trapholds and Volcanus, where Deathmatches were the most common type of fight, and the crowds were far less likely to show mercy to a defeated but still-living Gladiator.

Deathmatches were a great way to gain fame fast, but that type of fighter tended to flame out or die quickly, and Gavin did not want the attention of someone like that. Especially on the practice grounds where he preferred to train. He was about to decline a second time when he heard his name being called.

“Gavin, Gavin, up here!” It was Isabelle, of course, looking radiant in clean silk dress very much at odds with the sand and blood of the practice grounds she looked down upon.

Gavin caught the scent of her perfume as she dramatically dropped a ribbon down to him. He waved up at her and smiled, but he did not need to look around the fighting grounds to know that others were watching. He was a target now.

The big woman cleared her throat. “Will you fight Valaran? Or shall I tell your little friend up there that she should find a real man?”

Gavin could see that Valaran and his little retinue of Gladiators were already looking to him with curiosity, not to mention the other Gladiators nearby.  He did not want to look like a coward in front of Isabelle, figuring that it would be better to suffer a brave defeat rather than decline.

“Tell Valaran that I would be honored to fight him,” Gavin replied in curt tone, feeling his heart sink as he spoke.

What kind of Gladiator has other people arrange practice matches for them? He wondered while walking over to the closest open practice ground. It’s pretentious and rude.

Concentrating on the feel of the white sand helped counter Gavin’s unease as he watched Valaran walk over to him. For a novice-rank Gladiator, the golden-haired man already had impressive body-sculpting. He towered over Gavin with a muscular physique that would have been impossible to achieve without a significant investment of Sui-Thaiune. Perhaps Valaran’s remaining Thaom or Thune would be substantially lower, making him a weaker spellcaster. One advantage that Gavin had constantly maintained over his peers was a strong Thune. Perhaps he could surprise Valaran with a well-timed spell?

Valaran’s chiseled jaw only accentuated the smirk that he gave Gavin. The huge Gladiator wore golden armor and bore a pair of massive golden swords, already engraved with a handful runes. Even with his new weapons and armor, Gavin was definitely at a disadvantage.

Valaran looked him up and down as he came to a halt, measuring him coldly and without greeting. Gavin tried to break the tension by offering him a salute with his spear only to have Valaran freeze completely, staring at him for a long moment before returning the gesture curtly. Lasting for only an instant he then turned to raise his weapon to salute the Gladiators gathering around them to watch and then the spectators above.

Gavin couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the display, already annoyed at the other Gladiators actions. Valaran was obviously posturing, trying to show his dominance to those watching. Perhaps the man was just a bully.

“Begin!” shouted one of Valaran’s entourage.

Usually practice bouts had some form of rules or goal for the fighters to strive for, but none had been agreed to. Valaran was already moving, sweeping in with speed and grace that seemed impossible for a man his size. Gavin recognized his posture and read the pure aggression behind it. Valaran wanted to flatten him right off. This wasn’t practice for his opponent; Valaran wanted to make an example of him. He wanted to demonstrate his dominance.

Despite the swiftness of the attack, however, Gavin could anticipate the trajectory of Valaran’s blade. So, he waited until the last moment and then stepped to the side. The massive golden blade thrust through the air beside him while Gavin intercepted the second with his shield. He felt the impact and heard clang of metal on metal, almost staggering from the sheer power of the attack. Valaran was immensely strong, and even with a well-timed block that deflected most of the force away from his body, Gavin still felt it wrench his shield arm.

Instead of pressing the attack, however, Valaran paused, looking at Gavin as if seeing him for the first time.

“That was well done,” he rumbled. “I did not think that someone like you could block an attack like that.”

“Thank you,” said Gavin, unsure how to respond as Valaran stared at him with hard eyes.

“I won’t make that mistake again,” Valaran stated.

“I—” Gavin started to reply only to abruptly cut himself off as Valaran suddenly darted in, swinging both of his massive golden blades. Caught by surprise, Gavin had to parry one of the attacks with his spear, the power of the strike instantly tearing it from his grasp and sending it flying into the sand. The assembled Gladiators both winced and cheered at the result. Being disarmed was humiliating.

But there was no time for Gavin to feel the sting of shame or even draw his shortsword as his opponent came it him again. The golden-haired giant was relentless, forcing Gavin to give ground, blocking swift strokes with his shield. After a flurry of such blows, he had to duck to avoid an attack aimed at his neck. As the massive weapon flashed over his head, Gavin drew his shortsword. Valaran kept pushing, huge and overwhelming, his blades coming down like a never-ending avalanche. Weathering the assault, Gavin worked to plant his feet solidly in the sands beneath him and stabbed upward. He was immediately rewarded by a surprised grunt from Valaran as the sword-point pierced his thigh. But single blow was all he was able to land before his opponent reacted with fluid grace, pulling back while retaliating with a vicious dual backswing. Reacting quickly, Gavin managed to duck under one of the golden blades, but the pommel of the other met with his skull, almost driving him to his knees. He rolled back and out of the way as the swords came down again, causing an eruption of sand as they cut into the ground.

“You made me bleed,” Valaran said while looking at Gavin, his eyes boring into him. “How unexpected. What is your name?”

“Gavin Orphanus.”

“My only regret is that this is not a real match. Killing you in front of a real audience would be truly worthwhile.”

Gavin opened his mouth, ready to protest that it was only a practice bout, but his opponent did not allow him the time to respond. Once again, and without warning, the big man snarled and sprang forward, swinging his blades before him. Gavin immediately moved to step out of the way, but as he attacked, Valaran cast a spell and spat. The molten spittle hit Gavin’s cheek a moment later, instantly eating into his flesh. It was only through instinct that Gavin was able to block the follow-up swing, as the flash of pain blinded him. A third swing drove Gavin up against the practice ground wall.

Most the other fighters on the practice ground were now watching them. Cheers and gasps went up at the exchange, and several Gladiators winced as the acid hit Gavin.

“You’re done now,” Valaran said as he pushed Gavin into the stone. Enough so that Gavin could feel his own armor pushing into his flesh as he sought to break away. “You can’t overcome my strength, Gavin Orphanus.”

Gavin reached for his Thaom, drawing on the reserve that had been building up since the fight started. With his deft Thune, he wove a Mind Blast spell before Valaran could react, then directed the Thaom energy through the pattern and cast the spell at Valaran. Caught by surprise, Valaran reared back, blood dripping from his nose as if he had been kicked in the face.

A few of the Gladiators cheered Gavin for this, but the Gladiator was already on the move. He thrust his sword at Valaran’s throat, hoping to finish the bout. But to his dismay Valaran swatted his blade away and then pushed Gavin back with a ferocious shove.

“How vexatious,” Valaran said coldly, drawing upon a tremendous amount of Thaom. Far more than Gavin would have thought possible for a novice, especially one with so much power invested in enhancing his body.

Gavin channeled as hard as he could, trying to match his opponent’s power. The two wove spells, glowing with Thaom, yet neither cast yet.

This time Gavin heard Isabelle’s excited squeal as Valaran came at him again. The golden-haired giant thrust, spitting venom as his leading blade flashed out. Gavin, cheek still burning from the first taste of this spell, blocked the acid with his shield and slid out of reach, jabbing at Valaran with his sword. The big man deftly shifted so that the sword-tip deflected off his glittering golden armor and hacked at his weapon to try to knock it out of Gavin’s grasp.  This time however, Gavin was able to keep his grip, hitting Valaran with a powerful Mind Blast. Unfortunately, now that he was prepared, the big man resisted the worst of the attack while gnashing his teeth at Gavin.

They came together once again, weapons clashing. Gavin felt his opponent’s power in every blow, but what surprised him most was the speed and precision of each attack. Their feet kicked up the sands as they clashed again and again, Gavin’s world shrinking until all he saw was the unblinking stare of Valaran’s face before him.

Defenders were trained to win by putting up an impenetrable defense and waiting for the right opportunity to attack. Gavin gave ground to Valaran’s unrelenting assault, hoping that the big man would tire himself out. He had to admit that Valaran’s technique was as good as his attacks were powerful, though. Just as Gavin was about to lose patience, he saw what he was looking for: Valaran leaned forward, putting power into his attack at the expense of balance. Gavin deflected the bow to the side, leaving Valaran off-balance, and then leapt to the attack. At the last moment he sensed a spell and stopped short as Valaran caused a column of flame to erupt from the ground. Gavin felt the heat of it as he dodged and realized that his opponent had baited him with a complex feint. Pillar of Flame! To weave such a spell so fast was impressive, had Valaran planned it that way?

Giving Gavin no respite, Valaran launched himself back into melee, swinging his blades in swift, relentless strokes. Gavin was forced to give ground, unable to do anything but block and parry the savage slashes. Roaring, Valaran swung both blades in dual uppercut, sending them crashing into Gavin’s shield with such force that the smaller Gladiator was knocked clear from his feet and thrown to the ground. The big man was on top of him in a flash, dread blades coming down like an avalanche, but Gavin wove and cast, shouting defiance as a wave of force radiated from him.

The crowd gasped as Valaran staggered back, his swords halted in mid-swing. Gavin stood. He had never used Telekinetic Nova before, although he knew the principles behind the spell.

“That was well done,” Valaran said. “I did not think that you had that kind of power in you, Gavin Orphanus. But don’t think that it will save you from me.”

“The match isn’t over until the trumpets sound,” Gavin replied, readying himself for another round.

“Or until a head rolls,” Valaran stated, grinning as he strode forward again, drawing Thaom to him.

“That is quite enough!” a commanding voice abruptly called out.

Instantly Valaran froze. Gavin felt it too. The Greys had leashed them. The two Gladiators stared at each other, but they might as well have been statues now. All Gladiators were at the mercy of the Grey-Robes, officers of the Deliberative, the body that oversaw magic in the Domains. They could leash any Gladiator, instantly paralyzing them or even rendering them unconscious if they so wished.

“Disperse,” the lead Grey-Robe told the assembled Gladiators. “This bout is over and declared a draw.”

Gavin and Valaran were escorted away. Gavin was more puzzled by the behavior of the Greys than disappointed. Practice bouts frequently ended in injuries that would be fatal without the protection of a Keystone, and Gavin was eager to show that he was ready to face such a challenge. It seemed odd to him that the Greys would break up their match, although they seemed very concerned about keeping Valaran under control.

As they passed, Valaran locked eyes with Gavin for a moment. Gavin read cold disdain in that gaze, but worse yet, Valaran seemed to truly see him as a person of interest for the first time. He was no longer beneath the man’s notice, and while that was a point of pride for Gavin, he could not help but be worried that Valaran would seek so sort of revenge for his defiance.

On the way to the arming room, pain caught up with Gavin. As he removed his armor, he saw dark bruises all over his body; his shield arm was swollen. As he tested it, he felt a sharp pain from within, a broken bone. Valaran had done all of this even through his armor and his shield.

It was all too much. Gavin’s head swam, and he sat down on the bench, trying to control his beating. Gladiators often had to calm themselves after a difficult match, but after a practice bout? Valaran’s unrelenting power and his unblinking stare flashed through Gavin’s thoughts as he took hold of himself.

And his Thaom . . . how could someone with that much of his Gift invested in Sui-Thaiune body enhancement still be able to call on so much power? Valaran fought like a much higher-ranked Gladiator did. There were dark rumors about what happened in the arenas of Volcanus, but Gavin had always thought them far-fetched. Then again, the stakes of the Great Games were very high. He just didn’t know . . .

Eventually, he calmed himself and forced thoughts of Valaran from his mind. Even though his injuries were healing he still felt them when he stood. The thought of the warm, soothing waters of the arena’s bath called to him.

As he entered the baths, he caught a familiar scent. Isabella looked up at him from across the steaming water.

“Gavin, you’ve been so long, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Gavin lied, smiling.

“Those bruises—”

“Are worse than they look,” interrupted Gavin, sliding into the water. “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to see you here. Why don’t you join me?”

Isabelle smiled and quickly disrobed, joining him in the water. Gavin kissed her, and then they had sex with frantic, almost desperate urgency as he sought to drown his fears and drive away her concerns with pleasure.

Chapter Four: Luck

1138/10/12 AR City of Krass, Campus Martius

“Luck will often come to a man, so long as his courage holds true.” Frostbay Truisms.

The loss of Isabelle still haunted Gavin more than a month after she had stopped seeing him. A span of time which was longer than their relationship had actually lasted. Over the last few weeks, he wondered if his practice bout against Valaran had anything to do with the sudden cooling of her ardor, or if she had simply grown to become bored with him. A few nights after the ill-fated bout, she had told him that she did not want to commit to a serious relationship and urged him to seek others if he so wished. Surprised by her words, he had immediately begged her to reconsider, only to later feel shame that he had shown such weakness. An emotion that only intensified when he later saw her with another man, a newly minted Gladiator much like himself. That feeling of weakness and his shame in that feeling drove Gavin to gloom.

Being an orphan of unknown parentage, Gavin was no stranger to being alone and easily fell back into solitude once Isabelle left, spending the intervening weeks before his next match in long, angst-fueled training sessions, decidedly avoiding the company of his peers. Frustrated at how things at turned out, he couldn’t help but be jealous of every happy couple he saw afterwards and decided that he could not abide the presence of anyone who did not share his solitary status. Deep down, he knew he was being sullen and that things with Isabelle had worked out as well as they were going to.

So myopic was he in his despair that he didn’t even watch any of the big matches, which was as popular a pastime for Gladiators as it was for the rest of the citizens of the Domains. It was also a good way for an aspiring fighter such as himself to scout out potential competition that he could very well end up encountering in the arena in the future. But even in addition to avoiding the crowd-filled bouts, he also avoided his peers, refusing to join the everyday festivities at the sprawling Quirky Quickling tavern, where many young Gladiators learned the pleasures and pains of strong drink. And he most assuredly abstained from going any place that he might see Isabelle, especially the lacy confines of Madame Chloe’s tea house, where they had breakfasted after their first night together.

They must all think of me as a necromancer or some other antisocial sort by now, Gavin thought as he absentmindedly thrust his spear towards the training dummy before him while mentally replaying the words and stares that he’d received in recent weeks. Early on after his break up, his fellow Gladiators and neighbors at his home in the South Residence had noticed his surely demeanor and had tried to pull him out of the shell he’d crawled into. An effort that he remembered rebuffing in ways that caused pangs of embarrassment to ring through him in hindsight. Before long, they started to leave him alone, leaving him with only his solitude and no doubt the ghosts that they thought he must prefer the company of.

I think I’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for myself, he said to himself, feeling something inside him begin to loosen as he followed up his previous strike with another, muscle memory guiding his efforts more than active thought. Isabelle had been his first romantic relationship of any kind, and it had hurt him more than he’d expected it to when it ended. More than any wound he’d ever taken either on the arena sands or in training. But much as he’d learned to pick himself up off the ground after a physical injury, it had been a hard lesson to apply to matters of heart. After all, it wasn’t as if his instructors had taught him how to deal such things, their lessons instead focusing on the more martial aspects of his profession rather than social niceties.

What I need is a fight, he stated abruptly as he ran through the last of his kata. Beaded with sweat and his body aching all over, Gavin felt his depression begin to break at the revelation, a surge of energy abruptly shooting through him. As his mind cleared, he felt a pang of guilt echo through him for not sticking to his earlier plans of an aggressive match schedule to better climb the ranks. He had been foolish to allow romance, especially a failed one, to get in the way of his career.

A career that he expected to take him all the way into the ranks of the Chosen.

With the last of his lingering angst burning away in light of his rallying resolve, he completed the last of his kata with an energetic flourish before quickly moving to gather his gear and leave the training ground, barely noticing the glances of the other Gladiators still practicing despite the late hour. Within minutes, he was exiting the training grounds and headed towards the Office of the Arena Registrar with determined steps, hoping that even at this late hour he could arrange a match.

The crystal-lit streets of the campus were crowded with Gladiators as Gavin made his way from the south training grounds to the cluster of administration buildings attached to the Pits. Most of his peers were on their way to or from the evening revels, drunk and happy. Drinks and meals were free in the Campus Martius, and the young Gladiators were known to take full advantage of this; some of them would over-indulge and spend years here before finishing their testing match for the first rank. Gavin frowned upon this kind of behavior. Consequently, he moved so quickly through the streets, lost in his own plans, that few of the impressive scenes of this veritable carnival made any impression on him.

He passed two hulking Gladiators, both bigger than grown ogres, stripped to the waist, muscles bulging with titanic effort as they strained against each other. A band of onlookers cheered them, wagering on the outcome.

Gavin nodded to a pair of stern-faced, grey-robed officers of the Deliberative who glanced at him as he passed. The Grey-Robes policed the Campus Martius and thus were thick on the street at this time of night, ever-ready to defuse any situation that might lead to a brawl among their young, over-enthusiastic charges. Their very presence seemed to calm the frantic atmosphere of the revels around them, like the cool ocean breeze that took the edge off the hot summer days in Krass. One of them offered Gavin a small smile in return for his nod, the commerce of politeness in action. The other, younger officer, paid the passing Gladiator no notice; he was too busy trying to look imposing.

The young Gladiator slowed when, after turning off of one of the campus’s many sheltered side-streets, his eyes met those of a stunning elf-girl standing a little apart from a group of revelers in the fountain square he was about to pass through. He stood there, pinned by her brilliant, intense eyes, while her crimson painted lips curled slowly into a devastating smile. He felt his heart leap, raging in his chest as if it could break free and seek a place with her. There was something familiar about her, but he could not place it.

“Wheeee. Look out, long-shanks!” A high-pitched voice, shouting in glee, forced him to look away from the elf-girl and stand very still as the small, fast forms of three racing, laughing quicklings sped past him, weaving through the crowd, leaving cursing and confusion in their wake. When he looked back up, the girl had rejoined her friends. The moment was lost, and Gavin suddenly felt foolish and remembered that he was on a mission.

The Office of the Arena Registrar was a large rectangular building near the entrance to the pits, one of several administration buildings nestled there. It was five stories of pure white Krassian marble and shining bronze, built in the classical pre-Reckoning style. Public buildings in the capital spared no expense, especially when the needs of the state converged with love of the Great Games. Formidable columns lined the front of the building, bracing graceful arches and framing tall, thin windows of translucent amber glass. The center of the building was dominated by two immense arched doors, made of dark wood framed with polished brass, large enough to accommodate even the largest of the Chosen, the Minotaur Colossus, Gorixus. Despite their size the doors swung smoothly, noiselessly open, with little effort on Gavin’s part.

The last time Gavin had been in the building it had been crowded with newly trained Gladiators arranging matches at the massive registration counter, or checking the large, flat sheets of link-crystal which displayed the times and locations for all the matches scheduled to take place in the Pits. Now, late at night, it was eerily quiet. Two bored-looking officers of the Deliberative stood near the doors surveying the room. A smiling clerk chatted with a heavily armored dwarven Gladiatrix at one end of the counter, and three other yawning workers sat gathered around a brass and glass clockwork coffee pot in casual conversation. The smell of the potent black brew reached out to Gavin from across the floor; he always found that coffee sharpened his Thune.

It seemed to Gavin as if none of the staff noticed him, but as he approached the marbled counter, a child-sized head appeared directly in front of him. Her small size and sharp features marked the clerk as a quickling as surely as her rapid movements. Thick glasses made her already-large eyes seem even bigger. Her nametag read Sinti, match registrar, Clerk II.

“Can I help you, Gladiator?” she asked.

Gavin could tell by the clerk’s tone that she would make an effort to be helpful. If a quickling wanted to, they could speak with a rapidity that others had trouble following. He smiled graciously.

“Yes, I would like to arrange a match as quickly as possible, tomorrow if you can,” said Gavin. “I know that it is an unusual request, but I am hoping you can help me out, Sinti.”

“Hmmm . . .” Any of the other clerks on duty would have immediately denied Gavin’s request; it required time and effort to set up even the simplest of matches in the pits. Consequently, fights were usually scheduled weeks, often months in advance. However, Sinti positively vibrated with enthusiasm, and seemed glad to have a challenge in what was usually a dull shift. “I can check and see if any of the previously registered matches have been dropped due to Gladiator-related issues.”

“You mean sickness?” asked Gavin, prompted by his natural curiosity and Sinti’s easy and open manner, which seemed to invite questions.

“Yes. Sickness, injury, and imprisonment. Compassion and education are also acceptable. Occasionally the Deliberative will prevent a Gladiator from fighting for reasons of their own, but that is very rare.” She smiled while she checked the crystal in which the records were kept, enjoying the chance to show off her knowledge. “What are your particulars?”

“Human male, medium armor class, trained as a defender and in cogimancy . . . novice rank,” he answered. “One official match, one win.”

“I have to ask because matches often have specific requirements for Gladiators of a certain type.” She continued speaking in a cheery, animated fashion, still checking the crystal as she spoke. “We can, as long as it meets with approval, replace a Gladiator who drops a match with anyone who is qualified to take his place. You can actually request special matches for training purposes or to draw a larger crowd. Private sponsors can arrange special matches for unranked Gladiators as well; at the Campus Martius, we work closely with the Grand Arena of Krass and the local faction arenas to ensure our Gladiators and the public that come to watch them have access to the best fights available.”

Gavin smiled; the little woman’s pride in her work was obvious, a trait he always found endearing.

“Interesting.” He smiled, not bothered at all by the fountain of information. In fact, it had never occurred to him that he could arrange special matches. He was about to ask for more information when she made a small sound of triumph.

“It says here that your Thaom was rated at five and your Thune was rated . . . eight . . . in your last test. Is this accurate?” Sinti said, sounding impressed.

“Yes,” Gavin answered, trying not to show how proud he was of his Thune ranking. “It was tested with multiple spells, not just Mind Blast.”

“That is impressive, it puts you in the . . . top one percent of the novices in Krass in terms of Thune,” Sinti said.

“Can you tell me the ranks of other Gladiators?” Gavin asked.

“Most of them are a closely guarded secret,” said Sinti. “We have scouts from the faction leagues coming in here all the time, nosing around for that information. Only a few of the best Gladiators put a name to their Thaom and Thune ratings.”

“Anyone notable?” Gavin asked, thinking of Valaran.

“Sadira Lacivia posted a Thaom of eleven, which is close to a record for a novice since we switched to the modern measurement system in 1017. She is amazing . . .”

Gavin frowned. He recognized the name, in passing. Other Gladiators were always talking about their peers. Eleven Thaom!

“What about that match?” Gavin asked, eager to change the subject.

“I’m working on it,” Sinti said, smiling. “There are quite a few matches tomorrow—one of them is bound to have a cancellation.”

Gavin looked over, watching her rotate an antiquated information tube that lit up with numbers and letters as she rotated it, scanning the information with uncanny swiftness. A modern link-crystal might have been faster, but before long he got what he wanted.

“Got it . . . yes!” She smiled brightly, clearly enjoying the feeling of accomplishment. “I have a match tomorrow for someone with your specs. Do you like canines?”

Chapter Five: Hounds in the Sands

1138/10/13 AR, Campus Martius

“A Gladiator’s body can survive almost any wound if they are sustained by the magic of a Keystone. This does not lessen the mental trauma of the wound, however. The body still feels as if it should be injured or dead. This can lead to severe mental disorders, which are all but ignored in the current state of the Great Games . . .” Mind of the Gladiator: A Handbook

Spike hounds were not truly dogs, but rather ugly, dog-shaped reptilian creatures that could grow to the size of a small pony. A mane of spiky quills bristled around their heavy heads and powerful shoulders. Their natural ferocity was exceptional, and wild spike hounds would attack the peoples of the Domains of the Chosen without hesitation. Many believed that they were the descendants of domestic hounds tainted by the Reckoning. Perhaps this was because they not only looked somewhat like dogs, but they barked like them as well; scholars continually debated if they were magically warped from true canines.

Spike hounds were an occasional threat to the semi-nomadic minotaur peoples of the Plains Domains beyond the Greensea, who were always on guard against sudden attacks from large packs of these creatures and other menaces from beyond the Domains. Some of these beasts were known to acquire a taste for the flesh of men, elves, and other sentients.

They were popular in the arena because of their monstrous but uncannily familiar appearance. Many of the more bloody-minded fans of the Great Games also enjoyed the creatures because when they did manage to get the better of a Gladiator, the results were very, very messy. Nothing like watching a screaming fighter pulled apart by dogs, they would say.

And so it was that Gavin’s second professional match was against not one, but two of these savage creatures. He regretted taking it now, even if his intent had been to break out of his melancholy. It was going to be a difficult fight, and he had given himself less time to prepare than he liked.

But Gavin also had a strong desire to progress in his career so that he could seek his fortune outside the comforting confines of the Campus Martius, and he needed at least five matches under his belt to attain the first rank so he could leave. Although not yet wise enough to understand the desires that were driving him, Gavin felt the wider world beckoning him. He would have to make the best of this match, hard as it might be.

Standing in the shadows of the Gladiators entrance, waiting for the call of the people, Gavin breathed deeply to calm himself. This was not a Deathmatch, so even if he lost, he would survive, but the idea of being mauled and then put back together and spending weeks recovering after being ripped apart was daunting nonetheless. Some Gladiators were ruined by such brutal loses, even if they lived; he did not want to become such a pitiful being, bereft of purpose, subject to mockery, living a half-life.

Although he sought it, calm did not come to him as he waited for the match to begin. The trumpet sounded, and the portcullis squealed upwards. The fighting grounds, pure white sand bright in the artificial light of the underground arena, beckoned him. Gavin walked slowly into the center of the sand and raised his grim war spear to salute the small crowd of spectators. The audience was noticeably larger than for his first fight, crowding for space along the railing of the gallery. A few of them cheered as he appeared. He thought he might recognize a couple of them, some Gladiators he had trained with. He would not be surprised if most of them were here for the monsters; he could do with Isabelle cheering him on now.

This arena was a little larger than the first he had fought in, likely to accommodate the size of the hounds. As the second part of the call to the people played, Gavin heard an ominous bark, loud as a thunderclap; the gate opposite him crawled into the ceiling. A rumble, low and menacing, came from the darkness it revealed.

The hounds advanced into the light slowly, sniffing the air, their hate-filled eyes fixed on Gavin. The spines on their backs clicked together as they snarled and paced, making a sound like wooden chimes rattling in the wind. Every movement of their large, lean bodies seemed to exude a deliberate, calculated menace to the Gladiator. They measured him with their pitiless stares, and he did not like what he saw reflected there. Icy panic gripped his heart as the two spike hounds began to lope toward him in an almost casual manner, claws sinking deep into the sand as they moved.

A half-remembered passage from one of Chosen Marius’s travelogues came to Gavin right then. Gathering himself, he counter-charged the beasts, yelling as loud as he could. The action was meant to confuse them, challenging their conception of who was prey. They paused for a moment; the smaller creature rushing at them played havoc with their sense of predatory hierarchy. The pair halted their advance, opting to circle Gavin instead of attacking immediately, growling as they did so.

<>

Unbeknownst to Gavin, at least one important personage caught his second match. The outwardly unassuming man, passing through the little arena, stopped when he saw the young Gladiator charge the hounds. A seasoned warrior, he was drawn in by Gavin’s use of a strategy with which he was intimately familiar. He was even more pleased when he realized that this was the match that he had been seeking. A woman paused to look at this man as he joined the small cluster of spectators, her brow furrowing as she briefly wondered where she knew him from. After a brief glance, she wrote off his familiarity to “having one of those faces.” In spite of the man’s exalted importance in the Domains, he was rarely recognized without his symbols of office, which is exactly as he liked it. He settled into the audience, analyzing the Gladiator’s chances; a fight against two spike hounds would be tough going for an inexperienced, unranked fighter.

<>

In the arena, Gavin watched the hounds as they circled him. Spike hounds were feared for their cunning; in the cataclysmic aftermath of the Reckoning, their intelligence helped them survive and prosper in the twisted landscape. They could outwit larger predators and work together to take down difficult prey, even finding ways to bypass fortifications and patrols to raid herds of sheep and cattle. Now that they saw Gavin as a potential threat, he could see that they were moving around him until one of them could attack him from a vulnerable flank.

Gavin did not see the beast behind him pounce, but he heard it move and sidestepped rapidly so that it landed in the sand beside him, spraying him with sand as it whirled. The smaller spike hound was already charging as Gavin moved, and this one slammed into him, knocking him off his feet and sending him sprawling into the sand. Dazed, he struggled to get up, to get his spear and shield in front of him. He got halfway before a heavy weight crashed into him as one of the beasts pinned him to the ground with its body, wicked teeth snapping at his throat. The shock of the impact ran through him, and he felt his spear nearly tear from his grasp. The creature’s hot breath, smelling of blood and carrion, washed over him.

The crowd howled, eager for blood.

Horrified as the huge jaws inched closer to his face, Gavin struggled to get out from under the massive body. It would only be a moment before other joined the attack, and then it would be over. He heaved with all his might, but stopped when he felt something wet trickle onto him and noticed that the gaping maw had stopped moving. The beast’s terrible eyes blinked, as if in shock, and then went dull. Blood ran from its slack mouth, and he realized that it had, through sheer luck, impaled itself on his deadly spear. The crowd was cheering Gavin, seeing the Gladiator’s bloody spearpoint blossoming from the creature’s back.

Gavin’s relief did not last long, for he felt the jaws of the second monstrosity, the larger spike hound, close around his leg. His armored greaves absorbed most of the pressure, keeping the beast from snapping the bones, but he could feel its jagged teeth sawing into the meat of his leg. It pulled, shaking its head from side to side. He felt his leg dislocate as he was dragged out from under the body of the first.

His other foot connected with the spike hound’s jaw again and again, and it let go of Gavin’s leg. Before he could stand though, it darted forward to bite at his vitals. Slavering jaws filled with ripping teeth would make short work of his unarmored abdomen if he let them bite down. He kicked at the beast again, slamming his armored sandal into its snout, then sat up, swinging his shield, razor edge first, into the creature’s jaws as it snapped at him again. The beast’s teeth reached far enough to pierce his arm, but the bladed edge of his shield cut into the back of its mouth. Its eyes rolled, shocked by the taste of its own blood and the sudden pain. It tried to back away, but its teeth were now caught in the shield. Gavin pushed with all the might his wounded body could muster, shoving the razor-edge of his shield deeper into the beast’s jawline. The spike hound began to thrash and roll.

Man and beast, both mad with pain and fury, rolled around the arena while the watching crowd cheered. The spike hound raked the Gladiator with its clawed hind legs, trying to push him away from its mouth. Gavin felt them rip into him and his vision blurred. As they thrashed, each unable to escape the other, staining the sands red with their blood, Gavin cast his Mind Blast spell, again and again.

Finally, one of his spells stunned the creature, and stalwart Gavin’s free hand found the hilt of his Gladius and he drew it, hacking and stabbing the creature with frenzied abandon. The beast shuddered and died, giving off a peculiar canine whine before it collapsed. Gavin, too weak to feel triumphant, could not gain his feet. He looked down to see deep claw gashes on the unarmored parts of his body. Blood from his wounds mingled with that of the spike hounds, soaking into the white sand. He felt nauseated looking down at his broken body.

The people in the gallery were pushing against the railing, shouting in approval. With a titanic effort of will, he pushed himself to his knees. As he tried to stand further, Gavin ran into repeated trouble. Drunk on pain, he looked down to see that the spike hound had torn most of his right leg off below the knee. They can fix that, right? he thought, as he swayed and nearly fell. The cheers of the crowd drew the Gladiator back toward consciousness for a moment. He weakly raised his gore-stained sword to salute them, kneeling in a pool of blood, before he passed out from his wounds, ears ringing with their cheering.

<>

The unassuming man watched long enough to see the healers arrive to load Gavin’s wounded body onto a stretcher. The Gladiator would survive and make a full recovery; he knew from personal experience the kind of injuries a Gifted could survive. He was impressed with the young fighter; two spike hounds, strong ones by the look of them, were not an easy fight for someone just out of training. The boy had adopted tactics that he had once used and then later written about. He wondered if the Gladiator had read his works. Perhaps he would ask him if they ever met in person.

As the dark mouth of the Gladiators entrance swallowed the stretcher, the man turned to go. He was almost late for an appointment. At just that moment, a young arena attendant, a boy on the cusp of manhood, spotted him. The boy eye’s widened, and he seemed to be on the verge of bowing or perhaps even shouting. The man smiled, quickly pressing a coin worth a month’s wages into the attendant’s hand and raising a finger to his lips. The boy blinked and then nodded, his expression of surprise becoming the stoic silence of one who possessed important information as the Chosen left the small arena and went about the business of the realm.

Chapter Six: Ravius Vergerus

1139/01/18 AR, Campus Martius

“A true champion has no need of friends.” Moltar, to Valaran diVolcanus

“The foundation of every truly great team is friendship.” Arena Master Druth

“I’m telling you, Ravius: it was luck. The beast impaled itself on my spear when it leapt.”

“No, it was instinct, Gavin. We’ve been drilling since we were six years old. We’ve fought hundreds of training duels with live weapons; moves like that are second nature to us, little brother.” Ravius’s voice dripped cheerful self-assurance, an annoying trait in Gavin’s view. “Your body and subconscious knew exactly how to position the spear even if your conscious mind did not command it.”

“Ravius, I’m pretty certain the spike hound impaled itself on my spear accidentally,” responded Gavin, rolling his eyes.

Ravius Vergerus was one of Gavin’s classmates from the Campus Gladius, where young Gifted who had decided on the path of the Arenabound were trained. He was slightly shorter and leaner than Gavin, with a wide tangle of blond hair, dark blue eyes, and was always outwardly smiling and cheerful.

The two had met in a pairs training bout when Gavin was fourteen and Ravius had spent the last years of training taking Gavin “under his wing.” Ravius was smart, bold, a little egotistical, and always trying to break the quiet Gavin “out of his shell,” as if Gavin adopting a more relaxed lifestyle would somehow make him a better Gladiator. Ravius also called anyone he spoke to “little brother,” “little sister,” or “little sib” even if they were larger than he was. Topping off the list of Ravius’s annoying habits, in Gavin’s mind, was the man’s penchant for outrageous attire. Ravius was a light armor class, and like most Gladiators of his class he was overfond of showing off. He walked around the Campus in a too-tight, too-small thong and was wont to flirt with anyone who so much as showed an interest.

Gavin did not seek his company; Ravius did not seem to understand that some people enjoyed quiet solitude, were serious by nature, and that introversion was not an aberration that needed to be cured. Gavin had hoped that Ravius Vergerus would forget about him in the heady mix of freedom that followed graduation to the Campus Martius, but this was apparently not to be. Ravius had come to Gavin’s second match and had gone out of his way to help him make a full recovery afterwards. Now Gavin was having trouble reconciling his distaste for Ravius with the fact that the man was showing himself to be a true friend; he was beginning to wonder if his aversion to the blond Gladiator’s friendship was a reflection of his own internal conflicts and not true dislike.

He is a skirmisher, thought Gavin. They are trained to by annoying . . . maybe he can’t help it.

Upon further thought, Gavin resolved to be nicer to Ravius. He had read somewhere that true friendship required that he accept the other person’s foibles. Besides, it would be useful to have a training partner. How many months had he been training on his own?

It was the day of Gavin’s third match. After a month of recovery and another month of training, he had felt confident enough to arrange a third professional bout. The massive jaws of the spike hounds and their toxic saliva had made recovery slow, even with his Gladiator’s healing factor. Ravius had visited him often.

After recovering, he had sought out Sinti, his clerk friend at the Campus Martius registrar, and she had happily arranged another special match on his request. The match was a survival bout that pitted him against the stitched cadavers reanimated by necromancy, referred to by the common folk as zombies. A “survival” match meant Gavin had to survive an onslaught of these creatures over a time limit to win; any enemies he killed would be replaced.

Zombie plagues had become a serious threat after the Reckoning. Most ungifted bitten by such a creature would die and would soon rise again as an undead menace. The Gifted were immune to this, and gradually the threat had been brought under control in most Domains. The wild magic that caused the plagues proved more difficult to overcome; cremation had been mandated by law in most Domains for centuries, just in case. Those versed in necromantic magic could control most forms of undead, which made them useful when properly handled. In many places these creatures became arena fodder, servants, or laborers. A necromancer employing them had to be licensed; his zombies needed be “dried out” or cured, inspected, and certified that they could not spread the plague. They often had their jaws removed or stitched shut as well, mostly to reassure the public; hence they were called the stitched in arena slang.

It had been quite easy to arrange the match, especially with Sinti’s energetic assistance, but another month and a half had been required to appropriate the resources for his special match this time. This gave him more time to rehabilitate his leg, which still gave him nightmares. He could have taken an easier match, as Gladiators often did when getting over an injury, but Gavin felt it was worth the wait; an unusual battle of this type would draw more spectators and should help increase his reputation. Even the most skilled Gladiators had trouble earning an invitation to the Grand Championships if they had no following.

As they wound through the bustling streets of the Campus Martius, dodging the armored figures of their peers, Ravius took the opportunity to stop and chat with every single man and woman he recognized. Gavin had anticipated this ahead of time and set out early. He nodded politely and introduced himself when Ravius showed him to someone, but his mind was on the coming battle. Fortunately, Ravius was always keen to pick up any slack in the conversation.

It was going to be another difficult match, but defense was Gavin’s specialty. But, after the brutal mauling he had received at the hands of the spike hounds, he wanted a clean win that showed what he did best.

Like many people who had a surfeit of intelligence and a deficit of confidence, Gavin had a tendency to overanalyze. He secretly hoped that Vergerus was right and it was instinct and not luck that helped him bring down the first hound with his spear. He was not yet confident enough to put the incident behind him, and he replayed it in his mind over and over, trying to think his way through it. Ravius had snapped him out of this state of mind several times in the past months.

As they moved from the streets into the honeycombed passages of the Pits, Ravius turned his attention back to Gavin. “I like the look you chose. The Lion suits you, little brother,” he said.

“Really? I was thinking of getting rid of it.” Gavin unconsciously made a sour face; he still did not like being reminded of Isabelle. His desire to be rid of the armor, which she had suggested, was spurred by this. “I’ve been saving my victory coins for a new set.”

“Veecee are not easy to come by, little brother. I’d save what you have for more runes. You will need the extra edge. Besides, whoever she is, she did you a favor picking out that armor.” Ravius read his friend’s discomfort like a book, seeing the truth behind the impulse to change, much to Gavin’s discomfort. “Think about it at least.”

“You might be right . . .” Gavin conceded with a shrug of his shoulders. In truth, he liked his lions a great deal, in spite of the fact that the armor reminded him of Isabelle. Gladiators became attached to the tools of their profession in the same way that carpenters might love the feel of their best hammer or writers favor a certain quill above all others. “It does look good on me, and with time, it will change and grow even more majestic. I cannot fault Isabelle’s craft.”

They arrived slightly early, and Gavin entered the arming room to prepare himself. Ravius spent his time talking to the arena masseuse, who after a few well-chosen comments was laughing at the skirmisher’s bawdy jokes, deeply engaged in their flirtation. Gavin couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous that Ravius was able to talk to women so easily as he moved past them. The pretty masseuse was already biting her lip and leaning very close to the blond-haired man, her dark eyes shining.

“Good luck, little brother!” Ravius turned to Gavin as he left, smoothly putting his arm around the waist of the masseuse beside him as he did so. The warning trumpet sounded just then, calling the spectators to order, and Gavin hurried to take his place in front of the gate.

For this fight, Gavin had requested a modification to the terrain within the arena. There was a raised area, a stone pedestal of sorts, in the center of the fighting grounds. It was about ten feet across and a foot and a half off the ground. Gavin intended to use the added height to his advantage against his undead opponents. It would also allow the spectators to see him better in the press of bodies that was likely to ensue. He was surprised that this modification was approved, but Sinti had told him that the Deliberative rarely rejected a modification unless it was deemed unfair to another Gladiator. She had remarked that most spectators wanted to see the Gladiators win in monster fights; it made them feel safer to see the terrible, taint-spawned beasts defeated. It was a line Gavin remembered well from his training, although he had also read that it was a way of demonstrating the empire’s superiority.

After the portcullis rose, he jogged to the pedestal and leapt onto it, thrusting his spear high into the air in salute to the audience as he took his place. The people crowding the gallery of the tiny arena cheered as he appeared. It was a modest crowd, but enthusiastic, which pleased him. Many of them had come because a special match like this is a relative rarity for novices, a treat even for veteran fans of the Great Games.

Gavin raised an eyebrow and nearly grinned as he realized some of the audience were wearing zombie costumes. Anyone who paid attention to these matters came to realize that the walking dead had their own fans, even in the arena. It was an interesting sub-culture, he thought; it would be less amusing, however, if these zombie fans cheered while he was having his innards torn out by their undead idols.

Sinti had suggested this particular arena because it was the smallest that she could book that had enough entrances for the stitched to shamble into, en masse. The size would make it feel more crowded and claustrophobic; the zombie “horde” would look larger. The more intimate venue would also allow the crowd to get a better look at Gavin in action. The small space would not impede Gavin since he intended to stay on the pedestal, and of course the stitched, like most zombies, were not exactly known for their desire to maneuver beyond running and shambling toward their prey.

The trumpet sounded again and three gates opened, allowing the first group of stitched into the arena, two from each gate. Their mouths were wired shut, but they managed to make a horrible sound—a ghastly, grinding groan—nonetheless. A quiver of delighted fear ran through the audience as the horrible rasping sound reached them.

The idea of this match was for Gavin to use his skills to survive against an ever-increasing horde of Stitched, until the time limit ran out.

Gavin had a moment to survey the hideous creatures as they moved into the arena. Their flesh was dried and cured, tougher but less septic than that of true zombies. These stitched were piecemeal creatures, veterans of several matches, sewn together from whatever scraps had remained after their last fight. Their hands had been replaced with a variety of hooks, blades, and simple weapons that they could use to cut, bludgeon, dismember, and disembowel an armored Gladiator.

After a moment they fixated on him, sensing his life force, then turned in eerie symmetry to look at him with eyeless sockets before charging. They ran with a shuffling, ungainly stride that did not really seem to slow them down, moaning through the wires that stitched their mouths shut.

The first stitched to make it to the pedestal met with a hard overhand slash from Gavin’s spear. The blade hit it in the head, squarely, with enough power to cave in the creature’s tough skull. The surest way to kill a stitched, like any zombie, was to destroy the brain. It jerked stiffly and fell backwards off the pedestal, as two more hammered at the Gladiator with their weapon hands. Their blows were clumsy, but powerful and unrelenting. He shoved these off the pedestal with his shield. Three more immediately filled the gap, one began grappling with Gavin’s shield.

The stitched were strong enough to rend a normal man apart with their bare hands, but their might was no match for magically enhanced strength of a Gifted Gladiator. Gavin shoved forward, putting his shoulder behind his shield, slamming it into the zombie grappling with him, sending it flying back off the raised platform into the others. It landed with a sickening crunch, breaking its lower leg, but started to rise almost immediately. Pain meant nothing to such creatures.

Anticipating the next attack, Gavin moved slightly so that a clumsy, but powerful, blow from the weapon-arm of one of his foes hit the thickest part of his shoulder armor and glanced off harmlessly. He then dispatched his zombie attacker with a swift lunge, ramming his spear blade through its skull. A horrible odor assaulted him as the majority of the zombie’s rotten brains flowed out of the wound. Someone in the crowd squealed in morbid delight.

At this interval, three more of the creatures were released into the arena. Gavin barely noticed; he was too busy with the four that were still assaulting him from the original release. The spectators watched with morbid excitement, cheering as the Gladiator fended off his relentless undead assailants. Gavin was glad of his armor as they mobbed. He shrugged off most of their attacks as he fended them of with spear, shield, and a few kicks.

The stitched were all around the Gladiator now, mouthing their horrible groans and throwing themselves at him. In numbers, their strength could overcome even his, but his training as a defender had taught him to position himself well, and he moved in such a way that multiple opponents could not easily concentrate their attacks on him. Deftly, he dodged and pivoted, shoving them back with his bright shield and grim spear. From the galleries, it seemed as if the silver lions of his shield and armor wove through the undead, bright and snarling. He drove one to the ground with a swift, measured spear slash and stomped on it; the creature’s head burst like some obscene fruit.

The stitched came on, tireless and hungry. More of them shambled into the arena to join the attack. Gavin lost track of time and felt a rising sense of panic. A jagged blade gouged into his back. He staggered under the blow but righted himself quickly. He heard a few cheers from the crowd and remembered that some people were actually rooting for his undead opponents. Angry now, he yelled in fury, and pivoted, swinging his razor-edged shield in a bright arc, nearly decapitating his undead attacker. This move elicited an even louder cheer from the rest of the audience as it fell back. Fans of the Great Games always loved to see heads roll.

But the effort of keeping the stitched away from him was starting to take its toll. Gavin was slick with sweat and gulping down air. His broad-bladed war spear felt a little heavier in his hands, unwieldy with all his foes pressing in on him. He decided to switch tactics.

Weaving a simple spell pattern, the Gladiator willed his Thaom through it, shouting out loud as he did so. The pure, simple joy of spellcasting invigorated him. His mind blast looked different this time. A bright blue beam of energy surged from his head to that of the nearest stitched; its brain liquefied under this magical assault, steam rising from its skull. The zombies seemed to have little resistance to his cogimancy. The spell he had used would normally not need a shout or produce the vivid blue flame. He had added these effects to the spell to make it flashier, a little pyrotechnic flourish that Ravius had shown him.

Ravius, being a skirmisher by training, was fond of reminding Gavin that Gladiators were performers as well as fighters. He wasn’t wrong.

Gavin used his mind blast twice more as the zombies crowded round, to lethal effect each time, but they continued to mob him on the pedestal. He pushed one off with a brutal backhanded shield punch. Then he impaled two of them with a single spear lunge, but found that he could not jerk his spear free. As the pulled, a spiked iron ball mounted in the place of a hand smashed into the back of Gavin’s head, driving him to his knees. For a moment everything was a blur. The stitched fell upon him, their blows raining on his shield and pushing him to the ground. He felt their blades and hooks slice into him where he could not protect himself. He heard their wretched moaning, barely constrained by sewn up mouths, and it filled him with primal dread.

Not like this, he thought.

Ripping his short sword from its sheath, Gavin began to hack at every stitched in reach, swinging his blade in tight desperate arcs. He still could not regain his feet under the weight of their numbers. He started cutting at their legs, and some fell; this served to protect him from the attacks of the others as he gathered his strength. He surged upwards, throwing them off. He shouted, he hacked, he sent them flying by bashing them with his shield, he melted their brains with his magic. He went down again, but empowered by a desperate animal fury, he struggled to his feet once more, sending a wave of zombies toppling from the pedestal. The crowd cheered, enthralled by the grim spectacle.

Finally, the trumpet sounded. Gavin had survived the time limit. His remaining attackers all sank slowly to the ground as their controlling necromancers suddenly restrained them.

Gavin saluted the crowd, drinking the praise they showered on him. It was a small audience, but they were all chanting his name, even those who were dressed as zombies. His chest was heaving, and he was covered in sweat and gore, but he felt a great sense of triumph. Not many Gladiators of novice rank could out up a good enough defense to survive a wave assault like this. He exulted in the feel of a hard-won victory; he’d endured a brutal assault, and this accomplishment felt good.

It took a long time for him to get rid of the stink of rotten brains and undead blood after the match. Ravius met him as he left the arena, an hour later. Gavin was surprised that his jovial friend had waited, and then felt shame at his own behavior. His reaction reminded him again that Ravius had shown him nothing but friendship. He resolved to make an effort to treat his friend better.

“I do not think I could have done half as well in that match, little brother,” Ravius said, smiling broadly, happy that Gavin had made use of the technique he had shown him. Gavin for his part found he enjoyed the praise of his friend as much as that of the arena spectators. “I think we should celebrate your victory with a drink, preferably in some place full of wanton women who have a taste for brave Gladiators. What do you say, my friend?”

“I think I would like that very much, my friend,” said Gavin, laughing as they left the arena behind them.

<>

“You’re pathetic, couldn’t even hit the wall behind me,” taunted the skirmisher, dancing out of the way of Gavin’s spear-thrust. “You really are a loser.”

Gavin gritted his teeth and tried to ignore his opponent’s jibes. The little audience to their fight chuckled, making it harder for him to concentrate, all in according to the skirmisher’s plan. Wear the defender down, get him to make a mistake; that was how skirmishers were taught to fight.

The skirmisher’s net, folded so it acted as a scourge, flashed out as the skirmisher talked. Gavin stepped back. At any moment, his opponent could unfurl the net and try to entangle him. Being caught in that metal mesh was even worse than being hit by an entangling or binding spell, but the skirmisher had only one chance to throw it.

“Here, little fishy,” the skirmisher sing-songed, whirling his trident in his other hand. Everything about the man was flashy and meant to draw the eyes, except that deadly weapon.

Gavin jabbed with his spear. The skirmisher deftly knocked it aside with his net. His skill with such an awkward defensive weapon was admirable. As the spear was pushed out and away, the trident stopped whirling and thrust out from over the man’s shoulder. It was an unexpected angle of attack, and Gavin had to twist out of the way. The trident passed by his face, but Gavin was already moving to counter the next attack. The scourging net rasped against his shield, followed by an attempted leg hook with the trident as the skirmisher pulled his weapon back.

“No fair, little brother,” said the skirmisher, grinning as he pulled back. “You know all of my tricks.”

“You keep using the same attacks,” said Gavin, shaking his head. The few Gladiators watching dispersed, except for one who seemed to be waiting for her turn on the practice ground.

“It’s a good combo!” said Ravius.

“Not against a defender who knows you,” said the waiting Gladiatrix.

Ravius immediately turned to her, grinning as he looked her over. Gavin noted that he did not take the bait, instead engaging her on his own terms.

“I am Ravius Vergerus,” he said. “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing, Honored Gladiatrix?”

Gavin looked the Gladiatrix up and down. While not very large, she was definitely a heavy armor class defender. Thick, brightly burnished plate-mail covered most of her front, and she carried a tower shield that was as tall as she was.

“Vintia Legarda,” she said, cool eyes raking Ravius before turning to Gavin. “Are you Gavin Orphanus?”

“I am,” said Gavin, wondering how the Gladiatrix had heard of him.

“Is it true that you had a practice bout with Valaran diVolcanus while he was here?” asked Vintia, resting her longsword on an armored shoulder.

“I did,” said Gavin. “He was as brutal as they say.”

“But you stood up to him, yes?”

Gavin thought back to that moment. “Endured him might be a better way to put it.”

“It is what we do,” said Vintia, tapping her shield with the pommel of her weapon, a small smile appearing on her face. “Defenders never get any credit for our skills. I would love to hear about that match; I have a friend who thinks she can go toe to toe with the Golden Giant, and I want to make sure she is prepared.”

“Who?” asked Gavin, noticing that Ravius had withdrawn from the conversation and was studiously adjusting his greaves. He not expecting me to make a move on this woman, is he? wondered Gavin. Is she?

“I can’t say,” answered Vintia. “My friend is . . . proud . . . and would not take kindly to my worrying about her.”

Gavin nodded. He shrugged and related everything he remembered about his practice bout with Valaran. Vintia listened intently, frowning as Gavin described how potent Valaran’s Thaom was in spite of the amount of Sui-Thaiune enhancement that he would have to have to achieve just his physical size and strength.

“I heard a rumor that some of his physical prowess is due to breeding,” said Vintia after Gavin finished.

“Breeding?”

“Eugenics might be a better word for it,” said Vintia. “Thank you, Gavin. I have to get to a practice bout, but this will really help my friend if she decides to take him on.”

“You’re welcome, honored Gladiatrix,” said Gavin, offering a little salute, which she returned.

Ravius stood as she left, but before he could speak, Vintia stopped and turned back to them.

“Cute outfit . . . Ravius, was it?” she said, looking him up and down coolly.

Ravius bowed, but the Gladiatrix just saluted him politely and turned to march away. They both watched silently as she crossed the training ground and entered a private practice area.

“Curious,” said Gavin.

“Masterful,” said Ravius with a grin. “She’s should have been a skirmisher to leave me wondering so.”

“She must have been lying. No one could think that is cute,” said Gavin, nodding to Ravius’s gear.

“Leave the quips to the expert, defender,” said Ravius with mock severity.

<>

Some days later, Gavin and Ravius spotted Vintia on the training grounds, standing with a tall, flame-haired woman watching the stronger novices compete in pushing and pulling massive weights across the sands.

“I should have guessed,” exclaimed Ravius upon sighting the pair.

“Why who is that woman?” asked Gavin.

“The big one? Her name is Karmal or something, I think,” said Ravius. “But that isn’t important, little brother. Our friend Vintia is a close confidante of Sadira Lacivia, the top Gladiatrix in the Campus Martius.”

“I’ve heard the name before,” said Gavin with a shrug. Top novice prospect meant little enough in the long run; other Gladiators, people like Valaran, viewed them as targets. It did explain why Vintia had sought to speak to him about Valaran.

Curious, Gavin looked to the training grounds. Sure enough, in the midst of all the bigger Gladiators, he saw a shadow elf woman. Even at this distance, she stood out among the massive fighters surrounding her, Thaom rippling as she lifted an enormous weight and tossed it a good distance. The bigger men and women all around her cheered, all save one who frowned as the smaller figure held out her hand as if expecting some reward.

Having seen enough, Gavin turned to leave, but Ravius stopped him. “No, you have to get a good look at her Gavin, she has an ass that—”

“No, let’s go train, Ravius,” said Gavin. “We have our own matches to consider.”

“Gavin, she is so—”

“Training, Ravius, we’re here to train.”

“But—”

“What would cunning Vintia think of your words?”

“—you wound me, little brother!”

Chapter Seven: The Execution

1139/02/12 AR, Campus Martius

“Success is attainable only by those who believe in themselves. A positive will overcomes all obstacles.” From a popular philosophy of the time.

“Failure is not, in itself, a character flaw.” Chosen Brighthoof

Ravius entered the Enduring Bulwark Ludus just as Master Ironwall fired another volley at Gavin. The finely tempered springs of the spike gun sang as they let slip the lethal swarm. A dozen four-inch steel spikes flew out of the cluster of steel barrels and sped unerringly across the room toward their target. The darts moved so fast that even a Gladiator would have trouble following them.

Gavin had entered the heightened state of defensive awareness that Master Ironwall had begun teaching him as part of his training at the Enduring Bulwark School. Time seemed to move slowly, and his senses sharpened. He could read the course of each spike as it sped toward him. He heard the intake of Ravius’s breath. He smelled the sweet scent of flowers from Master Ironwall’s garden.

Gavin stepped forward, positioning his body to minimize his profile and maximize his armor while moving his lion-headed shield to meet the streaking projectiles. The shield felt alive, an extension of his body. The clang of the missiles as they slammed into his shield was echoed by the thud of those he evaded as they buried themselves in the wall behind him. He grunted in pain and surprise; two of the shots had found their mark, embedding themselves deep in the muscles of his upper leg.

“Bloody, BLOODY, Reckoning!” Gavin swore, grimacing. He felt like hitting something, unleashing his frustration in a childish tantrum; his failure embarrassed him.

Ravius winced from the doorway. He did not rush to Gavin’s side; it would be poor form to enter the training ground of the Ludus without an invitation and would be embarrassing to his friend.

Gavin’s disappointment in his own performance was worse than the pain. He had been so sure he was going to get them all this time. Such wounds, while crippling to an ungifted man, were trivial to any Gladiator; they would close and heal long before his match this afternoon. The fact that he’d been injured at all was what really bothered him.

“Not too bad, Gavin,” Master Ironwall’s deep, calm voice intoned. “I am more than pleased with your progress. Only a handful of my students have ever advanced as far as you have in such a short time. Please go with your friend after Mishka has tended your wounds and find yourself a moment to rest before your fight this evening.” The flint-eyed dwarf nodded to Ravius, who jogged over to Gavin as Mishka, a pale dwarven woman appeared from behind a nearby screen.

“But Master Ironwall, I failed to block your attack,” said Gavin, looking aside shamefully. “How could you be pleased?”

The master turned back to Gavin. “Your question disappoints me, Gavin. I am far more concerned at your reaction to failure than the failure itself. Mastery of such a difficult technique requires patience and confidence in your abilities. Do you believe that I would send you to the fighting grounds unprepared?”

“No, Master Ironwall,” answered Gavin.

“Then you must believe me when I tell you that you are a good student,” said Master Ironwall. “Otherwise, you dishonor us both.”

Gavin’s wounds felt better within minutes as Mishka massaged and mended them. From her girded Gift, he could tell that she was Taskbound, despite the effectiveness of her magic. Unlike the Chosen and Gladiators, Taskbound were constrained in how they could use Thaom and Thune. Murmuring thanks to the quiet healer, he stood up, testing his leg. She watched his first few steps carefully, silent as always.

“Good as new,” she signed, with a satisfied smile. Mishka watched him for a few more minutes before she was convinced to let him go.

Gavin suspected that she did not trust his opinion of his own injuries; many Gladiators were put their fighting bravado before their own health. Their healing factor could regenerate almost any injury swiftly, but it did not guarantee that the injury would set properly. When she was done, she smiled again and signed that he was ready.

“Well, Ravius, are you ready to go?” Gavin looked to his friend.

Ravius nodded. “Yes, I’d be happy to get going, little brother. I want to introduce you to a friend of mine before your fight,” he said, choosing not mention the injury, having learned better than to voice such a concern to the prickly Gladiator.

“Let’s be off then,” Gavin responded. After the praise he had received for his last fight, his eagerness to prove himself had only increased. It was like the thrill of victory fed him, filling some void deep within, but leaving him ever hungry for more. He needed to win, to prove himself worthy. He put aside all thoughts about his failure to block the bolts, promising himself to do better next time, and moved to the entrance to the Ludus.

As he reached the edge of the framed sand fighting ground, he turned gracefully and bowed low to Master Ironwall; the inscrutable dwarf was already facing him and mirrored Gavin’s bow exactly. Ravius bowed a moment after, showing his respect as the two Gladiators gathered their belongings and left the Ludus.

“Master, I shall see you tomorrow,” Gavin called as he left, bowing again.

“I look forward to it.” The master’s eyes met Gavin’s. “Do not take this next fight lightly, for a Deathmatch is always a serious affair. If you need to pause your training for a few days afterwards, I will most certainly not hold this against you.”

<>

“A full Deathmatch. Impressive!” said Omodo, voice booming. Ravius’s friend was an armodon, a rhino-man, and he towered above Gavin. His large snout and thick horn made him look even fiercer to some, but Gavin could already tell that Omodo was a friendly and mindful man. “It’s not against another Gladiator, is it?”

“No. The match is against a traitor, a Scornbound, actually. A man who tried to hide his Gift,” Ravius broke in excitedly.

Gavin was inwardly pleased that others could be excited on his behalf. Was this a taste of the life of a great Gladiator? “He chose trial by combat. I chose to make it a full Deathmatch. It seems unfair for him to risk everything without me risking something as well. I did not think the Deliberative would sanction the change. Deathmatches have fallen out of favor, but they approved it without comment.”

In the Domains, all those who possessed the Gift must become either Taskbound or Gladiators, it having been decided after the Reckoning that the powers of the Gift were far too dangerous to allow anyone but the Chosen to practice them freely. The traitor in question had manifested his powers early in life, but his tribe had helped him avoid the tests until he was an adult. Officers of the Deliberative apparently discovered him as he was trying to escape the Domains into the wilds, defending himself against marauders with wild, illegal magic. Scornbound were those who violated the Covenant, the founding law of the Domains that bound the interests of all citizens, Gifted and ungifted.

Gavin’s friend at the office of the registrar, the enthusiastic and efficient Sinti, had helped him set up this match. One that was quickly approved due to his excellent performance in his last fight and a strong signal that his career was off to a good start.

The Scornbound had chosen trial by combat, hoping that he could beat Gavin and thus keep his magic and his life. It was a foolish, desperate move, but one that Gavin could sympathize with. He wouldn’t want to live if he couldn’t keep his magic. That was why he had chosen to become a Gladiator over a Taskbound.

“It would be unfair of me not to face death when my opponent has their life on the line,” said Gavin. “It is just an execution if only one of us is fighting under the strictures of a Deathmatch.”

“I like your sense of fairness, friend Gavin,” said the armodon. “And I look forward to getting to know you better after the match. Ravius has quite the celebration planned . . . if you are still up for it afterwards.”

“Way to be reassuring, little brother,” said Ravius to Omodo, shaking his head. “Of course, Gavin will make short work of this foolish Scornbound. The traitor may have magic like us, but I doubt he knows how to hold a sword properly, much less fight with it like a true Gladiator can!”

Omodo’s relaxed attitude and familiar manner with Ravius soon disarmed Gavin, and the three Gladiators were then quickly exchanging rumors about Scornbound, a favorite subject among all denizens of the Domains. Omodo insisted on watching the match so he could cheer for Gavin. Ravius was somewhat drunk when the three of them left the Quirky Quickling, no mean feat for a Gladiator whose regenerative powers would quickly neutralize any toxins. They had to guide him as they headed to the Pits for Gavin’s match; with the talkative skirmisher stopping to pay his compliments to every woman he passed. It was a wonder he did not offend some proud Gladiatrix.

“I’m just trying to get them to come cheer for you, little brother,” said Ravius as they hurried him along.

“Any support is good support,” Omodo intoned, invoking an ancient fighter’s maxim, with relish and reverence. The Gladiator friends of arena novices are often their most ardent supporters and loudest fans.

Gavin felt more than ready to take on the Scornbound. This match would bring him great glory. The capital crowds were not the most bloodthirsty in the Domains, but everyone loved to see a Scornbound face justice. Those who rejected the laws of the Domains were deserving of their fate, however cruel. Gavin was certain that this victory would be an important steppingstone on his path to becoming a champion. He would prove himself worthy.

<>

Before the fight began Gavin watched from the tiny window of his arming room as the Scornbound was led into the small arena. The man was in in chains and escorted by two grey-robed officers of the Deliberative. One of their grim number stepped into the center of the fighting grounds, reading out the charges against the traitor from a long classical scroll. It was a lengthy address, formulaic and full of adjective-laden ceremonial condemnations. By the end of it, the crowd would be hissing with hatred at the man. Gavin was not interested in listening to the speech—he knew it by the formula well from his training—but it did give him some extra time to prepare. Omodo and Ravius had already left to take their places in the stands, leaving him alone in the arming room.

As he began to check the straps on his lion-headed breastplate, there was a knock on the door. He frowned; the attendants rarely interrupted so close to a fight. It must be serious. He opened the door and a wide-eyed page girl passed him a letter. Her hand was shaking, despite the safety of the arena. The seal was one use by the Deliberative, the body that watched over and regulated the use of magic in the Domains. His name was on the envelope.

The Gladiator set down his spear and opened up the letter, almost dropping it when he realized the seal was adorned with the scales of justice, the heraldic device of the highest offices of the Deliberative. He checked letter again, not wanting to be caught reading private material meant for the eyes of another, especially if the Deliberative was involved. As he did so, his finger brushed the seal, and the red wax disintegrated in a burst of power. It seemed that the seal was keyed to his mystical pattern; he read quickly, devouring the contents.

Honored Gladiator Gavin Orphanus

The Deliberative thanks you for your service in this matter.

The Scornbound you are about to face must be defeated at all costs, but we would prefer the traditional appeal to the crowd if possible. The people must be allowed to show their will freely in dealing with this man, if possible. Their thumbs thrust downwards in condemnation will send a strong message to others of his kind, prompting them to seek the mercy of the Deliberative.

This particular Scornbound uses an aberrant but powerful form of magic. His spells will be nothing like you have ever seen in your training. You will need to be on guard against his invocations early on, but do not fear; his powers may be strong, but they are also unpredictable, and they tire him quickly. Endure his initial onslaught, and you will surely beat him. He does not have any real combat training, so once you get past his magic, he will be at your mercy.

Do your duty and you will be justly rewarded.

Ordo Grevex, HOD.

The call to arms sounded, signaling Gavin. He read the letter once more and then walked quickly toward the Gladiators entrance. He felt a chill at the tone of the letter. Ordo Grevex was one of the most important members of the Deliberative; for him to take an interest in this fight meant that it was somehow important. It took him a moment to settle into a fighting mindset.

By the time the call of the people rang out, Gavin was fully intent on the fight. He barely noticed the letter disintegrating after he put it down. He thumped his breastplate as the sound of the trumpets died down, feeling the adrenaline jolt through his veins. This fight was important; he had been right to risk it. People would notice him now. The Gladiators entrance began to open and he broke unto a jog, ducking under the half-raised portcullis in his eagerness to step onto the fighting grounds.

His opponent stood to one side of the arena, head held high despite his gaunt and tired appearance. The man’s dark, defiant eyes never left the Grey-Robes, not even flickering toward Gavin. A neatly trimmed beard shot with grey covered the man’s angular jaw. His thick, black iron chains seemed to be far too large for his frail-looking body. Gavin smirked, thinking that this supposedly dangerous Scornbound looked more than a little harmless as he turned, raising his weapon to salute the audience. The man-made Gavin look like a brute, towering and muscular, in comparison. If not for the letter’s warning, he’d have a hard time taking this skinny captive seriously.

Gavin’s brow furrowed as he realized that the stranger was covered in faded tattoos winding their way around his arms, his hairless head, and his spindly legs. Northern tribal designs, Gavin thought. Tattoos were temporary decorations to most of the Gifted; the regenerative powers of a Gladiator would reject the ink within a few days. The Scornbound’s tattoos set Gavin on edge. Gladiators could not be tattooed; their healing factor rapidly rejected the ink and tattoos could be used to store hidden spell patterns. Gladiators who wanted designs on their bodies had to have them painted on in the arming room before each match under the watchful eye of a Grey-Robe. Gavin was immediately suspicious of the dark patterns.

His thoughts were interrupted by the cheers of the crowd. The seats of the small arena were packed with spectators and they greeted the appearance of their champion with gusto. He gave a salute, basking in their approval. I could use more of this, he thought.

“Do you accept that death may claim you in this match, Gladiator?” the officer of the Deliberative presiding over the fight addressed him from the gallery above, following the familiar formalities required for any Deathmatch.

“I accept this Deathmatch, for I fear not death, only dishonor in the eyes of the citizens of Krass,” Gavin responded.

This was a traditional answer, his favorite during training, and it fell from his lips automatically. His voice rang out loud and confidant, augmented so that all could hear his reply. As he spoke, the two Grey-Robes left the arena, exiting out the western door.

“The Scornbound has demanded trial by combat. If he survives, he will be allowed to live and will keep his magic. All certification from his trial is in order and available for public review,” intoned the officer, stepping back. “This Deathmatch is sanctioned!”

The trumpet sounded again. As the sound died away, the runed chains fell from the traitor. The man turned his eyes toward the Gladiator. Gavin met the stranger’s gaze as his Gift was unleashed. He felt Thaom come to him, and the world sharpened around him as it filled. He noticed that the Scornbound made no move to draw his sword. The traitor paused, utterly still, and yet somehow still in motion. A chill went down Gavin’s spine as he realized that the man’s tattoos were writhing, moving of their own accord. He sensed the Thaom flowing through the man, but no Thune. This was a form of magic he had never encountered. A small smile, half-snarl, appeared on the Scornbound’s face, and his eyes seemed to glow as he regarded Gavin with disdain.

Gavin raised his shield and moved forward quickly, yet warily. He suddenly wished he had purchased a warding enchantment for his armor, something to better protect him against hostile spells. He had petulantly put it off, mostly because Ravius kept lecturing him about how to spend his victory coins. How foolish that behavior seemed now.

The traitor’s body remained still, while his tattoos began to move faster, becoming more distinct against his pale skin. Gavin could feel the man’s Thaom reaching a worrying level but could not make out any Thune being woven for a spell. The tattoos must be the spell pattern, he thought. As Gavin closed, the man opened his mouth, inky patterns descending from his head, waving back and forth in the air beside his mouth like a halo of inky black snakes. Gavin quickened his stride, getting ready to lunge.

“YOU SEND THIS PUP AGAINST ME?” The traitor’s voice was impossibly loud.

Gavin’s ears popped; he felt his bones vibrate at the sound. The wave of sound hit him, nearly arresting his forward momentum. The Scornbound was strong! Even the audience winced a little in shock despite the barrier enchantments protecting them from its full force.

“YOU COWARDS SEND A CHILD TO DO YOUR UGLY DEEDS?”

The crowd spat and booed at the Scornbound, shouting back at him. “TRAITOR, SCUM, MAKE HIM BLEED FOR US, GLADIATOR!”

The Scornbound raised his hands, and Gavin could feel the immense Thaom flowing through the man, the very air seeming pregnant with the power at the gaunt man’s command.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The shocking boom of the traitor’s wordless scream was accompanied by flailing black tattoo tentacles erupting from the man’s arms and spiraling through the air toward Gavin. There were too many of the showy appendages to dodge, coming at him from all sides with flailing fury, so he raised his shield and braced. He hoped that the enchanted mithril would foil at least some of the unknown magic he faced. The tentacles slammed into his shield with the weight and solidity of real limbs, battering the Gladiator. He felt some relief that he could defend against them, but he could not see a way past the storm of tentacles. He wove a Mind Blast spell.

Before he could cast however, one of these whirling tentacles, a barbed scourge of inky blackness, reached around his and slapped against the Gladiator’s side. It hit with the force of a mule-kick, nearly staggering him, but the worst was yet to come. Any bare skin that it touched flayed instantly and explosively under its caress, flesh twisting as if trying to rip away from the rest of his body. Gavin sank to his knees with a grunt; only his extensive training kept the pain and nausea from overwhelming him. The crowd gasped. The Scornbound shook his head disdainfully.

“A DOG LIKE THIS CAN NEVER DEFEAT A FREE MAN!” the Scornbound shouted at the crowd, voice thundering.

They jeered him in return, calling him traitor and worse. He turned back to Gavin, raising his tentacles above Gavin like tidal wave about to crash down upon him.

“I am no dog, traitor!” growled Gavin, gritting his teeth as he willed himself to stand. He held the pattern of his Mind Blast, waiting for the right moment now. The Scornbound had powerful Thaom; Gavin would have to make his attack count.

“And yet here you are, performing for your master’s approval!” The Scornbound gestured theatrically to the audience and the Grey-Robes. In his other hand, tattoos coalesced into an inky black ball, which he tossed at Gavin.

The Gladiator reacted by diving to one side.

The projectile fragmented as it struck the sand, sending shards of darkness spraying in all directions. Several of these struck Gavin, causing the Gladiator’s skin to twist and flesh to rupture where they touched. He cursed, rolling away from the next lethal projectile. He stumbled drunkenly as he came to his feet, body swimming with pain.

“I am sorry that I have to kill you to win my freedom, Gladiator,” said the Scornbound, drawing power for a fresh assault as Gavin rolled to his feet. His eyes were clear; his confidence showed. “I just want to be free. You were foolish to risk your life unnecessarily. I hope that the crowd shows you mercy.”

“I’m not dead yet, traitor,” snarled Gavin.

He was suffering from several horrific-looking wounds where the Scornbound’s strange spells had touched him. The pain was abominable, but his training had taught him to cope with injuries that would cripple others. Gavin could still move freely and he was not losing a great deal of blood. He doubted that the Scornbound understood just how tough Gladiators were. Much of Gavin’s Thaom and Thune were folded into a pattern of Sui-Thaiune that strengthened his body beyond even the regular gift. His wounds were slowly closing of their own accord already. Despite this, Gavin limped toward his foe with a desperate look on his face, exaggerating his weakness.

The man’s eyes measured him. The crowd jeered and cheered. The Scornbound raised his hands again, channeling power into a single tattoo, which elongated and grew into a nightmarish appendage, a monstrous barbed whip of ink and magic that rivaled a shipbreaker kraken tentacle in size. The Scornbound swung this at the Gladiator, and it came down like a massive sword. Gavin ducked behind his shield, felt the bone-crunching impact, then found himself flying through the air only to slam into sand. As he came to rest, Gavin instinctively rolled to the side, narrowly escaping death as the appendage slammed into the ground with enough force to kick up the sand all around him.

Gavin staggered to his feet, expecting another savage assault. He tensed, but the man did not attack. A true fighter would have taken advantage of Gavin’s momentary weakness. Then he noticed a little drop of blood fall from the man’s nose. Had the man reached Ur-Thaom, the limits of his power? It seemed possible given the incredible amount of Thaom he was wielding. The letter in Gavin’s arming room did mention that the man would weaken quickly. The Scornbound channeled again, glowing as he gathered immense Thaom for his next attack. His writhing tattoos were forming into a more complex arcane pattern now. Blood dripped freely from his nostrils as his eyes burned with Thaom.

Gavin did not think he could withstand this next spell, even if the man was burning out. He was close enough to charge now, and the traitor had committed to a big spell. Bad mistake, he thought. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his side and surged forward casting a Mind Blast at his enemy.

His mental attack glanced off the traitor’s mystical defenses. But Gavin cast the spell again and again, forcing the Scornbound to commit some of his Gift to defense. This distracted the man long enough for Gavin to throw himself into the attack. The Scornbound was shocked at the Gladiator’s speed and the long reach of his spear, and as that lethal point sped toward him, he realized he had misjudged.

The Scornbound bent every ounce of his defiant will into finishing his spell. Gavin pushed himself forward with the unyielding discipline of a trained Gladiator. The air seemed to ripple, as if it was ready to burst from the sheer amount of power flowing around the Scornbound. Gavin felt the sand shift beneath his boots as he launched himself forward, heard the sounds of his own shouts mingle with those of his opponent, saw the man’s eyes widen as his spear connected.

Gavin impaled into his opponent at full speed; the traitor, much thinner than the muscular Gladiator, fell back. His complex spell unraveled. Gavin bulled forward relentlessly, bellowing a war cry and slamming the Scornbound into the hard stone wall with a second shove from his thick metallic shield.

Gavin kept up the pressure after the impact, pinning the man against the wall with his spear and shield. He could feel the man’s bones grinding and snapping as he put all of his weight and strength into it. Hot blood dripped on his feet. For all the Scornbound’s Thaom, he lacked Gavin’s physical conditioning and brute physical power; he was unable to free himself from this kind of close-quarter assault.

But before the Gladiator could fully triumph, black tattoo-tentacles felt their way around the edges of Gavin’s shield. He felt the sickening touch of one of them on his leg, flaying the flesh of his calf to bloody ribbons. Shouting in pain and fury, Gavin twisted the barbed head of his spear. The Scornbound grunted and then screamed as the brutal barbed blade of the grim war spear ripped through his flesh, rending muscle and breaking bone. Gavin howled with primal fury as he savaged the man like a wild boar goring a challenger.

The man’s struggles grew feeble as blood fountained from the wound. His magic tattoos ceased writhing and started to fade. His fists battered uselessly against the Gladiator. Gavin could see the weariness in the traitor’s desperate eyes, yet the man refused to yield. The bladed edge of Gavin’s shield was just underneath his opponent’s chin. He doubted the Scornbound even realized how close the lethal edge was to his neck.

Gavin considered ending the man’s life right then; despite the man’s irritating bluster, he’d shown real courage for someone who was obviously not trained to fight. It would be a quick and merciful end. He doubted the Scornbound would appreciate the honor of being executed like a Gladiator. Yet the letter from the Deliberative had asked Gavin to seek the people’s thumbs, the vaunted appeal to the crowd, if possible. The Gladiator had no desire to displease the Deliberative. More than that, he also had his own fame to consider; he did not want to risk disappointing his audience. He decided to seek the judgement of the spectators, who would never show mercy to a Scornbound, and then execute the man.

As the fight left the Scornbound, Gavin let the traitor drop to the ground. Blood spilled from his the Scornbound’s wounds as he stumbled and crawled. The crowd screamed and jeered at him, driven wild by the fight. As the last few paces Gavin had to support him, finally tossing him roughly toward the center of the white sand, letting his shield drop off his arm as he did so. He walked forward while his opponent struggled to rise. He grabbed the man by the top of his bald head; the Scornbound resisted, pushing upwards in spite of his wounded leg, but Gavin kicked him in the back of his knee, forcing him to kneel before the crowd. Many in the audience shouted loudly, mocking the traitor. Gavin looked in their faces, listened to their obscenities, and heard the hatred in their bloodlust.

“I won’t die like this . . . I can’t let them win,” the Scornbound growled as he fought uselessly against the Gladiator’s vice-like grip. “This isn’t right. I never hurt anyone. Show me mercy, Gladiator.”

The heat of battle was fading. For the first time, Gavin felt a stab of pity for the man.

The Scornbound’s magic was apparently exhausted, burnt out most likely; the fight was over, despite the man’s feeble struggles. Gavin planted his spear in the sand, out of the Scornbound’s reach. The man stiffened, defiant even now, but his thrashing could not overcome a Gladiator’s supernatural strength.

Gavin raised his hand to ask for the people’s judgement, trying to empty his mind as he did so. He used the simplest of the ancient appeals, his palm cupped and open to receive the wisdom of the crowd, a neutral gesture he had been taught in training. He did not ask for mercy nor demand death for the traitor. He’d come to the arena expecting a vile criminal, but he was no longer certain. This supposed traitor had shown great courage. What would Gavin have done in his place? Should not a man who developed the Gift be free to do with it as he pleased?

The audience shouted and jeered, turning their thumbs to the ground. A cold spot settled on Gavin’s heart. It was all happening so fast. He could still show mercy. Would it even matter?

“KILL THE SCORNBOUND, TAKE HIS HEAD!”

Had it been a favored Gladiator, the crowd would likely have demanded mercy, but any Scornbound was a dangerous lawbreaker in the people’s eyes. Few things were more horrible to the ungifted than the idea of uncontrolled magic, like that which brought about the Reckoning. They did not see the Scornbound as human even, only as the monstrous embodiment of their worst fears.

“I just wanted to be free!” The Scornbound’s voice was hoarse but strong, and it did not waver in the least as Gavin unsheathed his short sword, letting his training guide his hands. “I don’t blame you for this, Gladiator. You are just doing what they trained you to do, in the end.”

Time seemed to stand still. Gavin pulled back the traitor’s head and settled his sword under the Scornbound’s chin. The Scornbound shivered against the unyielding steel, but lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, choosing to face the inevitable as bravely as he could.

A small voice in Gavin’s head told him that he did not have to do this. Even if they killed the Scornbound afterwards, at least he would not be part of this execution. His training told him that if he did that, the crowd would hate him, and he might as well give up any dreams of becoming a Chosen. Gavin blinked, caught in the decision.

A grey-robed figure, face lost in a hood, stood to record the final judgement. It was all going according to ritual now, but it felt somehow wrong to Gavin. The judge moved with deliberate slowness, people all around him showing their down-thrust thumbs and shouting angrily, the mantle of his office cloaking him in authority. To both fighters, his short walk seemed to take forever. The Grey-Robe’s thumb turned slowly to the ground with a finality that was thunderous despite the simplicity of the gesture. Silence settled over the arena.

“My name is Olek Agvarson.” Only Gavin could hear the traitor’s whispered voice. The words were clear and proud, even with a blade against his throat and judgement passed against him. The Gladiator hesitated, caught in the moment; he did not want to kill this man, and yet he could not see a way forward without that death. “I will die here, but I lived my life a free man! Will you be able to say the same, Gladiator, when—”

Gavin could not bear to hear another word; the sharp blade jerked along Olek’s throat, and the man’s last words were drowned in the rush of blood. His final breath was lost in the roar of the crowd. He slumped and fell away from Gavin, rolling onto his back. His eyes met the Gladiator’s briefly, holding them for a moment before they turned upwards, seeking the light.

Driven to know what kind of man he had been, Gavin did the unthinkable, reaching out to read his thoughts. The Scornbound was deaf to the cruel jeers of the crowd now. The sand felt warm against the growing cold in his body. Gavin pushed deeper, seeking the truth. The Scornbound’s life flashed before him as the man died; Gavin saw clearly how the choices that Olek made led him inexorably to his death, but they were not choice made of evil will, at least initially. He had killed as the Deliberative hunted him, but he felt cornered into doing so. He had also lived, and loved, and sought a better life.

Olek Agvarson’s last thought was that he wished he could have died outside, amidst the tall, straight pine trees that grew on his father’s old farm, with the bright warm sun shining down on all around.

Gavin watched the Scornbound die, sharing that last thought with him through a telepathic link. The man’s eyes grew dim, losing focus as he lost the struggle with death, and then all life faded from them and he was still. His tattoos faded and disappeared entirely from his skin as his Thaom dissipated. The Gladiator’s kept his expression neutral, but he was horrified by the act. The man had seemed altogether too brave for someone who was supposed to be a vile traitor. Even if his life had been mixed, Gavin could see from his thoughts that he had been driven to it by the laws of the Domains. First a desire for freedom, then a fear of being caught, and finally desperation not to face his doom.

Gavin saluted the crowd, their rapturous cheering sour in his ears, and then marched back to his arming room. He sunk down on the benches, lost in the turmoil of his own thoughts. Had he been driven to kill by his training or by his own fear of losing his path to the Championships? Was mercy really a consideration, or was he too soft to kill a man with a name? He kept revisiting that moment for a long time, glad of the solitude of the arming room and the baths afterward.

Gavin could understand the desire for freedom; it was one he felt as well. He wondered if he had made the wrong choices, would it have been him in Olek’s place? Would the Scornbound really have such a dangerous criminal if left alone? Or was he just a blood-sacrifice to a fearful crowd that hated the thought of a free man with the power of the Gift? Oh yes, the citizens of the Domains feared uncontrolled magic. The thoughts came unbidden to him, like a curse, and he could not shake them.

Should he have granted the man a quicker death and spared him the ugly judgement of the crowd? Olek had fought well enough to earn that at least. Yet Gavin had not seen the audience show a single thumb in the man’s favor. A chill settled in his gut. Now he could see the Gift seemed as a curse, having driven them both to make choices that led them into the arena, one as a victim, the other as an instrument of murder masquerading as justice.

It took him some time to gather the strength and leave the arena.

<>

“Gavin!” Ravius’s voice was unmistakable, and it took all of Gavin’s strength not to glower at his friend. It was hours after the match, but he and Omodo had waited.

Their faces were etched with concern, but Ravius put his arms around Gavin’s shoulders and said, “That looked like a hard fight, my friend. Let’s go drink to your bruises and your continued breathing.”

“Aye aye!” echoed Omodo.

“Sounds . . . good, actually,” said Gavin, not wanting to be alone with his thoughts.

“Let us drink and be merry then, Gladiators!” said Ravius, leading Gavin towards a tavern.

Chapter Eight: Enter the Scorpion

1138/09/23 AR, Campus Martius, Test match for the First Rank

“Romance is a pointless encumbrance for a would-be Champion. How many Gladiators have been lured off the path to greatness by a kiss?” Chosen Giselle

Deeply troubled after his bloody execution of the pitiable Scornbound Olek Agvarson, Gavin’s resolve to leave the Campus Martius as quickly as he could faded. He could not help but feel that he had been a willing, eager, participant to what amounted to an execution. The Scornbound were dangerous, but Gavin could not bring himself to hate them, despite his training; most of them just wanted to be free. He spent the next few months reading books on law and tomes of philosophy, in hopes of finding answers to soothe his heart. He had little desire to face the crowd again, which worried Ravius and Omodo, but motivation presented itself sooner than he thought.

Ravius, who made it his business to know everybody, had acquired invitations to the type of exclusive party that young, society-hungry Gladiators fantasized about. The Campus Martius was famed for its energetic revels, and this particular event was shaping up to be one of the best in recent memory. It would have been an unbearable wound for a sociable fellow like Ravius not to be there. Getting Gavin to agree to go was actually much harder than securing invitations to the event, but in the end the smiling skirmisher prevailed.

“Fine, I’ll go to this one party if you stop pestering me,” Gavin said, after what was the hundred and thirty seventh time that Ravius asked him.

“You can always continue to mope when we get there, little brother,” Ravius said, showing his glee with a little flourish of his trident. “Besides, I have often heard that relaxing one’s mind is good for dealing with complex problems. Perhaps the answers to your woes will come to you if you have a little fun and think about something else for a while. Think of what mysteries you might unlock after getting your di—”

“Don’t snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, Ravius,” interrupted Omodo as he saw Gavin about to retort. “I would feel more confident with you there, Gavin. It would give me someone to talk to when Ravius abandons me.”

The party was held in an ancient, ivy-veiled stone building that had once been a mill, built before the Reckoning. It now served as a hotel and events center, having been swallowed by the constantly expanding Campus Martius some centuries ago. Known simply as the Old Mill, it was built in a simple rustic fashion with touches of elegance and grandeur added over the years. A lazy river wound its way through the expansive and expertly manicured grounds, turning an intricately carved wooden water-wheel, creating a pleasant trickling sound that could be heard by those fortunate enough to dine within. The Old Mill was famous for its grand hospitality; it was mostly reserved for special events and was occasionally rented by important people who had business in the Campus. More than a few of the Chosen graced its halls regularly. To young Gladiators like Gavin, Omodo, and Ravius, its exclusivity spoke of prestige and power, the sort of life they might one day enjoy as Champions, with all the pleasures such an exalted position would bring.

Shortly after they arrived, Ravius became enmeshed in conversation. Like most people who build up such an impressive web of connections, he could hardly move without encountering someone who desired his attention. The smiling skirmisher did not even make it into the mill itself before a Gladiatrix drew him aside to make introductions.

“That didn’t take long.” Omodo snorted, looking after Ravius.

“Why don’t you see if you can get him to introduce you,” Gavin said. “I’ll get us some food.”

“Good idea, Gavin.” Omodo nodded, looking out at the densely packed sea of faces between them and the food tables.

Gavin, true to his nature, was not really interested in banter. While he was secretly pleased to be at such a gathering, he had no agenda beyond enjoying the food and keeping his friends company. Omodo was often shy, and Ravius frequently caused trouble to himself. He wove his way through the crowd, making his way to the food tables. He was immediately drawn to the Traphold pies, a rough pastry filled with meat with bits of blue cheese and sourberry. The scent of them made his mouth water.

<>

“Are you sure that’s him?”

Sadira Lacivia, darling of the Campus Martius, stood on a third-floor balcony overlooking the entrance to the mill with her two friends, Karmal and Vintia. The three Gladiatrices were looking down at Gavin, who was unaware of their interest.

“It is,” said Vintia.

“He doesn’t look like anything special,” said Karmal, by far the taller of the three, imposing with her crown of flame-colored hair.

Sadira enjoyed the commanding view of the busy room below. It was also the perfect place for everyone who entered the room to get a good look at her, and she reveled in the attention. She was a shadow elf renowned for her beauty as well as her skill. Sadira wore a gown of intricately woven blood-red silk embroidered with bright gold thread that accentuated her figure. She had chosen the dress because she wanted to show off, to dominate the social gathering like she dominated the fighting grounds. Even here, none dared challenge her, and the ones who sought her company so far this evening had been of little interest and even less challenge.

“He’s something, at least,” said Sadira, eyeing Gavin. He was handsome enough, in a classical sense, but did not seem to have any awareness of the social situation around him. Sadira prided herself on her ability to read a crowd and sway any audience.

Look at him, thought Sadira, as Gavin brushed by a group of popular fighters. Two of them, a man and a woman, both gave him an undisguised look of interest, but he moved on without any notice. They’re both stunning, yet he pays them no heed.

“You have that look,” said Vintia beside her. “You’ve been staring at him for a little too long.”

“And yet he hasn’t noticed,” said Sadira, which prompted Karmal to laugh.

“Don’t pout, Sadira,” said the big Gladiatrix. “Maybe he’s not interested.”

Sadira turned her attention fully to Karmal, fixing her with a furious stare. Karmal the Cruel was the moniker she had claimed in the Campus Gladius, and she was Sadira’s chief rival as well as a friend. “Not now, Karmal.”

Vintia stepped between them before Karmal could retort.

“Why don’t we leave?” said the slim blonde defender, tiny next to Karmal. “You two are obviously getting bored, and I don’t want to get in trouble with the Greys when you start something. We can approach Gavin on the training grounds.”

“He got lucky,” said Karmal. “He cast a spell way beyond his skill level because Valaran was about to show him what his guts looked like. It was luck, I’m sure.”

“Probably,” agreed Vintia, but Sadira saw her hesitation, even if Karmal did not. That’s interesting, she thought. Vintia is a great judge of skill, even better than I.

Sadira needed to find a worthy opponent to fight for her ranking match. She wanted to put on a spectacle that would be remembered before she left the Campus Martius. No one interesting wanted to fight her, save for Karmal, which would be . . . messy. If Gavin was good enough to withstand the fearsome Valaran diVolcanus, a training bout that was still talked about, then Sadira could make a match out of him. She was the best, and she prided herself in bringing out the best in those that she faced on the white sands. That was why she was better than brutes like Valaran; watching someone crush an enemy was only so entertaining. She could just imagine it . . . the roar of the crowd . . .

“Your new toy is escaping,” said Karmal, nodding toward Gavin, who was on the very threshold of the room now, leaving with a tray laden with food.

“Sadira don’t, just—” began Vintia.

But Sadira had set her mind on getting Gavin’s attention, and quickly. Before Vintia could finish her sentence, she had kicked off her shoes, leapt up onto the balustrade, and was running along it. Her balance was perfect, despite her speed. Heads turned as she sped along the carved wood, jumping to avoid a shocked-looking man leaning on the rail. The ripple of the crowd’s perception passed outward as she moved so that by the time that she was coiling to jump, people below were starting to react. It was a beautiful thing to see.

“Look out below!” she yelled as she jumped. People moved and just before she hit the ground, Gavin started to turn. Perfect, she thought.

<>

Gavin, heading back toward Omodo with a tray full of amazing food, heard a commotion behind him.

“What the—”

“Look out below!”

“Chosen’s hairy—”

“That crazy b—”

He turned, pulling the food protectively inward by instinct. His peers were nothing if not dramatic, and he did not want to lose the tray due to someone storming past. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of something big hurtling toward him as he turned. An attack? Gavin danced back, avoiding any potential collision, somehow weaving into the crowd of onlookers and keeping his hold on the food. He was shocked as a woman slammed into the ground in front of him, her violet eyes staring deeply into his. She was a shadow elf, grey-skinned and white-haired, and she smiled at him as she stood. His heart skipped a beat as he took her in and she opened her mouth to speak.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” a massive Gladiator growled, pushing through the crowd nearby. “You made me spill good wine.”

“Excuse me for a moment,” the woman to Gavin said, whirling to face the man looming over her. The crowd stepped back, and Gavin noticed the sudden appearance of several Grey-Robes at the fringes.

“This should be good,” said Ravius, appearing behind Gavin’s shoulder.

“Who the fuck do you think I am?” the shadow elf woman said, stepping right up into the big man’s space. He towered over her, but her voice cut through the noise, clear and strong, carrying the tone of challenge.

The man’s expression changed. People stepped away from him. He was large, definitely a Gladiator, but the anger faded from his expression immediately. Gavin could not help but be baffled.

“I—” he began.

“That’s not my name,” the woman said, her voice was quieter now, but it still cut across the silence.

“Sorry—”

“That’s not it either,” the woman said, stepping even closer.

“—Sadira,” said the big man after a long moment.

“That’s it, you can fuck off now,” Sadira said, turning back to Gavin.

He caught a look at her fearsome expression before it settled back into a smile. Her gaze seemed to soften as her eyes caught his again. This was Sadira then, a name he had heard often of late. She was breathtakingly beautiful, but there was something else, some quality that Gavin could only describe as presence about her.

“Hail, fellow Arenabound, I am Sadira Lacivia, the one and only,” she said to him.

“The one and only,” echoed Ravius, beside him.

Gavin was unable to find his voice for a moment. What is she doing? Gavin wondered. Is this some kind of trick?

“This is Gavin Orphanus,” boomed a loud voice from behind Gavin. Omodo. “Bringer of food!”

Gavin felt a real sense of relief as Sadira laughed as the big armodon took his tray of food. The tension evaporated at the crowd eased back toward normalcy. Her laugh was beautiful too.

“Pleased to meet you, Honored Gladiatrix,” said Gavin. “These are my friends, Ravius Vergerus and Omodo diYava.”

“Nice to meet you boys,” said Sadira.

“A pleasure,” said Ravius, as somberly as Gavin had ever seen him.

“Greetings,” said Omodo between bites.

Sadira smiled up at the armodon and then looked back to Gavin. “I have a proposition for you, Gavin. I need someone to fight for my match to rank out of novice. None of these other Gladiators will do. You were able to hold your own against Valaran in a bout; I think that you can offer me the challenge that I deserve. Even if you lose, it will bring you a lot of attention.”

“I’m not sure what to say,” answered Gavin, shaking his head. “Is this how you find all of your opponents?”

“At first, they found me,” said Sadira with a grin. “But I’m unbeaten on the fighting grounds and the practice grounds . . . and everywhere else.”

Sadira swiftly stepped in close to Gavin as she said the last, almost touching him. She kept eye contact. Of course, she smells good too, thought Gavin. Is this really what she wants from me? Is this some sick joke to her?

In the end, Gavin did need to fight another Gladiator for his ranking match. The Grey-Robes frowned on fighting known associates for the rank match out of novice, and Gavin hated the idea of challenging other fighters. This was convenient . . . and it would bring him some attention.

“I accept,” said Gavin.

Sadira smiled again, still standing very close. “Practice hard for me, Gladiator,” she said. “I won’t go easy on you in front of my fans. You’ll quickly learn why no one wants to face me, but I swear by the Firstblood that people will remember this match and your part in it.”

And with that, Sadira left, followed now by Karmal, who gave Gavin a hard glare, and Vintia, who nodded to Gavin and Ravius. Gavin was left shaking his head and with a growing feeling of discomfort as he realized that a lot of people were looking at him, appraising him or speaking in hushed tones. He felt blood rush to his cheeks.

“Do you want to get out of here?” asked Ravius.

“I don’t want to ruin it for you Ravius,” said Gavin, though he truly wanted nothing more than to go at that moment. “I know how much this party means to you.”

Ravius chuckled. “I don’t think that anything is going to top what just happened, in terms of drama. You ready to go, Omodo?”

“I have what I want,” said Omodo, nodding to the food.

“Thanks,” said Gavin feeling nothing but relief as he left with his friends left, discussing the coming match and everything that they knew about Sadira.

<>

Sadira was a light armor class Gladiatrix, trained as a charger and in druidic magic forms. Light armor meant less protection, but a focus on speed and maneuver. Chargers were trained to win the direct way, specializing in brutal offensive moves. Druidic magic allowed Sadira to heal herself even faster than most Gladiators as well as enhance her physical prowess with powerful enchantments. Her Thaom was impressive, and she could use it to increase her strength to rival that of massive Gladiators like Omodo. It was a combination that Sadira used to great effect.

Sadira used paired swords with a greatsword as an alternate. Ravius learned through some acquaintances that she was already training in the famed Sun and Moon style of paired weapons training, which emphasized swift strikes from unexpected angles to frustrate defense and bewilder offense. Gavin asked Master Ironwall to help him train to counter these moves.

Every day Gavin trained until he was exhausted, forgoing social engagements in favor of practice and rest. Ravius and Omodo pushed him hard, to the best of their abilities. Gavin stopped shying away from taking training bouts with Gladiators he did not know, testing himself against anyone. He did not win all of these bouts, but Gavin did not care; the variety of opponents helped hone his defensive skills to their best.

If Gavin made a good showing against Sadira, or even beat her, he would gain a lot of fame in among arena-goers. It was a good opportunity.

<>

“She has a reputation for cruelty,” said Ravius.

“They say that she likes to humiliate her foes,” added Omodo.

Gavin shrugged. “How is that different than what you do in the arena?”

“I do it to get under an opponent’s skin,” said Ravius. “Sadira does it to entertain the crowd.”

“Some say she is trained in paincraft,” said Omodo. “Though that might just be capital prejudice toward the city of Daer.”

Although he would not admit it to his friends, Gavin had read several books on Sadira’s home city since meeting her. Like Krass, Daer had survived the Reckoning and had quickly been incorporated into the empire during the initial wave of expansion, keeping much of its independence. Sadira’s mother was one of the most influential nobles of that city, and her lineage included several prominent Gifted and at least one Chosen.

Gavin shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, she is just another Valaran. I won’t let her humiliate me.”

But as confident as Gavin sounded, he was worried about his match with Sadira. He saw her in his dreams, obsessed the records of her career, and of all things, kept catching her scent as he walked through the Campus Martius.

<>

“Why are we following him around, again?”

“Psychological warfare, Vintia,” said Sadira, smiling as Gavin looked back at them.

She never got tired of watching his eyes widen as he caught sight of her. Omodo, the big armodon, waved at them. Sadira could not help but wave back.

“Your clothes don’t really come off as warlike,” said Karmal, snarling at Gavin. The flame-haired woman and Vintia both wore their training armor while Sadira was dressed an elegant halter top and skirt made of wrapped red silk.

“Maybe that’s the psychological part, Karmal,” returned Sadira.

Karmal favored her with a green-eyed glare but said nothing.

“Looks like they are buying runes,” Vintia said. “Just as I said.”

“You mean as Ravius told you?” Karmal asked.

“I met with Ravius for drink, nothing more,” Vintia sourly said.

“Too bad, he looks like he’s got quite the weapon tucked in that thong of his,” said Sadira.

Vintia turned red, looking around. She was more body shy than most Gladiators, perhaps as a result of her strict upbringing. Karnal chortled as she saw Vintia’s expression.

“Sorry, Vintia,” said Sadira, realizing that she had gone too far. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

“You don’t want to follow him in?” asked Karmal.

“No,” answered Sadira. “It is enough that he sees me, just briefly. I want to get in his head, but I also want him to have doubts as to my intentions.”

“We all have doubts about your intentions,” said Vintia, rolling her eyes.

<>

Gavin relaxed as Sadira and her friends passed the rune-forge without entering. He saw her frequently now, and could not help but wonder if she was spying on him. Even then he could not help but watch her as she walked away.

Ravius chuckled, drawing Gavin out of his thoughts. “She has you all wound up, little brother,” he said.

“I’ll be ready when the time comes,” Gavin said.

“Some men would kill to have the attention you are getting from her,” Ravius said.

“At least a couple of those regret it after facing her on the fighting grounds.” Omodo grinned.

“I should not have agreed to the match,” Gavin said. “This is too much chaos for me.”

“No, you made the right choice,” Ravius said. “Even if she beats you, the match will get you in front of a lot of fans. It is a great opportunity.”

Gavin, nodded, calming himself. Sadira was trying to get to him. Perhaps it was one of the secrets to her success.

“Shall we spend some victory coins?” asked Ravius.

Gavin nodded. He did not want to face Sadira with a deficit of enchanted equipment. Gladiators accumulated victory coins for each match they fought in, including the occasional extra coin from randomly selected spectators. These were spent primarily on runes, elemental stones, and enchantments for their weapons and armor. Regulations also limited the number of magical modifications to the Gladiators’ equipment.

“How many coins do you have?” Ravius asked.

“I haven’t spent any. I have twenty,” Gavin said.

“You’ve been saving up for a spell ward, haven’t you?” Ravius said.

“Yes,” said Gavin. “It might not be a crowd pleaser, but it is very strong.”

Spell-wards were used on shields and armor to help dissipate magical attacks. It was considered essential by most defenders.

“Boring,” said Ravius. “It also won’t help you very much against Sadira. She does not use very many attack spells. Only Grasping Roots or whatever they call it, the spell that grabs your feet with plant roots.”

“Entangle?” asked Omodo.

“The weaker version of that, I think,” said Ravius. “She only needs to slow her victims down for a second.”

Gavin could noy deny that Ravius was correct. A spell ward would not really help him against Sadira, whose primary offense was always direct attack powered by magically enhanced strength and speed. That left Gavin in an awkward position; should he choose his runes to give him an advantage in the next fight or should he stick with his original plan to buy get a spell ward?

A clerk must have noticed his confusion.

“Hello, Gladiators,” said the clerk, a brightly dressed androgynous figure with a shimmering rainbow mohawk. The clerk’s eyes lingered on Ravius for a moment, who favored them with a smile, before they turned to Gavin. “My name is Jayne. Can I help you with anything?”

“I—” began Gavin. “I’m about to have the fight of my life, and I have twenty victory coins.”

“Ranking fight?”

“Yes.”

“Ooo, very nice,” said Jayne. “I deal with this problem a lot. What is your opponent known for?”

“She’s druidic form, very high Thaom for our rank.”

Jayne raised a brow. “Are you a defender, by chance?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm. What were you considering?”

“—spell ward, but my opponent is not really known for using attack spells, so I am reconsidering.”

“Smart,” said Jayne. “I have several good options for you. There is the ever-popular armor-hardening rune. It spreads the force of impact and makes the armor harder to pierce. It is a good choice, but I saw Sadira fucking Lacivia fight an ogre heavy two months ago, and Gladiator . . . it did not help him at all. She ended up getting behind him and put her blades right through his kidneys.”

Gavin winced. As a medium armor class, his armor covered less and wasn’t nearly as thick. “I don’t mind hearing unusual options. What would you recommend, Jayne?”

Jayne grinned and leaned in close, whispering, “A trollodestone. It is an elemental gem that absorbs some of the power from each attack that hits, say, your shield.”

“So it will help me withstand powerful physical attacks?”

“Yes, but that’s not all,” continued Jayne. “This stone stores some of the energy and releases it when you hit someone with the object it is part of. Shield-slam, BOOM!”

“Oh, Jayne,” said Gavin. “That is the ancestor’s golden call right there!”

“Mmmm, I know it. Thank you for hearing me out. Ever since I saw Ebon Lotus use one against Bull Cleaver in the master league, I have been a big proponent. It will be twenty victory coins.”

Gavin nodded and thanked Jayne, leaving them to talk with Ravius. He paid his victory coins and consulted with the shop enchanters as to how best to mount the stone on his shield, settling on incorporating it in to the lion’s mane. As he left the shop, his head already dancing with the possibilities of the trollodestone, he noticed that Ravius was missing.

“He’d made a new friend,” said Omodo as Gavin looked up at him.

<>

On the day of her ranking match, Sadira Lacivia went forth, flanked by her two trusted companions Karmal and Vintia, weapons in hand, to see to her final preparations. She gathered fans and followers as she went, stopping to talk to eager arena-goers and friendly Gladiators alike, making it a procession. Sadira was not one to do things by half-measures, and while vanity played in to her behavior, she felt that the buildup to the match was part of her role as an entertainer.

The idea that Gavin might actually beat her never really crossed Sadira’s mind. She understood that defeat was a possibility but was not the type to consider it. She respected Gavin as a Gladiator but saw him as piece of her performance more than anything; that he was skilled would only serve to challenge her more and give her opportunity to prove her own power. She knew full well that most spectators did not enjoy a Gladiatrix who always seemed to fight opponents that were far beneath her. They craved, maybe even needed, a sense of a drama and passion.

“Is the veil really necessary?” asked Karmal as they neared the largest of the arenas in the Campus Martius.

“No,” said Sadira. “But I spent a lot of time getting it approved by the Deliberative, so I’m not going to give up on it now because you don’t approve.”

The veil in question was a Daeri shadow veil, worn in ancient Daer by brides or grooms given into marriage as tribute to the victor of a war. It was a striking veil of shadow and lace that accentuated rather than hid Sadira’s noble features.

Sadira was already adept at using magical charms and glamour to enhance her appearance, something that most Gifted women took an interest in long before the majority of their male counterparts. She spent an hour a day after she first met Gavin working on the perfect combination of glamours to enchant herself with for this occasion. Style was second nature to her; she took her secondary role as a performer quite seriously. Her thick hair was set into a dozen long war braids, each a tempting lure for an opponent to grab. The braids worked quite well with the black veil, she thought, glad that she could use a glamour to erect the complicated hairstyle in mere moments.

“Are you sure you’re not trying to flirt with him?” asked Vintia.

“Of course I am!” said Sadira. “First off, I do like the look of him, and I know I’ve made a strong impression on him. Secondly, keeping him flustered is part of my strategy; he is a cogimancer, after all.”

“Have you considered the moral implications?” asked Vintia.

“I am a Gladiatrix,” said Sadira. “The morals of my profession dictate that I play by the rules, that I seek victory, and above all, that I entertain the crowd. How then, am I being immoral?”

“What about personal morality?” asked Vintia. “Gavin doesn’t deserve these mind games.”

“Then you can meet him in the baths after the match, while Sadira and I celebrate her victory,” scoffed Karmal.

“Gladiatrices! We can discuss this later,” said Sadira, feeling a little ire. “Put your fighting faces on—it is time to greet our fans.”

And they did, for hundreds of spectators had arrived early, just to catch a glimpse of Sadira as she entered the arena. Upon seeing them, Sadira grinned and waved.

Sadira was a light armored Gladiatrix, a class that sacrificed all but a little protection for mobility and style. Arena regulations prohibited fighters of this armor class from covering more than a third of their body with armor, which also could not weigh more than a sixth of their body weight. Light Gladiators were crowd favorites, seen as more mobile and dynamic than heavier armor classes.

Sadira’s armor was made of overlapping plates of shining black metal, with gilded gold edging. It was an unusual design, one she had researched herself as a young Gladiatrix and had made for her own use as soon as it was allowed. Small etchings of scorpions, gold like the edging, could be found on the bracers and shoulder pads. Sadira loved scorpions, having fond memories of keeping them as pets when she lived with her family as a young girl. The armor left her torso and upper legs bare, tempting targets for anyone she faced. Her skimpy red cloth thong and bra offered no protection whatsoever aside from the small gold ring holding each together. These were designed both to tease the crowd and ensure that her enemies aimed at her temptingly unarmored vitals. Most of her opponents simply assumed that she did this to show herself off for the arena crowds, but they quickly learned that this was at least partially incorrect.

The plates of her armor covered the front of her legs below her thighs, ending in heavy boots with spiked toes that could turn her powerful kicks into a brutal weapon. Long bracers provided some elbow protection and a thicker metal ridge along the center so that she could attempt to parry with them. Impressive shoulder plates with stylized scorpions embossed into the metal flowed into a choker-styled gorget that protected her throat.

Aside from the obvious sex-appeal, Sadira felt that armor on the trunk of her body would be wasted; a light Gladiator was allowed too little protection there to be of reliable use against an attack that hits a vital area with the kind of force a Gladiator hit with. Thus she concentrated on protecting her arms, legs, neck, and shoulders with much heavier plates than she would normally be allowed. Her strategy was to protect her outer body and limbs from easy crippling attacks and random glancing hits, and to offer her torso as a tempting target to attackers. Her main defense as a light armor-class fighter was ensuring they never hit her. In addition, by pivoting, she could ensure that her more armored areas were always facing the direction of a likely attack, offering a greater degree of protection than most light armor as long as she was quicker and smarter than her opponent and able to anticipate the direction of attack. Her strategy was not without its weaknesses, of course, and the style often sparked debate among many fans of the Great Games who came to watch her.

Her weapons were elegant twin sabers, made in the “s” curved style of the pre-Reckoning elves of the Eastern Isles, forged from the same obsidian coloured metal as her armor. Their slim, curved blades were weighted slightly toward the end and tapered to a lethal point, making them suitable for both rapid thrusts and deadly slashes. Elegant half-basket hilts provided her hands with a little added protection.

After greeting the boldest of her fans, Sadira performed a series of moves with her weapon, more flourishes than true kata. Karmal and Vintia joined her after the first set. Live weapon exercises for audiences were rare on the Campus Martius, requiring Deliberative supervision, and the fans whooped in delight as she entertained them. By the time she entered the arena to go to her arming room, they were already frothing for the match.

<>

Unlike Sadira, Gavin wrestled with his confidence all day. He could not quite grasp Sadira’s intent with this match. She was a fearsome foe, to be sure, but unlike Valaran, she seemed quite friendly. Gladiators were supposed to be respectful toward each other, but the reality of the fighting grounds dictated that bitter rivalries and angry clashing were far more common than professional courtesy. Gladiator versus Gladiator matches were much rarer than battles against monsters and convicts, and consequently drew larger audiences. The arena masters carefully measured the popularity of each combatant and made sure the most exciting Gladiator entered last, to the greatest effect. It was that decision that left Gavin standing in the center of the arena first. It was much bigger than most of the other arenas in the Pits, one of three above-ground arenas used by the unranked Gladiators of the Campus Martius; he was a little awed by the size of the crowd. More than five thousand citizens were packed onto the stone benches. He could not see into the opulent private boxes, but he could sense that they were fully occupied as well. He smirked, thinking to himself that they must be here to see Sadira. He’d researched her previous battles, each one ambitious and spectacular, and found himself even more impressed. He certainly couldn’t blame the crowd for following her.

Ravius and Omodo accompanied Gavin to the arena, and he was grateful for that. At least he would have them to cheer for him.

Gavin went through his gear checks in a daze, dressed quickly in his arming room, and then waited for the Call to Arms. All the while, he tried to calm the storm of thoughts in his mind. Was Sadira trying to trap him or was she genuinely interested in him as a competitor? Did he have the skill to face one of the best Gladiatrices in his rank? Would he make a fool of himself trying? The trumpets sounded. The Call to the People? Had he missed the Call to Arms? Gavin rushed to his entrance, noting the frustrated look the attendant gave him. Had she been knocking this whole time? His entrance opened, and he jogged out onto the white sands. The brilliant sun beamed down on him from a cloudless blue sky. Not a bad day for a fight.

In Gladiator versus Gladiator matches, the least popular fighter enters first or starts on the fighting grounds; Gavin was very aware that this was him. As he reached the centre of the fighting grounds, he raised his fell-headed war-spear to salute the crowd as his name was announced, garnering some polite applause in spite of the lack of flourish. He squared his shoulders, trying to seem more impressive; he needed to show he was worthy.

At least they aren’t booing me, he thought, scanning the crowd.

There were a stunning number of people watching, an ocean of faces. He saw Omodo and Ravius in the stands, waving and shouting. He smiled at them. Then he caught sight of Vintia and Karmal; the former smiled while the latter scowled and made a throat-slitting motion at him.

Gavin shook his head, turning to Sadira’s entrance.

<>

From her own arming room, Sadira watched Gavin as he stood on the fighting grounds, shielded from his sight by the deep shadows of her own entrance-way. She felt a slight thrill as she watched him; he looked magnificent as the light shone on the silver-white lion on his breastplate and shield, like a storybook hero come to life. The sapphire eyes on the lions were a nice touch and would be even better once he could afford to have them enchanted. Gavin’s austere, chiseled features looked even better in his armor, and she noted see that he did not seem to be pouring Sui-Thaiune into any overly grotesque enhancements like many fighters did. The fans came to the games to watch monsters die, not to cheer them on.

The Call to the People changed pitch, and Sadira’s entrance gate opened. She purposefully did not look at Gavin as she slowly crossed the fighting grounds, swinging her hips coquettishly as she walked past him. To her surprise she kept his gaze on her face, still and ready for battle; his focus was better than expected.

Interesting, she thought. I can see why that bastard Valaran found him challenging now.

At the announcement of Sadira’s name, the audience exploded into loud, raucous cheers. She let out a wordless war scream, like a hawk’s piercing cry crossed with a banshee’s dread wail, as she came to the arena’s center, raising her slim and elegant obsidian-colored swords, their curved blades shining in the sun, to salute her fans. They answered her with cheers and adoration. Gavin seemed mostly unfazed by her display, though she did catch his eyes sweeping her form.

<>

Gavin’s tried to keep calm as Sadira turned to face him. Dimly, he heard the announcers call out the specifics of the match and then he and Sadira saluted the crowd together. Try as he might, he could not deny that she was striking. Her armor was revealing, as he would expect from a light, but he had to admit that he liked the style, if not the sexualization. Weirdly, Sadira’s face was partially framed by a veil of shadows, but he could see her crimson lips set in a half-mocking smile. Did she always wear a veil when she fought? It was beyond his understanding. He stood there, trying not to look like a fool as he was struck by the strangeness of it all.

“Is that a spear or are you just pleased to see me?” The crowd cheered at Sadira’s taunt.

Gavin knew full well that she often used her beauty to tease and dazzle male opponents, showing them to be foolish and weak, easy prey for a Gladiatrix of her caliber. He was far more annoyed at the reaction of the crowd to such crude humor. Of course, they love it coming from her, he thought. If I made the same jest, they would laugh at me, not with me.

Banter would not be in his favor, so Gavin did not answer. Sadira frowned at his silence, which was good; he did not want her to dictate the tempo of the match. The call to battle sounded as he refused her taunt, and the fight began. Gavin felt Thaom flow into him and sensed it flow into Sadira as well. The two Gladiators stared at each other, eyes meeting across the white sand of the fighting grounds. Neither made a move immediately. This was unexpected for Sadira, who often blitzed her opponents to start a match. A hush fell over the audience as they watched, waiting.

Gavin wove Focus, sharpening his senses. Time seemed to move a little slower, and everything seemed to become even clearer. He could see Sadira breathe, the tiny movements of her eyes, watched as she wove a Primal Surge enchantment and cast it, the power of it flowing into the pattern of her self, strengthening her body.

Gavin could hear Ravius and Omodo shouting his name and Karmal instructing Sadira to disembowel him. Still Sadira did not move, as patient as any defender. Gavin smirked. So she wants to throw me off by waiting, he guessed. Well, let’s see how she likes my offense.

He wove a Mind Blast spell, sending a rush of Thaom through the spell pattern, and cast it at Sadira. Sadira’s head jerked as the spell overcame her resistances and a small trickle of blood dripped out of her nose. The crowd gasped, but Sadira was on the move before Gavin could attack again, letting out an ear-splitting howl as she hurled herself toward him with incredible speed. Her raised his shield, set to meet her, and then she was on him, her swords a blur as she tested his defenses striking high and low, moving around him with the speed of a viper and the grace of a dancer.

<>

In the most luxurious of the private boxes, a woman’s sly red lips curled into a smile. The Chosen Giselle, called the Silken Scorpion in her days as a fighter, read the scene as if it were a familiar act in a well-loved play. It was not what she’d expected. She was here to watch Sadira, partly because she still loved the Great Games, but also because she hoped to gain influence by supporting the best fighters she could find. Sadira was already showing great potential, and Giselle wanted to see her perform. Nestled amidst rich tapestries and soft cushions, a hook-toothed net and life-eating trident lying within arm’s reach, she shook her head at the youthful antics of the Gladiatrix; at least she would be entertained today.

Neither Sadira nor Gavin moved until a heartbeat after the trumpet’s roar died, Time seemed to flow lazily for them as they looked on each other. Then the defender struck, and Sadira pounced. The defender was good, if a little boring. He gave ground when he needed to, pushing back when he could. Sadira’s blades found a few holes in his defenses, but all she did was scratch him. Still, her ferocity was impressive and the crowd cheered her on as she pounded the man.

Even from the distance that she watching and through the protective ward-screens, the Chosen could sense Sadira’s Thaom. It was very strong for a novice ranked Gladiatrix, and the veins on her legs and arms glowed with green power as she became monstrous strong.

<>

Gavin could feel the power behind Sadira’s swings. A strike threatened to batter his shield aside, opening him up for a disemboweling slash, but he moved with the force of the attack, staying out of the way of the lethal follow up.

“Nice,” said Sadira, but before Gavin could respond she kicked a cloud of sand up at him, He back away, losing track of her for just a moment. He felt her blade rake his side and quickly turned catching the follow up with his shield. He then forced her back with a thrust of his spear before she could strike again. Angry, he lashed out with a Mind Blast spell, but this time her will met his squarely and she resisted the spell.

“Don’t get mad darling,” she quipped. “We’ve only begun to dance.”

“I’m here to fight,” growled Gavin, brandishing his spear. To his elation the crowd cheered him as well.

Sadira leapt in, letting loose another war scream, bringing her black blades down. Gavin braced himself for impact, his grip on his spear tightening. As he thrust his shield upwards to meet her swords, Sadira nimbly contorted to avoid his spear’s jagged tip. Her twin blades slammed into Gavin’s shield with the force of a runaway stallion, sending sparks into the air as metal screeched off metal, driving him to his knees in front of her.

“Just where I want you!” she taunted him, exulting in the fight, while unleashing a flurry of swift attacks that rained on Gavin’s bright, lion-headed shield like pounding sledgehammers.

Such was the ferocity of her attack that he was nearly undone before he could regain his feet. His shield met her blades as he gave ground. His barbed spear darted out from underneath the shield in answer to her assault, sudden and deadly as a striking serpent, and Sadira was forced to dance backwards out of reach.

“Come on, you can do better than that. What use is a man’s spear if he can’t—” Sadira began, interrupted as Gavin decided to attack, swinging his broad-bladed spear in a wide slashing arc that passed within a finger’s width of hitting her.

“Not bad, not bad,” said Sadira, striking a dramatic pose just outside of Gavin’s reach. The crowd cheered all around them. “I knew you would be a worthy challenge.”

Really? Gavin was pleasantly surprised by her words and hesitated when he could have cast another Mind Blast. Is she being serious?

Sadira, possibly seeing him lose focus, darted in, lunging with her left-hand blade. Gavin deflected the attack with his left-hand blade, but was barely able to get his shield in front of the follow up slash as she whirled and attacked again. The attack hit his shield squarely, and the force of it pushed him back. Sadira moved with him as he staggered, like ripperfish drawn to blood, winding up for a powerful attack. Gavin caught himself though, and struck out with his shield, ramming the Gladiatrix. As his shield struck her, the trollodestone flashed, and the power that stored within strengthened his attack. Sadira went flying into the air, wide-eyed, with her mouth agape in shock.

“How do you like me now?” said Gavin, enjoying the shocked reaction of the crowd as Sadira landed, just barely keeping her balance.

“You know, Gavin,” she answered, pointing at him with her blade, eyes glimmering. “I think I love you.”

“Wha—” he began but she was on him again.

She came in low, so swift that her feet kicked up little geysers of sand as she powered forward. He anticipated her strike as she came up, blades driving at his legs and moved to block but was caught off guard as she suddenly shifted, leaping up. He started to whirl, seeing that she was going to land behind him. Then he felt her blades slash into his back, just before the haft of his spear connected with her leg, sweep her leg. She did not fall completely, but was forced to roll back over her shoulder as Gavin staggered away from her, feeling the pain of the brutal cuts and the blood run down his back. The crowd roared.

Gavin grimaced and gritted his teeth as his swift-footed opponent came nimbly to her feet; she answered his pain with a fiendish grin, crimson lips shining through her black veil, and then charged toward him again.

She attacked at a more measured pace this time, her twin swords testing his defenses, seeking to find a way past his shield and armor to taste her opponent’s flesh. Despite his pain, Gavin matched her movements with his own, bright shield and barbed spear dancing with her blood-hungry blades. They whirled and clashed, probing and testing each other, looking for weakness. Sadira cut him again, drawing blood with a swift slash, but it was mild compared to the ruinous stroke on his back. Gavin walloped her with his Mind Blast twice more, and on the second attempt, she hissed and backed off, blood dripping from an elegant pointed ear. She shook her head and then leapt back at him.

Thrust. Clang. Slam. Slash. Duck. Duck again. Grunt. Slash, whirl, cleave.

After a long moment locked in combat, they parted, both breathing hard and bathed in sweat. Gavin felt the touch of her blade twice more before he drove her away with a series of swift thrusts. The Gladiatrix was forced to defend, dodging and parrying his ferocious attack. The crowd gathered in the stands roared their approval, surging to their feet; such a display of skill and energy was rare at any rank.

She’s too fast, thought Gavin. I need to slow her down before she cuts me to ribbons.

It was Gavin who broke the stalemate. Before she could close with him again, he channeled power into a Mind Blast spell, pouring as much Thaom as he could into the cast. Sadira was caught off-guard, for Gavin’s technique, owing to his strong Thune, was well in advance of most Gladiators of their rank. She staggered, shaking her head as her brain began to overheat and hemorrhage; she backed away, blood dripping from her nose. Gavin followed up with a quick spear thrust, and she was forced to give ground, parrying desperately. She channeled life magic into a pattern of healing, letting it course through her body, helping her recover even faster than her gifted constitution normally would.

“Cogimancy!” she said as she recovered, dancing around him. “Somehow I did not expect someone like you to be into mind games!”

“You asked for a fight, Sadira.” He smirked. “You told me to give my best. Don’t complain if it is too much for you!”

“Oh, don’t worry, Gladiator,” she snarled, voice growing into an inhuman shout as she darted forward. “I CAN TAKE ANYTHING YOU’VE GOT!”

<>

Swift-footed Sadira closed eagerly, swinging her twin blades in a storm of terrible blows that Gavin barely managed to weather. She did not strike him with these, but this time she anticipated his counterattack, and as he thrust his broad bladed spear from underneath his shield, Sadira slipped around him and slashed his side. Gavin was saved partly by armor and partly by footwork, but Sadira’s blade came away red, and Gavin was forced to discharge his trollodestone just to keep her off him. Gavin felt weak and realized the wound was bad, as Sadira turned to face him, triumph in her eyes.

And yet, Gavin still stood, blood dripping down his back and side, pain etched upon his face; the crowd cheered his endurance. She had expected him to falter from such brutal wounds, but he did not. His eyes met hers defiantly; she grinned in response. This would be a triumph for the ages.

She kept her eyes on his, watching his expression change from defiance to shock as she lifted one of her bloodied swords toward her crimson lips and, pushing aside the veil, ran her dexterous tongue along the blade, tasting the metal and her champion’s blood. She licked her lips slowly and suggestively, grinning at him when she’d finished. The audience surged, cheering, from their seats at this, reveling along with her.

Gavin just stood there, staring. He thinks I’m mad, Sadira thought. Good.

<>

In the stands, Karmal rolled her eyes. “Sadira is such a sucker for the dramatic. A shadow elf babe licking blood off her blade is so overdone!”

“There’s no such thing as cliché in the arena, Karmal” replied bright-eyed Vintia beside her, quoting an oft-used maxim. “And I feel obliged to point out that the audience loved it.”

<>

The roar of the crowd as she licked her blade seemed to kindle Sadira’s bloodlust to greater heights, and she darted forward again, agile and deadly. Sword-blows rained down on Gavin from all sides as his deadly opponent made use of her superior mobility to dance around him and attack from multiple angles. As she did so, the shadows seemed to weave around her, making it harder for Gavin to anticipate her movements: shadow-weaving, a magical talent known to some shadow elves.

Sadira’s twin black blades, slender and curved, were never at rest; twice more they kissed him, leaving with him with bloody, painful cuts. Each wound was accompanied by frantic cheers from the spectators. Yet try as she might, Sadira could not fool Gavin into making a major mistake again, and as the rock endures the storm, he stoically weathered the pain caused by her attacks. In return Gavin staggered the Gladiatrix with another powerful Mind Blast spell and sought to pierce her through with a swift spear lunge. His wounds slowed him down though, and Sadira was able to parry the point before it could pierce her, and dance away to clear her head.

Before she could move back to the attack, the Call to the Ancestors sounded, signaling the end of the allotted time. Sadira let her blood-drenched swords drop to the ground, her chest heaving from the efforts of the match. Gavin slowly lowered his shield. He too was breathing hard, body glistening with sweat and blood. He looked over to his opponent, expecting to see the same anger he had seen in the fight on her face, but he was met with a nod of respect and a smile.

“BOTH WARRIORS STILL STAND,” rumbled the voice of the announcer. “THE PEOPLE WILL DECIDE THE WINNER!”

“SHOW YOUR SUPPORT FOR GAVIN ORPHANUS, THE MAN WITH THE SHIELD,” the announcer boomed. Gavin raised his spear to salute the crowd, trying not to wince as he straightened his back and disturbed the half-healed cuts. The crowd cheered, and many of them thrust their thumbs into the air. Gavin’s heart pounded; was it enough to win?

“AND FOR SADIRA LACIVIA, THE SHADOW ELF WITH TWO SWORDS.”

Cutting the air with an elaborate flourish, leaving an X of blood in front of her, Sadira raised her gleaming swords in salute. The crowd’s response was deafening; she drank in their praise as they showered it upon her. Gavin could not see a single member of the audience, other than Ravius and Omodo, who did not show their thumbs for her, even those who had also voted for him. Even though he knew Sadira was a tough opponent, and he had not been expected to win, Gavin felt a twinge of disappointment. This was his first recorded loss, on his first ranking match no less, a fact which stung him more than Sadira’s blades. Very few arena champions had more than a handful of losses on their records, and he had hoped to avoid one this early in his career. He wondered what would happen now; would he have to repeat the ranking test? It was painful to have given it his all and still lose.

<>

Sadira was elated, flush with victory. She had expected to win, and she was right, but what a fight! The crowd had chosen her, they always did, but Gavin had given her a match for the ages. People would be talking about this fight for some time.

“SADIRA WINS!” the announcer thundered. The crowd cheered and chanted her name.

“Nicely done,” Gavin said, quiet and distant, while bowing to Sadira. It was a traditional bow, low and dignified, signifying respect to an honored opponent.

Sadira recognized the hurt in Gavin’s eyes as he bowed to her; she felt a sharp tug upon her heart and realized that her cruel drama had played out poorly in this respect. He had performed masterfully and yet lost, and that had to hurt.

“Hey, you did well, Gavin,” she said, giving him the most graceful of salutes. The crowd thundered in approval. “I could not have put on such a glorious match without you.”

Gavin gave her a small smile, which sent a strange thrill through her. “Thanks.”

“I would have a rematch some time, here or on the training grounds,” said Sadira. “Maybe next time you will get the best of me.”

“Maybe,” said Gavin. “Enjoy your victory, Sadira.”

The two Gladiators saluted the crowd once more. Gavin limped off the field while Sadira gave a last series of salutes to her cheering fans. And yet despite the adulation of the spectators, which she had always craved above all else, her mind was elsewhere.

<>

After being examined by the arena healer, Gavin eased out of his armor, careful to disturb his healing wounds as little as possible. He looked at the cuts on his back, impressed at the damage that Sadira had done. His body ached, and he was looking forward to the baths as soon as he stopped bleeding.

It was hard for him to swallow the loss. Though he had fought to the best of his skills, Sadira had wounded him badly, survived his best attacks, and won the crowd handily. The only thing that kept him from feeling despondent and sinking into a pit of despair was that he knew that he had put his best effort in and that she had complimented him.

She meant it, too, thought Gavin. I guess she isn’t as cruel as everyone seems to think.

Despite the pains and aches of the fight, Gavin did not experience the shaking tremors or worries that he had after his fight with the heretic or Valaran. He felt content, almost languid as he made his way to the baths. The warm, rose-scented waters felt truly glorious as he sank into them. Outside his bathing room he heard voices, but he was too tired to care. He started relax into a half-doze when he heard someone clear her throat. His eyes snapped open, and then blinked in surprise as he saw Sadira standing at the foot of the bath, gloriously naked.

“I decided that I couldn’t wait for that rematch,” she said, looking him in the eye.

“I think you have me beat on this one too,” chuckled Gavin, drinking in her beauty and feeling the sudden rush of arousal. He gestured for her to join him.

“Let’s see if we can make this one as memorable as the first then,” she said, sliding into the water and moving into his embrace.

His lips met hers and it was truly sweeter than victory.

Chapter Nine: Dreadwood

1140/05/26 AR, Dreadwood Junction, a crossroads town in the Dreadwood with a small, private arena

“It is well known that independently owned arenas are prone to numerous abuses. Collusion, favoritism, nepotism, and all other forms of corruption can be found in these private arenas. However, it would be a very unpopular move to close them down without providing an alternative. Think of the crowding and wait times in the Campus arenas if lower-ranked Gladiators were forced to stay there until they were recruited by a faction team. Think also of the many citizens of the Domains who do not have easy access to public arenas who would thus be cut off from the Great Games. We cannot recommend that these arenas be shut down; instead, we must work harder to regulate them.” Conclusion to a report prepared to the Arena Reform Committee, Deliberative branch 459 AR

The massive hammer came down as Gavin threw himself forward to block. He was too late, and the heavy weapon slammed into Sadira before she could recover from her attack, sending her sprawling with a sickening crunch. Gavin was the first to her side, with Omodo, hammer in hand a close second.

“Ouch,” Sadira groaned, sitting up slowly. She pulsed with Thaom and wove a healing spell, making faces as she shifted her body.

“Sorry, Sadira,” said Omodo, his large eyes downcast.

Gavin suppressed a smile. He had been training and sharing the rest of his life with Sadira for several months while he continued his training in the Iron Bulwark school and she finished the Sun and Moon school. Over the months, she had simply brought him into her orbit, bringing both Ravius and Omodo along with him. Sadira’s long-term plan was to leverage her growing fame to increase the profile of the other Gladiators in their small group and join the Faction Leagues as a team. It was an admirable plan in Gavin’s eyes and not only because of her desire to stay together.

“Not your fault,” Sadira said with a shake of her head. “Had you not hit me right then, I was going to slice the back of your leg.”

Sadira, and by extension all of them, now always practiced with live weaponry and a Keystone when possible. As a result, their training sessions had become not only grueling but exceptionally exhilarating to onlookers, drawing larger and larger crowds of fans to the grounds.

Sadira’s eyes flicked to Gavin, hardening. He knew what was going to come next. For as much as he enjoyed her company, she did have a quick temper.

“Where were you, Gavin?” Sadira picked herself up off the sand of the training ground, drawing a few cheers from her fans. Omodo, standing over her, tried again to apologize for knocking her over, but she quieted him with a raised finger, her gaze never leaving Gavin.

Gavin shook his head. Though passionate and competitive at all times, Sadira was in an especially foul mood today because of their new surroundings; she had taken an intense dislike to Dreadwood Junction, the swampy crossroads town where they had decided to start the next phase of their career. It was small but busy town situated where two major roads crossed the expansive Dreadwood Forest, a wild place which still bore the taint of the unfettered magic used during the Reckoning. Its trees were often strangely and maliciously twisted, with its darkest depths at the heart of the wood being home to exceptionally dangerous creatures. Arena masters from all over the Domains hired teams of mercenaries to venture into the Dreadwood and capture these beasts for use in their games. Even some of the more eccentric Chosen were occasionally also seen within its borders, hunting for prey amid the scarred trees.

But beyond the exotic locale, the problem in this case stemmed from the fact that Gladiators themselves often had little say in the fights they were offered in private arenas. A marked difference from the Campus Martius, where Gladiators could sign up for a variety of matches or even ask the office of the Arena Registrar to set up a match according to their own specifications. Young Gladiators arriving to such places often chafed at the sudden lack of freedom offered in private arenas. Even worse, a star such as Sadira would be especially unhappy when her career stagnated in the hands of an arena master like Meady Mox. Reforms were often made to address these concerns, but they seemed to have little effect, perhaps because those who have the power to change the system cannot agree on how to do so.

“Well?” Sadira’s anger was intense, but Gavin knew it would be short lived; she had a natural love of the dramatic that he was already getting used to. “You just let him knock me down! How in the bloody Reckoning am I supposed to survive fighting a giant tomorrow if you stand still like a statue?”

“Are you sure?” Gavin asked.

“What do you mean?” Sadira demanded, kicking the sand. By now she had already analyzed how she had failed and already knew his answer, but Gavin knew that she wanted to hear it from him, though he could not fathom why.

Omodo and Vintia walked away, talking about their strategy for the next bout. They joined Ravius, who was eating his lunch nearby, watching other Gladiators going about their training and conditioning.

“Let’s walk through this,” Gavin said. “What were you expecting to happen?”

“We move together, I jump in and strike—which I did—then you block his retaliatory strike, which you didn’t,” she said, though without any of her previous heat. “And I ended up knocked on my ass.”

“It was a big hit,” Gavin replied, though he knew that being hit did not bother Sadira. “But from my perspective, we did not move together. We kept pace until you decided to strike, but then you moved out of reach and Vintia interposed. I can’t get between you and your opponent if you are too far away.”

“He’s right,” Vintia called from across the practice ground, clearing having kept an ear on their conversation. “I saw you pull apart from him, and I took advantage. Had you been a step closer . . .”

“Ugh, you’re both right,” Sadira grumbled, her attention shifting over towards Gavin. “I’m sorry, Gavin. I’m not quite used to working as a team just yet. There’s so much to learn. What can I do to improve?”

“The first problem is that Vintia hit me with her Frost Snap spell,” Gavin explained. “Which slows me down, when it works. Then you pull ahead and I can’t catch up. You need to watch your speed, and check your position if you are going to rely on me for a block. For my part, I can also try to signal if you get too far ahead of me.”

“Ugh, I don’t like this,” Sadira growled a second time, frustration visible in her expression. “I am not used to weighing so many details in a bout.”

“We will do fine against the giant,” Gavin assured her, referring to their upcoming match, their first as a pair, against the infamous Turg, a giant that had survived many matches and even won several, which was a rarity in most arenas. Dreadwood Junction was a town full of woodworkers but also a major stop on the Great Eastern Way, the largest road in the Domains that stretched from Krass to Marius’s Wall far to the east. It was the largest independently owned arena near the capital. Having such a brutal monstrosity was a source of pride for the locals, pride which would transfer to the Gladiators that beat him in a good match. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I agree on the signals,” Sadira said, her tone more thoughtful now. “But I can’t always stop to check what you are doing or hear what you say. I hear most of the big teams use cogimancy to enhance communication. Can you use your magic to link our minds?”

“. . . Yes, I can,” Gavin replied with a nod after a moment of thought. “I know several spells that can do that. But you will have to learn bits of the spell pattern as well. Otherwise, any cogimancer will be able to ‘listen’ to our communications.”

“Why the hesitation, love?” Sadira teased. “Don’t tell me that you’re afraid of all the dirty little thoughts that I will hear when we link mind to mind?”

Gavin chuckled; thoughts spilling over into a simple mindlink was rare, but Gavin was still hesitant about such things after accidentally linking with the Scornbound Olek Agvarson as the man died. “It doesn’t work that way. I am just cautious when it comes to telepathy, even simple spells; it can be very intrusive.”

“You don’t need to worry about that with me, Gavin. But I appreciate your respect for my boundaries.”

“We should probably get some rest after the next bout, Sadira.”

“I’m of a mind to do something other than rest . . .” Sadira said mischievously as she looked him in directly the eye. It was a look that he had grown to know well, a promise and a challenge, and it set his heart beating hard. “Besides, I’m in no mood to sleep with our fight being so soon tomorrow. We haven’t even had a chance to unpack, let alone settle!”

“Well, this is the only match the arena master offered to us. We can’t change that.”

“How did we end up with a rotten worm like Meady Mox as an arena master?” Sadira’s expressive face twisted in anger again. “I should have done more research into this place; Dreadwood seemed so perfect for us at first glance, and I allowed it to blind me. I’d expected us to be a blessing to a sleepy arena such as this. We’re guaranteed to draw renewed crowds and glorious matches. I filled an arena this size before I was even Rank One! But that man has the gall to tell me that I either have to wait six months or fight two days after I get here.”

“I’m sure once he sees us fight, he will be confident that we can entertain the locals,” Gavin said evenly, though he did not want to downplay their problems with the arena master. Karmal, Sadira’s fiery red-headed friend, had filed a complaint about the man with the Deliberative after their first meeting.

“I’d like to gut that little bully!” Sadira made vicious twisting motions with her swords. “No joke. Ravius found out that Mox gives matches to women who do him . . . favors, Gavin. Disgusting! I really want to know what he did to get Karmal to complain about him, but she won’t tell me. When he finally gets charged with abusing his position, I hope that the Deliberative sentences him to fight me in the arena. Though I suppose if that greasy, vile, slime of a man laid a hand on Karmal, he might not even live to see that!”

“I hope that is not the case,” Gavin said, even though he was uneasy about the subject. “No arena master would live through trying to grope a Gladiatrix, especially one like Karmal. He would be missing both his hands in the blink of an eye.”

“And likely something else in the heartbeat that followed afterwards,” Sadira added with a shake her of head. “Maybe then the Deliberative would then take the complaints about favoritism seriously.”

“Maybe,” Gavin replied with a shrug before shifting his head to indicate the sands. He was uncomfortable with the subject of Mox and Karmal; the fierce Gladiatrix had rebuffed all of their offers of help though. “But those are problems for later. Right now, we need to keep preparing for our fight tomorrow, and I have a new strategy I want to try.”

“You have my attention,” Sadira replied as she dropped the subject, her focus visibly returning to her as she followed his gaze. “What is on your mind?”

“That we fight closer together this time,” he explained. “Instead of screening you from afar, I’ll stick with you as you move. Though you will need to try to keep Vintia between you and Omodo so I can respond to both of them as quickly as possible. That is also why I would like you to use your magic to speed my movements. It’ll give me an edge in reacting to them as well as keeping up with you.”

“Hmm, that’s interesting idea,” Sadira said with a smile as she considered his plan, eventually beginning to nod in agreement. “If we can gain an advantage in mobility to work against their heavy armor . . .”

Gavin returned the woman’s smile with one of his own. “Then we will be able to do the same against the giant.”

<>

“I must confess that I am surprised to see you here, Gladiatrix,” Meady Mox said with a smile, letting his eyes drink in the sculpted form before him. “I heard that you reported me to the Deliberative.”

“I did,” Karmal said. “They told me they required proof before they could act.”

Mox laughed. “You should have listened to my offer, Karmal. I set the matches here, and you were stupid enough to make an enemy of me. You’re done here.”

“Perhaps then I could make amends,” Karmal said as she stepped closer to him.

“You think I would trust any amends you look to make?” Mox replied with a scowl as he immediately took a step backwards. “After your . . . baseless accusations?”

Mox had no doubt that Karmal could rip him in half, even without her magic. But he knew Gladiators well. Despite her tremendous physical power, she was helpless before him. It seemed she understood that, too.

“What I think is that you are a . . . pragmatic man,” Karmal replied slowly, her brow furrowing as she watched him retreat. “One who values a favor for a favor.”

Mox could not help but smile as she seemed to struggle to drag the words out of herself. He wasn’t sure what to make of Karmal, especially after the trouble that she had already caused him, so he did not ask for what she expected.

“Are we trading favors now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. “In that case then, I would like you to accompany me to my personal box to watch your friend’s upcoming match.”

“Wait, I didn’t mean to—” Karmal started to say.

“I have not asked for anything inappropriate Gladiatrix,” Mox interrupted with an upraised hand. “This is just a simple gesture of respect on your part. I don’t want to force anything upon you, and I don’t need you to be seen with me. Think of it as a way to earn my trust.”

“Then why this match?” Karmal asked, looking visibly discomforted. “My friends will be expecting me to cheer.”

Mox simply shrugged in return. “I have my reasons. If you want to earn your way back into my good graces, this is where you start.”

Meady Mox enjoyed punishing Gladiators who did not bow to his superior position, especially uppity divas like Sadira. He wanted to see how Karmal reacted during the fight.

He watched Karmal pause as she considered his request, enjoying the power he held in that moment. Finally, she spoke again. “Fine. I will see you there.”

Mox let out a long breath as he watched her go. Karmal was interesting, even if he wondered about her true motivations. He looked forward to watching the match with her. Giants were expensive fodder, but this beast was particularly tough and aggressive representation of his species. Enough so that Mox had seen the cause to invest in armor and even a heavy, giant-sized, club once the beast had defeated a few Gladiators. He was going to enjoy watching Turg squash Sadira and her partner. Hopefully, it would teach her and any other upstarts watching some respect for his position. Even more so, he would see how Karmal reacted to her friend being hurt. Unless he was mistaken, Mox suspected that the flame-haired Gladiatrix was willing to put ambition above friendship. Something he could leverage to utmost advantage. Both for his own pleasures and position.

Sometimes my own brilliance amazes me, he thought as he considered the fight ahead.

Since he was not technically forcing Sadira and Gavin to fight the giant, the match counted as voluntary, and the Deliberative could not blame any unfairness in it against him. She had known exactly what she was signing up for. Sadira and her partner would have to fight several beastmen alongside the giant. They would be quickly worn down defending against the fast, aggressive beastmen and the massive, powerful giant. There was a very good chance that they would lose.

Mox felt a tingle in his loins when he fantasized about making the fight a Deathmatch so he could watch Sadira’s pretty face as the crowd gave the thumbs down. Sadly, he lacked that capacity; the Deliberative took a much more direct hand in any match where a Gladiator’s potential death was sanctioned.

“Of course, if she does win, there’s always Bella,” Mox mused, smiling as he sat down to immerse himself in paperwork. “That would be a match to remember.”

Chapter Ten: Giantsbane

1140/05/28 AR, Dreadwood Junction

“Some say the Great Games predate the end of the Reckoning. The ancient amphitheater at Dreadwood Junction provides ample evidence of this; it is a gruesome testament however; this arena has the air of ritual sacrifice with little pretense of valor.” Chosen Mazurin

Sadira surveyed the audience from a little window-slit in the Arming Room as an attendant painted a stylized red scorpion onto her back. She smiled at the thought of descending through the crowd and springing into the arena, weapons in hand, like some invincible heroine from the old legends of the games.

“I have a good feeling about this match,” she said to Gavin.

“It is a decent crowd,” Gavin replied. “The arena is unusual though; I will miss the sand beneath my feet.”

The ancient arena in Dreadwood was built around a natural amphitheater situated in the middle of the town. Hard grey stone had been carved into large “steps” that served as seating for the spectators; the stonework was so regular and smooth that most people assumed it had been shaped with magic. The fighting space in the arena was about twenty yards across, semi-circular like the seats and also made out of hard grey stone. A kind of pale, blue-green moss lined the bottom of the arena instead of the traditional white sand. The arena master felt this moss was nearly as effective at absorbing the blood spilled in the games, and it saved a great deal of money, despite complaints from the fans and Gladiators. In some places, the grey stone had been stained with blood or charred by magic, giving the whole arena the air of an ancient ruin that spoke of blood sacrifices to old Gods and other, blasphemous rites best left forgotten. It was an aura that local patrons claimed was part of its charm and refused any suggestion to change it otherwise.

A team of acrobats tumbled across the fighting grounds, part of the pre-match entertainment. They were marvelously agile and colorfully dressed, tumbling across the sands in increasingly complex and daring patterns. The crowd cheered as the dazzling display reached a climax with a trio of acrobats tossed into the air where they whirled in graceful synchronicity before giving in to gravity.

The crowd is nicely worked up, Sadira noted. I will make them remember this day.

Most of the people in lower rows were well dressed and well mannered; Ravius had told her only the town’s upper class could afford regular seats. The front row of spectators, sitting level with the fighting ground with a barely visible ward wall between them and the combatants, were the most prominent citizens of the town. For many of them it was just another day at the arena; they were mostly there to show off their wealth and social station, and to network with their peers. Sometimes they seemed more excited by the acrobats that took to the field between fights or in conducting business with their peers.

“Think of the moss as local color,” she said to Gavin. “Every arena is different. We will get used to this one.”

“I just wish we had more time to get used to it.”

The back row benches were notably rowdier in comparison, tightly packed with brawny laborers who worked in the lumber mills, a variety of travelers, and anyone else who could not afford regular seats. Sadira could read their anticipation in the animated way they talked with their neighbors, faces flush with excitement. To them, this was a special occasion, a rare indulgence that cost weeks, if not months of pay, and they were prepared to enjoy every minute of it. She watched them carefully for a moment, drinking in their anticipation. These were her kind of fans, already applauding the acrobats with gusto; this match would not disappoint them.

“I agree with that,” Sadira said. “But after we kill his giant, Mox won’t be so quick to dismiss us.”

Sadira smiled. She looked forward to the challenging match ahead. All of her earlier irritation had evaporated. Even her anger at Meady Mox was lost as the desire to fight took hold of her. She would make sure that even the most jaded of the Dreadwood arena regulars would remember this fight; the true fans in the back rows who’d scraped and saved would get more than their money’s worth. She wanted them all to remember seeing her here, perhaps looking back to this day when she took her place among the Chosen.

<>

As the Call to Arms beckoned them from the arming room Gavin was still trying to quell his nerves. He did not want to fail Sadira in their first fight together. He had taken a good look at the giant earlier in the day; the other Gladiators in town had warned him that Turg was a mean beast, having survived a dozen fights so far. Gavin had been stunned by the size of the shaggy creature. It would be a difficult enough fight for two Gladiators of their caliber on its own, but the addition of a half-dozen beastmen might be too much for the two of them to handle. He certainly did not like the idea of a giant’s club the size of a small tree trunk swinging at Sadira.

“I’ll keep the giant busy while you dispose of the beastmen,” he said.

“That sounds like a good plan, my love.” She turned, her flashing purple eyes meeting his full force. She was thinking of the audience, and not worried about the giant. “I’ll cut them to bloody ribbons; the crowd will fucking love it. Don’t kill the giant without me, all right?”

Sadira seemed so full of confidence that Gavin felt ashamed of his worries.

The Call of the People sounded and the crowd outside began to cheer as the acrobats cleared the fighting grounds. As their entrance gate swung open, Sadira planted a quick kiss on her lover’s lips before walking into the arena where her beauty and light armor immediately provoked a loud cheer from the back rows. She smiled at this then leapt forward, cartwheeling, jumping up, flipping forward in the air, and then drawing her elegant obsidian-colored blades in salute to the crowd as she landed; even the jaded front rows cheered her dazzling display this time. Her lips curled wickedly as she gazed over her audience, trying to look them all in the eye. Gavin, trotting in behind her, timed his salute to match hers. The crowd cheered, and he was pleased.

So far, so good, he thought.

“And now” —the announcer waited for a moment while the cheers died down— “facing our two brave Gladiators . . .”

A massive trap door began to open in the middle of the arena. A huge shaggy head appeared out of the yawning void, eyes casting about.

“YOU KNOW HIM, YOU LOVE HIM: TURG THE GIANT!”

The crowd gasped as Turg stepped up off the slowly rising platform. The giant roared and walked toward the audience, casting his shadow over the front rows. Turg pushed at the nearly invisible ward wall that separated him from the awed masses, crackles of blue-white mystic energy cascading down his arms. The spectators jeered the giant as he winced and stepped away, turning back to the Gladiators.

“And patrons of Dreadwood Arena, for your entertainment, Turg will be fighting alongside some beastly allies today!”

A gate opposite from where the two Gladiators had made their entrance opened, admitting a half-dozen hulking beastmen. Gavin wondered for a moment if the giant would attack them, but Turg ignored the beastmen and stepped forward, swinging his tree-trunk-sized spiked club over his head and sending it crashing toward Sadira’s lithe form as the Call to Battle sounded.

Sadira danced aside as the giant’s blow fell, the ground shaking as the monstrous club thundered into the stone and moss. She let out a shrill war scream in response, vaulting over Gavin and leaping into the midst of the charging beastmen. Her twin blades flashed bright in the fading afternoon sun, splashing blood as they connected with the first enemy that met her. The beast’s pained howl mingled with the crowd’s cheers as bright blood splashed against the arena wall and it went down.

Gavin turned his attention toward the giant and darted forward as Turg moved toward the melee, stabbing his spear in the back of a huge leg. Turg grunted and turned on Gavin, bestial face twisted into an ugly snarl. The giant raised a hairy, clawed foot and slammed it down at Gavin, trying to stomp him into bloody paste, but the stalwart defender read the movement and sidestepped the attack easily. The foot crashed into the ground beside him, shaking him. Gavin responded by swinging the razor edge of his shield, which glanced ineffectively off the giant’s thick leg armor. Gavin noted that the thick metal appeared to be of higher quality than he expected.

“DOWN HERE, UGLY!” Gavin shouted, making sure he kept the giant’s attention while Sadira fought the beastmen.

To his relief, Turg ignored Sadira and the beastmen, no doubt intent on smashing the puny Gladiator challenging him. Gavin slowly led him away from where Sadira fought, avoiding the giant’s powerful swings.

I can’t keep this up for long, thought Gavin as the pillar-sized club slammed into the moss and stone beside him where he had been standing a heartbeat before, spraying him with shrapnel. I hope she finishes the beastmen before Turg gets lucky.

<>

Moving nimbly, Sadira danced with the beastmen, her wicked blades whispering effortlessly across their flesh, leaving bloody cuts in their wake. The scent of blood drove the creatures to frenzy, and they leapt at her from all sides. She jumped, planting her heel spikes in the shoulder of a seven-foot-tall, ram-horned monstrosity, and pushed off. Whirling in mid-air as she fell, she landed with a deep slash into its back, the blow severing its spine and sending it to the ground heavily.

The others were on her quickly, driving her backwards. She was forced to call on her magic as she backpedaled, channeling power into a quickly woven spell pattern. Two of her foes stopped moving as grasping green vines, rapidly erupting from the ground beneath them, entangled their legs.

She dodged out of the way of two sets of snapping jaws but could not fully avoid the claws of her third attacker which raked her flesh, leaving bloody red lines across her bare thigh. Spurred by pain, Sadira rounded on it, eyes wide with fury, weapons seeking vengeance. She attacked it recklessly, hacking off the offending claw, and then rapidly stabbing the beast in the groin and throat. Her other opponents leaped at her again, and she screamed her defiance as the crowd cheered.

Sadira kicked a beastman away from her, drawing blood with her boot-spike, and buried one of her elegant swords in the skull of another. The three remaining beasts fearlessly attacked the deadly Gladiatrix, trying to grab her, bite her, and rend her soft flesh. She rolled away and let them run at her, slashing at them as they closed. They danced, claws ripping, teeth snapping, black blades whirling, snarling and growling. One of them fell and did not rise, life leaking away from a half dozen cuts.

Cruelly, Sadira took her time with the last two, bringing the fight close to the patrons in the front row. She savored the beastmen’s rage and frustration as she wove her blades, cutting them a dozen times while the crowd roared in approval. One fell over, too weak to continue, and she ended her dance with a slash across the throat of her last rabid opponent. It struggled, still trying to reach her with its final breath. She kept just out of reach, teasingly so, then turned toward where Gavin was fighting the giant.

<>

Gavin could just barely block Turg’s massive club with a deft, perfectly timed movement of his lion-headed shield. It was a matter of angle and timing, an interesting challenge for the thoughtful defender. Yet, strong as he was, Gavin could not hope to put his shield in the way of an attack from a giant three times his height and absorb the force head on; he had to make sure most of the force was directed away from him. Even so he was knocked off his feet a few times. An ungifted man would have lost his arm at the very least. Meanwhile the Gladiator used his magic to keep up a steady assault stream of mind-rending mental blasts. Turg was now suffering a blinding migraine and bleeding from his nose as well. It did not seem to be slowing the giant much, but it did make him angrier and less accurate. It also kept his attention on Gavin, which was the Gladiator’s main goal.

Turg was aiming more carefully now, and Gavin was having trouble avoiding his attacks. An armored toe the size of a man’s head caught his shoulder and sent him flying. He landed on his back and felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder as he rolled out of the way of the giant’s next attack.

“Gavin, watch out,” Sadira shouted as she ran towards him, the air around her shining bright with Thaom. He felt a burst of healing energy flow through him as she cast a spell in his direction.

He had little time for respite though as he jerked down under a sweeping blow of the giant’s huge club. The pain ebbed a little, and he smiled in thanks as Sadira ran in to join him. She dove between the giant’s legs and thrust her swords toward the shaggy monster’s groin. The audience gasped in anticipation, but her blades only glanced off the beast’s armor, and she was forced to quickly throw herself backwards to avoid being crushed under Turg’s huge, hairy, iron-clad foot.

The giant roared his displeasure at this impetuous newcomer, and Sadira howled her war scream back at him in answer. Gavin used the distraction to move forward and slip his spear into an unarmored part of the giant’s leg. The beast howled and rounded on him with surprising speed, swinging his club low to the ground. Gavin was forced to jump over the club, but a spike caught his boot and sent him sprawling to the ground, his bones crunching as he bounced off the moss-covered stone. It was hard and unforgiving enough that he immediately missed the softer white sands of traditional fighting grounds back home.

Turg moved in, raising his foot to crush Gavin, but he had forgotten about Sadira and her hungry blades once again. Gavin watched as she launched herself at the unsuspecting giant, raking both of her swords across the back of his unarmored knee. The swords bit into the beast’s thick skin, drawing blood and causing Turg’s attack to falter so that Gavin could roll out of the way. The crowd cheered as Sadira ducked under the backhand from a barrel-sized fist and then sprang out of reach as the giant’s massive club swung down, shaking the closest spectators with its impact on the stones.

Deftly, Gavin regained his feet, glad of the protection his armor had afforded him when he hit the ground. As he ran forward, he could see Sadira was in trouble. The giant was herding her toward the back wall of the arena, cutting off her escape with broad sweeps of his huge weapon. She would soon run out of space to dodge. He blasted the giant with his Mind Blast, but the beast paid him little heed this time.

Gavin could see that Sadira was frustrated, kept back by the giant’s long reach and brutal swings. Finally, she flung herself prone in order to duck under the massive club which scraped across the arena wall behind her, showering her with dislodged moss and dust from the crushed stone. The giant’s foot came down too quickly for her to get to her feet, so she rolled aside. Closing in, Gavin stabbed the giant in the backside, causing it to howl in fury, giving Sadira time to get up and away from the wall. She ran toward Gavin, picking up speed.

“Make him swing at you!” she yelled, running behind Gavin. “I need his club on the ground!”

The giant obliged without any effort from Gavin, swinging his club over his head and sending it crashing down toward the Gladiator. Gavin moved aside while Sadira leapt in, her elegant black blades cutting the giant’s unarmored hands and wrists while Gavin stabbed his feet. The giant howled in rage as his hands bled from deep cuts.

Turg backed away, pulling his vulnerable arms out of reach. He watched the Gladiators warily now, snarling. He moved in carefully, waiting for his chance to smash one of them to a pulp.

Gavin realized that the only way for them to defeat the giant was to get him to swing again so Sadira could get close and strike him before he could ready his massive club for another attack. He moved forward, hoping to lure the brute into a wild swing. The giant tensed but did not move. Gavin edged forward again. Tension filled the arena. Turg’s lip curled, exposing his sharp yellow teeth.

And then, with shocking suddenness, the giant lunged, thrusting his massive club forward at the Gladiator like a spear, low to the ground. The giant’s long reach and surprisingly swift movement caught the Gladiator in a poor position, and he was forced to meet the attack directly with his shield, with no chance of a proper deflection. The force of the blow sent Gavin flying backwards. He fell heavily, skidding against the moss and stone. Coming to rest awkwardly, Gavin tasted blood. His shield arm was broken, along with most of his ribs. He looked up, coughing crimson droplets all over the moss he rested, hearing Sadira’s war scream split the air.

<>

Sadira nimbly leapt onto the huge club, running up the thick spike-covered haft before the giant could raise the heavy weapon. The audience held their breath as she ran lightly up the length of wood and iron as Turg began to lift it again. The wood shifted under Sadira, but she kept running, finding footholds. She did not falter, and halfway up the trunk, she sprang upwards with all her strength. She soared into the air like a sword-winged bird of prey, a second, louder war scream breaking from her lips as she took flight. Turg roared, and she smelled his rank breath as it washed over her. The crowd went silent.

There was a moment when Sadira reached the apex of her jump that she felt as if the whole world was holding its breath in anticipation. She saw the reflection of her blades in the giant’s eyes, then she struck, driving the tips of her black blades into the soft orbs. Sadira felt the ichor splash onto her as the keen metal parted the jelly of the eyes and the felt the giant jerk away as his eyes ruptured. The arena danced wildly as he shook. He could not escape her though as she used her swords to hold on and then thrust again. The giant howled. The crowd gasped as she buried her swords in further until her elbows where in the ruins of his sockets, blood and gore bursting forth as the sharp blade-tips broke through the back of the beast’s skull.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Turg groaned one last time and then toppled. Sadira held on and fell with him, riding his skull into the ground, jumping off and landing lightly on her feet as the impact of his massive body shook the arena. She immediately raised her arms in salute as the final call sounded and her Thaom and Thune were leashed again. Grinning, she felt the thunder of the spectators wash over her. They were on their feet, shouting—screaming her name in a wild frenzy.

This, thought Sadira, this is a fight they will remember!

Drunk on praise and adrenaline, it was a moment before she noticed Gavin crumpled against the wall, his lion’s head breastplate red with blood. Sadira’s heart lurched in a most unexpected way and, leaving her swords in the giant’s eyes, she ran to her the fallen Gavin. She slid to a stop beside him, reaching for Thaom and Thune to heal him, but the match was over. His eyes flickered open from a battered face, and his ruined lips curled into a smile. Sadira could feel her heart thunder in her chest as she cradled him.

“. . . Keystone . . . I’ll be . . . fine . . .” said Gavin, his breath rattling and then stopping altogether.

Even with her Thaom leashed, Sadira was strong enough to lift Gavin and carry him to the Keystone. As he picked him up and marched off the sands, the crowd surged to its feet, further moved by her display of comradery. Even deep in the arena, as the Grey-Robes used the Keystone to bring Gavin back, she could hear them chant her name.

“SADIRA, SADIRA!”

Chapter Eleven: Venom

1140/06/04 AR, Dreadwood Junction

“Few choices are as simple as they seem. You may be a truly talented fighter, but standing between you and the Championships are a whole lot of vested interests. These agents, recruiters, arena masters, faction promoters, and patrons are all looking for the opportunity to use someone like you for their own ends. Sure, you can scoff and refuse to play the game; just keep in mind that these would-be-patrons can be more of an obstacle if you make enemies of them. And even if you take all of this into account, there are still the Chosen.” Master Korum

“Next time you get flattened by a giant, I am going to carry you out of the arena cradled in my arms, like a child, right in front of everyone,” Sadira teased, smiling brightly. “They compared me to the Shield Maiden in the Arena Post.”

“I think it was beautiful,” said Vintia with a grin. “Though I might add that you have never carried me off like that when I get laid out.”

Gavin rolled his eyes but was unable to keep the ghost of a smile off his face. “Well, next time, kill it faster, Honored Gladiatrix. I was getting bored waiting for you to finish him off.”

Ravius and Karmal, waiting with them at the arena master’s office, both laughed, although the bar for humor was low after a long wait for their appointment.

“He really is taking his time.” Sadira’s expressive face quickly darkened as she glared at the arena master’s door.

Gavin smiled; she could not even say the man’s name without wrinkling her nose in disgust. She had worn the least flattering outfit she could buy for this meeting, hoping to keep Mox’s mind on business; he knew how much she chafed at having to do this.

“He only meets with Gladiators to arrange matches once a week. I would think that he would have the good grace to show up on time after the incredible performance we gave him last time!”

“I don’t know, little sister. I think he was too busy trying to get his hands up under Karmal’s skirt to notice what was going on!” Ravius smile disappeared as Karmal punched his arm with a glare on her face.

They all knew now that, during the battle with Turg, she had watched the match with the arena master as his guest and had told everyone that the man was even more repulsive in private.

“Let’s not talk about that.” Karmal’s tone was even, but her piercing green eyes flashed like lightning on the horizon, warning of a coming storm.

Ravius swallowed what was clearly a desire to taunt her further and instead made a show of bowing in mock gentlemanly acquiescence. The topic of conversation steered quickly toward gossip that the smiling skirmisher had picked up about the other Gladiators in Dreadwood. There were plenty of interesting rumors, especially about the two local favorites, a pair of rank two Gladiatrices who had won three Deathmatches in a row.

Sadira had reiterated to Gavin that her childhood friend would not trade favors with someone like Mox, even if it meant advancing her career in the arena. And yet the arena master was not someone she would normally spend time with. Something else was going on, and the flame-haired Gladiatrix was being quite quiet about it. Karmal had been talking to a particularly stern-looking woman wearing Grey-Robes twice in the last month. Gavin wondered if the Deliberative was using Karmal to bait Mox into doing something foolish? He wanted to ask, but it was a taboo subject among Gladiators; if one of your peers had business with the Deliberative, it was not wise to take notice. The thought of Karmal luring Dreadwood Junction’s corrupt arena master into incriminating did make him smile again.

Gavin was just enjoying the day, thankful to be alive and well. It had taken some time for him to fully recover from the injuries he had sustained last match; most of his ribs had been shattered and some of his organs ruptured by the giant’s brutal attack. But with a bit of time now behind him, and Sadira’s loving embrace, he was beginning to feel more like his old self with every day that passed.

Eventually, Meady Mox arrived at his office, surveying the group Gladiators lined up with ill-concealed disdain. Gavin could feel Sadira and Vintia bristle immediately as he looked them over, but Karmal kept her usual anger in check. Mox puffed his chest out and tilted his chin as he climbed the ornate ironwood stairs to his office.

The arena master was accompanied by a timid, pretty young woman carrying most of his files. Gavin frowned at the half-hidden bruises on her arm, suddenly glad they did not let them carry weapons in this part of town. He could not abide a man like Meady Mox taking liberties with his position; the thought that he might be also abusive in other ways made his blood boil.

How can such a man get away with such blatant corruption in this day and age? he wondered. He must think everyone is daft if we cannot see what he is up to.

Several Gladiators were in line ahead of Gavin and Sadira. None of them were allowed to wait inside the office in spite of the spacious waiting room within. Ravius even went as far to joke that he should have brought a ball for them to entertain themselves with, for Gladiators were ill used to spending their time simply waiting.

“I can’t believe we have to go last,” Sadira snarled with frustration as they saw people after people called ahead of time. “Our match made the fucking papers. We should have our pick of matches!”

“From your mouth to the Chosen’s ears! I have two months to bide my time upon!” Ravius said with sigh having barely stopped shaking his head since he had emerged from the office ahead of them. “The only other match he offered me was later today. And on top of that he lectured me about needing to play more to the crowd. Me? What a bastard!”

“You barely have time to fight between taunts as it is,” Vintia murmured, which made thick-skinned Ravius grin and ruffle the smaller Gladiatrix’s blonde hair, as a man might do to his son. She made a face at him as the others laughed.

“Good one, little sister,” he said.

When Karmal’s turn came, she entered and exited the office within minutes. She seemed somewhat pensive as she left but signaled wordlessly to Sadira that she did not want to talk about what had happened within. Gavin noted the exchange; Karmal, Vintia, and Sadira often seemed able to communicate with the smallest of gestures, a technique that served them well on and off the fighting grounds.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Mox’s clerk motioned for Gavin and Sadira to enter. They both tried to smile at the woman as they strode into the office, but assistant refused to meet their eyes, keeping her head lowered as they passed, her body visibly tense. It was enough to make Gavin wonder if she were afraid of them; many of the ungifted were after all, terrified of those who could wield magic, especially Gladiators. Not everyone loved the Great Games.

She fears us more than she fears Meady Mox, thought Gavin. It saddens me that the old terrors born of the Reckoning are still so ingrained in our society.

<>

Sadira took a moment to rope in her anger before crossing the threshold into Meady Mox’s office. She needed Mox for now, and she could not afford the luxury of losing her temper. She mustered her sweetest smile as his beady little eyes flicked up from his desk. She could not wait to get out of this town and away from small-time arena masters like this man. She had to hide her irritation as he turned to Gavin first, even though he entered the room second.

“Gavin, I am pleased to see that you have recovered,” said Mox.

“Thank you, arena master,” Gavin replied in a firm, authoritative tone. Sadira was pleased to see that Gavin was taking a stern approach to the conversation, enough so that Mox would not meet his eyes.

“Sadira, welcome to my office.” he said as he turned to her, his eyes lingering on her body.

Chosen’s oath, what a worm! thought Sadira. They should just let me kill him.

“Please take a seat, both of you.”

“Thank you.” Sadira sat gracefully, her eyes never leaving the arena master’s face. She noticed immediately how his greedy stare, in turn, never left her breasts after his initial examination. This, despite her wearing the most modest outfit that she could find. Her contempt for him was absolute. In the arena, any man with so little self-control would be entirely too easy to defeat. The fact that he barely heeded Gavin’s presence now made her even angrier. She held her ire down with an effort of will, smiling sweetly while she listened.

“I was impressed with your last match. You looked good out there,” Mox said in an admiring tone, but then furrowed his brow.

Oh, here it comes, she thought with an inward scowl, waiting to hear what they could have possibly done wrong.

“On the other hand, giants are quite expensive. It would have been much better for Dreadwood Arena if you had left Turg with enough life in him that I could use him again. He was growing quite famous.”

Sadira almost laughed.

A giant? He cares about the expense of his giant? she thought incredulously. People will be spreading word of that match for years, earning praise for Dreadwood Arena and its rotten little arena master!

“But surely the spectacular ending we gave you was more than worth it?” Sadira said with a smile, keeping her tone pleasant as if they were discussing the weather instead of the arena. “Given the additional victory coins and patron gifts we received, your part of the profits must have been more than large to afford a replacement and turn a profit besides.”

From the look on his face, Mox was obviously surprised by Sadira’s insight; she knew the business of the arena far better than most of her peers.

His brows shot up, and his eyes widened briefly before he covered it up with a thoughtful pause, pursing his lips.

“Hmmm . . .” The arena master pretended to glance over a random piece of paper on his desk. Sadira wanted to laugh; his performance was weak at best, like everything else he’d done so far. “My records do show that we made enough to cover the costs of a new giant. However, I have to consider the extraneous factors here. How can I be sure that it was the giant’s death that people liked about your match? Maybe they liked the fact that your man here nearly got crushed. It is just difficult to say. Additionally, I must consider the costs of training a new giant and raising them to that level of skill. As I said, Turg was becoming a reliable and popular asset in his own right. Who knows what kind of money he could have brought in if you hadn’t killed him? If this arena is to remain afloat, I must consider the long term. I would not expect a Gladiator to understand.”

Sadira could not believe that Mox was making this argument. She took a keen interest in all aspects of her profession and she knew that he was wrong. He was circling back to where they had begun the discussion, ignoring everything that she had said. She waited for him to continue, seething inwardly.

This man will rue this day when I become Chosen, she said silently.

“Of course, arena master, please continue,” she said, still continuing to smile.

“Now you two have potential, and your match did make me a profit in spite of your recklessness. So I won’t hold it against you, this time,” he said as a cold, serpentine smile slowly began to grow across his face, completely lacking in warmth. “I am prepared to offer you a couple of options. I have a great match against two trolls. You can cut them up all you wish, and they should live through it. I think this is your best option; you can really showcase your talents, and the cost is low, but it will be four months until the trolls arrive here.”

Sadira suddenly felt trapped, like a cornered animal. She and Gavin were still hot from their last match, forcing them to wait and let the word of their spectacular fight settle was cruel. Already all she wanted was to get out of Dreadwood Junction and start anew elsewhere, but such a move made in haste would allow Mox could ruin her reputation with his extensive connections too easily. They were not yet famous enough to attract the notice of faction recruiters; they needed to get a few more good matches under their belts. She had hoped that their amazing performance would win the greedy little arena master over, but apparently, he valued control more than his pocketbook.

“What is the other option?” Gavin asked, his steady voice breaking through the silence that had fallen between them. The words immediately caused Mox’s eyes to reluctantly leave Sadira and dart toward her beloved, a hard glint appearing in the man’s eye.

“Well, I don’t really think this is the best option . . .” He sighed dramatically. “But I have two really great girls who are quite popular with the locals and who also happen to be looking for a pairs Deathmatch. Cat and Bella. I’ve no doubt you’ve heard of them. They’re on a winning streak right now. That said, I don’t know if you can beat them. Perhaps if you put up a good fight, the audience will show mercy. But the risk otherwise is very real. Regardless, it is a match that we can arrange at any time, that is as long as the Deliberative approves.”

Sadira had heard of Cat and Bella and their bloody exploits. Deathmatches were a quick way to gain fame and notoriety but betrayed recklessness and arrogance. The duo was notorious with the other Gladiators of Dreadwood because of the favors they bestowed on the arena master in exchange for getting the best and most timely matches. Furthermore, the audience had not once shown their opponents mercy in either of the other Deathmatches they had fought in Mox’s arena. Ravius said that many of the higher-ranking Gladiators who fought in the Dreadwood Arena grumbled loudly and often at playing second fiddle to these two.

It was enough to send Sadira’s blood boiling at the idea of such a match. The idea of Mox trying to lure them into a life and death battle with his favorites was just disgusting. She felt sure that she could thrash any woman who traded favors with such a worm, but the idea of risking Gavin’s life made her strangely uncomfortable and so she kept her silence.

I don’t fear his pets, thought Sadira. But this seems like a set-up.

“Actually, arena master, our friend Ravius mentioned a match later today that you were having trouble filling,” Gavin said calmly, which to Sadira’s amusement, caused the arena master’s eyes to go round as saucers. “What about that?”

“W-well, I don’t think it is a good match for you,” Mox said with a second sigh, trying to draw the weight of the world onto his shoulders like a mantle of dignity. “You’ve not recovered fully yet, young man. I’m sure I will find someone else for it.”

“I appreciate your concern, sir,” Gavin stated. “But I happen to have a letter from the Deliberative certifying that I am fit to fight right here. And I am certain that Sadira would be more than happy to join me. After all, we cost you your giant. Let us make it up to you by fighting today. I feel it would be the right thing to do, considering all the kindness you have shown us. Not to mention as well, we will be a bigger draw with our last match fresh in people’s minds.”

“I don’t think that we can—”

“You know the rules, arena master,” Sadira interrupted before the man could conjure an excuse. “If that match is on the schedule and unfilled, then we can claim it. A league oversight hearing would agree with us, I am sure.”

“Of course, of course, you can fill the match,” Mox stated. His smile was wide, but it did not touch his eyes. “I will be happy to let you fight today. The battle is against two scorpions. I’ll have to make a couple of changes so the match suits you, but I’ll run them by the Grey-Robes this afternoon.”

“Thank you, arena master,” Gavin said in a cold and formal tone that Sadira could not help but smile inwardly at.

They had caught Mox off guard with their knowledge of his closely guarded schedule and their application of the rules that governed all arenas. A more honest arena master had nothing to fear from a league oversight investigation, but Mox wouldn’t dare risk the scrutiny.

“I look forward to entertaining the people of Dreadwood again,” Sadira said eagerly.

“Yes, yes, good luck,” Mox replied, already sounding a little distracted as the focus left his eyes. “I hope you won’t find the match too difficult.”

“Don’t worry, arena master,” Sadira replied as she and Gavin took that cue to leave. “The deadlier the enemy, the bigger the win!”

<>

“I’ve always wanted one of these scorpions as a pet,” Sadira said softly, as she and Gavin stood looking out of the Gladiators entrance, arms around each other. “You can paint them all kinds of interesting colors if you’re careful. My sister has a small one back home, only the size of a dog. I’d paint mine bright red like the body paint on my back for our first match. Chosen knows, I’d get a scorpion tattoo too, if it was allowed. I’m pretty certain that I am going to take Red Scorpion as my arena name.”

The scorpions in question were one of the many varieties found deep in the tainted wastes of the deserts south of Krass, their bodies around eight feet long with intimidating pincers that could easily sever an arm or a leg, with barbed tail stings that could impale a man, lifting him off his feet, as the great gout of poison injected turned his insides to mush. Thick, armored plates of brownish chitin made getting at the creature’s soft spots difficult. Termed southern brown-claws in arena jargon, these scorpions were considered a serious challenge for rank one Gladiators such as Sadira and Gavin.

Monstrous insects were popular arena fodder in the Domains. They were tough, fearless, and dangerous looking. If wounded, they would bleed enough to satisfy all but the most bloodthirsty fight-goer. A smart arena master or proactive beast handler would make sure that the insect’s “blood” and innards were treated to appear bright red or perhaps neon green when spilled, further enhancing the audience experience. (Most alchemists sold these treatments for a reasonable sum.) They were relatively easy to capture and care for and very cheap to replace when they got killed. Of course, a certain type of arena-goer also relished the fact that when a scorpion managed to get hold of an unlucky Gladiator, the results were always gruesome and spectacular.

“I liked the scorpion you had painted on your back for our match.” Gavin kissed the back of her neck, idly wondering what her family would think of him if they met.

“Mox straight up refused to allow it when I asked,” Sadira replied with a faint frustrated growl. “By the Chosen, how I hate that man.”

“You certainly aren’t alone,” Gavin said in a dry tone. “In any case, be sure to be careful out there today. There was a terrain clause I could not make sense of in the contract.”

“I don’t see any sign of terrain changes,” she replied as she scanned the field ahead, “but I’ll be wary. I could tell Mox was rather unamused that you cornered him into giving us the match, so I’m certain that some sort of unpleasant revenge is foremost on his mind.”

“And imagine how mad he would be if he knew I did not actually have the letter I threatened him with!”

“It was a good bluff, my love,” she said with a wide grin. “I’m glad you were there with me today. You helped me keep my temper in check. I doubt it would have helped my career if I gutted the worm in his office.”

“Likely not,” Gavin agreed, the crowd picking that moment to break into cheers as the Call of the People sounded.

“SADIRA! SADIRA!

WE’RE ALL HERE-A

FOR SADIRA! SADIRA!” came the chant.

“Look at how they remember us! Mox is a fool to stand in our way.” Sadira smiled happily as the wooden gate of the Dreadwood Arena Gladiators entrance swung open. She disengaged herself reluctantly from Gavin and stepped into the open.  “Let’s win us some hearts and open a few purses. And maybe if fate favors us, show our arena master the error of his ways.”

Gavin followed Sadira in, the sapphire eyes on his silver-white, lion-headed breastplate gleaming in the sunlight as he brandished his weapons. Sadira moved ahead of him, tumbling, leaping, flipping, and finishing off by saluting the crowd as they cheered enthusiastically. Gavin raised his weapon, first in salute to her, then to the crowd, eliciting laughter from a few of the more astute patrons of the Dreadwood Arena. He knew very well who they were here to see, but he found it hard to be jealous of Sadira.

The announcer called out their names and the crowd applauded as the Call to Battle sounded. The scorpions were raised to the fighting grounds through the same trap-door mechanism that had brought the giant in for their last match. The announcer did not bother to name them; one giant scorpion was the same as another as far as most people were concerned. They scuttled toward Gavin and Sadira without any prompting, crushing pincer-claws snapping in anticipation. Rushing forward to meet them, Gavin planted his feet firmly into the ground and raised his shield to receive their attacks, while Sadira darted behind him, screening herself from their view.

The first scorpion to reach Gavin backpedaled as he thrust his spear at its eyes. Its partner’s claws glanced off his shield as it tried to grab him. A second later, he was forced to duck under a venomous tail-barb the size of his head as it lanced forward towards him.

Having waited like they planned, Sadira chose this moment to spring past, her curved black swords rending the air and causing one of the scorpion’s many legs to fall off, leaking dull yellowish fluid into the moss. It rounded on her, but as Gavin watched, she rolled to the side and swung again, sending a second leg to join the first. The deadly insect backed away, defensive now, shielding itself with its heavily armored pincers, its movements hampered.

The other scorpion had closed on Gavin, trying to grab him with pincers that could easily encircle his waist. He was kept busy fending it off while Sadira maneuvered behind them, reading the creatures movements looking for the best opportunity to attack. Gavin tested it with his spear, but the thick chitin turned his first two blows. He then tried a mind blast but found that the scorpion was resistant to his magic. It was disappointing, but Omodo had reminded him about this possibility before the match; insects like these were born of the Reckoning and they could exhibit magic resistance.

Once Gavin was between the healthy scorpion and Sadira, she slipped around him to get to the wounded one. Gavin hollered and stabbed his spear at his target to prevent it from intervening as she closed. Her first two sword strokes bounced off the wounded scorpion’s thick, brown carapace plates. She moved to get a better angle of attack, but it scuttled to face her with remarkable speed. Whirling as fast as she could in response, Sadira nimbly danced between two grasping claws and landed a resounding blow on its head, twisting away to avoid the thrusting tail and with a back-flip, rolling out over its pincers. The disappointed groan from the crowd as she sprang back told her that her attack had failed to draw much blood even before she could assess the damage with her eyes.

<Chosen’s hairy arse, these things are well armored!> Gavin heard Sadira’s voice in his mind. <Any luck with magic?>

<Not yet,> Gavin sent back as he sent another Mind Blast into the creature.

As Sadira maneuvered on the outside, Gavin knocked a pincer upwards and lunged with all his might. This time his spear pierced the carapace and sank into a soft joint between body and leg, causing the insect to jump backwards. Gavin stayed with it, following up with a vigorous downward stab which sent the sharp point of his weapon cracking through the carapace. The scorpion made a kind of clicking hiss, one oddly humanlike for an insect, and scuttled toward him. He then rolled away as its massive tail sought him out, stabbing the air.

<Watch this!> linked Sadira, jumping up onto the back of the scorpion that Gavin was fighting and leaping up and onto the carapace of the other. She gave a piercing war scream and slammed both of her blades into the beast’s back. The blades did not glance off the thick carapace this time, but rather bit through the insect’s chitinous shell, sinking deeply into its innards. Gavin watched as Sadira jerked her weapons out, trying to flip backwards and avoid the scorpion’s death throes. But to Gavin’s horror as Sadira touched the ground, she sank into the moss. He read the confusion on her face as she tried to move followed closely by gasp of agony as the dying scorpion rammed its stinger into her unarmored stomach.

“Urk,” grunted Sadira, her eyes going wide as the barb sank home. Immediately she dropped her blades and grabbed the stinger before it could further eviscerate her.

After a brief struggle, the scorpion shook her off and she fell to the ground, badly hurt, struggling against her vicious wound as the dying scorpion pulled itself toward her for another attack.

Ignoring his own opponent, Gavin turned and ran forward, throwing his spear like a javelin while channeling every ounce of his power into a Mind Blast spell. His grim war spear flew through the air like a ballista bolt, arcing true, and slammed into the “head” of the wounded scorpion. The impaling spear was followed closely by the ripple of power brought into being by his spell. The spear sank deep as the scorpion’s eight eyes burst from the sheer power of his cast. His target died before it could reach Sadira, but before he could turn to face his original foe, a massive pincer closed around his waist. Gavin struggled to draw his short sword as the pincer began to push his armor into his flesh. He was in trouble.

Gavin twisted and kicked as he was lifted into the air, gritting his teeth as the massive claw began to sheer painfully through his thick leather battle kilt. He got his arm up just in time; the scorpion’s barbed tail, pregnant with venom, skipped off his shield and then darted at him again. He tried to attack its mind, but he had exhausted his magic for the time being. His free hand desperately groped for his sword while he kicked against the scorpion’s other claw, preventing it from getting a hold of his legs and then pulling him apart.

“Get up!” he shouted to Sadira. “You can do it!”

And the crowd echoed him, roaring her name.

<>

“SADIRA!”

Sadira fought against the seemingly irresistible undertow of pain carrying her into deeper darkness. Venom ate at her insides, battling against and overcoming her Gladiator’s powers of regeneration. She reached out with her mind and spirit, desperately trying to channel the primal forces of her verdant magic in order to weave the pattern of a healing spell. Part of her just wanted to sink into blessed, pain-free unconsciousness. It would be so easy. She would not die; the Keystone would preserve her life. But then she thought of Gavin and the voices that she heard from the audience, shouting her name and calling her to awaken. It was enough to cause her growing apathy to burn away and she found the will to weave the pattern and channel her magic through it. Healing magic flooded her body. Her hands twitched, unconsciously seeking the comfortable, familiar hilts of her twin black blades.

“Look!” Sadira heard a young girl’s voice shout clear as day as she struggled to rise. “She’s getting up! She’s going to make it. Get up. GET UP!”

The crowd wasted no time in joining in, a chorus beginning to chant. “GET UP! GET UP!”

Many spectators lusted for the sight of blood. Other patrons enjoyed grand displays of superhuman skill or incredible magic. But almost all of those who watched the Great Games united in their support of a courageous Gladiatrix who had overcome pain to stand up and fight again. It was a sign of the quiet, hidden hope that bound a people together. Sadira could feel their energy, her channeling becoming stronger as her wounds began to close. Her hands found her swords among the moss. She pushed herself to her knees, screaming her defiance. The pain was overwhelming, but she mastered it. The crowd joined their voices to hers.

With great effort, Sadira wove a spell, hurling a torrent of Thaom through the weave. Healing energy jolted through her, bringing fresh pain as it destroyed the venom. She surged to her feet and heard the roar of the crowd as her vision cleared.

The first thing Sadira saw as her vision cleared was the bulk of the dead scorpion that had wounded her, Gavin’s grim war spear sticking out of the ruins of its head. She turned, feeling strength flow into her limbs, fighting away the pain. Gavin came into focus as she stood; she could see his red blood flowing from where the pincer was digging into his waist, slowly cutting him in half. She staggered forward, gaining strength with each step. Anger and adrenaline began to pump through her. Her strides lengthened. She took a deep breath.

And leapt.

<>

As he struggled with the scorpion, Gavin felt a bone in his pelvis snap under the relentless pressure of the pincer that held him. His hand finally found his short sword and, drawing it, he began to stab it at the beast. The attacks skidded off the creature’s thick chitinous carapace, and it continued to crush him and try to get at him with its tail and free claw. He caught another thrust of the stinging tail with his shield as he felt pressure on his leg and realized that beast had caught him with a second pincer.

Then Gavin heard Sadira’s war scream from behind him, and he felt a surge of relief. He stabbed with renewed vigor, trying to pry the claw apart. The scorpion’s tail skipped off his steadily wielded shield again and again. He held on, hacking with his sword, chipping away at the thick carapace of the claw that held him. As Gavin struggled, he made sure that his thrashing held the scorpion’s attention.

He saw Sadira speed in from the side, her battered face etched with purpose, her veins glowing green from powerful druidic enchantments. She charged, colliding with the beast, driving the sharp points of her blood-hungry obsidian-colored swords forward into a powerful lunge. The scorpion rocked as if it had been rammed by a juggernaut. Runes flashed as the tips of the curved twin blades met hard, unyielding carapace, but this time Sadira was not to be denied, and her sabers plunged through the scorpion’s armor just below the claw that held Gavin. He felt the pressure slacken and fell to the ground as Sadira screamed triumphantly. Gore sprayed from her swords as she half-hacked, half-pried the scorpion’s arm from its body.

Gavin hit the ground, prying the awful claw from his waist.

Sadira and the one-armed scorpion circled each other, both mad with pain and fury. Swords rose and fell. Tail and claw tried to crush and impale the Gladiatrix who had taken its arm.

Gavin got to his feet and joined the melee. An orgy of violence ensued. Swords plunged, thrust, and cut. Claws snapped. Deadly tail met unyielding shield. Sadira whirled. Blood and ichor flew until the moss of the arena was painted with it. People shouted and cheered.

At last, the scorpion collapsed, a bloody ruin. The Gladiators were too frenzied to plan a death blow. The vital fluids of both Gladiator and scorpion ran together on the ground. At the end of it all, Sadira and Gavin collapsed against each other, barely able to stand as they saluted the crowd, basking in the frenzied cheers. Before they turned to leave, Sadira raised her blades to salute her fallen foes.

“They brought us glory, love, and fought bravely,” she said.

Gavin, still breathless, nodded and offered his own salute before they left the fighting grounds with sound of the cheering crowds salving their terrible wounds.

<>

“It was not our best fight from a technical standpoint, but the crowd loved it,” Sadira said as she paused to take a drink of sweet bloodgrape wine. She and Gavin still felt sore after the fight, but they felt the need to celebrate despite their aches and pains. They were both happy and relaxed, sitting with their friends in a local tavern that catered to both arena fans and Gladiators. “Bloody Reckoning, we both nearly went down that time; those scorpions were tough! I think it’s past time I found a weapon that works better against heavy armor. I remember a rather wicked greatsword back at the Campus Martius . . . perhaps I’ll purchase it when I go back for my next training session. Assuming it’s still there.”

“A backup weapon would be great, little sister. Have you noticed how Gavin doesn’t start winning until he brings out the short sword?” Ravius jested, causing the others to laugh. “I often wonder why he bothers with his spear.”

“Oh shush, I love Gavin’s spear,” Sadira replied with a grin, draining her wine-cup as the laughter erupted again. “It’s just the right length and girth in my eyes...”

Gavin could only roll his eyes in response. Few Gladiators could resist that kind of joke. Deciding that it was best to just change the subject rather than comment, he leaned over to Sadira, breathing her in as he kissed her and took her wineglass. “Refill, my love?”

“Wow, Sadira, where can I find a man like that?” laughed Vintia as Sadira nodded at Gavin. “He’ll take a hit for you in the arena, he’s pretty cute, and he even refills your wine without prompting.”

“And those are the least of his talents,” Sadira responded, with a sly wink. “But on a more serious note, the rest of you need to watch out for Mox’s tricks in your matches. He sneaked that snare-grass into the contract brilliantly.”

“If our arena master applied even half the talent to bettering his arena that he did to drinking, carousing, and protecting his position, it would be the best venue in the region,” said Ravius seriously. “It disgusts me the way men like him constantly call for less Deliberative interference in their business and then hide behind the regulations when it serves them. They give honest arena masters a bad name.”

“Maybe the honest arena masters should help get rid of them then,” Sadira mused in reply, the rest of their conversation fading away as Gavin neared the large wooden bar counter, his slow-moving body still aching from the fight.

Along the way, he shook a few hands, happy patrons who congratulated him on his latest victory. It felt good to be among people who enjoyed his success.

But before he could put in his drink order, he felt a questing hand slide down his backside. He turned slowly, smiling, expecting to see that Sadira had followed him, but was instead startled when he came face to face with a pretty, golden-haired woman looking up at him with bright blue eyes and an amused expression.

Gladiatrix Bella, he realized with a sinking feeling, Ravius having pointed the female Gladiator out to him earlier. Her eyes stared into his, glistening lips inches away from his. Cat, her near twin, except for hazel eyes, came up behind him.

“Hi Gavin, that was some fight today.” Bella leaned in as she said this, her hand coming up between his legs suggestively, while Cat put her arms around his waist from behind, biting the back of his neck. Gavin, disgusted, tried to recoil from the groping, which elicited laughter from the pair. Flustered and ashamed he tried to push them away hoping to avoid drawing attention to the unwanted assault. “Feel like a little threesome to celebrate?”

“What?! No—” Gavin started to say, before he abruptly realized what the pair was trying to do. “Just stop!”

But by that point, however, it was far too late.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Sadira shouted as her fist came crashing in, only to have Bella side-step the blow, having planned for the entire exchange. Cat leapt on Gavin’s back with a cheerful whoop while Bella brought an armored knee hard into Sadira’s face, before grabbing her and driving her face first into the wooden bar counter.

“STOP!” a voice shouted, its presence crackling with authority as a trio of grey-robed officers of the Deliberative suddenly stood near them. They appeared so abruptly that both Vintia and Karmal, who had moved to follow Sadira, hadn’t made it even halfway to the brawl yet.

Obeying the command, Bella instantly let go of Sadira’s hair and backed away quickly from the woman. Cat planted another kiss on Gavin and did the same, sliding off him suggestively. Sadira, trembling with rage, got to her feet, blood dripping from her nose. Gavin felt a chill as he looked at Sadira, whose eyes were wide with fury. She seemed to be on the verge of attacking Bella, no matter the consequences.

“What is the meaning of this, Gladiators?” The Grey-Robe speaking was a severe-looking dwarven woman, her voice precise and commanding.

Bella, looking serious and contrite, spoke up quickly. “We were just congratulating Honored Gladiator Gavin on his victory. Cat and I thought he might like to join our team. We were about to open negotiations when Sadira charged in out of nowhere and tried to hit me. I suspect that after her poor performance in the arena today she felt . . . threatened by our appearance.”

Sadira’s eyes widened at the insinuation, her face instantly turning into a scowl.

“That . . . gutter slut . . . was groping my partner!” she spat, measuring each word while gazing daggers at Bella, blood from her injuries dripping down her chin as she spoke.

“Enough! I see exactly what is going on here. Bella Sanguia and Sadira Lacivia, your conduct is dangerous and unbecoming of Arenabound outside of the arena. You know the rules. You are both confined to quarters until further notice. You will go immediately and will not leave without sanction. This incident will be entered onto your permanent records.”

“Officers, I request a Deathmatch against Bella Sanguia!” Sadira growled, her eyes not leaving the woman’s face. “Ut Nex!”

“Child, do not—” One of the older Grey-Robes spoke up, trying to calm her, but to no avail, Bella quickly cutting them off.

“I accept. Cat and I are always ready to cut down a bitch like you,” she said with a smile, turning away from Sadira and theatrically batting her lashes at Gavin. “Don’t worry, we’ll let you live.”

“Quiet!” The stout dwarven Grey-Robe silenced Bella with a voice like a peal of thunder, shocking the rowdy bar into absolute stillness. “If either of you open your mouths again before you get back to your respective quarters, I will have you severely reprimanded. Leave now without a word or suffer our further displeasure.”

“All right,” said Bella, throwing up her hands dramatically as she headed toward the door. “I’ll be seeing you, Sadira.”

“I look forward to it,” Sadira snarled in retort.

Chapter Twelve: Death of a Gladiatrix

1140/09/17 AR, Dreadwood Junction

“Never let a stronger Gladiator get his hands on you. The law of strength is difficult to overcome in the arena, impossible in some situations. A law that I will repeat again so you drive it into your minds. If you want to win against a stronger fighter, you must never let them get a hold of you.” Mistress Firetongue in a lecture to her first-year class.

“I love seeing a Gladiator get what’s coming to him.” Anonymous fan.

Waking early, Sadira could hardly contain her fervor as the day of their match against Bella and Cat dawned. The chance to prove herself in a Deathmatch against a hated adversary kindled her inner fire to new heights. She felt that this was the only suitable way of reclaiming her honor from Bella after their humiliating encounter in the bar. The fear of her own death did not enter her mind, though she was worried about Gavin getting hurt. Just thinking about his crumpled body, as it was after the fight with Turg, made her frown.

Gavin still snored softly beside her, not yet disturbed by the dawning light. Sadira considered doing a warmup while he slept, but she was in a good mood and wanted to share her excitement with him. She rolled over astride him, letting herself rest on his broad chest, staring into his eyes as they fluttered open. As his body started to respond to hers, she bit her lip and smiled at him.

“Sadira? Again?” Gavin said with a yawn. “We have a match tomorrow.”

“Today, actually,” Sadira said with a mischievous grin. “It’s is time to warm up, Gladiator.”

Gavin laughed and Sadira began to move, and then for a while, all was bliss.

Afterwards they walked arm-in-arm together to the local runesmith, buying some fresh malted bread and sour apples from a street stand to sate their hunger as they walked. Sadira’s house arrest had ended a few days previously; she was still enjoying the simple pleasures of freedom regained. The worn moss- and mud-covered cobblestone streets of Dreadwood Junction had never seemed more pleasing to her. Of course, she was so busy fantasizing about her coming victory over hated Bella that she was insensible of anything that might otherwise have irritated her.

Sadira could tell that Gavin was troubled. The months since the bar-brawl that brought about this fight had crept by with agonizing slowness for the both of them. In their daily training, he made sure that she faced Ravius at least once, no matter what, which meant that he thought that Bella might take advantage of her temper and get the better of her, as she had in the bar. Skirmishers fought that way, forcing their opponents to make mistakes that they could exploit, and Bella had shown her advantage over Sadira with a savage knee to the face already. The very thought of it made Sadira quiver with rage even now, though for Gavin’s sake she hid that.

The runesmith occupied a two-story house with walls of fitted stone, covered in a grey-green moss and the leafy thorn creepers that flourished on Dreadwood Junction’s older buildings. It was conspicuous among the rest of the houses in that section of town; the hand-painted sign was less ostentatious than that of the other shops, but it was the only one to be decorated by the bright seal of the Deliberative. It was a mark signifying that the shop was one of the few where Gladiators could spend their victory coins on goods that were approved for use within the arena. Gavin and Sadira had earned a bounty of coins in their ranking match against each other, as well as the fight against Turg; even the scorpion fight had netted them an extra three coins. Sadira had more coins to spend, but Gavin only needed one rune.

Olga, the stern-faced runesmith who owned the shop, was silver haired and old enough that that she showed signs of aging in spite of her Gift. An accomplished runesmith, Olga had earned her freedom through long years of public service as a Taskbound in Krass and the Border Domains east of Dun Loryn. Though she was now free and wealthy enough to retire, she still worked for love of the craft. Mistress Olga was well-known, and her skills were much sought after, so much so that Gavin and Sadira were relieved that they’d been able to secure her services. Master Ironwall had sent them a recommendation, ensuring that the retired—but busier-than-ever—Olga would help them.

“Hello again,” Olga said with a smile as they entered the shop, the older woman looking tired but otherwise satisfied after a long period of work. “Sorry I called you in so early, but I wanted to make sure I would have time to make any corrections before your match tonight.”

“We’re just glad you could help us, runesmith,” Sadira responded in a formal and respectful tone. “We both admire dedication and craftmanship of your work.”

“It is no trouble at all, dear,” Olga said, returning the smile. “Now, I’ve set up the training dummies again and would like for you both to take a few practice swings after you attune yourselves, just like last time.”

A quick wave indicated the table that their gear was neatly laid out upon, polished and immaculate, and a second soon after showed where the aforementioned training dummies awaited them.

“Did you work all night on these?” Gavin asked as he busied himself with his equipment.

“I did,” Olga replied with a gentle shrug. “But it was not too hard a task—your runes have been mostly complete for days. I just like to take extra care tuning them though. To make sure they sing and breathe in tune with your magic. I’m told that many of your kind are fond of the results.”

“And I’m certain that we will be as well, Mistress Olga,” Sadira assured her, her tone still formal. “I am honored that you chose to help us.”

“Anything for friends of Master Ironwall,” the woman replied graciously. “We campaigned together when he was a Warbound. But I won’t bore you with stories just yet though. We must test these out quickly so I have time for final adjustments if they are needed.”

As has been noted by many observers of the Great Games, Gladiators loved their weapons and armor with obsessive intensity. To the point where touching a Gladiator’s gear borders on intimacy. It was even a common method of flirtation for older fighters: a slow, admiring finger running lazily up the haft of an axe or along an armor groove, sending an obvious signal that all but a Freshie would catch.

Sadira was so thrilled she did not even bother to go to the dressing room to put on her armor. Shame, like fear, was not part of her emotional landscape. Both Olga and Gavin rolled their eyes at her but said nothing. Sadira doubted that she was the first Arenabound to have done such a thing in front of the Rune-Mistress; unlike the other citizens of the Domains, Gladiators were not shy about their bodies. Sadira slipped out of her dress, which had the rest of her arena clothing under it, and put on her armor as swiftly as she could.

“I have reworked and replaced all your older runes. They attune better if they are all from the same smith,” Olga said with a smile. “For the best results, I suggest you return to me when you need more runes or enchantments added to your weapons. I will be glad to take you both for future work.”

“You are too kind, Rune-Mistress,” Sadira said, hugging her armor. It felt as good as new, better even.

“That is an interesting armor design, Honored Gladiatrix,” Olga said seriously. “Quite a bold take on light armor.”

“Thank you. I designed it myself with help from my sisters when I was in training,” Sadira replied, beaming joyfully at the compliment. “I wasn’t really comfortable in any of the standard types in use today, so I searched through the archives of the Campus Gladius for inspiration. It combines elements of Chosen Giselle’s armor and the ceremonial armor worn by the priestesses of my people, from before the Reckoning.”

Gavin took more time in his testing than she did, which left Sadira time to talk to the Rune-Mistress. Olga’s work was more than satisfactory.

The runes, sharpness on her blades, and elemental resistance on both her and Gavin’s armor were masterfully done. The lines were beautiful, alive and vibrant to her magical senses. Sadira attuned to them effortlessly with just a little Thune. After that, she could feel the runic patterns working their magic on her swords, making the edge sharper and harder as Thaom trickled from her through the complex form of the rune and into the perfectly wrought metal of the weapon. The rune changed the very pattern of the weapons as it did this, and the blades now looked sharper and sleeker than when she had last attuned to them.

“That spear is a rare find, young man.” The runesmith turned to Gavin as he admired his weapon. “The smith who made it is an old acquaintance of mine, Liam Valcoeur. He was once a Gladiator, and he knows weapons better than almost anyone. It was a pleasure to work with one of his again.”

“And it is all the better for your expert work, Honored Crafts-mistress,” Gavin said with a deep bow. Olga paused for a moment, then smiled as the Gladiator returned to testing.

“It might take him a few more hours of testing, but I’m sure he’ll be satisfied,” Sadira teased playfully.

“Well, perhaps I can gain your favor as well Gladiatrix.” Olga smiled as Sadira raised an eyebrow. She pointed to an object on a nearby table, its form hidden by a cloth. “A new sword arrived by courier a few days ago, courtesy of a certain thoughtful young gentleman. I have made it battle ready. You could even use it today if you wish. It has the same basic rune patterns as your smaller swords but adjusted for size.”

Her words were drowned out by Sadira’s uncharacteristically girlish squeal of delight. The Gladiatrix tore the cloth away to reveal the naked blade underneath. It was the elegant greatsword she’d been thinking of buying from the Campus Martius in Krass. The blade was made for an Arenabound, heavy enough that an ungifted man much larger than Sadira would have found it somewhat unwieldy. It was also far too long for a normal person to heft comfortably, requiring a master swordswoman’s deft touch and the supernatural strength of a Gladiatrix. Sadira lifted it with one hand, cradling it lovingly in front of her, eyes drinking in all the details while she channeled a tiny flow of power to attune to the runes.

This is turning out to be a great day for me! she thought excitedly as she cast a glance towards Gavin, knowing full well he was behind the surprise. He is so thoughtful.

Sadira’s new sword had a five-and-a-half-foot blade, as wide as Gavin’s hand. It was elegantly curved and made of the same obsidian-colored metal as her slender twin sabers and gold-embossed armor. The pommel at the end of the foot-long grip was set with a large sky sapphire the color of her lover’s eyes, edged with gold enamel. She simply adored it. Arena rules stated that she would have to pay for the blade herself, but much of the expensive cosmetic detailing was done at Gavin’s expense.

“I can enchant that gem when you earn enough victory coins, Sadira,” Olga said, grinning at the Gladiatrix’s excitement. “Sapphires have an affinity for frost and liquids. I’d love to do it for you now, since I’m not particularly fond of that Bella, but the rules . . . forbid such interference.”

“I love you both so much,” Sadira said with her eyes watering, clearly overwhelmed with the gift. “This is such a perfect surprise. It must have taken forever to get this past the Deliberative.”

After Sadira recovered her composure, she tested the blade until Olga was satisfied with the enchantments and their interaction with the Gladiators, the two fighters showering the runesmith with thanks and praise until they left.

Out on the street, Sadira embraced Gavin again, planting kisses all over his face.

“I love you so much,” she said as she held herself tightly against his body. “I wish we had just a bit more time to ourselves before the fight, but I swear this to you. I will use this wonderful gift you have given me to end that back-alley harlot, and then I will thank you in ways that will make what we did this morning seem tame.”

“You don’t need to, Sadira,” he replied with a chuckle. “The look on your face is thanks enough.”

She kissed him again and started toward the arena, whooping with joy and skipping ahead of him as she did so. A pair of Grey-Robes followed after her, dutifully. The townsfolk steered away from the mad, beautiful creature running through their streets, while Gavin followed with a happy grin on his face, overjoyed at his lover’s response to his gift.

She looked forward to showing Bella her new weapon.

<>

“Don’t worry Gavin, we won’t kill you!” Bella called out cheerfully as she and Cat strolled across the sands to the cheers of the raucous crowd. It wasn’t every day that they saw a pairs Deathmatch starring a popular fighter like Sadira.

As the four Gladiators saluted the crowd, Bella winked at Gavin and made an ostentatious kissing sound. Fights between Gladiators, especially Deathmatches, often had time allotted specifically for banter. The audience loved it, and skirmishers like Bella and Ravius liked to use this time to get under their opponent’s skin. The Gladiatrix’s armor consisted of a plated brassiere, skirt, greaves, and bracers. Her light armor was the same golden color as her hair, edged with emerald-green enamel. She carried a trident, a barbed metal filament net, and a long, saw-toothed dagger. She had started talking in a low, clear voice even before the announcer finished the long ceremonial speech that preceded every Deathmatch.

“GLADIATORS!” the announcer finally called out over the arena, her voice loud as thunder. “DO YOU ACCEPT THAT DEATH MAY CLAIM YOU?”

“I fear not death, only dishonor!” Gavin and Sadira shouted back in unison, their attention fixated intently on their opponents.

“THEN THIS DEATHMATCH IS . . .SANCTIONED!”

“Like I said, you, me, and Cat would make quite a threesome,” Bella continued conversationally, her voice becoming sultry and enticing. “And I just can’t wait to see what you have for me under that armor of yours . . .”

Cat, on the other hand, said nothing as her partner spoke, the woman standing patiently in her middle-weighted armor, colored similar to Bella, with large metal gauntlets that sprouted curved, ten-inch claws for weapons. Her only reaction was when she noticed that Gavin was looking at her, prompting her to lick her lips slowly in response. The move, when paired with the tiger tiger-mask faceplate that she wore, almost caused him to laugh.

“Not interested,” Gavin replied, eliciting a chorus of jeers and cheers from the spectators.

Sadira uncharacteristically also kept quiet at the display; both she and Gavin had prepared themselves for onslaught of barbs and taunts that were designed to enrage them. Ravius in particular, had made a point to teach the group that that uncontrolled anger at such bait often led to recklessness, which skirmishers like Bella were trained to take advantage of. Gavin knew that Sadira loved banter and was pleased to see that she was sticking to their plan instead of trying to trade jests with Bella. Aside from looking to enflame their opponents, the bantering also gave the crowd more time to settle, talk, and of course, place wagers the battle’s outcome, while getting a good look at the Gladiators. Betting during Deathmatches that pit Gladiators against Gladiators was much more prevalent than in regular fights, partly because the efforts the Deliberative put into ensuring fairness in such a fight made for a comfortable wagering environment.

“After I’ve killed Sadira, Gavin, you can come and meet me in the baths,” purred Bella, lifting her skirt. “A real Champion’s pussy tastes so much better . . .”

Cat laughed, flexing her talons. Gavin quickly turned his head from their display, rolling his eyes; he was not impressed by their antics, but he was growing concerned that Sadira might lose her temper too quickly. The plan was to banter just a little, to show that they could, and then provoke battle.

“Words are cheap, Bella,” Sadira replied coldly. “The people are here for blood; I’ll see that they get it.”

The crowd cheered and whooped.

Bella shook her head. “I really hope that you fight better than you banter, Sadira. Your words are to mine as the stumbling of a fat milk-cow is to a swan’s dance.”

“I wonder which of those would win a fight?” Sadira snarled in response, anger evident in her tone for all to hear.

“I’m sure that either could best you in a duel of words, darling,” Bella countered with a laugh. “Your blades better be sharper than your wits!”

“Oh, FUCK OFF!” Sadira exclaimed with a roar as she finally lost her temper and her hands flew to her swords in response, causing to Bella grin. As the Call to Battle sounded, a chorus of whispers rose from among the audience at the motion, no doubt prompting a sudden change in the odds favoring the upcoming duel.

“Look how eager the bitch is to die, Cat!” Bella announced with a confident smile, her perfect teeth gleaming in the sun. “All it takes is a few coarse words to rile her up. We’ll be finished with this with time to spare!”

Sadira’s war scream rent the air as the last syllable of Bella’s voice faded, the woman not wasting a second in launching herself at Bella. Weaving a powerful enchantment as she charged forward, she kicked up large chunks of moss behind her in the process, the verdant magic surging through her greatly empowering her speed and strength.

Reacting to the assault, Cat didn’t hesitate to try and flank Sadira as she closed on her golden-haired partner, but Gavin anticipated the move and placed himself in her path, intercepting the clawed Gladiatrix before she could interfere. Blocking her completely, Gavin gritted his teeth as her metal talons rang off his lion-headed shield, sending a spray of sparks into the air. Absorbing the blow, he responded with a quick shoulder check to buy himself some space, shoving her away from him. He blocked her attacks as she came at him again, but try as he might, he could not get around her to help Sadira.

She needs to get hold of her temper, thought Gavin, or Bella is going to make her pay.

<>

As Sadira swept in, looking to strike, Bella flourished her net aggressively. At the last moment, Sadira saw that the movement was meant to distract from a Trident thrust which was going to impale her. Sadira changed her approach, flowing around the trident’s triple points and slashing one of her gleaming obsidian-colored sabers at Bella’s neck. The golden-haired skirmisher ducked, using her folded net to lash out, catching Sadira’s ankle and sending her tumbling backwards.

“Sadira!” Gavin’s voice rang out as Bella’s trident flashed toward her. But before it could pin her, Sadira spun on the ground, her foot catching the back of Bella’s knee, forcing her to stagger and spoiling her aim, the trident biting the sand beside Sadira. Surging nimbly to her feet, she thrust her twin swords toward her opponent, forcing Bella to back away.

Despite the move, Bella smirked as she channeled her power, binding a building storm of magic to her will. The air bent around her, forming a dozen small, shimmering translucent blades. With a wordless shout she sent them flying to lash Sadira, who gritted her teeth, knowing what was coming.

“RAZORWIND!” roared the crowd, recognizing one of their favorite spells.

Sadira dove backwards, but the Razorwind spell caught her, cutting her with jagged edges of compressed air. Blood flowed from a half-dozen wounds as she rolled to her feet. The crowd gasped and cheered. Bella smiled, no doubt feeling a surge of triumph from landing the blow.

“I learned that just for you!” she called as she stalked toward the bloody shadow elf woman, her swagger turning into a quick lunge with her sharp pointed trident. “I am going to take you apart, bit by bit, Sadira. You will beg me for death today.”

Sadira’s curved swords snaked out as her opponent moved in, one of them knocking the trident aside, the other sweeping toward golden-haired Bella’s legs. Bella jumped to avoid the slashing sword. Verdant energy flooded Sadira as she moved, gradually slowing the bleeding and closing her wounds. Bella was pushed backwards by the sheer ferocity of her next two strokes, desperately fending off Sadira’s hungry blades with her trident and net. Sadira may have not had the offensive magic that Bella did, but her druidic enchantments gave her a massive advantage in strength and healing.

“Cute trick, Bella,” Sadira snarled, her violet eyes flashing bright with power as she sent cut after cut at the woman. “Maybe you should have learned some magic that actually kills people!”

Sadira moved on her opponent with the strength and fury of an enraged bull, but lithe Bella summoned her power again, this time tossing a fist-sized ball of fire at her opponent. The ball burst into a searing gout of flame, charring Sadira’s skin where it hit; this caused her pain but also disrupted her magic, slowing her healing.

“Oh, Sadira, poor girl, did you really think I’d never fought someone who knows life magic before?” Bella attacked Sadira with a flurry of trident thrusts as she reeled from the burn. “I’m smarter than you, I’m more skilled than you, and I’m better looking than you. I’m going to kill you here in front of all these people, and after I’m through with you, I’ll take your man as well!”

<>

Gavin had recovered from Cat’s latest flurry of frenzied claw attacks and sent her reeling with a mind blast spell. They circled each other, but she never gave him a clean line to interfere with Sadira and Bella.

“You’re quite good,” he ventured. Few charger-class Gladiators understood screening.

In response, she growled and then flew at him again, claws ringing off his shield and armor, one of them slipping under his guard and leaving a bloody gash on his arm. She ducked his answering spear thrust, but he caught her under the chin with a swipe of the razor edge of his shield, nearly opening her throat in the process. Letting out a hiss of surprise, she rolled away from him, surprisingly nimble for a fighter in medium armor, blood dripping from her jaw and neck.

Content with the space that he’d bought, Gavin summoned his magic, his power clamping down on her mind like a vice. Staggering under its effects, the woman ground her teeth against this new onslaught and promptly charged at him, looking to regain the momentum that she’d lost. Like Sadira, she channeled her power into a healing spell as she ran, causing her wounds to quickly begin to heal. Feeling in control of the way that the bout was unfolding, Gavin waited until she was close and then feinted a spear thrust at her midsection, forcing to sidestep, lest she end up impaled. Yet the second that she did, he sprang forward and rammed her with his shield, unleashing the pent-up energies in the trollodestone in the process. Eyes wide with surprise, the woman was then blasted off of her feet and into the air, spinning wildly. Gavin saw his chance; he ran toward Sadira and Bella.

Gavin was lining up a spear-cast when he sensed a surge of Thaom and was blasted sideways from the impact of a spell. As he recovered, Cat leapt on his back, her deadly claws reaching toward his throat. He dropped and rolled, felling the claws rake across his shoulder as he tossed her from his back. They landed and rolled to their feet, with Cat still between him and Sadira.

I need to get past her, Gavin thought as they exchanged attacks. I need to help Sadira!

<>

“Chosen’s hairy arse, girl, who taught you how to swing a sword?” Bella taunted as she ducked under Sadira’s whirling blades and slashed at her side with her folded net. The pain made Sadira blink but it was hardly her main concern. Sadira’s mistakes were starting to add up in spite of her regenerative magics, and she was struggling to keep control of her anger.

She must be using runes of pain and bleeding, thought Sadira. She wants to wear me down.

Redoubling her efforts, Sadira slashed her blades at the hated Bella, carving bright arcs in the air as she surged forward. Sensing trouble, Bella didn’t hesitate in retreating from her assault, the woman’s eyes widening in surprise at the ferocity of the onslaught. But to Sadira’s delight, she saw Bella suddenly stumble against her own trident, her jaw snapping shut as she staggered for balance. Seeing her opportunity, Sadira closed swiftly, thrusting a blade-tip at Bella’s throat. To her horror, as Sadira committed to the attack she saw Bella’s balance shift and realized, too late, that she had been baited into making a rash attack. Bella twisted slightly to avoid the sharp points of Sadira’s twin black blades, and as Sadira’s momentum carried her past, Bella brought her spiked knee up hard into Sadira’s belly. Immediately, Sadira felt the wind go out of her, followed closely behind by the loss of her balance as the haft of Bella’s trident swept her leg. She heard the crowd grasp as she hit the rough moss of the arena, felt a surge of adrenaline as she rolled to get away, followed by a moment of dread as she saw Bella cast the net. She scrambled, but it caught her.

Oh, no, not like this, she thought, going cold.

“Sadira!” she heard Gavin shout, saw him trying to get past his opponent or at least throw his spear. But try as he might, Cat shadowed him too closely, interfering with his movements and slowing him down, her deadly claws impossible to risk ignoring. She felt him cast a powerful mind blast and saw Bella stagger, but the Gladiatrix righted herself and closed in.

Sadira felt every ounce of the heavy, weighted net enveloping her, pinning her prone form to the ground. She rolled, trying to escape, but the hooks and barbs of the net ripped into her flesh as she moved, biting and digging in. The more she struggled, the tighter the vicious mesh became, the metal strands sinking in deeper and deeper. Fear touched her as she saw Bella closing in slowly, strutting, smiling, and whirling her trident.

“It’s over, Sadira. Struggle all you want—you can’t power your way out of this!” Bella moved forward, clearly intending to end the fight with a few well-placed jabs of her trident. Her intention was to render the shadow elf completely helpless so she could execute her for the crowd. “Now . . . just stay still a moment. I’ll make this quick. Or . . . maybe I won’t.”

Behind Bella, Sadira saw Gavin cast a powerful spell at his opponent and then push her aside, but any hope of rescue died as Cat recovered quickly and careened into him, slashing his side and forcing him to defend against her attacks. Bella’s shadow loomed as the net tightened.

I will not die like this, Sadira thought desperately as she considered her options, seeing Bella continue to sneer as she looked down at her. She saw that arrogance and used it, drawing strength from rage. I will not be beaten by the likes of her.

Needing to play to time, Sadira did the only thing she could and slowed her assailant down with a hastily woven grasping-roots spell, all while she struggled up to her knees, using the burning, white-hot rage within her to ignore the vicious hooks and barbs tearing at her. This time she focused her anger inward, using it to give her strength as she worked to overcome the hated net. Within moments her magic responded, her healing spells strengthening as she took control of her molten fury. She pushed her swords outwards, peeling the net from her arms, feeling the hooks and barbs rip their way out of her flesh one by one. Astounded by this display of courage, the crowd surged to their feet to roar encouragement, which further fueled her efforts.

Eyes wide, no doubt shaken by Sadira’s bloody determination, Bella ripped free of the entangling roots and moved forward to finish her off, but in her haste, she made a mistake of her own. Sadira completed her terrible, bloody effort and stood up, freeing herself enough to pivot just as Bella thrust the trident at her. She felt one of the tips graze her side but knew triumph as the others cut past her harmlessly. It was just enough for her to shift her stance and throw herself forward, still half enmeshed in the net, onto Bella. The crowd roared as the two fighters collided and went down.

Sadira savored the look of fear in Bella’s eyes as they grappled, the bloody net ripping into them both. Thaom roared through her, filling her with verdant strength as Bella tried to fend her off with a conjured fire spell in her hand that Sadira promptly slapped aside before it could take shape.

It was that move that caused Bella’s eyes to meet Sadira’s as they warred with one another, both of them suffering in agony as the tiny hooks and barbs of the razor-edged net cut at them. Eyes that widened in fear as Sadira’s hands closed on Bella, ignoring the pain of the barbs as she pulled the other woman to her. Verdant magic filled her limbs and grip with vitality, and her strength was not to be denied. Bella struggled desperately, hammering Sadira with fire-snap and razor-wind spells, but it was not a fight she could win now. The law of strength took its toll and Sadira’s hands closed around Bella’s neck as they both struggled in the grasp of the vicious net.

Bella thrashed desperately as Sadira choked her with one hand and tried to punch her with the other. The skirmisher blocked the punch, groping for her dagger, but her struggles faltered as she lost breath. Sadira punched her again. This time, Bella was not strong enough to resist her, and she felt bone shatter as she hit. She did it again and again. Until blood was dripping from her fist and the roar of the crowd drowned everything else out.

<>

“Bella, no!”

This time it was Cat who desperately tried to reach her partner, but Gavin did not let her.

Gavin caught her as she tried to speed around him, throwing her over his shoulder and slamming her into the moss-covered rock. He risked a glance at Sadira and felt relief and hope flood through him as he saw her sitting astride Bella, holding her down. Cat made him pay for this by kicking him from the ground, sending him staggering back. But he absorbed the blow easily and drew his short sword from his hip while she nimbly regained her feet.

“Bella!” The anguish in Cat’s voice was thick as she tried once more to slip past Gavin as her partner stopped struggling.

Once again, Gavin stopped her, this time his foot catching her ankle and sending her crashing to the ground. His sword caught her hip as she regained her feet, a brutal thrust that left her spurting blood. Gavin followed up by slamming his shield into her face, knocking her off her feet and back onto the ground. The crowd hushed, waiting, as he fell on top of her, pinning her to the ground. She tried to rise, but he had every advantaged he needed to hold her immobile.

Looking up, Gavin watched Sadira slam Bella’s head on the rock, and then again and again, before she risked peeling the net off them both. He watched in horror as the hooks ripped from her flesh, but Sadira did not seem to mind. Bella’s eyes fluttered open, drawn out by the pain, but she was too weak to even rise as Sadira placed a blade against her throat. Gavin saw it then, Bella’s eyes widening, as the realization of her doom robbed her of any strength.

“SADIRA! SADIRA!” roared the crowd.

Cat struggled beneath him, almost lifting Gavin off of the ground despite the disparity in size. Gavin felt awful holding her there, but he had no choice; their roles in this drama were set.

“Gladiatrix, I hold your life in my hands!” Sadira intoned imperiously, using the proper form for a Deathmatch between two Gladiators. “I now call upon the judgement of the people to determine your fate. Are you brave enough to face them? If you show yourself to be a coward and struggle now, I will slay you.”

“I will accept the judgement of the people, Gladiatrix Sadira.” Bella’s voice was surprisingly clear despite her battered and bloodied face. “I, Gladiatrix Bella diPromise, throw myself upon their mercy.”

Sadira looked up at the crowd. She raised her blades to them, points downwards to signify her desire to slay Bella. Gavin watched as if in a dream, hearing Cat cry out for Bella beneath him. In all of his imaginings of this fight, he had feared watching Sadira die or failing her; he had never thought of how ugly winning might be.

The crowd responded, showing their thumbs. Bella raised her chin defiantly, awaiting the verdict as bravely as she could. Gavin saw many thumbs turned up and many turned down. He could hear men and women pleading for mercy and others screaming for death as they waited for the final tally, poised on the razor’s edge. At last, the officer of the Deliberative moved forward, raising his hand. In the silence that followed Gavin heard Bella breathe in. The announcer’s thumb turned downward.

Calling for death.

The crowd exploded, some cheering, some jeering.

Gavin watched as Sadira smiled at the verdict; there was no mercy in her. She sank her twin swords into their half-scabbards and then drew her new greatsword, the weapon he had gifted to her, from her back. The big, black blade gleamed in the dying ray of twilight. Sadira walked around the kneeling Bella slowly coming to a stop right in front of the helpless Gladiatrix. Her violet eyes sparkled with cruelty, as she looked down.

“You should have kept your hands to yourself, Bella,” she said.

Gavin saw one of Cat’s tears splash off of the blade that he held near her throat. He could feel her shaking beneath him, and wondered how he would feel if he had to watch Sadira die. He felt no triumph, only pity, and suddenly remembered his execution of Olek Agvarson.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the girl pinned below him.

Most arena executions were from behind. It was cruel of Sadira to force Bella to watch the blade as it swept down to take her head. Gavin watched as Sadira lifted her blade, gripping it tightly. Bella straightened up, squaring her shoulders to meet her cruel fate with courage, something that they had all been taught to do as young Gladiators in the Campus Gladius. How monstrous that all seemed to him now.

“Cut straight, you bitch,” Gavin heard Bella say, raising her chin defiantly as Sadira lifted her blade.

Sadira’s war scream echoed in response. Her blade flashed down, sweeping through Bella’s delicate neck with brutal ease. Bella somehow found the strength, impressing both Gavin and the crowd, to meet the deadly blade without flinching. The cut was straight and well executed, and Bella’s head toppled to the ground in front of her body. Blood fountained from the cut, and Sadira grinned viciously as a few droplets fell on her. The crowd, taken by bloodlust, roared its approval.

Gavin watched as Bella’s lifeless body toppled to the ground, gushing blood. Beneath him Cat shook, sobbing silently. He realized then that he did not want her to die and he hoped that the crowd was sated.

A chill ran down his spine as Sadira walked over to Bella’s severed head, grabbing a fistful of blood-drenched golden hair. The crowd screamed in approval as his lover lifted her bloody greatsword in one hand and her still-dripping trophy in the other, hoisting them for all to see. The look on Sadira’s face was one of pure, visceral triumph.

Dreading what was coming, Gavin gently lifted Gladiatrix Cat to her feet. She did not struggle and merely bowed her head as Gavin lifted his sword, pointing skyward, in supplication to the crowd, calling for mercy. His heart raced during the tally, but in the end, mercy was granted.

Gladiatrix Cat would live again to fight another day. Relief washed over Gavin, quickly chased by revulsion as Sadira held up Bella’s head once more to salute the crowd.

<>

“This is what we do, Gavin,” Sadira said to him as she wiped the blood from hair and face. He sensed a pulse of Thaom while the healer closed another of the gaping wounds left by the net hooks. “The audience is still screaming our names out there, and you are in here looking like we lost. Camille Caesaria, the Red faction recruiter was watching tonight!”

“I don’t know, Sadira—” he began, unsure of how to continue. He knew he loved Sadira, but he found it hard to reconcile the image of her holding up Bella’s severed head with the laughing, smiling Sadira he woke up with every morning. Was that how he had looked after executing the Scornbound Agvarson? Was that what they were as Gladiators?

“You don’t know what?” Sadira exclaimed, as she threw up her hands in exasperation, causing the healer to make a loud tutting sound. “This is a moment of triumph for us! We should be celebrating! And yet here you sit before me while I wonder why you are showing more empathy for a woman who humiliated you publicly than for the one who nearly died defending your honor?”

Gavin let out a breath. “I’m sorry . . . I just don’t like executions. Before I met you, Sadira, I killed a Scornbound in a match. He was strong, but the fight just felt . . . wrong. I don’t know what else to say. Or how to say it . . .”

“Is that why you showed mercy to Cat?”

“Yes,” Gavin replied, the memory of the woman causing his heart to ache. “You should have felt her cry, Sadira. I couldn’t kill her after that.”

Sadira stared at him for a moment, then she shook her head. “She’s a Gladiatrix, Gavin. This is what we do. Had Bella won, she would have done the same to me, and likely to you as well. They wanted this Deathmatch; they got what they deserved. Do you think Cat will think kindly on you for letting her live?”

“I don’t know,” Gavin replied with a heavy shrug.

“If you had died, I would have taken death as a mercy, Gavin,” Sadira said a slight tremble echoing in her voice as she spoke.

He stood and crossed over to her, kneeling and taking her hands. He loved her despite all of the blood.

“I’m sorry, Sadira,” he said in a soft tone. “Sometimes I think that I made the wrong choice in becoming a Gladiator. Perhaps I would have found a better peace in another role.”

Sadira expression softened, and she ran a hand through is hair. “You overthink things, my love. There is no one, no one that I would rather have by my side on the fighting grounds or standing with me when I am crowned with the laurels of victory.”

“Regardless, I’m sorry that I ruined your win,” Gavin said “It was a match well fought.”

“Our win,” Sadira corrected with a smile. “Why don’t we hit the baths and meet up with the others? You can make it up to me later.”

Gavin nodded. He was about to say more when a breathless page ran into the room.

“What is it?” asked Sadira.

“The arena master—” began the page. “Gladiatrix Karmal . . . she killed Meady Mox!”

Chapter Thirteen: Camp Valorous

1141/04/25 AR, Camp Valorous, An old military town on the western border of the Domains, a training ground for the Red Faction

“Although they are both fighters, a Gladiator and a Soldier are as different as the arena is from the battlefield.” Victor diTavalon, Warbound

Karmal was still weighing on both Sadira and Gavin as they met with the recruiter for the Red Faction, Camille Caesaria. She had killed Meady Mox in self-defense, they knew that much, but even so the Deliberative was investigating thoroughly, making certain that the Gladiatrix could not be held accountable. Thus far, Karmal had been mostly silent in the few moments that they had seen her.

Things changed very quickly after the Deathmatch, which was now the talk of the town. Word of Sadira’s fantastic performance travelled far and big changes were already in motion shortly after their victory. The setting for their rendezvous was a spacious private dining room at one of the most exclusive lodges in Dreadwood, a place frequented by the elite of the Domains.

“Honored Gladiators,” Camille said formally as she greeted them with a smile once they were led to her table. “I am most pleased to meet with you.”

“The honor is ours,” Sadira answered, almost vibrating with excitement. Gavin knew that she was eager to enter the Faction Leagues as quickly as possible and this meeting was the best opportunity for it.

“I understand one of your friends is being detained by the Deliberative?” Camille’s honeyed voice asked, in a light and conversational tone once the initial pleasantries were out of the way. She, like many others, was obviously curious to learn whatever they could about Meady Mox’s sudden death, which had been largely shrouded in rumor and hearsay up until this point. “We can most certainly arrange another meeting if this one is inconvenient.”

“Thank you for your consideration, Madame Caesaria, but that won’t necessary,” Sadira replied in a tone similar to that of the platinum-haired recruiter. “Our friend Karmal should be released soon enough. From what we’ve been told, the Deliberative is not pressing any charges against her, only questioning her. It seems that the arena master’s death was a case of self-defense.”

Camille laughed. “I’m sorry. I’ll be honest with the both of you. I don’t . . . didn’t like arena master Mox. He was a very small-minded man, and his attitude toward the women who had the misfortune of having to do business with him disgusted me. I have heard rumors of his mistreatment of Gladiatrices, and it does not surprise me that he overstepped.”

Sadira grinned. “My only regret is that I didn’t kill him myself.”

Gavin nodded. Karmal was still too quiet about her confrontation with Mox, but it could be that she had been working with the Deliberative to trap the corrupt arena master. It could also be a response to the trauma of whatever Mox had done to her.

“Then I suppose we can be right onto matters of business, matters that I’ll be honest about with you both, since I feel that is the best way to start such things,” Camille said once the wine was in hand. “I was originally on my way here to recruit Bella and Cat. At least until they met their ends at your hands. Gladiators of your rank with a few pairs Deathmatches under their belt are highly sought after, and the Blues tend to get most of them, despite our best efforts. Fortunately, I’ve heard that you’re both interested in the Red Faction, and after watching your duel, I don’t want to risk either of you slipping through our fingers by playing coy. The Red Faction wants to extend an offer to you and is willing to give you choice placement among everything we have available around the Domains. That is after you train with us for a time at Camp Valorous where we can best assess your skill firsthand.”

“We would be honored to join the Red Faction,” Sadira answered, visibly beaming at the woman’s words. “But we do have one condition. We want to form a team with our friends. That was one of the reasons why we were so interested in courting the Reds: we seek a placement that is willing to take all six of us.”

Gavin felt his heart thump for a moment; he feared forcing Sadira to make a choice between staying together and advancing her career.

“Then you make my job even easier,” Camille replied with a broad smile as she motioned towards the wine bottle. “Because I was going to wait until we were on our second bottle before broaching the exact subject. Yes. A thousand times yes. The Red Faction will eagerly take you all. Unlike the Blues, we see value in the bonds of friendship; that is why we have the best teams in the Domains!”

She paused for a moment to raise her glass in a toast to the pair before continuing.

“And with you two anchoring it, I daresay that whatever arena team you join has a chance to be the greatest that we’ve fielded to date.”

“By the ancestors, yes!” said Sadira, letting her excitement show. Gavin let out a breath before taking his wine; his fear of being separated from Sadira was deeper than he had realized.

“To us!” he said, pushing the matter from his mind. “To victory and the Reds!”

<>

The next few months passed quickly with Gavin, Sadira, and the others readying themselves for their journey to Camp Valorous, a large military town on the western edge of the Domains. But along their journey, their first stop, however, was the Campus Martius in the grand City of Krass, both to see old friends as well as a short stint with their chosen masters for training.

Gavin was surprised at how young all the novices now seemed to him. He made sure to stop by the Registrar’s office and say hello to the helpful quickling clerk Sinti, who had helped him plan a handful of his matches. He had learned the importance of friendship since leaving the Campus and thus made the effort to make sure to keep the few friends he had. He also considered seeking out Isabelle, and even discussed her with Sadira, but eventually decided against it. He was more than happy with his new love and saw no reason to dive into the past. The rest of his time was spent with Master Ironwall, learning the next degree of the Enduring Bulwark. His further training in the school taught him how to use his shield to better defend against certain spells and unusual monster attacks like fire-breath. His time at the Ludus was grueling and often painful, but Gavin enjoyed it nonetheless. Master Ironwall’s steadfast presence calmed him.

Sadira, on the other hand, enjoyed the admiration and attention that the Freshies lavished on her, drinking deep of the admiration of her peers. Young Gladiatrices sought her out for advice while young Gladiators sought after her out of lust, something that made Gavin uneasy out of principle despite trusting Sadira completely. The deadly, alluring shadow elf was already gaining fame among her peers, even then. She decided to learn the basics of the Linebreaker School, instead of finishing the next degree in the Sun and Moon. She felt that the teachings of the Linebreakers would help her fight more efficiently against multiple opponents, a real concern for a light armor class fighter who could not rely on the passive protection of their gear.

Their days were spent in training, but their nights were full of dancing, drinking, and socializing. Sadira made a point of joining all the revels to which she was invited, making sure to bring Gavin with her. They both enjoyed the youthful vigor and Gladiator-friendly environment of the Campus Martius; they did not need a Grey-Robe escort and were surrounded by other Gifted who shared their interests. Growing more comfortable in each other’s company, they enjoyed the privacy of the little apartment which they rented. Ravius joined them after a few weeks. The months in Krass passed quickly in a flurry of training, practice bouts, and long nights among the other Gladiators.

<>

Gavin’s final test for the second degree of the Iron Bulwark School took place a day before they were to begin their journey. He found himself in the basement of Master Ironwall’s ludo, on a warded training ground, facing three massive bronze figures that looked like huge soldiers. Each of them carried a different set of weapons, and they appeared to be animated by old runic magic rather than the Artifice-magic-based automatons that Gavin was used to.

“Remember, Gavin, this test is about harnessing your Thaom to enhance your ability to block with a shield,” said Master Ironwall. “I have disabled the defensive runes on your arms and armor for this test. I expect you to be able to defend flawlessly against the attacks of these constructs using the techniques that I have taught you.”

“I understand, master,” said Gavin. The techniques of this degree focused on using small amounts of magic to counter attacks that would otherwise be impossible to block well, such as a giant’s club-swing.

“Are you ready, Gladiator?” asked Master Ironwall.

“Yes,” said Gavin, settling into a fighting stance with his lion-headed shield held slightly out from his body and his spear loose in his other hand. I’m nervous, but ready.

“Begin,” intoned Master Ironwall, watching from a relatively safe corner of the room, holding his own shield.

The constructs started to move, each of them towering above Gavin. They were not as big as a giant, but their metal skin and weight lent them considerable power.

The first construct, wielding a spear and shield, lunged at Gavin. As he stepped in and shifted his shield to deflect the blow, Gavin sent a pulse of Thaom down his arm in the manner he had learned. The massive spear lanced out, but instead of the tremendous impact that he should have felt, the point seemed to slide off with less friction and force than was natural. Gavin remained perfectly balanced.

“Liquid Deflection technique, good,” said Master Ironwall.

The spear construct shifted for another strike. As it moved, a second construct raised its arm at Gavin, and a barrage of arrows few at him. Rather than dodge, Gavin raised his shield, holding it out from his body, and sent another pulse down his arm. The arrows veered slightly as they struck, attracted to the shield. They struck, ringing out like hailstones on a window, but none passed his guard.

“Magnetic Guard technique, good,” said Master Ironwall.

The spear construct swung at him again. Gavin deflected, watching the other two. The projectile construct raised a second arm, and a gout of flame leapt out. Gavin raised his shield with a surge of adrenaline, once again sending a pulse of Thaom through it. The flames roared into the shield, but not a lick of fire went around its edge.

It was then that the third automaton stepped forward, raising its massive hammer up and bringing it down toward Gavin. The image of Turg smashing him in his first match in Camp Valorous flashed through his head. Instinct screamed at the Gladiator to move aside, but the test was for him to block the attack. Reading the descent of the weapon and timing his movements, he punched upward with his shield, hitting the hammer at a light angle and sending a pulse of Thaom into his fist as it struck. He felt the power of the blow as it slid past him, crashing into the sand beside him. Gavin remained balanced enough that he easily sidestepped a spear-thrust from the next construct.

“Avalanche Slope technique, good,” said Master Ironwall.

Gavin smiled, suddenly beginning to enjoy himself.

“Stop,” Master Ironwall abruptly called, causing the advancing construct to jerk to a halt.

“Is something wrong, master?” Gavin asked, genuinely wondering what he had done wrong to bring an end to the test.

“You’ve demonstrated all relevant techniques without even a misstep, Gladiator,” Master Ironwall told him. “You have passed the second degree of the Iron Bulwark School.”

Despite being still a little stunned at how quickly he’d finished his test, Gavin regained enough of himself to bow deeply as was expected of him. A gesture that Master Ironwall promptly returned.

“Come, Gavin. Attend me for some ironroot tea while I formally record the results.”

“Of course,” Gavin replied, feeling the warm flush of accomplishment. “Thank you.”

Master Ironwall led Gavin up the stairs to the ludo proper, where a great iron teapot waited for them. He could smell the bitter root as they sat down and took their cups. It tasted as bitter as it smelled, but it was wonderfully refreshing.

“It is a harsh life we Gladiators lead, Gavin. The ungifted admire us, yet many of them still fear us because of the Reckoning and the actions of a few of our number. Our friends can quickly become our rivals. I have lost track of the number of times I have seen a Gladiator on the cusp of greatness dragged down by his own inner turmoil.” The old dwarf paused, taking a long breath. “Few of us become Grand Champions, Gavin. Fewer still attain the exalted position of Chosen. Many of us become tired of the bloodshed, strife, and sorrow that life in the arena brings. Some of us choose to retire and teach our skills to those who show promise. This is not failure. I think of it as having the wisdom to seek a new path when the old way becomes the wrong way. We must be true to ourselves, not just the roles others have chosen for us.”

“I think I understand that now,” Gavin said thoughtfully. “I used to look down on those who put aside their desire to join the Chosen. But I can see now that people’s paths can change as they learn and grow. It would be foolish to hold to their initial desires when they know better of the challenges and sacrifices that such a goal requires.”

“Quite so,” Master Ironwall agreed with a smile, clearly pleased to hear such a thoughtful statement from his young student. “But it is also true that some give up their dreams too easily. Your path has changed, joined to Sadira’s, I think. And I’m certain that it will change again and again, over time. But I sense that your relationship with her is not the root of your troubles.”

“Perhaps not, Master. As you know, my parents were both Gladiators,” Gavin said before pausing, needing a moment to overcome his uncertainty. Children born to active Gladiators could stay with their parents, even if they were ungifted. The lifestyle of those who fought and died in the arena was considered improper for the raising of children. Because of this tenet, he’d never met his parents and knew absolutely nothing of them, not even if they still lived. “And as I get older, I am starting to wish more and more that I knew what happened to them. Is there any reason why they wouldn’t contact me if they still lived?”

Ironwall took a moment to consider, his brow furrowed in thought. Gavin could tell he was choosing his words carefully.

“Some Gladiators who choose to have children contact them when they feel they are old enough,” he said. “It is a process often easier if their children are ungifted, or if they have chosen the life of a Taskbound. But as Gladiators? That is often a much more delicate meeting. Our kind is full of pride, and the bonds of blood are extraordinarily strong. Sometimes the emotions involved when children of Gladiators meet their parents are overwhelming and have led to great upsets.

“You have heard the tragic tale of Odyron and Axus, have you not? I have known sons who have killed fathers and mothers who have left their daughters dead in the arena. There are some who feel it is better to let their warlike offspring seek their own paths without interference, while others cannot bear the thought of a child risking death or worse in the arenas. Even though they did the same. Others, more rarely, prefer to watch from afar and offer aid in more subtle ways. There can be many reasons why your parents might have not contacted you, not just death or indifference.”

“I’ve met with some of Sadira’s family,” Gavin said quietly, his gaze fixated on his cup before him. “The joy they get from each other . . . I wish I had something to add to that.”

“You mean, aside from yourself?” the old dwarf asked with a chuckle. “Among the ungifted of my people, a man or woman considers the family of their beloved more important than the actual person. It is this tradition among some cultures of humans and elves as well, part of the old ways. A practice I am not overly fond of, if I must be honest. Your young Gladiatrix loves you purely for yourself, untainted by any other obligations or pressures. Be glad of this, Gavin. Do not squander what you have, for want of what you lack.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Gavin replied, his eyes distant as he considered the dwarf’s words. “I should be glad for her and happy with my friends, for they truly are my family. Thank you, master. Your insight is profound as always.”

“Thank you, student,” the old dwarf said in the traditional response. “But if the desire continues to stay strong, then perhaps you should search for your parents one day, or learn what you can about them. Just be certain that you are doing it for the right reasons and that your expectations are . . . tempered. Should you do decide to do so, seek me out then and I will assist you however I can.”

They drank tea and chatted about politics and recent arena news until Sadira arrived at the ludus after finishing her preparations to leave. The shadow elf Gladiatrix greeted Master Ironwall with a dazzling smile and bow before entering.

“I have come to collect my man, Master Ironwall,” she said, her tone mock serious.

“Alas, I was hoping you’d seen the light and decided to take up the way of the shield, young Sadira,” he responded, stroking his beard in an exaggerated manner, prompting Sadira to laugh.

“Thank you, Master Ironwall,” Gavin said with a bow, Sadira following suit as the pair then moved to leave.

“Remember Gavin,” Master Ironwall said as they departed. “You know the secret of perfect defense and have shown that you can meet the mountain as it falls. May the wisdom of this school guide you in life as well as on the fighting grounds.”

<>

“It is so beautiful up here,” Vintia said as they gazed out across the vast plateau before them. The six Gladiators had reached the midway point of their journey to join the Red Faction at Camp Valorous. Gavin had never been this far from Krass before, having long since passed beyond Dreadwood, Iron Bluff, and the great road north to Volcanus, and the ascent into the Dragon’s Teeth mountains that began in the Red Hills. He was in awe of the landscape around him, though it felt odd to be so far away from the ocean.

“If you like herds of sheep and the occasional wyvern, I guess,” Karmal said with a frown, earning an eyeroll from Vintia.

“That’s Summit over there,” Sadira said quickly, her hand coming up to draw their attention.

With how closely they had traveled together over recent weeks, Gavin noticed that she had a way of disarming Karmal before conflicts even had a chance to begin. It was a need that he didn’t particularly like to have to endure, resulting in him being somewhat wary of Karmal, despite the sympathy he felt for her otherwise after Dreadwood. The Deliberative had ruled that the arena master tried to subdue the Gladiatrix with a shock-stick and that Karmal killing him had been self-defense. She had not spoken of it to anyone, but Gladiators rarely shared their private pains. That was doubly true of Karmal, who never wanted to show any sign of “weakness.”

“The Summit arena can seat fifty thousand; that’s half the town.”

“I like the view up her as well,” Gavin said, smiling at both Vintia and Sadira. “There are ruins in the mountains beyond Summit. One day I would love to visit them, to get a taste of what this place was like before the Reckoning.”

Omodo, looming over them like another mountain peak, nodded his agreement. “They say that the mountain holds built here connect to the Deepstone Roads and might even lead all the way back to Krass.”

“It would be a worthy adventure to open them up again,” Gavin said, a hint of eagerness creeping into his voice. “Chosen Brightspark has cleared one such road, and it now serves as a trade-way between Summit and the Thousand Tongues region.”

The Thousand Tongues was the most populous region of the Domains, after Krass itself. After the harsh travel of the past few weeks, Gavin looked forward to seeing the green, fertile lands which provided so much of the produce that he ate and where so much of the history of the early empire was focused. So far, seeing everything in person had been even better than reading about it.

“You seem awfully quiet, Ravius,” Karmal noted. “Do you have nothing to say about the sights?”

“I am just pondering one of the great mysteries of the world,” Ravius answered.

“Oh, here we go,” Vintia whispered, though Gavin noticed that she smiled as she spoke.

“And what mystery is that?” Omodo asked.

“It seems to me,” Ravius said in very serious tone. “That a road that runs west from Krass should not be called the Great Eastern Way.”

“All roads lead to Krass,” Sadira stated. “West is away from Krass.”

“But it was built from Krass, leading to the west, little sister,” Ravius said with grin. “How does that make any sense?”

“Chosen knows, Ravius,” Sadira replied with a grunt. “Perhaps when I win my place among them I will ask on your behalf?”

“You’ll have to get through me first,” Karmal cut in with a growl. “Though I make no such promises to inquire.”

“Ah! Now there’s some of the old ferocity I remember!” Sadira exclaimed with sudden joy. “I was beginning to miss you.”

“Come on,” Gavin said quickly before Karmal could offer a response, a flash of movement catching his eye. “The caravan is beginning to move again, and we don’t want the Gray-robes to come looking for us.”

He and Sadira led the way back to their travelling group, hand in hand; for a moment, nothing else mattered. Good friends, exploring unfamiliar places, a woman that he loved. Gavin had never felt so free in his whole life.

Chapter Fourteen: Insecticide

1141/04/26 AR, Camp Valorous

“Even now, centuries after it was built, this place still sings of war.” Warbound Bosh, on Camp Valorous.

“How does it look?” Sadira asked as the page finished painting stylized scorpion onto her back in shining red body enamel.

Gavin, shifting nervously from foot to foot, could not imagine even holding still after the Call to Arms, let alone having a page rapidly paint a design on his back. The body paint was simple, but bold.

“It looks as lovely as it did in our first match,” Gavin said as he watched the attendant work. “It is a shame that your greatsword will obscure it from view.

“The fans will see it, trust me,” Sadira replied confidently. “I don’t expect I’ll be without the sword in my hands for long.”

Gavin and Sadira had gone to the arena alone for their first fight in Camp Valorous; Ravius, Karmal, Vintia and Omodo were busy arranging their own matches with the arena master, moving into the house they shared, and exploring the town. Gavin was happy that their friends had joined them. In his eyes, being able to stay together with their little group more than made up for the smaller incentives that the Red Faction offered, over the Blue. He knew Sadira felt the same, which he found admirable in someone so focused on her own fame and success.

After all, what use were the luxuries of life if you could not share them with your friends?

The arena at Camp Valorous was a broad, flat, oval sports field surrounded by solidly constructed wooden bleachers that could seat over twenty thousand spectators, two entire legions. A large number of the seats were reserved for legionnaires or relatively inexpensive bench seats; after all, the Reds believed that the soldiers, workers, and lesser businessmen who made up their faction should be able to enjoy the Great Games at an affordable price. The local garrison, troops in training, soldiers from nearby legions, border rangers, and the occasional Warbound filled the stands whenever they could, joining the local townsfolk. This left less room for expensive seats and private boxes that dominated many arenas, with only a handful available for visiting dignitaries, wealthy landowners, and the Chosen themselves.

Gavin was pleased to feel proper sand beneath his sandals again; he had come to hate the feel of the moss on the Dreadwood fighting grounds.

The large crowd cheered lustily as the two unfamiliar Gladiators made their entrance. Their match was part of several in a series and the audience was already worked up and ready to see some new fighters. A few of them shouted “Sadira,” having heard of her exploits already. After raising her swords for a brief pose, Sadira cartwheeled across the sand and saluted the crowd, ferocious and beautiful. Gavin let her shine; she was a skilled crowd-pleaser, and he enjoyed watching her. He saluted the crowd and then her, earning a ripple of laughter.

Smirking theatrically at Gavin, Sadira moved slowly toward the center of the spacious fighting grounds, facing towards Gavin. When she got there, she looked around at the crowd, then at Gavin again and smirked. Slowly, she pointed to him with her sword, and then to the ground. The crowd erupted into cheers and laughter.

Gavin knew his role here, having practiced it often on the training ground. He charged forward suddenly, skidding to halt on his knees in front of Sadira, raising his brilliant, silver-white shield over his head with both hands. As he stopped, Sadira leapt high into the air, like a bird of prey taking wing. Landing gracefully on Gavin’s steady shield, she drew her elegant twin sabers in salute to the eager crowd, who cheered appreciatively at this skillful stunt.

“Hello, Camp Valorous!” she called out loudly, the broad smile written across her face telling Gavin just how much she was enjoying the reactions of the rowdy crowd.

The Call to Battle sounded, and a pair of iron-bound wooden doors on the west end of the fighting grounds yawned open. For a moment, all that could be seen in the uncovered darkness was the reflection from countless glistening, hateful eyes; then the shadowy tunnel belched spiders. Half a dozen sickly-green-colored arachnids scuttled toward Gavin and Sadira, the sun glistening off their chitinous carapaces. Their thoraxes were about the same size as the body of a hound, but the spread of their gleaming limbs made them appear much larger.

Sadira, still mounted on Gavin’s shield, waited as her opponents moved in, a wave of glittering chitin and hateful eyes. He could sense her channeling her verdant magic into a spell pattern that caused small green plant tendrils to erupt under one of the leading spiders, rooting it to the ground. They had had hoped the sudden obstacle would slow the other spiders, but he could hear her curse as its brethren scuttled over it without pause, leaving it unharmed. Sadira had learned some new tricks over the last few months of training, however, and next she launched a deadly spray of venomous thorns into the beasts. They mostly bounced off the natural armor of the spiders, but so dense was the spray of thorns such that some of the projectiles pierced eyes or joints, and few of the beasts fell. Gavin lanced one with a potent mind blast and felt a burst of satisfaction as it lurched to the side and fell. Then, as the spiders drew close, Sadira leapt from her perch on his shield with a piercing war scream. She landed among them, her swords shearing through a fat thorax with contemptuous ease and kicking another back into its brethren. The spiders scattered before her, suddenly fearful of her deadly black blades.

They’re smart, thought Gavin as he strode forward, following behind Sadira as she danced among the scuttling horrors, blades whirling. Gore splashed against them as her blades bit into another and sheared the limbs from two more. Gavin blocked a spider that leapt at her back and skewered one with a downward stab of his spear. He sent its body tumbling into another of its kin with a flick of the shaft. The creatures were surprisingly light despite their size, far more than he’d been expecting.

Sadira stalked and whirled among her eight-legged foes, her hungry black blades hacking and cleaving, leaving a trail of dissected bodies and severed spider legs in her wake. The spiders tried to scuttle away from her attacks, but there were too many of them. Gavin kept pace with her, following her lead, his spear darting forth to take arachnid lives while his bright, lion-headed shield met any of them who dared leap at her. Bright green ichor dripped from their weapons, and the audience cheered as the hated beasts writhed and died.

Adapting, the cunning spiders spat silken webs, trying to entangle the Gladiators, but with a deft motion, Sadira’s obsidian-colored swords cut through the sticky strands while Gavin shielded her from a wave of spiders that tried to overwhelm them while they were slowed. Heaving with all his might, he held them back. There were too many though, and they began to push him down in an avalanche of clacking mandibles and scuttling legs. Then he felt a surge of Thaom from Sadira and verdant strength flowed through him as she cast a Primal Surge enchantment on him. With a triumphant roar he shoved the whole mass of them away.

The enraged spiders leaped at them, fangs drooling poison, but Sadira, free of the webbing, let loose a piercing war scream and met them with the cold edge of her blades. Blood splashed as he cleaved into them, left and right, her blades unceasing. Still, they came on, the sight of glistening, hateful alien eyes, the sound of scuttling legs mingling with the shouts of the crowd, the stench of spider innards, the quick touch of a trusted partner, fighting back to back, the exultant feel of channeling power into a spell to crush a monstrous foe.

The spectators cheered and clapped, gasping in shared horror when a spindly green monstrosity jumped on Gavin’s back, only to be thrown off and stabbed with a quick reflexive motion. Broken chitin crunched under his boots as he moved among the dying arachnids in unison with his deadly sword-bride.

The spiders had effectively unlimited reinforcements in this match type, being replaced as they fell, but the deadly duo did not give way. Gladiator and Gladiatrix moved in harmony, protecting each other and bringing death to their vicious foes. By the time the trumpet sounded to end the match, the Gladiators were still standing, albeit covered in sweat and spider gore. Twenty-three of the spiders lay dead in the arena, piled around Gavin and Sadira. It was not quite a Camp Valorous record, but very impressive for a new team, and the crowd thundered their approval for these newcomers. The audience gave them a resounding cheer; their first match in their new arena was a joyous success.

<>

Camp Valorous was a Red Faction town. It was not that the other factions were unwelcome in the town, but rather that, as the party of the working class, the Reds naturally dominated a town inhabited largely by soldiers and tradespeople.

The Red Faction boasted the largest membership of all the political factions in the Domains, with a membership often doubling and occasionally trebling that of its arch-rival, the wealthy Blue Faction. They styled themselves as the “Champions of the People,” seeking to strengthen the bonds of the lower echelons of society in the Domains. Their size did not always translate into dominance in the public assemblies however, since the Blues were more tightly knit, well-established, rich, and often better organized.

As a faction, Reds tended to prefer bold, exciting, and dramatic fighters over those who were purely technical. This extended even to costuming, and Red’s Gladiators tended to be a little flashier and sexier than the norm. Given the faction’s political emphasis on social values, it is no surprise that they preferred team events, particularly monster fights, which tended to be bloodier, more visually impressive, and almost always ended in a clear, decisive victory. This type of match was the perfect fodder for crowds who wanted simple action to cheer instead of nuanced displays of skill to be debated and discussed. Sadira was the ideal Red Gladiatrix, bold and impressive, fast and ferocious. Of course, the Blues would also have found reasons to idolize her, if she had chosen their faction.

The town itself was named for the Legion camp that gave birth to it, situated in the highlands at the western edge of the Domains. Camp Valorous acted as a training ground and provided reserves for the legions stationed near Marius’s Wall, a massive stretch of masonry and magic that was built to contain an area of land still horribly tainted from the War of Reckoning. The Great Eastern Way went through the wall, into a series of particularly dangerous tainted places, west of the highlands. After several failed expeditions into these lands, including the disastrous loss of five of the original legions, while trying to follow the ancient road, the Chosen built the wall and turned their attentions elsewhere. The action along this fortified border was continuous even still, and the legions were constantly passing through Camp Valorous on their way to and from their unceasing vigil on the wall.

The bustling town was built along the road, the older buildings laid out with an efficient military plan in mind. The Gladiators occupied the former barracks and parade grounds, a spacious, walled area situated next to the town’s arena. Gladiators were free to roam within this area of the town but had to be escorted by a Grey-Robe if they wished to go venture outside.

Gavin hated the restrictions; there was so much history nearby, but he wasn’t free to see it.

<>

Gavin and Sadira found Druth, the arena master at Camp Valorous to be truly professional. Druth saw all of the Gladiators at Camp Valorous as an investment and made sure to treat them well so that they would continue fighting for the Red Faction in the future. More than a few Champions had gotten their start under his watchful eye, and he took great pride in his work. Most of the young fighters passing through his care would eventually join the Faction Games, the complex competitive leagues in which each faction strove to outdo the others in a series of challenges over the course of a “season” made up of numerous matches.

“You’ll do well here,” Druth had told them when first he met with the pair to discuss their debut match. “You may not earn as many extra victory coins here as you might have in Emerald Cove or Grandia’s Landing, but the soldiers and tradesmen that flow through here will carry word of your skills to every corner of the empire. By the time you finish here, if you keep fighting like you did today, you will have your choice of teams for the Faction Games.”

“I like the sound of that!” Sadira exclaimed eagerly.

“As do I,” Gavin added, sharing the very same enthusiasm.

“Good,” Druth stated, a wry smile creeping across his face. “Then for your next match, I would like to show off your skills against a local specialty . . . a manticore.”

<>

“Where are they going?” Gavin asked Vintia as they watched a line of legions marching past the walls of the Gladiator’s quarter. The legionnaires marched with enviable discipline, though more than a few of them shot glances up to the watching Gladiators. Vintia’s father had been a legate; she knew the legions well.

“North, to the old gates to Avenholt,” Vintia said. “Don’t tell Sadira; she might try to stow away with them.”

“Why?” Gavin asked with a frown.

“One of her ancestors was Chosen Vilonia, who died in the fighting when the Wirn took Avenholt,” Vintia explained. “She is nearly as obsessed with that as with becoming a Chosen.”

Gavin was about to ask more when he spotted a strange figure marching at the head of one of the cohorts. The figure appeared to be made out of metal and towered over the legionnaires marching behind it.

“Is that some sort of new automaton?” Gavin queried, noting the Thaom running through it.

Vintia laughed. “That is a Warbound, Gavin.”

“Is that armor, then?”

“It is,” Vintia answered. “That is what a heavy class looks like on the battlefield. Her suit weighs more than you do, but as a Warbound she can bear that weight and use it to crush her foes.”

“Then that is real protection!” Gavin said enthusiastically, admiring the ease of motion as the Warbound passed by. Warbound and Chosen were not bound by the equipment restrictions that Gladiators had to abide.

“Have you ever thought of becoming a Warbound, Gavin?” Vintia asked.

Most Gladiators who retired from the arena served as Warbound in the legions. Gavin had considered it, but he wasn’t sure; the Warbound were often the leading edge of the empire’s worst policies.

“I have. I don’t know . . .”

“I’d kill for some of that armor in the arena,” Vintia said.

Gavin laughed. “The crowds would end up cheering for the monsters; they already hate us defenders.”

Chapter Fifteen: Manticore’s Business

1141/07/17 AR, Camp Valorous, Gavin’s test match for the Second Rank

“The worst scars of the Reckoning are those you cannot see.” Chosen Nix

“I can remember long discussions of old philosophies with manticores of my acquaintance. Like so many things, this has changed. While I still see them in my Domain, from time to time, their mad, tainted conversation is no longer palatable to me.” Chosen Eudora

“You should be more worried about this, Sadira,” Vintia scolded. “This is a ranking match for us. Gavin, back me up here?”

Gavin, reading a rare, illustrated, brass-bound copy of Marius’s History of the Domains, Volume 5 AR 237-286, took a moment to consider. “I would never step between the two of you in an argument, Vintia, but I am worried about this match as well. Second Rank is always a wildcard test, and this is a team match. I just don’t like it.”

“We just need to go out and do what we do best,” Sadira stated. “Worry will not help us.”

They were sprawled out between the kitchen and adjoining dining area of their Camp Valorous home, a cozy stone house that had been home to countless Gladiators before them and legionnaires before that. Despite its age, the house boasted artifice plumbing with glorious heated water that rivaled all but the best bath-houses. Each of the Gladiators had their own room with more space than Gavin had ever had.

“Defenders . . .” Karmal muttered, controlling a small spark of flame from a candle in front of her, weaving it around her finger. Even with her Thaom muzzled, Gavin could sense it reaching for the flame.

Her skill with fire is so formidable that she can bend flame even muted, he noted.

Ravius grinned from where he and Omodo sat playing Legion, a popular board game among the people of Camp Valorous. “Someone has to worry for you chargers.”

“As if,” Karmal responded. “We carry the rest of you. We always do.”

“Someone is going to have to carry what’s left of you off the field, if no one wants to guard your back,” Vintia said, her eyes flashing between the Gladiators as she spoke.

“Ravius, dear,” Sadira began, speaking before Karmal could retort. “If you start a fight between Vintia and Karmal on the day before a ranking match, I will feed you to the manticore myself!”

“Cool heads make for better teamwork,” Omodo added.

“Indeed, it most certainly does,” Sadira said, looking Karmal in the eyes.

Gavin, sensing the tension still in the room, decided to change the subject. “How is Path of the Juggernaut going, Omodo?”

“I have almost hit the weight increase requirement for second degree,” Omodo replied, motioning towards his growing physique with a meaty hand. “It is a bit slow, but I prefer natural gains to those purely from Sui-Thaiune or alchemical regimens. I have already passed the other requirements. The only downside is that I will have little time to rest before I start training for Path of the Titan. What about you, Gavin?”

“Seeking Spear,” he answered without a second’s hesitation. “The techniques of the first degree lean toward a stronger offence, but I am after the Seeking Spear Lunge, which is capable of knocking a giant on its ass if done correctly.”

“You have me for that,” Sadira interjected. “It also teaches the Phalanx of One technique, which is honestly pretty spectacular. Chosen Giselle made it famous.”

“That she did,” Ravius agreed. “I’ll be joining Gavin. Apparently, they can teach me how to throw my trident with enough skill not to completely embarrass myself.”

“Seems like a waste of time—to focus on a weapon, that is,” Karmal stated. “With my next degree in pyromancy I will be able to burn an enemy alive from the inside out.”

“Effective to be sure, little sister,” Ravius said with a shrug. “But throwing my trident has more style and does not require any Thaom.”

“A niche use,” she countered. “Power is what matters most.”

“And power without technique is like a legion lost in the mist,” Omodo said, quoting an old saying. Karmal frowned at him briefly, but he smiled, and her face softened, and the tension eased. Enough so Gavin was almost able to forget that they were about to face a ranking match.

Almost.

<>

The manticore was a big attraction for this match; the creature preceded the Gladiators into the arena, restrained by thick, steel chains covered in runes. It was relatively rare for a monster to take the field before a Gladiator in a normal match, but Arena Master Druth wanted to show the creature off before the fight. Manticores were notoriously hard to capture and not often seen in the arena despite the place they occupied in the imaginations of the people of the Domains. The howl of the manticore was often said to reduce those who heard it to madness, and while that was mostly superstition, there was a grain of truth within. Manticores could use magic and often did so to cause terror and panic in their prey to make them easier to ambush.

Gavin was not sure where the Deliberative had gotten the beast or why they wanted the Gladiators to fight it for their ranking match, but it was not his place to question the Grey-Robes; they had nearly complete control when it came to ranking matches.

The soldiers and townspeople who made up the audience were already looking the manticore over with great interest. These creatures haunted the wastes beyond the borders of the Domains just west of here. They were not so rare, but few people ever survived a direct encounter with one, and anyone who did was unlikely to have a chance to get a good look at the beast as it tried to kill them. Mostly, it left horribly mangled corpses, often in places where others were sure to find the grisly remains. This one was at rest, making it much easier to examine in detail.

This particular manticore was a striking specimen. At full height, on all fours, its front shoulder was taller than Gavin. Its lion-like main body was covered in glossy, jet-black fur, with a bristling burgundy mane. Its long tail, black like the creature’s fur but covered in glistening scales, was capped with a heavy bone ball covered in long spikes. The spikes could be fired with a catapult-like motion. Its front and hind legs, thickly corded with muscle, ended in sharp, scythe-like claws each longer than a knife. The claws, tail, and leonine appearance combined with the beast’s size made it look fearsome and dangerous indeed, but the most disturbing feature of the manticore was its man-like head and face. Aside from the size of the head and the vicious teeth, it looked very much like the face of a human man. Instead of roaring at the crowd, it spat a constant stream of vicious, vitriolic words from its fang-filled mouth; the language was unknown to Gavin, but the meaning behind it was clear enough. The bloodshot eyes of the beast were the worst part of this face; they were clearly intelligent and man-like yet gleamed with a cunning both predatory and alien.

“Look at the scarring on its face and hide,” Sadira said from beside him. “See the patterns? Those are markings made by other manticores. It is too deliberate to be random or a result of territorial battles. Some say it is for organizational purposes, or a remnant of manticore tribes or civilizations that existed before the Reckoning.”

“Don’t they communicate via telepathic link?” Vintia asked. “Why would they need such markings?”

“They do, and they are very rude about it,” Ravius said.

Gavin nodded; he could sense the manticore’s emotions and thoughts without even using a spell. The creature did not try to resist this, either. Even an ungifted child could learn to shield her thoughts from casual mind reading spells, almost instinctively, yet the manticore made no such effort; in fact, it seemed to draw Gavin in, trying to envelop him within its thoughts. Gavin knew he should pull back, but he did not. As he concentrated, he began to see images of violence. Horrific scenes cascaded past his mind’s eye, sequences of torture and slaughter repugnant even to a Gladiator. With growing horror, Gavin realized that some of the mangled corpses and violated victims he saw in the beast’s thoughts were familiar to him.

Gavin was jolted back to the present by Ravius elbowing him in the side and smirking at him when he turned to look.

<Enough of that, little brother,> he said through their link. <You won’t find anything pleasant in there.>

Shaking his head and looking away, Gavin broke his mental contact with the manticore. He looked to Sadira and the others, reassuring himself that the images of them lying dead and dying were false. Yet despite all of that, he felt nauseated from the experience. The legion reports of the creatures were very clear about this kind of attack, but the reality of it was worse. The manticore was filled with hate, and it broadcasted images of the cruel death that it wanted to inflict upon them to fill them with fear. What unsettled Gavin most was the alien nature of the creature’s desires, as if it were from a different reality. He leaned against the wall for support. The beast’s strange powers were the work of magic; he could sense its Thaom clearly.

Gavin was so taken aback that it took him a moment to notice that the manticore had stopped pulling against its chains and was now focusing its baleful gaze on the entrance way from where the Gladiators watched it in the shadows. It was looking directly at them, smirking. The crowd sensed this and began to cheer. The barrier protected them from the manticore’s spells, but not its fearful reputation.

“Are you unwell, Gavin?” Omodo asked from behind the group. “You look pale.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, straightening up. The last thing he wanted was to appear weak right before the match began and fill his friends full of doubt.

“Gavin, something is wrong,” Sadira said, glancing between him and the creature. “It’s looking right at you.”

“You should have stayed out of its head, Gavin,” Ravius stated. “It knows you now.”

“So it does. And I know how it will attack our minds as soon as we step out there,” Gavin said before explaining to all of them what he’d seen. “Be sure to guard yourselves well against images and illusions.”

“It will also fill the fighting grounds with mist,” Ravius added when Gavin was finished. “They always come in the mists, I’ve heard.”

Vintia and Sadira nodded.

“We will face it, and we will beat it if our courage holds,” Omodo said as he heaved himself up from the bench he was sitting on.

He looked at Gavin, then shrugged his massive, armored shoulders and moved to take his place. They had insisted he enter first, partly because he was so impressively large and partly because their giant friend was often nervous about crowds; he would not be slow in making his entrance if the rest of the team came behind him. That fear was no doubt due to ignorant prejudice against the so called “Mageborn” races, those created by the Arch-Gifted to serve as fodder in the war that led to the Reckoning. Nullifiers, a cultish association of those who hated magic, were particularly vicious in their denouncements. It was beyond disgusting; Gavin could not imagine anyone who actually took the time getting to know his friend actually hating him.

“We will!” Sadira affirmed, holding up her blade.

Omodo wore heavy armor, bright, steel-colored adamantine alloy which covered as much of his body as was allowed by conventions of the arena, over his thick grey hide. He carried a massive war sledge with a seven-foot ironwood haft; its blunt head was the size of Gavin’s chest, and the sharp back-spike on the head was nearly eighteen inches long. It was a formidable weapon, but slow even for someone of Omodo’s size and titanic strength.

“Don’t get too cocky,” Vintia said to Sadira.

Vintia was trained as a heavy fighter as well.

For Gladiators the light, medium, and heavy weight classifications referred to the coverage and weight of their armor. Thus, Gladiatrix Vintia, who came only to Gavin’s chin in height, and Omodo who towered over him, would both be classified as “heavy” fighters, because of their armor. Her brilliant blue eyes sparkled like sunlit sapphires as she smiled up at Sadira, who was standing next to her.

“This beast stands no chance,” Karmal growled, staring at the manticore as if she could kill it that way.

Sadira was sporting a new hairstyle for this fight; her glossy black hair was drawn up into long bristling spikes held in place by glamour. She had told Gavin that she was trying to emulate the mane from a picture she’d seen of a manticore ancient, in hopes of gaining some psychological advantage over her foe. Gavin was not sure it would work, but Sadira had been so impressed with the look she had already decided to keep it for her next fight. She caught Vintia’s look and smiled back.

The Call of the People sounded, and the announcer began to speak as the gate dropped open. The rattling chains obscured much of what he said until Gavin made his way onto the fighting grounds.

“Facing this terrible beast are six of our newest recruits!” The gates to the arena opened, and Omodo jogged forward, followed by Gavin, Sadira, Karmal, Ravius, and then Vintia in single file.

“Omodo the Armodon, Gavin the Defender, Sadira the Charger, Karmal the Charger, Ravius the Skirmisher, and Vintia the Shield-Maiden!” the announcer’s voice boomed. The crowd cheered as they filed into the arena, weapons in hand, armor glinting in the sun.

The manticore continued to stare at them, eyes unblinking. Gavin disliked this, partly because he hated any threats to his friends, but also because he knew that Sadira and Karmal would take it personally, and he worried about rash action. As they moved, mist began to drift into the arena, obfuscating the sand it as it rose. Gavin felt a shiver of anticipation.

“I think it likes you,” Vintia whispered to Gavin as they raised their weapons in salute to the spectators filling the stands.

“I’m already taken,” Gavin murmured in response, still concentrating on keeping the beast’s thoughts from invading his own. “Maybe I can persuade him to swing your way . . . !”

Vintia laughed. “He doesn’t seem to think that much better of me.”

The trumpets sounded. The chains fell from the manticore. It did not move, merely tilted its head to the side, staring at Gavin with fevered eyes. Omodo and Sadira trotted around it quietly, looking to flank it. Karmal began to weave a powerful spell. The audience fell silent, puzzled by the creature’s behavior. The beast’s lips moved.

“You can see.” Its voice was horrible, guttural, rasping, and grating as it suddenly spoke out in Krassian. The crowd shuddered at the sound, understanding the words yet unsettled by the grating voice. Its eyes bored into Gavin from across the sand. “You can all see what I will do to your friends . . .”

Thaom rippled through the manticore, and Gavin felt a sudden, unbidden pressure in his head. Images began tumbling into his mind, breaking through his mental barriers. He could not resist: Omodo’s broken and dismembered corpse; Ravius’s severed head, maggots dripping out its eyes; a laughing manticore holding a brutalized Sadira by the throat. Gavin staggered, assaulted by the pure vileness of the scenes unfolding in his mind. He felt bile rising in his throat. Across the arena, Karmal’s spell weave fell apart, although Gavin could not be certain of what he was seeing.

Vintia moved in front of him, raising her shield. <You’re safe, Gavin. I will protect you while you get a grip.>

<SEE YOUR FAILURE, USELESS PREY!> The unnatural sound of the manticore’s voice rang out in Gavin’s head, linking against his will. The sense of violation from unwanted mental contact made him nauseated.

The mist was everywhere now, thick and grey, obscuring his view. He heard Sadira’s war scream from within and sensed her through the link, and then Omodo’s bellow a second later, but he saw only flashes of movement beyond Vintia and the images that were assaulting him.

As the manticore continued its mental onslaught, Gavin began to taste blood in his mouth and feel something leak from his eyes. It was not a good sign. In front of him, Vintia cast a lightning snap at a looming shadow, and then a massive paw slammed against her shield. The Gladiatrix staggered, and Gavin put aside his pain to brace her against further assault. Flames shot over both their heads, a spell from Karmal, and the beast slipped back into the mist.

“Thanks,” Vintia said. Gavin could only nod response.

From the mist, he heard a leonine yowl followed by a whoop from Ravius and Sadira.

Gathering his will to resist, Gavin caught glimpse of the manticore thoughts. This time, he felt the cold touch of the beast’s disdain. But there was something more lurking within, in the very pattern of the manticore’s magic. It was indescribably alien and terribly, terribly wrong. To it, he was nothing more than vermin. The weight of that presence was such that Gavin wanted to collapse and seek the sweet release of nothingness. He shuddered. Then suddenly, the mist seemed to part and the manticore shouldered Vintia aside, lunging at Gavin, jaws seeming to open impossibly wide.

<YOU DIE!> screamed the beast in his head.

Gavin raised his shield just in time to block the attack as Omodo appeared from the mist and slammed into the beast from the side, his metal-armored horn sinking into its flank, nearly toppling the heavy creature with his earthshaking charge. The tail lashed out, sending Omodo crashing back as the manticore stood. Gavin could still sense its presence, but the pressure was less. He wasted no time, lunging, ramming his spear into it and twisting the barbed head with all his might. At the same time, Vintia regained her feet and slashed the beast’s face with her blade.

The manticore’s roaring shriek of pain and rage was so horrible, so human and yet alien, that everyone in the arena was frozen into place, their senses rebelling against the sound. The audience, the Gladiators, and every townsperson who heard the sound was overcome with a profound sense of horror. Only the Grey-Robes and a Warbound in the audience seemed unfazed. A handful of veteran soldiers watching the fight withstood the sound with grim faces, for they had heard such hideous howling before. The stalwart Gladiators, unprotected by wards, were numbed by the manticore’s nerve-torturing bellow. Sadira was the first of the fighters to recover and she stalked toward the beast willfully, as if running into a hurricane wind. Ravius followed her.

The manticore thrashed, twisting its sinuous body and smashing the stunned Omodo again with its tail. The massive armodon staggered backwards from the force of the blow, and the beast reared up, slamming him down to the ground with its front paws. The armodon was forced to fend off the drooling jaws of the beast with his maul while claws raked across his abdomen, drawing blood. Vintia left Gavin’s side and sprang forward with a shout, intercepting the next blow with her shield.

The mists began to thicken as Gavin shook off his torpor. He could still feel some mental connection to the beast as it sought to slink back into the mist. Its Thaom was easy to sense, but as he stood, Gavin realized that he could feel the Thune of its weaving now. He reached out and disrupted it. The manticore tried to resist, but Gavin’s will was strong now. He attacked its Thune, trying to disrupt its magic. He felt a horrific pressure in his head, tasted blood, but he pressed on . . . and then . . . sweet release. The pressure eased, and the fog began to clear, allowing Gavin to clearly see what happened next.

Sadira’s war shriek rent the air, pure and strong now, as she ducked under the manticore’s body, thrusting her twin obsidian-colored sabers at its groin and belly; the beast sprang backwards, quick and catlike, as her blades sank in. Ravius stabbed it in the flank as a ray of flame from Karmal singed its mane. The manticore backed away, blood dripping from its wounds as the crowd jeered behind it. It snarled at Sadira as Omodo gained his feet behind Vintia, raising his massive weapon defiantly despite his brutal wounds.

“Have I got your attention now?” Sadira snarled at the manticore, staring unflinchingly into the creature’s horrible eyes.

Behind her Gavin breathed deeply. His head hurt, but he was gaining clarity. When the manticore tried its magic again, he locked wills and stopped it. The beast growled at him, but Sadira stepped between them as the other Gladiators moved to flank it.

Sadira readied her blades, and the manticore eyed her. Gavin watched carefully, raising his shield; the books had warned that the beasts were swift and graceful, but actually seeing one in action was awe-inspiring. When it gathered itself and sprang at her, it closed the distance with terrifying speed, and Sadira barely had time to react, rolling to the side to evade it. It did not stop, swiping at her with a paw as she stood up, forcing her to fall backwards as the scything claws rent the air in front of her. The moment she was out of the way, it turned to Gavin and pounced.

Vintia planted herself beside Gavin just in time. Together they braced and held as it rammed into their shields. The beast snarled and swiped at them. The manticore’s talons threatened to tear Gavin’s shield from his grasp, but he used Liquid Deflection technique to ensure that it could not get a grip. Beside him, Vintia moved with the blow, deflecting the force of the attack rather than trying to counter it purely with strength. Her bright blade snaked out, thrusting at the beast’s eyes to force it back.

Omodo took this chance to swing his maul at the distracted creature, hammering the back spike of his weapon into its shoulder with a powerful shout. The beast howled again, sending shivers through the crowd before turning and raking Omodo with both its back claws, leaving another line of bloody gashes where his armor failed him. The armodon toppled backwards, pushed to the ground as the beast bore down on him. Sadira darted around Vintia, slashing the manticore’s flank, her twin blades cutting deep, then ducking under its crushing tail as it swept out. Ravius followed her, jabbing into its leg with his trident before rolling away.

Gavin shook off the last of its mental assault and charged into the fray, leaping over Omodo’s kneeling form, thrusting his spear at the creature’s face. The manticore turned to face him as he lunged. It met his gaze and did not move. The barbed blade of his war spear sank easily into its wide-eye, which burst as the point drove through it. The other eye continued to stare at him, unblinking. The beast still did not move. Something foul and rotten leaked out of the socket as the spear point sank deeper into the beast’s head. Gavin felt nauseated. He could see something looking out at him from the other side of the manticore’s eye, briefly, and he could sense it ripple in the beast’s Thaom and then it was gone.

The manticore suddenly came back to its senses and howled in agony. The shriek was deafening, but it did not carry the foul magic of the previous screams, and the Gladiators pressed the attack. Gavin was thrown back as it reared up, landing on his feet and drawing his sword. The spear was still lodged it its head, likely in the brain.

Vintia and Sadira both stabbed the creature in the side as it thrashed before a twitch of the clubbed tail forced them back.

<THE MASTERS SAW!> It reared back and then lunged at Gavin, who deftly stepped to the side and stabbed it in the neck with his short sword. <I HAVE SEEN YOUR DEATHS.>

Thaom burned brightly as it redoubled its mental assault. This time, Sadira, Vintia, Ravius, and wounded Omodo all felt the mental onslaught of the creature’s foul images full force; their minds drowned in images of slaughter, rape, decay, seas of filth. Horrible scenes of everything they loved being destroyed and violated washed over their minds. The beast readied itself to strike. The audience shuddered, mostly protected against the mental onslaught by the arena wards, but still disturbed by the tainted magic. Gavin was able to shake off the attack in time to move against manticore as it pounced on him, bearing him to the ground and raking his armored chest with its claws while he fended of its snapping jaws with his shield.

“ENOUGH!” Gavin roared, Thaom surging through him. His power felt pure and clean, like the ocean wind on a brisk day. He locked wills with the mad creature, holding himself strong against the awful taint of the magic infecting it. He channeled all the power he could muster, weaving a strong pattern. Even the audience in the crowd could sense the magic flowing between the Gladiator and the manticore without aid, like a sudden increase in air pressure.

Gavin blasted the creature’s tainted mind. It reared back, blood spraying from its mouth and ears. He rolled out from under it and turned to face it as his friends shook off the mental attack. The beast, somehow still clinging to life despite so many wounds, lunged at him, a vicious claw snaking out. Gavin blocked it, then another. Then both he and the manticore stopped as Karmal, channeling unhindered, so much that it lifted her into the air on a current of Thaom, cast a spell. As the beast turned and leapt at her, Gavin jumped out of the way. Fire erupted from the Gladiatrix, a massive jet that washed over the manticore as it pounced. The beast disappeared into the torrent of flame and ash was all that remained of it when the spell subsided.

The crowd went wild.

<>

Packages arrived for them the next day. Their grading results from the Deliberative arrived in sealed parchment scrolls bearing a tamper-proof, warded wax seal. All of them received a pass from their fight against the manticore. Gavin also got a package from an anonymous patron, a heavy, brass-bound, leather-covered book entitled The Legacies of the Reckoning: Essays on the Corrupt and Tainted Magic.

Chapter Sixteen: Beautiful Monsters

1141/09/12, Camp Valorous

“How much blood is spilled in the arenas across the Domains every day? Do these games bring us any closer to solving the dangers of the Gifted?” Pamphlet nailed to the door of an arena.

“I don’t like this kind of fight, Sadira.” Gavin frowned, struggling to express his views while remaining calm. “Slaughter matches represent the worst excesses of the arena. There is no technique to winning in them, beyond vicious butchery.”

Slaughter matches were a favorite of the Red Faction. The goal was simple: to kill as many opponents as possible in the allotted time. A basic slaughter match involved a large group of weaker monsters herded into the arena. The ideal balance in the minds of most arena masters was to allow just enough creatures to give the fighters a bit of a challenge. Too many creatures and the Gladiators would be forced to defend instead of kill, too few and the match would lack drama and proper pacing. In Faction Games, teams got points for kills in this match type, with spectacular kills sometimes being awarded additional points based on style, with varying criteria. “Kill of the day” stories were very popular reading on link crystals. Usually, the teams would take the field separately, competing against each other’s scores; however, the very best teams in the largest arenas would occasionally compete directly, fighting at the same time.

“You didn’t seem to mind the match against the spiders,” Sadira retorted. “That fight was pretty much a wholesale slaughter.”

“That was a survival match, though.” He rolled his eyes, immediately regretting this act as he saw Sadira’s wickedly arched brows begin to knit in anger. “In a survival match, the whole point is to survive any way you can; the monsters can overwhelm you and defense really matters. Slaughter matches are mostly about killing and blood.”

“That doesn’t seem like much of a difference to me,” she responded, a little tartly.

“It is a huge difference for me,” he said. “I chose to be a Gladiator so I would keep my magic and win my freedom. I am not a murderer. This type of fight demeans us.”

“Well, I happen to like this type of fight! Does that make me some kind of degenerate, my love?” Sadira responded icily. “We are Gladiators, Gavin. We did not choose the bloodless bondage of the Taskbound; we chose to keep our magic and to compete for a place among the Chosen, to fight and to kill, to risk death, all for the pleasure of the crowd. We are the Arenabound. This is what we do. Don’t let your idealism get in the way of seeing what we really are, beloved.”

“That’s low,” Gavin stated.

“As low as insulting the woman you love over a match choice?”

“I didn’t mean to insult you, Sadira.” Gavin sighed. He was often afraid that she would turn away from him when he confided his growing dislike of the more brutal aspects of their profession. “I know you were just trying to be efficient, arranging a quick match when you got the opportunity. I’m sorry if I overreacted. I just don’t like this type of match.”

“And you’re right as well, Gavin,” Sadira replied, her growing anger breaking as she saw the emotion on his face. “I should have sought your approval. We are a team, after all.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

“But such a thing cuts both ways. If we are to work together, you need to open up to me, my love,” she continued with a sigh. “It feels like I’m losing you to yourself sometimes. You should tell me these things. I want to know your thoughts. I want you to confide in me. We’re friends, lovers, and partners. You don’t have to hide your thoughts from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything on purpose,” Gavin said with a shrug, struggling to find a way to articulate how he felt. He did not meet her gaze. He turned his back to her, looking out the window; a pair of Gladiators were engaged in a training duel in the park, their weapons catching the sun, bright silver and steel. Honesty was the best option in the end, he had always found. “I just can’t quite find the words for what ails me, Sadira. I struggle with it daily, in my thoughts. Sometimes the games sicken me; sometimes I revel in them. I feel like a man in the ocean with no idea which way to swim to reach land. Does that make sense?”

“Not to me, but it is a start,” she said as put her arms around his waist and pulled herself to him, nuzzling her head against his neck. Her keen senses drank him in, the way his pulse quickened at her touch, his familiar scent, the feel of his muscles and his skin. “I just feel shut out of your life when you don’t confide in me. One day you will find your way, and it will be glorious; I just want to be a part of that, to help you if I can.”

She clung to him for a moment, then kissed the back of his neck. As she let go, Gavin caught her hand and raised it to his lips.

“You and the others are my family, Sadira. I’m sorry if I seem distant to you at times.” He smiled at her. “No one is more important to me. You are as the sun to me; my whole world revolves around you. When I wake up and see you beside me, I feel special, invincible, better than any man should. I love you.”

“Pretty words for a Gladiator,” she said, looking him up and down. She stepped forward, pulling herself to him; her body felt warm and powerful, full of life and energy. “Maybe when I am a Chosen you can be my poet-consort.”

“If you aren’t tired of me by then,” he laughed.

“Mine is not the kind of love that fades,” she said seriously. “Be confident of that.”

“Come on, the others will be waiting. Let’s go meet them, my bloodthirsty goddess.” But Gavin felt a touch of sadness as she turned away.

He had been a little dishonest, and Sadira was right to call him out for it. She never hid anything from him. But how could he tell fierce, fearless Sadira that he often felt that he had chosen the wrong path when he decided to become a Gladiator. Although he was a good fighter, he was coming to hate the wanton killing, the endless bloodlust of the arena. He dreaded the upcoming slaughter match. He was sometimes afraid that he had become a coward, or worse yet, a Scornbound. How could Sadira, pure and free of doubt, love him if she knew these things?

I wish I had your confidence, my love, he thought as he followed her out into the sun toward the training grounds.

<>

“The one who gets the fewest kills serves the ale for the rest of the night, sound good?” Ravius said with a broad, good-natured smile, clearly in a cheerful mood. The smiling skirmisher had done well within Camp Valorous so far, making contacts among both the among Gladiators and within their new faction. His first match alongside Omodo had drawn great praise from the crowd.

The Gladiators were all seated around a large ironwood table in the spacious dining room which now served as their gathering place, and preparation area, getting ready for the match. They had settled into the small town nicely now, and their rustic house was looking less bare. Omodo was eating a heaping plate of thick, fat-soaked bacon, trying to gain mass for his training in the Path of the Juggernaut. Vintia was drinking a strong pepper-tea, its spicy scent filling the room. The rest of them were busily checking and fixing up their gear with the sound of whetstones and the smell of weapon oil mingling with those of breakfast.

“If you are foolish enough to make that bet, I’m in!” Karmal eyed Sadira as she spoke. Her long friendship with the deadly shadow elf was partly based on childhood rivalry; they loved training and competing with each other. “After all, Sadira and I are the only ones who really have a chance of getting the most kills.”

“I don’t know, little sister. I plan to follow one of you around and finish off the wounded.” Ravius grinned broadly as Karmal rolled her eyes. “A little kill stealing to pad out my numbers might tip the scales!”

Gavin cloaked his discomfort by sipping on coffee; he did not like this kind of bloodlust.

“I’m sure the spectators would call you on that, Ravius,” Sadira said, waving her finger at Ravius like a mother scolding a child. “No one likes a kill stealer. Also, let us not forget that we are supposed to work as a team, even if you all make a wager. And lastly, don’t overlook Omodo, Karmal; with his size and skill, I think he has a serious shot.”

The big armodon smiled. Gavin saw, to his relief, that the armodon was not really interested in the competition. He looked nervous though, possibly worried about the size of the crowd.

“Ravius just wants me or Gavin to pay for him getting drunk!” Vintia looked up from her tea, pinching her lower lip thoughtfully. “This type of match is unfair to us defenders, and I think we should get some consideration for that if we are to be included in this bet. I’m just glad we are officially working as a team. I’d hate to have a loss on my record as a result of a match I’m not at all suited for.”

“I agree,” Gavin added. “Like Sadira said, this is a team effort, wager or not.”

“Maybe you should pick up some offensive spells, Vintia. You’re skilled with the elements aren’t you?” Ravius said, in a teasing tone. “Perhaps that Pillar of Flame spell Karmal knows would help make up for your limitations, little sister.”

“Well, little brother, perhaps you’ll be more thankful of the spells that I’ve spent my time learning the next time I use them to protect you in a match,” Vintia said in an even tone, wrinkling her nose. “After all, my role is to defend my teammates so that they can concentrate on attacking without worrying about getting killed. I am very good at it. Besides, with Karmal bending her efforts to master Pyromancy, I doubt there anything I could learn quickly enough to keep up!”

Sadira’s interest suddenly piqued, her elfin ears twitching, and she shot Karmal a look. Karmal grinned back at her. Gavin felt Sadira tense; she took any challenge seriously, even from her friends.

“I picked up the basics for Pillar of Flame and Fireball while I was in Krass for my second interrogation.” Karmal’s smile faded a little, and she looked distant for a moment. Only Sadira noticed. “The rest I learned on my way through the south. I think I might be able to blast my way to victory, maybe even over you, Sadira.”

“If you do, girl, I’ll gladly serve you and everyone here drinks all night.” Sadira leaned back, smiling as she continued. “But next time you accuse me of being cliché, do remember that you are a hot-tempered redhead specializing in Pyromancy. There is little else you could do to be more archetypal than that.”

Gavin smiled at them as they bantered, but the coming match still loomed large in his mind.

<>

As they waited for the Call of The People, Gavin kept his nerves in check by observing his friends.

It had been a while since Gavin had last seen Karmal fight in the arena, a hard-fought duel against an armored troll in Dreadwood. Her kit was a deep forest green, edged in gold. Like Gavin, she was classed as a medium armored fighter. She wore a heavy, spike-fist gauntlet on one hand, a lethal punching weapon, and a small, spiked buckler on the other. Her main weapon, however, was a brutal two-handed war cleaver. This massive slab of metal, favored by those who preferred power over finesse, looked like a giant version of a butcher’s instrument. The thick, wedge-edged blade could crush armor and hack a man in half with ease. It was not an elegant weapon, and it looked out of place in Karmal’s hands, at least until you saw the skillful ease with which she wielded it.

“Chosen’s hairy arse, Ravius,” Karmal said, wrinkling her nose. “Why did you choose such ugly color?”

Ravius had re-enameled his blue armor once he joined the Reds; it was now an obnoxious, attention-grabbing combination of garish crimson edged in ugly maroon. His trident and net were startlingly plain in comparison.

Ravius laughed. “Karmal, my dear, reactions like yours are exactly why I chose these colors.”

Karmal made a rude gesture and turned her gaze back to the fighting grounds.

Omodo wore his plain, functional heavy armor, which was starting to get too small for his growing frame. His heavy maul and armored horn were polished to a high sheen. He would be leading them into the arena for this fight.

Vintia wore her blue-white mithril plate and chain, but had switched her heavy tower shield for a razor shield like Gavin’s, hoping to increase her killing power for this match. It was an unusual move for the little defender. Vintia wanted to do well in this match; she did not like being overlooked.

Gavin drank them all in with a glance as they waited, smiling. It was good to be among his friends, deadly Sadira at his side, even if he was uneasy. This type of match was senseless violence, but none of them would agree, save perhaps Omodo. He knew exactly what the others would say if he let his views be known. Karmal would scoff at him, and Ravius would laugh. He wished he were free of doubt and uncertainty like Sadira seemed to be.

Reality came crashing back upon him like a blood-tide as the trumpets rang. The entrance crashed open, and the six Gladiators trotted into the arena with massive Omodo in the lead. The announcer shouted their names to the fight-hungry audience filling the stands, who cheered in response. The Gladiators raised their weapons to salute the crowd.

The trumpets sounded again. A series of doors on the western side of the fighting grounds burst open, disgorging growling beastmen. Whatever magic drove them into a constant state of frenzy was worse when they were in larger groups, and these did not even pause to sniff before their ravenous howls sounded and they charged the Gladiators.

Sadira’s war scream split the air as she sprinted forward, filling herself with the verdant strength of her magic. Omodo followed on her heels, keeping up as best he could, his horn lowered, massive maul held high to strike.

Karmal channeled Thaom, drawing deep from the wellspring of her Gift, starting to weave the complex patterns of the Pillar of Flame spell, which formed much more slowly than most combat magic. At the same time, she wove the pattern for another spell, and a fist-sized ball of flame streaked over Sadira’s head, slamming into a horned beastman, blossoming into a bonfire-sized conflagration upon impact. The beastman hit by the fireball, and its nearest neighbor, were consumed by the hungry burst of flame, rolling around on the ground in a brief, smoking frenzy before expiring. Their demise elicited both cheers and laughter from the spectators.

Sadira leapt high and landed in the midst of the beastman herd, her twin black blades slicing down in unison and hacking the arms off of an unfortunate creature as she landed. Blood splashed from her swords, painting bright arcs. She stepped forward and whirled, slashing all around her, staining the white sands red with the blood of her foes.

Omodo thundered into the beastmen beside her, tossing one into the air with his horn and crushing another under the weight of his weapon. His sheer size and momentum allowed him to power deep into the pack, knocking the powerful beastmen aside as if they were nothing. Their claws glanced from his heavy armor and thick hide.

Gavin ran forward to support Sadira. He did not have much of a taste for blood today, but he would not let her come to harm. Fists and talons pounded on his shield and armor as he pushed into the crowd of snarling beastmen. He bought himself some space with a pair of quick Mind Blasts that staggered his foes.

Ravius and Vintia closed in as a pair, the skirmisher darting out from behind Vintia’s deftly wielded tower shield to attack. He thrust his deadly trident into the first beast man that met him, killing it quickly. Others leapt at him and he ducked low and swept the legs of the nearest of them with his folded net, causing it to tumble. Vintia chopped her sword down on this one, ending its life as she stepped forward to defend the skirmisher without missing a beat. Ravius laughed and whooped as they moved, drawing the attention of his rabid foes.

“To me, to me!” he shouted.

A trio of beastmen hurled themselves upon towering Omodo, but he did not even stagger under their weight. His armor and thick hide deflected most of the clawing and biting. He shook them off as casually as a dog ridding itself of water, crushing one with a powerful stomp as it landed at his feet. Gavin moved in as the others rose, thrusting his spear through the back of a bird-faced creature as it tried to bite at Omodo’s neck from behind. The giant armodon turned and backhanded another beastman away, nodding his tanks to Gavin, who quickly moved on to help Sadira.

Sadira danced away from clutching claws and hungry, drooling mouths. Her every movement was graceful and precise, elegant black blades lashing out and finding their targets without fail, spilling blood with each well-measured cut. Gavin moved near to her, and she took advantage of the added protection he brought, focusing more of her attention on attacking. Gavin threw the beastmen back, slamming them with his shield and unleashing the power he had stored in his trollodestone. Several of them fell, and Gavin felt Sadira’s foot on his shoulder as she vaulted up and over him, flipping in the air and bringing her blades crashing down through the shoulders of a wolf-head beast, killing it. The crowd roared as the bright red blood sprayed, captivated by Sadira’s bloody ballet.

“Taste cleaver, you shit-eating mongrel!” Karmal threw herself into the fray, screaming obscenities, nearly splitting a wolf-faced beastman in two with an overhand stroke from her mighty cleaver. Blood splashed onto her face, and she grinned. Gavin knew that she gloried in the violence, reveling in her own power, and that she enjoyed the destruction she caused. The air around her seemed to roil and shift with thickly woven Thune as she neared completion of her powerful spell.

On their left flank, Ravius cast his net; it glittered like a dew-kissed spider’s web caught in the dawn sun as it flew, snaring a pair of hapless beastmen, bringing them crashing to the ground. They struggled wildly in its cruel embrace as the skirmisher and Vintia rushed forward to kill them with quick jabs of sword and trident. Then they turned and fought back to back as other beastmen leapt at them from all directions.

The middle of the fighting grounds where the Gladiators battled was now strewn with broken corpses, and the blood of the beastmen stained the sands red. Only Gavin seemed to notice. He remained oddly detached from the match, as if watching his own body from the outside, even as he intercepted a creature trying to leap at Sadira, knocking it to the ground with a shield slam and ending its life with quick thrust to the throat. Although he did not pity the vicious, rabid beastmen, he could not bring himself to enjoy the slaughter either.

Beside him, Sadira whirled and leapt, seeming to glory in the exultation of the happy crowd. Omodo pushed and crushed his way through the thickest of their foes. Ravius taunted and lunged. Karmal tossed fire and cleaved. Vintia blocked and thrust. The beastmen howled and clawed. The crowd cheered and clapped. Gavin’s mind floated while his body killed.

“CLEAR!” Karmal’s voice carried across the fray.

Gavin sensed her Thaom, bright and burning as it fueled her next spell. The violence had reached a crescendo, and the flame-haired elementalist unleashed her Pillar of Flame spell, aiming for the largest concentration of beastmen. Her teammates knew the signal and backed away from her target. The spell had been weaving and building up since the beginning of the fight and she sent a raging torrent of Thaom through the weave. The ground boiled, the sand turning to glass as bright flames erupted into the sky from beneath the feet of Karmal’s hapless foes. The column brushed against the wards above them, spilling out and creating a crackling counterreaction. The flesh melted from their bones, filling the air with ash and burning stink. The sheer power of the spell was evident in the heat that washed over Gavin. When the fire stopped, there was nothing left but a scorched circle and, for a moment, even the beastmen were still. Then the crowd cheered.

Karmal let loose a triumphant war shriek, which was answered by Sadira’s banshee wail as she leapt back into the fray, sharp blades flashing. She killed three beastmen in the blink of an eye, her blades cutting brilliant arcs in the air, leaving red ruin in their wake. The crowd leapt to their feet as the two rivals put their minds to slaughter.

Rivers of blood ran through a landscape of gore and charred corpses, virgin white sand fouled into dripping, bloody muck churned by the melee. Gavin concentrated on his task, knocking beastmen away from Sadira and Omodo, keeping the safe as they prowled and killed.

A bloodied beastman, one that seemed dead, leapt to its feet behind Karmal as she readied more magic. It threw itself onto her back, teeth piercing her neck as it bit down. Gavin saw this from across the fighting grounds and attacked it with a swiftly cast Mind Blast, staggering it for a moment. Karmal grunted as she fell forward onto one knee, but she used the respite to toss it over her shoulder, plunging her gauntlet blade into its bloody maw. Blood spurted from her wound, running freely down her shoulders and chest, but she ignored it and surged to her feet.

Each and every beastman in the arena, and many of those in the cages underneath, paused as they caught the smell of so much sweet, flowing blood of one that was not their own. As one, the remaining creatures rushed toward Karmal as she gained her feet. Even some of the seemingly dead beasts stirred. The crowd gasped. Karmal, her eyes wide, met the avalanche of beastmen head on.

“Bring it, you mutt-faced bastards!” she yelled. Her cleaver swept through them like a whirlwind, killing several in one stroke. But the beastmen were not to be denied; mad with bloodlust, they overwhelmed Karmal with sheer numbers, dragging her down in a tide of fur and fury, biting and clawing.

The other Gladiators ran to Karmal’s aid as she went down. Gavin forgot his reluctance and threw himself into the pack, spurred by the horror of watching his friend mobbed. He ignored his own pain as the frenzied clawed and bit at him as he pushed into the pile, intent on helping. He killed two with wild swings of his heavy spear-blade before he dropped it for his short-sword, knocking several aside as he followed up with a shield slam.

<Up and over,> linked Sadira. Gavin pushed a snarling beastman away and knelt.

Once again, he felt Sadira’s foot as she pushed off his shoulder, leaping over him and into the thick of the pile. She moved this way and that, whirling blades carving a bloody space around her as Omodo tossed two howling beastmen. Karmal, covered from head to toe in bloody claw and bite marks, breathed in relief as her assailants thinned. Gavin pushed his way to them, shielding them as best he could as the remaining beastmen assaulted them with howling abandon. They fought back to back as the frenzied creatures rolled over them, attacking with wild abandon. Finally, the tide broke as Vintia, Ravius, and Omodo waded in, methodically killing the beastmen from the flank.

“SLAUGHTER, SLAUGHTER, KILL THEM ALL.”

The crowd roared as the deadly dance reached its climax with beastmen being cut down so quickly that Gavin barely had time to register. The last one, a lone ram-headed brute, bleated as it leapt at him over the heap of its dead comrades. Gavin raised his shield and set his sword, but as before it could hit him a massive blade swept in from one side, cutting clean through the beast. The ram’s head thudded into his shield while the beast’s lower half landed wetly on his sandals.

“Too slow, defender!” bellowed Karmal, thumping her chest despite the claw-marks all over her body.

<>

After the match, Sadira approached Gavin in the baths. Ravius and Omodo took their leave as she entered. The Gladiatrix chuckled at Ravius’s whistle as she walked past him. Gavin rolled his eyes. She walked to Gavin, kissing him with passionate intensity.

“I guess you’re serving ale tonight my love,” she said mockingly before kissing him again, harder this time. When she pulled away, her eyes sparkled. “But I saw what you did for me . . .”

Gavin’s heart quickened. His heart caught in his throat. Did she sense that he had fought half-heartedly most of the match?

“You put all of your effort into defending me,” she said, “making sure that I would win my silly little wager with Karmal.”

Gavin laughed, thankful that she seemed to understand. “As if you needed my help in that regard.”

“Be wary of Karmal the next few days, though,” Sadira said in a serious tone. “She does not like it when others get between us in our little wagers.”

The Gladiator laughed again, but he made sure to remember those words.

Chapter Seventeen: Bonedance

1142/01/24 AR, Camp Valorous

“They can animate corpses; do you need more obvious proof than this that magic is a tool of evil?” Anonymous

“Properly supervised, the undead can be employed for tasks that are dangerous for the living people of the Domains. They are a useful tool in the right hands, like any other construct. Their origins do tend to make people uncomfortable; our art can do little to change that.” Pravix, Master Necromancer

The Call to Battle sounded, and the crowd shouted and applauded as a score of skeletons clad in ancient-looking iron armor and armed with archaic-looking weapons marched into the arena. Their bleached white bones and hollow eye sockets gave them a distinct and fearsome look.

“Watch their bows,” Gavin said, noting that a few of their foes were kitted out as archers.

“Arrows won’t stop me,” Sadira replied with a snort, slipping around Gavin and charging toward the foe.

Gavin couldn’t resist a smile as he watched Sadira leap forward and flip in the air with a dancer’s grace, one of her elegant black blades carving a shining arc in the air as she spun, sweeping up in a vicious uppercut as she touched the ground. The bleached skull of her skeletal foe rolled as it hit the white sand, while the rest of the body simply collapsed into a heap of shorn bones. The Camp Valorous audience cheered as the elegant Gladiatrix tumbled back to join him, arriving just in time for his shield to cover her, absorbing a volley of arrows fired by a handful of archers mixed in with the rest of the skeletons.

“Nicely done,” he said.

Raising his shield and sending a pulse of Thaom through it, Gavin drew most of the arrows into his shield with his Magnetic Guard technique. He felt the trollodestone begin to charge as it absorbed the impact. Only two arrows escaped, and he flicked two of them to the ground with deft motions of his spear, lightning quick.

Thank you, Master Ironwall, he thought as he reset his guard, trying not to imagine what he would have done, or what he would have needed to endure without the technique’s aid in capturing the arrows.

This match was a survival match, and the skeletons kept coming as quickly as they were destroyed. The sheer number of skeletons was meant to be a great challenge to two Gladiators, but Gavin was certain that with Sadira’s attack and his defense that they would be able to survive.

As Sadira darted forward again, cutting down two skeletons with swift sword slashes, the skeletons with bows pulled jagged-edged arrows from their quivers with mechanical efficiency, while their sword-wielding cohorts pushed forward, battering at Gavin’s shield or trying to catch Sadira. Gavin surged forward, smashing a skeleton to pieces with his shield and then covering Sadira from the next volley.

<My thanks,> linked Sadira before darting back out cleaving the next skeleton into three pieces with a single dual sword-stroke.

It was a night fight, and their undead foes looked especially eerie in the torch-lit fighting ground, carrying weapons and armor that were designed to look as old and brutal as possible. They were modern replicas of weapons from pre-Reckoning cultures, chosen for their distinct look. The glowing red eyes are a nice touch, thought Gavin, a classic that never goes out of style.

Moving again, the Gladiator put his weight behind his lion-headed shield, gleaming silver as it caught the moonlight, and shouldered into the skeleton lines. A sword skittered against his shoulder armor. His momentum knocked the nearest skeleton and the pair behind it off their feet with ease; the magic animating them made them strong, but did not increase their actual weight. He kept pushing and then unleashed the power of the trollodestone in his shield as he rammed the next three. Fleshless bones crunched and splintered under the impact, and all three of his foes blasted apart. The crowd cheered. Sadira then vaulted over Gavin’s shoulder, her armored, booted heel crushing an old skull to powder while her serpentine sabers swept down mercilessly to splinter another foe.

In spite of the contemptuous ease with which they dispatched each individual skeleton, the two Gladiators were being slowly overwhelmed by sheer numbers. More of their enemies were being released into the arena, while many of those that they destroyed slowly reassembled as the magic bringing them to life gathered up lost limbs and slowly reshaped them. Gavin reached out and disrupted the weaves of two skeletons that were reanimating, causing the bones to fall back to the ground.

Victory in this match meant surviving the onslaught until the time limit was met. Survival was one of Gavin’s favorite match types; it gave him a chance to make the best use of his defensive skills. Lightly armored in comparison, Sadira was somewhat contained by the great number of enemies. It was hard to dodge and parry against so many foes pressing in at once. She did not mind the challenge, however, especially with Gavin watching her back and intercepting arrows, making it easier for her to concentrate on wreaking havoc.

Sadira tumbled forward into the midst of her foes, her elegant sabers hewing through animated bone with contemptuous ease. She danced out of reach as they swung their ugly blades at her, baiting them back toward Gavin, who smashed into them again with his shield. As he moved, Sadira turned and leapt up, stepping onto his shoulder and pushing herself into the air, leaping high to fall among her undead enemies like a storm of blades. It was a move they practiced often. Gavin pushed forward again as she landed, bringing his boots down hard on the skull of a skeleton reanimating on the ground in front of him.

<>

Meanwhile, Arena Master Druth watched admiringly from his customary seat on a long bench a few rows back, among the soldiers. The vivacious Camille Caesaria sat beside him, standing out from her company in her rich red gown and golden jewelry. She was a true Red however, cheering, shouting, and trading bawdy comments with the neighboring fans.

“These two make a great team.” Camille had to speak loudly to be heard above the din as Sadira whirled into the skeletons again. “Especially in this kind of match.”

“Indeed, they do. A good find, recruiter!” Druth said. They joined the crowd in a loud cheer as Sadira rolled forward, her blades outstretched and whirling, like chariot-wheel scythes, sending two rows of skeletons crashing to the ground as she sheared off their legs. “They may actually make it all the way through this match.”

“The Blues have taken notice of Sadira already,” Camille said with a slight scowl, recalling the conversations she’d heard. “Be forewarned: they will try to foul her career as early as they can.”

The man shrugged almost dismissively; he had seen enough of such tactics throughout his life for it to no longer even faze him. “Such are the Great Games, my friend. She has a better chance than most, with good friends around her and an early start toward the faction games.”

“And a great arena master watching out for her,” Camille added.

Druth’s answer was drowned out by the crowd’s reaction as another wave of skeletons was released into the arena. Wading through their midst was an immense construct, a gestalt of the bones of giants and trolls and many other lesser beings. It had three heads, mostly for show, each one toothed and horrible. Each of its four arms carried a massive, spiked club. Druth smiled at the crowd’s reaction to the creature; it had taken his expert necromancers only two days to assemble it, but it was impressive and frightening, moving on the Gladiators with a sense of relentless menace. It felt good to see that the audience appreciated the showmanship.

<>

On the fighting grounds, Gavin watched as the bone golem strode forward, scattering lesser skeletons out of its way with each step forward. It was his job to keep the smaller undead off Sadira while she tested her blades against this impressive new foe. He would have preferred it the other way around, but Sadira signaled that she wanted to take her chances with the gigantic construct. It was a gamble to try to fight the creature at all, instead of trying to avoid it until the last moment, but it was exactly the type of bold move to which Sadira was attracted. If they could fell it, they would win even greater praise from the crowd and perhaps some extra victory coins; getting their runes for this rank early would certainly make Sadira happy.

“Guard my back,” Sadira called out as she moved, cutting her way through the skeletons, picking up speed as Gavin rammed into them on her flank.

As Gavin pulled ahead, she stopped. He took that as his cue to try a spell he had been trying to master ever since he met Valaran. He hurled Thaom through the spell weave, and a Force Nova spell erupted from him, scattering dozens of skeletons as a wave of pure telekinetic power radiated out from him.

Sadira sheathed her twin swords as she broke into a full-on sprint, drawing her heavier greatsword from her back as she charged the massive bone golem. She let all of her momentum flow into the first swing, a whirling slash that sent her sword blade slamming into the creature’s knee. A slice of bone fell from the joint, but the creature did not even stagger. The Gladiatrix was forced to roll through the giant construct’s legs to avoid getting squashed by a heavy club as thick as her thigh. The enormous construct chased her and swung again, forcing Sadira to leap aside as one of the clubs smashed into the sand.

Behind her, Gavin pushed into the skeletons, bunching them up, grinding them against each other until they splintered. He pushed forward, reveling in the effort. Swords and arrows bounced off his shield and armor, and one found its mark, wounding him in the side. Still, he relished the pure physicality of the struggle as he held the skeleton line to a standstill, ignoring their battering blades and the blood from small wounds. The crowd rewarded his effort with cheers, and he drew new strength from this.

“YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” he shouted, almost laughing in spite of the effort, remembering the classic lines from a favored childhood tale. A ripple of laughter ran through the audience, accompanied by some groans. He did not quite have enough Thaom to cast Force Nova again but cleared some space with a short burst of the trollodestone on his shield.

Sadira’s elegant greatsword cut through the air in deadly arcs, sending chips flying from the monstrous bone golem’s thick legs. It did little, however, to slow the creature down, and its four crushing clubs came close to clipping her several times. Her sword was proving to be less effective than they had hoped. As she sped away, Gavin felt a surge of Thaom from her, and the warmth of her healing magic washed over him, sealing some wounds and reinvigorating him.

Thus restored, Gavin continued pushing against the skeletons, using his spear to fend off any who appeared on his flank. He had to clear room for Sadira to keep moving or they would be in trouble. The archers were now mostly firing at Sadira, which was troubling, but the nimble Gladiatrix used the legs of her giant opponent as cover against the incoming missiles.

Gavin could sense Sadira’s frustration as she cleaved into the bone golem with two massive strokes, her blade ringing of its thick leg armor.

“Bring it over here!” Gavin yelled to her, gesturing at the mob around him.

She smiled as she guessed his plan. She let loose a war shriek and danced backwards, leading her opponent toward Gavin and the surging pack of skeletons around him. The massive, four-armed bone giant followed, its eager clubs swinging, striking the sand as she tumbled away. It started to trot as Sadira picked up speed, nearing Gavin.

“NOW!” she yelled, dropping to the ground.

Gavin pushed his foes back a step with a powerful surge, turned, ignoring their hungry blades, and lunged toward the skeletal giant’s lower leg as Sadira did the same. They moved in unison, a pulse of Sadira’s magic lending Gavin a burst of incredible strength. They tackled the giant’s feet and shins, hauling its legs backwards while the rest of its body kept moving forward through sheer momentum. An arrow slammed into Gavin’s side, but he did not let go. They pushed hard, his shout mingling with her ear-splitting war scream, every muscle straining with effort.

The crowd gasped.

Like some massive old tree felled by an unnatural wind, the giant skeleton toppled with a groaning creak, landing with a splintering crash amidst its smaller brethren. The calamitous sound of a thousand bones crunching and snapping all at once filled the arena. The spectators surged to their feet as one, shouting and laughing, astounded and pleased. A cloud of dust obscured the two Gladiators and the struggling mass of bones for a moment.

Sadira wasted no time, leaping onto the back of the giant skeletal construct as it tried to stand, smashing each of its three heads open with her greatsword. The crowd let out an exultant cheer when they saw this, but the smaller skeletons kept coming, clambering over the growing mound of bones to get them.

The skeletal archers kept firing; having no eyes to see with, their aim was not encumbered by dust. Another arrow sank into Gavin’s side, and one hit Sadira just above her knee. The two fighters stood back to back as the remaining skeletons surged into them from all sides. Arrows flew. Swords flashed and whirled. Bright shields blocked fell blades. The crowd roared encouragement to the two desperate, fearless warriors, who were bleeding and exhausted but fought on and did not give ground as their relentless foes closed in. Gavin heard Sadira gasp as an arrow plunged into her unarmored chest, and with a surge of Thaom he cast Force Nova again, blasting the nearest foes away. More took their place though, and the two Gladiators grimly readied their weapons as they closed.

<You all right?> Gavin asked.

<I got you to erupt a second time in a match!> Sadira linked back.

<That was worthy of Ravius,> Gavin replied with a chuckle.

And then it was done.

The Call to Ancestors came as a relief. The end of the match stayed their seemingly inevitable doom. The trumpet’s sound had rarely seemed so sweet to Gavin and Sadira, bloody, bleeding, panting, yet exultant. The magic animating their foes was withdrawn, and in a heartbeat the skeletons and the giant bone golem began to collapse. Leaning against each other to remain standing, they raised their weapons in salute as the arena roared in approval.

Sadira laughed, pure and joyful, as the audience showered them with praise.

<>

“You were amazing, Gavin, holding back all of those skeletons!” Karmal’s green eyes glinted as she smiled at him.

Yet despite the kindness of the words, there was something in her tone that made Gavin feel uneasy. The flame-haired Gladiatrix was not one to give compliments so easily, especially not to him.

They were all gathered around a table at the Laughing Giant, a restaurant in the Gladiator’s quarter, enjoying a meal after the match.

“Get your own man, Karmal,” Sadira warned, half-serious. “I intend to keep this one.”

“Too bad. Vintia doesn’t seem to want to throw herself in front of swords meant for me with such abandon,” Karmal said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s so hard to find a good defender these days . . .”

“I’ll tell you what Karmal,” Vintia said, as she rolled her eyes at the red-haired woman. “If you start actually being nice to me, I’d perhaps be more inclined to bleed for you on the fighting grounds. Sadira certainly doesn’t disparage me or Gavin for every little cut she gets.”

Karmal looked embarrassed for a moment at the woman’s words, before making a rude gesture in response, prompting the rest of them to laugh.

“Speaking of my excellent shield-work,” Gavin said once the laughter died down, “did you want me to write up a recommendation for you to Master Ironwall, Vintia? He is one of the best trainers in the Iron Bulwark School. Krass may be far away, but it should be easy to find a Grey-Robe willing to take you to the capital.”

“Yes, I’d love that, Gavin.” She looked at him seriously, pinching her lower lip between her thumb and finger. “I was thinking about looking into other training options, but after seeing you in action these last few matches, I believe I’ve made up my mind. Iron Bulwark is my best path forward.”

“I know it will help you as much as it’s helped me,” Gavin said with a smile. “It’s really given me an edge, especially defending against arrows and larger enemies. The Magnetic Guard is a life-saver, and if I had known Avalanche Slope technique, I would have been able to block Turg’s attack in Dreadwood. Anyways, Master Ironwall is considered one of the best teachers of the school too, so I’m certain that you will love him.”

“I think so too,” Vintia agreed. “My trainer in the Linebreaker School recommended him as well, though at the time, I didn’t think much of it.”

“At least the name rolls off the tongue better. Iron Bulwark,” Sadira added with a thoughtful expression written across her face. “I’ve always thought ‘Linebreaker’ to be such a . . . dull name for a training path.”

“Blame the Deliberative for choosing such dullness after they reformed the schools,” Vintia replied with a shrug. “The old names were much more poetic, such as the School of the Sun and Moon. But too many of them were tied into the factions and the Chosen who founded them.”

“True,” Gavin added with a nod, familiar with this fragment of history. “There came a point in time where the Deliberative decided that outside ideology should play as little role in training schools as possible and reformed the system. A good thing too. For I doubt Omodo would want to study the techniques of the path of the Juggernaut if it still bore the name Moltar’s Iron Warriors.”

“That is most certainly true,” Omodo agreed with a rumble. “I also quite enjoy that I don’t have to travel to Volcanus to study it as was once required in the olden days. No one has a monopoly on training techniques, which allows many more to not only learn, but also allows each school to improve upon its teachings as they welcome diverse students and masters. Speaking of which, what are you thinking of training in next, Sadira?”

“Yes, I too am quite curious about what moves our deadly shadow elf is going to add to her repertoire,” Ravius chimed in as he returned to their table with a tray laden with drinks and sweets. “You have been holding out on us.”

“I’m set on War-Dancer next. It suits my fighting style,” Sadira answered. “The only problem is finding a trainer. I’ve only been able to locate two who are actively taking students, and those are opposite ends of the Domains. If I can’t make either agree to take me, then I will pursue a deeper study of the Linebreaker School. There are a handful of more advanced techniques that would help my defenses. After all, I do tend to dive into groups of enemies an awful lot these days.”

“You’re telling me,” Gavin said dryly, causing a chorus of chuckles to echo out from the group.

It was night that they would all remember with fondness, bonding with their friends and talking of a brighter future.

Gavin felt peaceful, more than he had in a long time. He was with good friends and Sadira—everything seemed to finally be going his way.

Chapter Eighteen: Valaran

1142/04/07 AR, Camp Valorous

“The greatest danger to the stability of the Domains is, without a doubt, the interaction between the Chosen and the Gladiators. We must keep the Chosen from gaining too much influence over those who might one day be their peers or we risk an unravelling of the Covenant. Yet we must also acknowledge that it is impossible for them to stay away from Gladiators, for most of them began their careers in the arena. The only solution we have found thus far is vigilance.” Ordo Grevex, a speech given to Deliberative recruits.

The training grounds of Terlula’s Pride, crown jewel of the Thousand Rivers and the second largest city in the Empire, were busy even at the early hour when Sadira found Vintia on the training grounds. She was pleased to see her friend after more than a month of training, and felt the warmth of good fortune that they were both passing through the city at the same time.

Soon, I’ll see Gavin as well, she thought.

The march back to Camp Valorous from here would take them five days and this would be the last time they would be anywhere near a proper training ground until then. Vintia never missed training, and she stood before a hulking golem that Gladiators used to hone their defensive skills. Sadira stood back to watch, not wanting to disturb her friend while she was in the middle of a move.

“Go,” Vintia said to the automaton.

The big construct rumbled forward, raising a two-handed club to strike overhand. Vintia raised her shield. The construct swung, massive weapon crashing down toward her like a falling tree. Vintia did not try to dodge. At the last moment she snapped her shield up, hitting the oncoming club at an angle, and Sadira detected her friend feeding a little Thaom into the movement. The blow, which should have flattened her, was deflected to the side. Mostly.

“Ugh,” Vintia said as the last of the attack pulled her off balance and nearly drove her shield into the sand.

Sadira recognized the Avalanche Slope technique; Gavin used it often. Vintia was at that awkward stage of learning the technique where she was advanced enough to practice it with live weaponry, but not yet able to master the movements and timing. Before she could say anything a stranger on the other side of the sand, a shadow-elf Gladiatrix in heavy armor, spoke.

“Sloppy technique,” said the woman.

“You’re right,” Vintia answered, looking away from the stranger, her eyes meeting Sadira’s.

She wants me to stand off, Sadira realized, unclenching her fists. I’ll let her handle this, for now.

The woman laughed; a sound iced with malice. “Of course, I am. At least you have the sense to recognize your betters and agree. A small wonder among the Reds.”

Sadira quivered with rage, but to her surprise, Vintia sighed. “I’m not interested. You sound like a Death Leaguer trying to chum the waters. You won’t get any satisfaction from me.”

“Who would have thought that the daughter of the famous Legate Legarda, hero of the war in the Trials would be such a coward?”

Vintia’s entire posture changed at the insult to her family. Sadira took a step forward. The other Gladiatrix still did not see her. Vintia turned to face the woman, exuding barely controlled anger.

“Did I hit a nerve, little defender?” sneered the woman. “Too bad your famous friends aren’t here to rescue you.”

“You insulted my family,” said Vintia loudly enough so that everyone nearby could hear. “I challenge you to an honor match in Camp Valorous. If you are so eager to meet my friends, I’m certain that I can arrange it.”

Sadira smiled, staying behind the crowd of Gladiators that had come to watch the drama. She waited until the antagonistic Gladiatrix accepted and left.

“Smart of you to pre-empt her challenge with your own,” Sadira said as she approached Vintia.

“I have no desire to trudge all the way to Volcanus for a Deathmatch,” said Vintia. “I’m pretty sure I saw that woman among Valaran’s group when he came to the Campus Martius.”

“Interesting,” Sadira mused. “So, what do I have to do to get you to pick me as your partner in defending the Legarda name?”

<>

“I know that look,” said Sadira. “You think I am being reckless.”

“I do,” Gavin answered with a shrug. He understood Sadira’s competitive nature better than she thought. “But we both know that you would never pass up a match like this, not with Vintia’s honor on the line. And it’s a rare opportunity to showcase your skills in a challenge match against renowned opponents.  At no point do I want to stand in the way of your destiny.”

“Let’s not start calling my career destiny, just yet,” Sadira said with a laugh. “They went after Vintia to get to me. I have to respond, for her sake.”

The challenge in question had been delivered after a confrontation on the training grounds.

“And I would do the same,” he responded. “That doesn’t change that I fear it is a trap though. I wish the arena master had stepped in.”

“Druth only has so much say,” Sadira replied, a frown creeping across her face as she spoke. “The Chosen often meddle in the Great Games, and these girls are backed by the worst meddler of all.”

“Moltar,” Gavin spat, remembering that Valaran was one of Chosen Moltar’s favored Gladiators.

“It was originally meant to be a Deathmatch too, I heard.”

“That I would have objected to,” he said quietly.

“Are you saying that you think some Blue bitch could take me down?” Sadira asked, her earlier expression fading in favor of an arched eyebrow.

“Anything is possible in the arena,” Gavin answered in the gravest, most serious tone he could muster. “You know as well as I do that sometimes the best fighter still loses. All it takes is a single moment. A single surprise.”

“I am not afraid of death, my love,” Sadira stated. “But I would have talked to you if it were a Deathmatch, don’t worry. And if I had, I might have even allowed myself to be swayed by your objections if they were impressive enough.” Sadira struck up a melodramatic pose before she continued, changing the tone of her voice to imitate him. “Oh, Sadira, my heart couldn’t take it.”

“I don’t sound like that,” said Gavin. “Although it is true that my heart might not be able to take the strain of you in another Deathmatch.”

“Good answer,” Sadira said with another laugh. “But in truth, I am glad I have an opportunity to fight like this. We don’t want the Reds to lose face by ignoring this challenge, especially not since Chosen Moltar himself might be here watch the bout.”

“Designs of the Chosen at work, indeed,” Gavin said, this time his face turning downwards into a frown. Chosen Moltar was feared throughout the Domains, the monstrous, hulking ruler of grim Volcanus striking an imposing presence everywhere he went. His demonic black helm, sharp golden crown, and glowing red eye sockets were the only face by which most people knew him. Young Gavin’s keepers in the orphanage had used tales of Moltar to frighten him and the other children into behaving. “His presence is a bad omen. The Gladiatrices you are fighting are part of his entourage, are they not?”

“They are seeking a place among his favorites.”

“Desperate as well as deadly. Lovely.”

“All the more reason to crush them, I say!” Sadira’s voice became hot with anger, and her hands balled into fists.

“I am sure that they won’t know what hit them,” Gavin said, suddenly gladder than ever that the arena master and Deliberative had stepped in to prevent Deathmatch challenges from being issued. Despite her assurances, he knew Sadira would have leapt at the chance to fight in such a match. He didn’t like the idea of his love risking her life, even though he didn’t really think she would lose a fair fight.

But whether the fight would be fair in the first place was something else entirely.

Despite heavy regulation, cheating was common enough in Deathmatches to be a very real concern. The incentive to tilt the scales was just too high when one’s life was on the line, and higher still when the big players in the Great Games, such as the Chosen, became involved. Beyond that, Gavin also had no desire want to watch Sadira kill another Gladiatrix. Bella had been more than enough. That mix of violence and competitiveness brought out Sadira’s cruelty, which he thoroughly detested.

“I don’t care how many Deathmatches these preening Blue Faction fighters have won,” Sadira said heatedly, waving her hand dismissively for emphasis. “Vintia and I are going to teach them not to mess with us in our home arena! We’ll see how much Moltar favors them after we humiliate them on the fighting grounds!”

<>

After walking Sadira and Vintia to their arming room, Gavin made his way to join Ravius in the stands where legionnaires, townsfolk, and travelers were filling the seats, all of them talking excitedly. For good reason too, as a challenge between Gladiators was rare outside of sanctioned faction arenas and some specialty leagues.

Along the way, a few fans recognized him and stopped to shake his hand, offering words of encouragement and praise. But Gavin also noticed that a few shied away from him as he passed by, watching him warily. Eventually, he spotted Ravius sitting amid a rowdy-looking group of young revelers and moved to join him. When he arrived, the smiling skirmisher in the middle of was sharing jokes with the group, and they all quickly moved to welcome Gavin when Ravius told them who he was. Faction membership carried some privileges, after all.

“Did I miss Omodo’s fight?” Gavin asked once the pleasantries were out of the way, handing the skirmisher a cold glass of ale and a bread bowl filled with a thick meaty stew that he’d purchased on his way.

“You did, but I don’t think he’ll mind, little brother. I’m surprised you and Sadira aren’t late to your own matches sometimes, if you know what I mean,” he replied with knowing grin that caused Gavin to snort his ale. “In any case, he did very well in his outing.”

“That’s a relief to hear, then,” Gavin said as he settled in. “Will he be joining us up here once he’s cleaned up?”

“Eh, I don’t think so.” Ravius’s broad smile faded a bit as he spoke. “He’s still a bit . . . nervous around large crowds like these. I think he will watch the match from the Gladiator’s section once he gets out of the baths. He never misses one of our fights, if he can help it.”

“A true friend, that one,” Gavin replied.

They were both concerned about their friend and his prospects for the future. Being crowd-shy was a fatal flaw for a Gladiator, and one he had to absolutely overcome if he wanted to go far in his career.

“Is that Moltar’s tent over there?” Ravius asked, pointing to a conspicuously large enclosure that loomed over the regular private boxes in the Camp Valorous arena, flanked on either side by armed guards in grim-looking full battle armor. Dozens of black silk pennants flew over the huge stretch of black and gold material, each one emblazoned with a red eye over an armored fist.

“Yep, that’s his,” Gavin answered with a nod, “and those are his Volcanus Guard retainers.”

“I should have known from his heraldry,” Ravius commented dryly. “I can really appreciate the subtle message it sends. Fist, eye, spiky armor, and all that. ‘Doom to all who enter here.’ I give thanks every day that I was not born in Volcanus to live under his iron boot.”

“Now, now, Ravius, he is a Chosen. We must show him respect,” Gavin reminded, his tone lacking even an ounce of conviction. Most people, including him, saw Moltar as a monster who skirted the edge of the law, seeking to undermine the Covenant for his own purposes. “Though I suppose he treats the Gifted in his Domain well enough. There are no Nullifiers in Volcanus. Look at the support he’s giving his Gladiators today.”

“Yeah, let’s hope that support does not extend to cheating,” Ravius said with a seriousness that Gavin rarely saw. “And Moltar only respects Gifted who choose to become Arenabound. I met someone in the Campus who served as a Taskbound in his Domain, and I couldn’t believe the things she went through. Apparently, he hates Gifted who choose the peaceful life more than he hates the Ungifted.”

“I hadn’t heard that,” Gavin replied, his eye still fixated on the tent in the distance. “But I don’t find it hard to believe. It seems that half of our laws and regulations have come about in response to his exploits. Have you heard about his new religion?”

Ravius snorted in response. “You mean his claim that the Gift is divine and that the corruption caused by our current teachings is what is preventing the taint from the Reckoning from healing? I’ve heard better nonsense from a drunk.”

“And yet he still has strong support,” Gavin stated. “Despite the disdain that he shows the citizenry, many still flock to him.”

“Truth, little brother,” Ravius agreed. “But that is how our world works, does it not? Some people will always support a person who appears to be strong and bold, even if all they get in return is thinly veiled contempt. I wonder how many of his believers stop to think about how much of destruction in our history that he may have been personally responsible for.”

“Not many, I’m certain,” Gavin said with a dark chuckle. “People often ignore history, especially when it inconveniences their outlook. That man—”

“Chosen Moltar is too complex for simple minds like yours to understand,” a deep, condescending voice interrupted. “You mock the Chosen’s followers, yet they see while you are blind.”

“Valaran,” Gavin said, immediately feeling bile rise in his throat as he recognized the voice, a huge, golden-haired man coming into a view a second later.

“I hope you don’t mind if we sit here,” Valaran said as he sat down next to Gavin, not waiting for a response. Valaran was accompanied by two exceptionally attractive women, their rich attire at odds with their downcast eyes and joyless expressions. They sat down beside Valaran without a word while several others of his Gladiator entourage found seats nearby.

Fortunately, despite all of this, Ravius recovered his wits before Gavin could muster a reply of his own. “We have not been introduced. You must be Valaran diVolcanus, and I am Ravius Vergerus.”

“I am Valaran, and I do not care who you are.” Gavin felt a small surge of pride when Ravius’s smile did not falter. “No doubt Gavin has told you all about how I dominated him on the Campus Martius sands.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Ravius replied without so much as a pause. “Everyone knows my brother here stood tall against you that day.”

“That was just practice. We will see who the better man is on the fighting grounds, one day,” said Valaran.

Valaran’s fame had grown since they last met. He was the current darling of the Blue Faction and the most prominent of Chosen Moltar’s latest crop of protégés. Although he had only been in enough matches to achieve the fourth rank, every single one of his fights had been a Deathmatch against another Gladiator, each ending in the death of his opponent. The last fighter to manage such a feat in the arena was Evok the Fell-Handed nearly three hundred years ago. Everyone who knew anything about the Great Games had heard of Valaran diVolcanus by now.

“What are you doing here, Valaran?” Gavin asked, interjecting before Ravius could say anything else.

“I’m here to watch Evoni and Marisu, Master Moltar’s pupils,” Valaran said, speaking in a casual, off-handed tone, going as far as to smile, showing off a set of perfectly white teeth. “They are truly exquisite in battle, although I doubt many in this backwater arena can appreciate their skill. I hope whatever fodder you Reds have dug up is able to stay standing long enough to make this interesting.”

Once again, Ravius managed to come to Gavin’s rescue before he could say something that he would regret.

“We’ve sent out two of our best, friend Valaran.” Ravius said confidently. “Friends of ours, actually. Care to wager on the outcome?”

“Oh, I’m sure enough of the outcome.” Valaran said, offering the skirmisher a smug grin. “But what could a man like you possibly offer me as your part of the wager?”

“A Deathmatch,” Gavin interjected, no longer able to hold his peace. “If your team wins, I will accept your challenge. If our team wins, then you release these two Taskbound to serve the Red Faction.”

“You, fight me?” Valaran laughed loudly, his head falling back in mirth. “You’re a fool, Gavin.”

“Then you accept?” said Gavin, meeting the man’s gaze. “Or are you a coward?”

“Oh, please,” Valaran said dismissively. “Of course, I accept. I will enjoy gutting you in the Killer’s Circle.”

<>

Sadira and Vintia, being the home team and thus more popular, entered the arena after Evoni and Marisu had taken their places, where the partisan crowd cheered them on with real enthusiasm. Feeling energized by their encouragement, Sadira basked in their adoration for several seconds before turning her attention towards her opponents.

Marisu, the larger of the pair, wore heavy armor. Hers was steel colored with jagged tribal patterns enameled blue and turquoise. An orc, she had green skin and wore her black hair in a fearsome series of spikes, giving the impression of wild, predatory power. She carried a heavy-bladed great axe, swinging it with skillful ease. Sensing Sadira’s attention, Marisu simply nodded respectfully to the woman, her black eyes drinking in everything before her.

Evoni was a shadow elf, like Sadira, but taller, thinner, and pale of skin. Her raven hair was done up in a short warrior’s braid. She wore heavy armor that was colored a regal blue, edged with silver, and studded with diamonds. The impressive shoulder guards were made to look like the serpentine heads of dragons. A pair of wide-hilted, straight-bladed, silver-blue broadswords with spikes jutting from the basket hilts rested on her hips. Her violet eyes flashed a challenge at Sadira, crimson lips curling into a mocking smile.

“Leave it to a Red to dress like a whore for a fight, eh, Marisu?” Evoni snickered as she eyed Sadira’s attire.

“Oh wow . . . I hope those blades have a keener edge than your wit!” Sadira called back while rolling her eyes. “Otherwise, this will be a very short fight, girls! And besides, Blues are the ones who earn their positions on her knees. We Reds get our promotions from the people!”

The crowd, mostly made up of Reds, roared in approval of Sadira’s words, and Evoni had to wait for them to quiet down to respond. “You’ll see how we earned our place soon enough!”

So I will, Sadira thought with a smile as a surge of excitement shot through her. This should be a good fight.

“You came to the wrong arena, princess,” Sadira said, enjoying the widening of the other’s eyes. Then she drew her blades and the Call to Battle sounded.

Sadira felt her Thaom begin to flow. Channeling spells as they rushed forward, Evoni and Marisu both let loose a wave of magic at Sadira, hoping to catch the lightly armored Gladiatrix and dispatch her swiftly. Reacting quickly, she leapt out of the way of a lightning blast, which scorched the sand behind her at the same moment that she felt the pressure of a cogimancer’s Mind Blast spell build in her head. Fortunately, she had trained against this attack often enough with Gavin and she was able to fight off its effects with a concentrated effort of will.

Vintia moved in from the flank, keeping close enough that Sadira could duck behind her shield. Marisu turned to meet her, swinging her axe in swift, arcing slash that Vintia deflected with her shield. Evoni closed, her swords whirling and striking with incredible swiftness. Sadira met her, blocking one blade and shoving her back, muscles heaving with verdant strength of a Primal Surge spell.

Meanwhile, Sadira could see Vintia baiting her opponent with a series of quick attacks. Sadira kept Evoni busy with a combination of wide slashes designed to push her back, while waiting for Marisu to get close enough to swing her axe at Vintia again, reading the orc’s movements, ignoring the quick initial slash that tested Vintia’s shield and the following backswing. As Marisu flowed smoothly into the third attack, Sadira saw Vintia shift, but Evoni changed the tempo of her attacks, catching Sadira with a slash along her ribs. Sadira backed away as the crowd jeered.

“Idiot,” chided Evoni. “You gave up first blood as easily as you gave up—”

Sadira growled and lunged at the black-clad swordswoman, verdant strength roaring through powerful enchantments. As Evoni parried her first blade, Sadira spun on her heel and jumped, whirling in in the air and bringing the second blade down in an overhand arc. Evoni caught the blade expertly, but she was unprepared for Sadira’s strength and was driven to her knees. Sadira followed up with an upward slash from her other blade, but Evoni rolled out and away.

<You okay?> Vintia asked through their link.

<I am,> Sadira replied. <She’s quite good though. I can’t take my eyes off her again. We’re going to have to do this blind.>

<Wait for my signal,> the response from the other woman came.

Sadira locked blades with Evoni again, but her opponent was not foolish enough to test her strength and slipped back. Fire leapt between them, scorching Sadira’s arm painfully. Evoni leapt back in, her swords sweeping in from opposite angles. Rather than parry, Sadira kicked out, hitting Evoni in the midsection and sending her flying back.

<Now!> Vintia shouted through their link, the woman surging forward out of the corner of Sadira’s eye as she did so.

As Evoni recovered, Sadira turned and sprinted toward her partner. Marisu was intent on Vintia, eyes gleaming and muscles tightening as she got ready to deliver a punishing blow. Sadira covered the distance quickly, keeping the massive form of the orcish woman between her and Vintia, letting out a loud war scream as she closed in. Marisu, thinking that Sadira was charging at her, abruptly aborted her swing. Sadira admired the skill of the strong orc Gladiatrix, able to stop such a powerful attack in motion and yet still avoid a quick thrust from Vintia’s long blade. From behind her, Sadira sensed a surge of Thaom and a powerful weave as Evoni readied her attack.

But their opponents had guessed wrong. Sadira had no intention if attacking Marisu.

Sadira dove, tumbling past the massive Gladiatrix and rolling toward her true target. Evoni, caught completely off guard, was forced to stop moving and quickly unleash the spell that she had been weaving a moment before. Heat washed over Sadira as a ball of molten rock splashed into the sand beside her—some of it splashed onto both her and Marisu. The orc grunted, and Sadira grit her teeth as it burned, a part of her mind recognizing it as a spell called Magma Ball, one that was deemed exceptionally powerful at this rank of competition. Turning, Sadira sprang at Evoni, swinging her gleaming obsidian-colored blades in a savage dual uppercut. But to her immense surprise, Evoni managed to block both with quick, precise motions before throwing her shoulder forward into Sadira’s chest, sending her skittering backwards.

“Nice try,” Evoni snarled as she reset her guard, shifting her posture into something Sadira immediately recognized as the much-feared swan stance of the Iron Wings School. “Too bad you don’t have the skill to follow up!”

“We’ll see about that,” Sadira called back as she moved back from Evoni, snarling as a flash of lightning needled her. Swan stance was hard to penetrate without a ranged attack to disrupt it, for any melee strike that was parried would open Sadira to a savage counterattack.

But if I don’t strike, she is going to keep hitting me with spells, Sadira thought as she weighed her options.

Behind her, Sadira could hear Marisu hit Vintia’s shield, likely in an attempt to keep the small defender at bay. The Blues knew that the Reds trained for better teamwork and had likely planned to keep Sadira and Vintia away from each other.

<Do you need help?> Vintia asked as if reading her mind.

<Can you needle her with something?> Sadira answered without a second’s hesitation. <Anything to distract her for as second.>

<I’ll try,> came the quick answer from her partner. <Be ready.>

Evoni moved as Sadira circled her, swords poised gracefully at her shoulders, elbows pointing outward like wings. Fire flashed between them, blistering Sadira’s leg.

“Nicely done!” she snarled to Evoni as she channeled her power into a healing weave and felt her flesh immediately begin to reknit itself. “But I’m still standing.”

“For now.” Evoni smiled as she wove another spell. “You’ll be eating dirt soon enough!”

Sadira could see the other Gladiators behind Evoni now. Marisu slammed her heavy axe into Vintia’s shield again and again, hoping to unbalance the smaller woman. The massive orcish Gladiatrix measured each blow precisely, trying to drive her smaller opponent to the ground or find a way to hook her axe blade around Vintia’s heavy shield and drag it away. Vintia weathered the assault, sheltering behind her thick shield, always moving to deny her opponent the best angle of attack.

<Now!> Vintia exclaimed through their link as she gained a good angle to strike Evoni with a spell.

Sadira leapt in as a blast of ice washed over the woman. She still parried Sadira’s first attack, but the traditional devastating counter that the stance was known for was foiled, and Sadira swept in with her second blade, cutting Evoni’s side before shouldering into her.

Evoni’s eyes went wide as Sadira pushed her back and then raked her across the chest and shoulder with a Sun and Moon slash. Only her opponent’s thick armor and a bit of luck kept Sadira from dismembering her. Evoni rolled back, forcing Sadira to keep up with her, striking as she came out of it. Her opponent managed to parry her swords, but Sadira rammed an armored knee into her face, causing her nose to explode with blood. Yet before she could press that advantage to its conclusion, a Mind Blast from Marisu staggered Sadira, making her step back involuntarily.

Eyes wide with rage, Evoni blasted Sadira with ray of flame. Sadira rolled to the side and swung wildly, forcing the other woman to parry. Evoni got to her feet, only to be tripped up by a Grasping Roots spell that Sadira had been saving. Sadira lunged, her whole body taut like a bow. Her blade scraped Evoni’s armor, drawing blood from her chin.

“Almost!” snarled Sadira, following up with a series of savage slashes that pushed her opponent back.

Evoni was sweating now, giving ground as Sadira battered her. She parried flawlessly, but her counters lacked power, and her spells only made Sadira angrier. Above them, the crowd cheered.

“REDS, REDS, REDS!”

Sadira laughed as she landed a strike on Evoni’s arm.

Vintia kept Marisu busy. The big Gladiatrix continued to physically dominate the smaller Vintia, knocking her opponent around with powerful swings of her heavy-bladed axe. The larger woman was, however, unable to get past the bright-eyed defender’s shield. Sadira could see that she could count on Vintia to contain her.

Sadira could see the desperation in her opponent’s eyes. They both knew that if the match went to the full time limit, the audience would determine who won; Evoni and Marisu would be subjected to the judgement of a crowd that already hated them.

“Don’t worry,” Sadira taunted as she circled. “I’m sure Chosen Moltar will be forgiving after I beat you.”

Evoni’s eyes blazed at her words, and she drew on a great stream of Thaom, directing it through a hasty spell weave. A fireball streaked toward Sadira, exploding in the sand behind her, scorching her a little as she rolled away.

“I will . . . kill . . . you!” Evoni snarled as she attacked Sadira with swift sword slashes in the wake of the spell.

Her movements were swift, but frenzied, and Sadira was able to weather the assault, parrying, sidestepping, and foiling the attacks. Evoni’s desperation drove her though and she kept attacking.

Sadira calmly waited for her opportunity, parrying attack after attack. Evoni was swift and skilled, but her fear of failing under her master’s merciless eye robbed her of cunning. Soon enough, Sadira saw a flaw that she could exploit.

After ducking a wild, powerful sword stroke from Evoni, Sadira stomped on the larger woman’s boot, then feinted a double slash with both sabers at her opponent’s throat. Evoni quickly brought up both her swords, blocking close to her body. Sadira felt her exhale, smelled her sweat, and grinned as she wrapped her arms around Evoni’s chest, dropping her own swords and pinning her opponent’s blade. Sadira lifted Evoni off the ground, squeezing her and calling on a surge of Thaom that sent verdant strength racing through her veins. Such was the strength of her spell that her veins glowed bright green, and the crowd cheered as Sadira began to bend Evoni’s armor inward, pushing it into her flesh.

Evoni, face flush from lack of air, wove her own spell and breathed a gout of flame at Sadira’s face. The fire burned Sadira’s cheek, but she squeezed Evoni even harder, driving the breath right out of her. The crowd roared.

Across the arena, Marisu tried to slip by Vintia and save her partner, only to be driven to the ground by an ice spear into her back.

Sadira gave the crowd a moment to cheer as she held the struggling Evoni, then she dropped, arching her back and slamming Evoni’s head into the ground with a perfect supplex. The crowd surged to its feet as Sadira stood. Evoni twitched but did not get up.

The Call to the Ancestors sounded then. As their magic was leashed, Marisu made a disgusted sound and left the arena without a second glance at Evoni, who lay unmoving in the sand.

“I think I broke her neck, Vintia,” Sadira said as she looked down at the sprawled-out woman.

“Broke is a bit of an understatement,” Vintia replied with a shake of her head. “I don’t think she has much neck left at all after that. She’s lucky this wasn’t a Deathmatch.”

As the two Gladiatrices saluted the crowd, the cheers became deafening. Heady and victorious, Sadira and Vintia embraced, laughing as ten thousand voices screamed their names.

<>

Gavin turned to Valaran, grinning.

The big man merely shrugged. Gavin’s smiled faded as he read Valaran’s piercing grey eyes. The golden-haired giant was staring at Sadira as she left the fighting grounds. “I guess you do have something I desire after all, Gavin. Sadira. I will make this Gladiatrix mine.”

Gavin’s eyes widened. If it had not been for Ravius’s hand on his shoulder, he would have leapt at his nemesis right there, in spite of the nearby Grey-Robes.

“She’ll be your death if you try, Valaran!” Ravius said evenly. Beside him, Gavin shook with rage; he almost didn’t care what would happen to him if he attacked the hated Gladiator. “The man who tries to impose his will on a Gladiatrix is surely doomed.”

Valaran laughed loudly, an ugly sound. His two female thralls echoed his laughter, almost sadly, as he stood, towering. “Folk sayings apply to people like you, not men like me, idiot. I’m sure that Sadira will come to appreciate my charms, one way or another. Gavin is skilled, but I am his better. I doubt any of you other Reds are worthy of a Gladiatrix like that. Speaking of which, I must get back to my master’s tent. He will be most displeased that Evoni and Marisu lost this challenge, and I will enjoy watching their punishment.”

With that, Valaran turned his back and stalked away; his thralls and the Grey-Robes followed him.

“What about our wager?” Ravius called after him. “Have you no honor?”

Valaran walked away, seemingly oblivious to the jeers of the Reds all around him. Gavin watched him, feeling heated. As the big, gold-clad Gladiator was about to leave the seating area, he paused and turned. The Reds jeering him stopped as his gaze swept over them, coming to rest on Gavin. Their eyes met and Gavin could feel Valaran consider him once more, as he had when they had first fought. After a moment, Valaran turned and left.

“Well . . . at least he thinks you are skilled, little brother,” Ravius said, ever the optimist of their group.

“If only he didn’t,” Gavin replied with grumble, shaking his head as he spoke. “Then maybe he would just leave me alone.”

Chapter Nineteen: A Dance with Trolls

1142/04/07 AR, Camp Valorous

“Trolls are a living reminder that the olive branch is sometimes better than the sword. There are few better allies.” Chosen Marius.

“Chosen’s Oath, I hate that man,” Gavin muttered.

“You’re letting him get in your head,” Ravius replied as he slapped the man’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “He has no chance with Sadira.”

Gavin nodded in response, but could not deny how he felt. His emotions were still burning as he and Ravius made their way back to the arena. It did not help his temper that he’d barely been able to talk to Sadira for more than a few seconds after her victory. Sadira and Vintia were the heroines of the day, having handed not only a decisive loss to the hated Blues, but having done so before the Chosen Moltar himself. They were being hailed as heroes; every Gladiator, arena fan, and Red Faction patriot in Camp Valorous wanted to congratulate them. An event that Sadira was eagerly taking advantage of by meeting with every fan or prospective sponsor to build her following. Gavin knew it was intellectually wrong to resent Sadira for not dropping everything to make time for him but found it particularly difficult to make his heart agree.

Valaran’s mocking voice chased him as he stalked through the bowels of the arena, taunting him with every step he took.

How can I compete with a man like that? he wondered with a grimace as they walked, unable to help but replay their exchange over and over again in his mind.

“Slow down, little brother,” Ravius said at one point, having clearly noticed Gavin’s silence. “You’re falling into his trap. You should be happy today. The summer evening is calm and peaceful. Life is good. Sadira and Vintia won a victory that will be the talk of the town for a long while. Don’t let your anger rob you of the opportunity to share in their triumph, my friend. They’ll have time enough for us after our match is done. The best revenge is to do well and move on.”

“You’re right,” said Gavin. “I know I’m being selfish; I just wish he would leave me be.”

“Just concentrate on our match.”

“I’ll try.”

“Well, even though I am appalled that you aren’t pleased beyond words to join your old friend Ravius in the arena, basking in his reflected glory as he demolishes his foes, I will forgive you . . . this time,” Ravius said dramatically, clearly trying to earn a chuckle from the man.

Gavin wanted to say many things. In truth, Valaran’s comments had been too close to the mark. He did not feel worthy of Sadira or his friends at times. As a Gladiator, he was unsure of his destiny, of whether or not he possessed the capacity for greatness. He wanted to tell Ravius . . . he was not the type who burdened others with his problems. So he smiled at his friend’s good-natured antics, and they made their way to the arming room to get ready for their upcoming fight, passing cheerful fans still talking about Sadira’s win.

At least I am not a monster like Valaran, he thought. Getting on that man’s bad side is a sure sign I am doing something right.

<>

“You ready, Gavin?” Ravius asked as the call to arms sounded.

“As one can get,” he replied a little warily. “I’ve never fought a troll. It should be . . . interesting. To say the least.”

Trolls were a curious case in the Domains. They existed before the Reckoning, but none of the old powers had any dealings with them. They survived in the areas of the world where no one else wanted to dwell: ancient bogs, isolated caves, the oldest forests. Rare creatures in the old days, they frequented places rendered uninhabitable by disaster or wild magic. Later, after the great wars ended and the Chosen expanded back outwards from Krass, they found a great number of them out in the wild, expanding into the void left by the fall of previous civilizations. Trolls thrived in the tainted lands left by the Reckoning, and it had been immediately evident that they were not the primitive brutes as they were represented in old stories. Troll kingdoms were among the first allies of the expanding Domains, and later joined the empire as freeholds.

“Quite right, little brother!” Ravius said as they strode forward. “To think that each and every one of them come into the arena willingly, without Keystone protection. Brave bastards for certain.”

The one thing that the old stories did get right was that trolls were incredibly tough. They healed wounds even faster than most Gladiators and could survive and recover from horrific injuries without the need of any healing magic. It helped even further that they did not really feel or even understand pain as others did. Furthermore, there were few diseases that affected them, allowing them to eat and drink from almost anything. Topping off this already formidable list was their high resistance to magic, and by extension, the taint caused by the wild powers that brought about the Reckoning. It was all of these qualities that allowed them to survive and expand after the Great War. The only price that the creatures supposedly paid for all of their gifts, was the inability to wield the magic that they so resisted, something that all, save for perhaps the trolls, agreed was a fair exchange.

“Just don’t kill them,” Gavin said. “I’m told that’s considered extremely poor form.”

“So I’ve heard as well,” Ravius answered with a faint snort. “And you do not need to worry, little brother, I am not Valaran. Truth be told, I find myself preferring this kind of opponent. They know exactly what they are getting into as they step into the arena. It makes for a better bout, I think.”

“We’ll certainly find out soon,” Gavin replied as he adjusted a final strap on his breastplate as they moved to the Gladiators entrance.

The Chosen at first saw the various troll tribes and kingdoms as a danger but quickly changed their minds when they realized that these peoples could be bargained with and trusted. Facing a hostile land filled with tainted magic and terrible enemies, it was easy for the armies of Krass to see the advantages of an alliance. For their part, the trolls respected the strength of the Chosen and relished the important role that they found in the Domains. Troll lands were now independent regions within the Domains, subject to the laws of the troll tribes and clans that lived there in the same way that each Chosen’s Domain had its own governance.

“Let’s do this,” Gavin announced as he heard the Call of the People sound out ahead, the gate in front of them gradually yawning open.

Striding forward with their heads held high, the two Gladiators walked onto the fighting grounds, greeted by raucous cheers. Ravius whirled his net and posed while Gavin followed him stoically.

The audience was still in an excellent mood, their spirits buoyed by Sadira and Vintia’s victory against the Blues that morning. Some of the spectators at this match had kept their seats throughout the day, and they described that epic victory in excited tones with their envious neighbors.

Although Gavin had not yet overcome his anger, his mood lightened a little when he saw that Moltar’s gloomy pavilion had already been taken down. Hopefully, that meant that Valaran was far away by now. He and Ravius raised their weapons to salute the crowd. As they did, so did their opponents, two blue-skinned trolls on the far side of the arena, the pair lifting their double bladed greataxes towards the crowd.

Then, as tradition demanded it, the trumpets sounded the Call to Battle, and the bout began.

Moving with a surge of adrenaline, the four fighters wasted no time in converging on each other both sides sprinting towards one another as fast as their legs could take them. The trolls in particular moved with a startling speed despite their otherwise short legs, while also keeping close together, a clear sign of tactical acumen.

Gavin attacked the lead troll with a Mind Blast, but penetrating the troll’s magical resistance was like trying to shove a dull knife into a block of wood. After a few seconds with no success, he gave up on the spell and instead focused inwards, weaving an enchantment that would sharpen his concentration.

Signaling Ravius, Gavin met the first troll head on, ducking under an axe swipe and stabbing it in the belly with his spear. The creature cursed and grunted, but otherwise ignored the foot-long blade in its intestines, even as he twisted the haft, causing the barbs to tear at the troll’s flesh as he withdrew the point. Even though he had prepared himself for the troll’s lack of pain reception, he was still shocked at the lack of reaction.

“That almost tickled,” the troll rumbled as it brought its axe crashing down, slamming it directly into Gavin’s lion-headed shield and nearly driving him to his knees.

Gavin set himself better against the follow up attack, using his Liquid Deflection technique to direct the axe blade into the sand, allowing him to lunge forward shield first before the Troll could recover.

“Then tell me how this feels!” Gavin exclaimed as he slammed his shield into the troll’s chin and unleashed the power of the trollodestone. Despite its size and stance, his opponent was sent reeling backwards from the shield’s magic, giving Gavin the opportunity to stab him twice, once in the shoulder and again in the arm with quick thrusts of his barbed war spear. Much like before, the wounds drew plenty of blood, but the Troll seemed eerily indifferent to their affects.

“Nice try, ugly!” Gavin heard Ravius shout as he darted past him, dodging a powerful attack from the troll he was fighting. “You are as accurate as you are beautiful!”

“And I’ve heard better insults from a dung heap!” the troll bellowed in turn as it moved to chase him, replying with a surprising amount of eloquence. As Gavin sidestepped another swing from his opponent, he saw Ravius begin to expertly lead his troll away, while continuing to mock him relentlessly, searching for something to get under its exceptional thick skin.

Swords and magic may rend flesh and break bones, but words leave wounds that will never heal, Gavin said mentally as he saw the trolls wild swings grow faster and faster, signaling that the skirmisher was having some success getting on his nerves. As was soon evidenced by a loud cheer from the crowd when Ravius managed to bury his trident in the troll’s rump after a particularly messy swing.

Leaving Ravius to his specialty of trickery and insults, Gavin leaned even further into his own, intending to break the troll against his defense until it had nothing else left to give. He traded blows with the beast, taking staggering hits from its massive greataxe on his shield and responding with quick, brutal spear lunges that left weeping craters in the beast’s chest. By using the techniques taught to him in the Iron Bulwark School, he was able to withstand the ferocious assault and punish the troll for attacking him. After sidestepping an attack that clove deep into the sand, he retaliated with a spear point into the troll’s armpit and then ducked under the responding backswing, earning a loud cheer from the crowd.

“Now that one hurt,” his opponent growled as he backed away a step, sounding more impressed than actually pained. “Stand still so I can return the favor.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t,” Gavin replied without missing a beat, his feet already moving as the troll lunged forward to attack once again.

Nearby, Gavin could hear Ravius cackling and mouthing off as the battle continued to rage. The skirmisher had managed to work his opponent into a frenzy, ridiculing the troll each time he forced it to make an error. It was enough to finally cause it to give in to anger and charge Ravius, who tumbled to one side, sweeping his barbed net at its legs as he did. The grasping net wrapped around its feet and knees, causing it to fall to the ground, where it struggled in the net. Not wasting the opportunity he’d worked so hard to earn, Ravius darted in, lightning quick, and stabbed the troll in the throat with his trident, causing a spray of dark red blood to erupt from the wound. Even such a mortal blow would not outright kill the tough troll, but it would certainly take it out of the fight.

<Coming in quiet,> Ravius sent through their mental link as he whirled towards Gavin. <Give me an opening.>

<On it,> Gavin replied, already shifting to turn his opponent away from his companion’s approach, then holding still just long enough to present himself as a tempting target.

Taking the bait wholeheartedly, the troll chopped his axe down onto Gavin’s shield, attacking again and again with thunderous fury. It focused so intently on the barrage of attacks that it did not even notice Ravius as he snuck up behind it and stabbed it in the back with long knife he’d drawn from his belt. The surprise caused the troll to gasp and stagger, an opening that Gavin took full advantage of to attack. Lunging forward explosively, he thrust his spear into his opponent’s chest, seeking its heart. But, although the troll staggered, it did not completely falter as the spear sank home. For with surprising swiftness, it dropped its greataxe and seized Gavin’s head in both of its hands, immediately trying to crush the Gladiator’s skull. Grimacing from under the powerful grip, Gavin felt the bones in his head buckle under the creature’s immense strength and pushed forward with all his might, trying to drive his spear deeper as Ravius stabbed it again and again from behind.

His vision swimming and driven by an ever-increasing desperation, Gavin used the last weapon available to him, and leaned back onto his magic, pouring every iota of Thaom he had at his command through his still intact Mind Blast spell weave. This time it was enough to send the troll staggering under the sheer magnitude of the spell, a torrent of blood spraying from its ears and nose. Its eyes wide from the explosion of magic, all the fight then left the troll as it began to sag to the ground, letting out a wet gurgle as it fell.

“Well done, little brother,” Ravius said as the two of them stepped away from the fallen creature, both of them breathing heavily in relief for a pair of seconds before the crowd began to roar in triumphant victory. “Well done, indeed.”

Chapter Twenty: Brain Burster

1142/10/26, Camp Valorous

“Explaining magic to the ungifted is difficult, like trying to describe colors to someone who has been blind since birth.” Chosen Moltar

“I don’t like the term weaving. I’m commanding the elements to blast my enemies to ash, not making a rug.” Karmal, arguing with a trainer at age fourteen

Gavin preferred the privacy of private training grounds. He and Ravius had been trying to learn a new spell and had been practicing for several days now. Cogimancy was the hardest of the common magical disciplines to practice, which was mainly because most spells of its type of magic altered or attacked a target’s mind, and consequently required a living target, rather than just a practice dummy. This was further complicated by the fact that such living targets instinctively tried to resist the school’s mental magics, which made weaving the spell pattern to great effect even more difficult. Fortunately, Ravius was also a fellow cogimancer, the same as Gavin, which always gave the pair a willing volunteer to practice their spells on.

The spell they were attempting to learn today was named Michella’s Mind Melter, or as it was commonly called in the arena, the Brain Burster. As much as its name suggested, it was by far one of the more gruesome attack spells in a cogimancer’s arsenal and a crowd favorite. At its heart, the spell was a vastly overpowered variation of the mental blast which was a staple of Gavin’s arsenal. The current theory behind the spell was that it turned the user’s mental impulses into intense heat and explosive kinetic energy, which, in turn, would cause the target to panic, thereby creating more mental energy and thus more heat, until it could be no longer contained. If allowed to fester, the target’s brain would quite literally explode, usually with enough force to burst their skull, like a Fire Snap spell going off in a ripe melon. It was because of that last particular effect that Gavin and Ravius weren’t practicing it directly on one another. It was simply too lethal to train regularly with, even for Arenabound.

So they required other sparring partners to hone their ability with, or as Gavin had come to think of them, test subjects.

“Weapons, please,” the Grey-Robe attending their training session said to them as they arrived at the training grounds, her request taking a Gavin somewhat by surprise.

“Uh . . .” he began, a little unsure of how to respond to the woman.

Unlike the other Greys that often attended them, this one in particular was closer to their age than usual, her sharp-featured face and bright eyes combined with her unusual request momentarily putting him off guard.

“You set up the parameters for this session, Gladiator,” she said, a hand coming up to reposition the thick glasses that she wore as she glanced between him and Ravius. “Don’t tell me I spent all morning animating these stitched because you requested them when drunk.”

“Thank you, Officer Cleothera,” Ravius interjected with a chuckle before shifting to look at Gavin. “It’s fine, little brother. I set it up this way.”

“And are you ever going to tell me why?”

“Well, the only easy way for us to down the stitched is to destroy the brain,” Ravius said as if the answer was particularly obvious. “I thought that if we didn’t have our weapons with us, it would force us to concentrate on using the Brain Burster. Rather than more . . . direct means.”

“I see,” Gavin replied, unable to find a fault in the man’s logic. “Perhaps next time you could tell me?”

“Why? It’s funnier this way.”

Gavin just rolled his eyes at the skirmisher as he handed his weapons to Grey-Robe Cleothera, who took them gingerly, her eyes looking down at the razor edge of his shield as if it might bite her.

“Sorry, I should have warned you about that,” he said as she carefully looped her arm through one of the straps to carry it. “It’s as sharp as it looks, so be careful.”

“I certainly will be,” she replied, holding the shield further out from her body than was necessary, her attention then turning towards Ravius, who handed over his net and trident with exaggerated care, earning a smile in the process.

Hitting on a Grey seems unwise, Gavin thought as he watched his friend, inwardly shaking his head but saying nothing else. They have too much power over us not to strain a relationship.

Walking to the center of the practice ground, Gavin felt decidedly naked without his spear, shield, and sword. Of course, he was strong enough to crush a stitched’s skull with a punch or a kick, but it was not ideal, especially not when there were multiples of them coming after him at once.

“I hope you’ve got a good handle on our new spell, little brother,” Ravius said once they were on the sands, the skirmisher shifting his weight from foot to foot beside him as he warmed up.

“So do I,” Gavin replied with a snort, knowing that it was already far too late not to be, Cleothera picking that moment to shut the gate and activate the ward-screens. A moment later Gavin felt his gift become unleashed, a wave of Thaom flooding into him. Then a door on the opposite side of the sands across from them opened, and several stitched shambled into the practice ground. A handful of them Gavin could see wore bits of golden-colored armor.

“Now that’s not funny,” Gavin said with a scowl, turning to glance towards his partner.

“Isn’t it?” Ravius asked with a laugh as they both began to move in reaction to the oncoming creatures. “I like to think of it as extra motivation.”

As if my life weren’t already enough motivation, Gavin thought briefly before pushing the sentiment out of his mind entirely and focusing on the reason that they were on the training grounds in the first place.

The stitched that they had chosen to practice against were of a slower variety, and Gavin was able to keep out of reach as he threaded the complex spell weave of the new magic he was attempting to master. His Thune was much better than average, but a spell of this complexity still took time to ready and even more Thaom to power it. As he wove, Gavin had to dodge the lumbering swings of a pair of stitched as he darted past them. They tried to crowd both him and Ravius as they moved, intending to either force them onto the ground so they could pile onto them, or to the edge of the ward-screen, which would disrupt his weave the instant he touched it.

Gavin dodged two more wild swings and shoved one of the stitched to the ground, before he finally completed the weave. He waited a little longer making certain that he had collected enough Thaom, then directed it through the spell weave, targeting it at the nearest creature, easily overcoming what little magical resistance it had. Recoiling from the spell, it immediately stopped dead in its tracks, hesitating for a single second before its head simply burst apart, showering the sand with bits of embalmed brain and skull fragments. The unexpected smell that accompanied the detonation made Gavin cough as he backed away from a wild swing from another stitched and towards safety.

“Oh, you got it working already!” Ravius exclaimed from across the sands. “I envy your Thune, little brother. But what I may lack in that, I make up for with style!”

With a surge of Thaom, Ravius made a flourish toward the nearest stitched and cast. Gavin sensed him weave additional Thune into the spell pattern. As the undead creature’s head exploded, it was accompanied by a bright burst of color and a garish whizzing sound, one not unlike a firework. Eyes widening at the blast, Gavin narrowly sidestepped a flying skull fragment while looking towards Ravius.

“Nice shift,” he remarked. “Is it purely cosmetic?”

“Style is everything in the arena, little brother,” Ravius responded, before pitching his voice slightly higher. “Isn’t that right, Officer Cleothera?”

“I think it helps,” the woman called back from her seat on the ring’s edge, looking up from the book that she had in hand.

Ravius smiled and took that reply as invitation to cross the practice ground to speak more directly to the Grey-Robe all while ignoring the remaining stitched. That left for Gavin to cover for him, casting his Brain Burster spell again to liquify the head of a stitched closing in on the skirmisher.

“So, do you watch the Great Games often?” Gavin heard Ravius ask Cleothera as he dodged the swinging arms of yet another stitched.

“Every chance I get,” Cleothera answered, a quick glance from Gavin showing him that her book was now in her lap.

“And who is your favorite?” Ravius queried without so much of a pause as two more oncoming stitched fell before they could reach him.

“I really like Sapphire Kiss, Crimson Doomglaive, and . . . Sadira,” came the reply as another stitched fell without its head, leaving only the one charging towards Gavin remaining.

Rushing towards it as it lumbered forward, Gavin barreled into the last stitched, his super weight effortlessly canceling out its charge and sending it sprawling into the sand. Satisfied with the time that he’d bought for himself, he then channeled his power furiously as it struggled to stand, feeling a tidal wave of Thaom coursed through him, surging faster and faster until it began to lift him into the air. As the stitched gained its feet, he cast the Brain Burster spell again, this time pushing the entirety of his remaining Thaom into it. The result had the stitched quite literally exploding in its entirety, the largest remaining fragment being the mostly hand that sailed unerringly across the training ground sands to swat Ravius across the cheek, the skirmisher beginning his turn a second too late to evade it.

“Ugh, you did that on purpose, little brother!” the man exclaimed, wrinkling his nose at the slimy smear that now stretched across his face.

Gavin’s reply was only a faint grin at the man as he landed back on his feet, his eyes then turning towards Cleothera. “And is Sadira why you’re here with us today?”

The flush that immediately crossed the woman’s face a second later told him that he’d hit his mark, but it only lasted for a second before she regained her control.

“A fringe benefit, truthfully,” she answered in a steady voice. “I happened to be the only officer available who could adequately evaluate a cogimancer, let alone a pair of them at once when your request came in. Unless you’d have wanted to wait a week or two, I’d have been placed with you two regardless.”

“Then it seems fate smiled on each of us,” Gavin replied, a thought then coming to mind. “And I thought you were just a necromancer?”

<Just one of my specialties, actually,> Cleothera said through a mental link that Gavin never saw her form.

“Interesting . . .” Gavin said with an approving nod as he looked at Ravius, the skirmisher immediately returning the gesture. Having an ally in the Deliberative would be useful for all of them and did not break any rules.

“Would you like to meet Sadira, by chance?”

<>

“So what do you think?” Gavin asked Sadira after they returned from meeting Cleothera.

“She seems nice,” Sadira replied. “Though I do worry that she might be playing nice to spy on us.”

As was often the case when they returned to the spacious house they shared with their friends, they found a pile of gifts and letters waiting for them. Sadira smiled in delight, as she loved communicating with her fans and followers; Gavin knew that she dutifully answered every letter they sent to her, often taking hours to do so.

“You’re still worried about what happened between Karmal and Meady Mox.”

“I certainly am. Still, having a cooperative Grey-Robe will make travel outside of the Gladiators Quarter much easier. Especially if she proves to be a good fit with our group over the long term.”

“Then we’ll just need to see—” Gavin replied, stopping midsentence as they entered the house, a small package having arrived on their doorstep during their absence. Glancing at the paper attached to it, he saw that it was addressed to Sadira and immediately passed it over to her without a second thought.

“Hrm? Another parcel?” she queried as she accepted the package and immediately gave it a shake. “Hmm, no idea what it could be. Come, I’ll open it in bedroom where my notes are. If I don’t write down who sent what to me right away, I’m liable to forget. Or worse, mix gifts up with that of another patron.”

“An unforgivable social slight,” Gavin replied somewhat dryly as they entered the main chamber of the house, finding both Ravius and Omodo inside, the pair in the middle of a meal. Sparing only a passing wave for the both of them, they quickly found themselves in the bedroom that he and Sadira shared, Sadira wasting no time in opening the package. Inside they quickly discovered was a beautifully crafted gold ring adorned with a cunningly shaped scorpion made from black pearl and pure onyx. Sadira held it up to the light, enthralled, her eyes glowing with appreciation of the perfectly chosen gift.

“Well, that’s quite the patron gift! I don’t think I ever seen anything leave you that speechless before. What does the card say?” Gavin asked, unable to help but smile at his love’s delight. He was well aware of how much work Sadira put into performing in the arena and encouraging her fans with thoughtful responses to their letters and gifts. He was glad it was paying off.

“Mmmm, quite a lot,” Sadira replied with a coy grin as she flipped it over towards so he could see, a line of elegant, flowing script, written across the rich, jasmine-scented paper. “It says . . . ‘To Sadira Lacivia: the only thing I have ever wanted from the Reds.’ And the signature at the bottom, just says VV. From the looks of it, the ring will fit perfectly too. How thoughtful, even if I’m not sure exactly who sent it. Regardless, it looks like you may have some competition, my love.”

Gavin started to smile at her joke and made to reply in kind, but before he could, something clicked in mind, and he found his retort dying in his throat as the realization of who had sent the gift hit him like cold steel twisting in his gut.

Valaran.

Chapter Twenty-One: Under the Bridge

1142/10/26 AR, Camp Valorous

“No one likes tapping out on a trap.” Arena Maxim.

Gavin and Sadira’s next match took place in a much-altered arena. For this match, a deep channel bisected the fighting grounds, its depths glistening with pointed metal spikes. A stone bridge, broad enough for them to stand shoulder to shoulder, crossed this vicious-looking chasm. Although it appeared sturdy, the bridge lacked any railing or safety features that would give an unlucky Gladiator a chance to save himself if knocked off the span. A late autumn rain fell steadily, and both Gladiators knew that this would make the smooth stones of the bridge slick and treacherous. Gavin, who normally liked the rain, was more than a little nervous about how easy it would be for them to lose their footing and plunge into the chasm.

“The crowd will love it when we knock them off the bridge,” Sadira said, flexing her fingers as she surveyed the audience, which was cheerful and boisterous despite the weather. “The rain should make it easy enough. We’ll look good out there.”

“You always look good,” Gavin said with a smile, taking the easy compliment as Sadira smirked back, her eyes sparkling even as she shook her head.

“At least with my glamour I don’t have to worry about rain and wind ruining my hair,” she said as she ran her hand through the long, thick forest of black spikes on her head, which fell back into place immediately. “I don’t know how the ungifted survive without it.”

Blaring loudly, the call of the trumpets signaled for them to approach, and the two Gladiators entered the arena. Eager to begin, Sadira rushed forward, with Gavin trotting behind her, watching her eager strides. His heart lurched somewhat as she broke into a run across the treacherously wet bridge, before leaping into the air halfway across. Landing in a crouch, she slid on the slick stones to the end of the bridge, drawing her wicked swords in salute to the spectators as she came to rest.

Gavin drew his blade as well, but he knew they were mostly cheering for Sadira. He felt a little tingle of jealousy at the realization, but he shrugged inwardly and pushed it aside as he took his place beside her. She deserved the admiration she got, and he was content to let her take the center stage.

After cartwheeling onto the fighting grounds and leaping onto Gavin’s shield, Sadira put her hand to her ear; she was still enjoying the afterglow of her hard-fought victory over Evoni and Marisu, Moltar’s protégés. It had bought her great prestige in the eyes of local arena patrons, who responded to her entreaty with gusto.

“SADIRA, SADIRA, WE’RE HERE-A, FOR OUR HERO, SADIRA, SADIRA!”

The trumpets sounded once again and signaled that it was time for their enemies to rumble forth, heavy-plated armor clanking as they moved relentlessly toward the bridge. Gavin and Sadira knew them to be the stitched, but to most of the crowd, they appeared to be grim, ghostly warriors, clad in fearsome black armor. Glowing red eyes and wicked, serrated blades made them look particularly demonic on this cold, grey, stormy autumn afternoon.

In bridge battles, the audience preferred the teams that eschew the easy kill, cheering loudest when a Gladiator knocked an enemy off the bridge. It was considered very bad form to finish such a battle without knocking at least one body into the spiked abyss for the pleasure of the spectators.

“On you, jumping!” Sadira exclaimed as Gavin strode forward to meet his foes in the middle of the stone bridge.

She tensed and then pushed forward, vaulting over Gavin’s shoulder as he crashed into them shield first. She wrapped her legs around the armored head of the nearest creature, slashing her blades at the others as it started to fall. She rode it down toward the abyss, pushing off of its body as it slipped over the edge of the stone bridge. The audience let out a collective gasp as it seemed she might fall onto the spikes, but Sadira channeled power into a Primal Surge enchantment, lending her the strength to flip backwards, dropping onto the wet stones behind Gavin. She landed perfectly on the slick stones, reveling in the thrill of the stunt. The crowd roared to its feet, thundering approval.

Chosen’s Oath, she has no fear at all, Gavin thought, with a mixture of trepidation and admiration as he pushed into the oncoming undead, using his shield as a battering ram. The stitched might be strong as creatures were measured, but they were rather clumsy, and he sought to take advantage of it. They battered his shield relentlessly with their crude, jagged weapons, but Gavin deflected their attacks without losing his footing on the cold, wet stone. Powering forward, step by step, muscles bulging, he leaned into the mass, ignoring an errant blade as it bit into his side. Shouting wordlessly, he heaved forward with a surge of adrenaline into their ranks, causing two of his enemies to lose their footing on the slippery, narrow bridge and plunge into the chasm below, joining their companions flailing on the spikes.

Though he could not see her, Gavin’s battle sense was such that he knew when Sadira moved in to stand behind him, and he imagined her showing her approval with the cruel smile she wore in the arena. He signaled to her, and they swept forward, across the bridge. Shadows seemed to coalesce on Sadira’s black blades as she whirled into the Stitched. It was mostly for show; the undead were not fooled by shadow manipulation. It looked spectacular though, as her blades left trails of darkness and gore, and three more enemies fell. Gavin followed her, his blood on fire, pushing them back with his lion-headed shield, thrusting his spear at any who got too close to her.

A sword grazed Sadira, and she snarled as it drew blood, quickly hacking the arm off the offending undead assailant with a vicious backhand stroke. Gavin moved in to shield her, heaving an armored stitched off the bridge with his spear. He heard the crunch of the spikes below puncturing the iron armor, the roar of the crowd that followed, and sensed Sadira’s Thaom as she cast a spell to heal her wound. Then she smiled at him and slid past his shield, cleaving into the last two stitched. She kicked one off the bridge, ducked the swinging blade of the other, her swords swinging up and decapitating it as she stood. As it fell, she let loose an ear-splitting war shriek and crossed her swords above her head, posing for the audience. They answered with cheers. She drank their responding praise, feeling the cold rain on her face.

Gavin smiled at her, and she smiled back from across the bridge as the next phase of battle began.

Two towering figures strode into the arena, trolls armed and armored in the same theatrically grim style as the corpse-men. Gavin thought he recognized both of them from his last match, although their gear was different this time. They moved toward the bridge from opposite sides, bearing heavy axes and tall shields. They looked impressive, unstoppable, but the Gladiators knew toppling the massive creatures off of the narrow bridge’s slick stones would be much easier than killing them.

As the trolls lumbered into place, several more armored undead followed them into the arena. These were armed with crude bows.

“Lovely,” Gavin muttered, a grimace crossing his face as he considered his options.

“At least you have a shield,” Sadira mused in a wistful tone.

The two trolls advanced onto the bridge cautiously, making sure their footing was good before proceeding, making sure to keep their thick metal shields in front of them. Gavin had to admit the glowing red eyes that had been glamoured onto them were a nice touch; they looked even more demonic than the shambling stitched that now twitched in the chasm below them. As soon as the trolls were on the stone, the undead bowmen began to fire, causing a barrage of arrows to clang against Gavin’s shield, momentarily distracting him from the oncoming threat. Behind him he heard Sadira’s blades sing as the slashed through the air, followed by the sound of several arrows being knocked out of the air, the crowd cheering appropriately in response.

Ever cautious of the rain slick stone, the trolls moved forward steadily as the arrowed continued to fly, taking a more measured approach than the mindless undead of the previous phase. It was enough to cause a steady tension to mount, both among the crowd and Gladiators as the trolls grew closer, huge and menacing.

<Ready?> Gavin asked through his link as he deflected a spray of arrows with his shield.

<Ready!> Sadira practically shouted back, her excited bloodlust seeping through the mental connection as she immediately sprang into action.

Whirling away with a sudden burst of speed from the troll she was facing, she sprinted toward the beast bearing down on Gavin, who matched her explosive movement with his own. The troll, surprised by the abrupt attack, swung its axe in a powerful arc, sweeping from one side of the bridge to the other in attempt to stop them, but to no avail. Expecting the attack, Sadira simply jumped over the swinging weapon, bringing her armored, spiked boot up into a flip-kick that struck under the chin of her foe, staggering the massive troll. At the same time, Gavin ducked under the same axe, his spear thrust hitting the creature in the knee at the exact moment that Sadira’s kick landed. Struck in two places at once, the troll stumbled. Now in close, Gavin forced himself deeper into the troll’s guard and planted his shoulder into its stomach, acutely aware of the loud footsteps of its companion as it charged in. Completing their maneuver, Sadira dropped to the bridge behind his feet, tripping the creature as it stumbled backwards. Letting out a shout of panic, their victim then unceremoniously toppled into the pit, grabbing at Gavin as it fell, its flailing grip coming just short as the Gladiator leapt backwards and out of range.

That only left the other troll for them to deal with as it charged in close, which in an unexpected move, did not even try to take a swipe at Gavin but rather shouldered him aside in favor of swinging its axe at Sadira. The agile Gladiatrix immediately moved to jump back, but a timely arrow from one of the undead bowmen struck her leg, and she stumbled before she could get clear. Not that it mattered in the end as the troll soon discovered, its chosen tactic of ignoring Gavin in favor of the smaller woman having been the worst one that it could have chosen in that moment. For as Gavin staggered from the troll’s impact, he saw its arm swing back in preparation to attack and immediately dropped his weapon to grasp it, his hand latching onto it before it could complete its swing. The sudden shift in weight jerked the troll off balance, the slick, wet bridge causing its feet to slide across the stone, something that Gavin helped along as he threw himself forward.

Towards the side of the bridge.

Knowing that his landing would be painful, Gavin braced himself for the inevitable impact as both he and the troll went over the edge, letting out a defiant shout to help steel himself. But no sooner did he resign himself to a messy end atop the spikes below than did he feel a powerful hand snatch onto his wrist and stop his descent cold.

“W-what?” he gasped as he heard the troll land on the spikes below with a howl, his gaze then snapping upwards to find no one other than Sadira staring back at him, the arm she’d caught him with glowing with a verdant light.

Responding only with a grunt, the shadow elf then yanked him upwards and back onto the bridge with a mighty pull, causing Gavin’s earlier resolve at landing amongst the spikes below to turn to sheer relief the instant his feet touched stone. Relief that quickly turned to pride as the crowd all around the arena surged to their feet in a deafening chorus of excitement, the few remaining undead falling to the ground as the Call to the Ancestors sounded.

“Well done, my love. Well done,” Sadira said as they gave their salute. “That was spectacular.”

Chapter Twenty-Two: To the Future

1143/01/07 AR, Camp Valorous, test match for the Third Rank

“A fearless man is one who simply lacks the capacity to feel fear. A brave man is one who feels fear and has learned to overcome it. In mastering his fear, the brave man hones his will and becomes stronger.” Victor diTavalon, Warbound.

“How is Seeking Spear going?” Sadira asked, her breath leaving a cloud of moisture in the cold air as she spoke.

“It goes. Though I am reminded at how far it is outside my specialty,” Gavin answered with a shrug as he looked out at the landscape from the high wall of the Gladiators Quarters, the rolling, snow-covered hills beyond looking particularly appealing to him at this moment. “One of my challenges has been to strike a target through five swinging rings and to withdraw the spear before any of them manage to touch it. It seemed impossible at first, but with time . . . and practice . . . I am slowly making headway.”

Gavin paused to shrug a second time before turning to look towards Sadira. “Or at least I think I am. I may feel differently after my next session. How about your study in the Way of the Champion? It feels like ages since we’ve last managed to just . . . sit together.”

“And that’s because it has been, my love,” Sadira replied with a soft chuckle as she drew closer to him. With how busy the pair had been of late, they had barely had time for one another, either missing one another by minutes or only having just that long to spare before needing to be elsewhere. “But it has been going well. My focus of late has been a technique named ‘The Champion’s Edge,’ which is a flowery name for learning how to pay attention on the battlefield, especially against multiple opponents.”

“A worthy-sounding technique,” Gavin replied a little dryly, allowing a smile to play across his face. “Though I imagine there is a bit more nuance to it than simply being present in the moment.”

“An incredible amount,” the woman stated, shaking her head. “It is to keep track of . . . everything at once. To track how long it takes each opponent to take a step. How long it takes them to tighten their grip, to swing their weapon. To do anything at all. Then it’s to take all of that in at once and to play it through one’s mind step by step. It’s said when one truly masters the technique, they can walk through an avalanche of swords and come out completely unscathed.”

“Now that sounds more of my specialty,” Gavin said, the defensive nature of the technique sounding particularly appealing.

“I can give you some pointers next chance we have to spar,” Sadira promised, her tone then shifting. “Though beyond my studies there, I had hoped to have found a War Dance master by now to study under. Unfortunately, I’ve had no luck at all so far. All those normally within the city have either retired from taking students or have traveled elsewhere for the winter.”

“Bad luck, then,” Gavin stated as their attention then turned back over the wall’s edge and snowy expanse beyond. Even as the harsh highland winter buried the roads in snow and lashed the town with screaming frozen winds, the vital pace of Camp Valorous did not seem to slacken. Legionnaires and massive supply convoys came and went, going to and from Marius’s Wall and the Gates of Avenholt, the wheels of duty always grinding forward, regardless of the state of the roads and nature’s wrath.

“I find this surprisingly relaxing,” Sadira said, shifting the subject as they watched the people below flow through the town, some of them passing through to destinations unknown, while others arrived in preparation for the New Year’s festival. “I will miss this place when it’s time to leave again.”

“As will I,” Gavin agreed. “It is nice living with our friends. All of us together.”

“You mean it is nice living with Omodo,” Sadira corrected with a snort. “The byplay with Ravius, Vintia, and Karmal has been particularly annoying to endure.”

“Eh, I thought that was over?” Gavin asked, shaking his head.

“It has quieted, but won’t truly be over so long as Karmal and Ravius are close together,” Sadira stated, offering a belated shrug as she spoke. “Both she and Ravius are competitive souls. Extremely so. And they enjoy twisting one another to get a rise. At this point I am just content Karmal has stayed away from drawing you into their games.”

“I would be curious where she would even find the time in my schedule to do so,” Gavin replied more than a little dryly. “As it is, I find myself sleeping more in the bath after training than I do in my own bed!”

“Then you know you are training hard enough, at least.” Sadira said with a chuckle, the two of them lapsing into another companionable silence once again as they looked over the town and people below.

“Are you nervous about the upcoming ranking?” she went on to ask after a few minutes of watching. “Ever since the date was set,” Gavin replied, letting out a weary chuckle at the question. “Especially since the ranking dictates where we will be placed for the first of our Faction League games.”

“True, though you shouldn’t worry,” Sadira replied, her voice confident as she spoke. “I will make sure that we have our pick of arenas.”

“I just don’t want to let you down.”

“You never do.”

Gladiators did not fight during the New Year’s festival, and only the most ardent spent more than an hour or two a day on practice during these holidays. It was a time of near-universal joy in the Domains, with big cities, small towns, and country neighbors all vying with each other to host the best celebrations. The factions put aside their traditional methods of dispute and tried to outdo each other in baking contests, decoration, hosting, and even cleaning up after the holiday. The Deliberative were very accommodating to Gladiators during this time, escorting their charges without complaint so that they could join in the general celebrations or travel to visit relatives.

“Thanks for staying here with me,” said Gavin. He was often keenly aware of his missing family during this time of year.

“I much prefer it here with you, Gavin,” said Sadira. “My uncle is on campaign, and he is the only one in my family who is an ounce of fun and not afraid of my mother. Besides I know how you get with ranking matches and thought you might appreciate it if I stayed here to train with you.”

“I do.”

<>

“I think I would make a great Chosen,” Ravius said as the others laughed.

On the day of Sadira and Gavin’s fifteenth fight, a ranking match, they found themselves enjoying a hearty breakfast at the Sword and Standard with all of their friends, including Cleothera. The smell of lamb and potato stew cooking, the clinking of mugs full of the mixture of bitter chocolate, sweet whiskey, strong coffee favored by locals on a cold winter morning, and the conversations of other patrons provided the backdrop for their meal. Sadira and Gavin were quietly discussing tactics for their match later that day, when Cleothera’s silvery laughter broke their reverie.

Ravius had discovered the Sword and Standard, an outstanding old pub tucked away on a time-worn street just off the town center, on one of his outings. He had been eager to show Gavin and the others. They now preferred it to the Laughing Giant. It was built in an old headquarters building, still decorated by the faded standards of the greatest legions that had served here since the town was young. The building was sturdy and comfortable, having that priceless well-worn feeling that all of the best taverns shared. The hearty fare, strong drinks, and excellent service greatly attracted the six Gladiators, as did the chance to interact with townsfolk and soldiers outside the arena.

“You’d make a terrible Chosen, Ravius,” Cleothera said as she poked a finger into the chest of the broadly grinning Gladiator. “No offense, dear, but I could just imagine you calling Chosen Moltar or Chosen Gorixus ‘little brother’ at a Council of the Chosen and starting a civil war.”

“But just imagine the parties, Cleo.” Ravius’s smile only widened as he realized that they’d captured the attention of the rest of the group. “The best foods from all over the empire, the finest vintages and the best brewed beers, the—”

“. . . endless supply of eager lovers?” Sadira quickly interrupted, her lips curling into a poison-sweet smile and prompting both Cleothera and Vintia to laugh.

“He’d give Chosen Silvius’s libido a run for his money, I’m certain,” Karmal chimed in.

“I’m glad my name is becoming synonymous with long nights of wild hedonism with you all,” Ravius retorted with a chuckle. “Feel free to repeat your accusations as often and as loudly as you wish. But back to your original accusation, Cleothera. I think I would make an excellent addition to the ranks of the Chosen. My humor and grace would certainly brighten up the grim politics of the Council. And, you must admit, the people of the Domains would love me.”

“And so they might, but what of your policies? What kinds of changes would you bring to the Domains, Ravius?” the grey-robed woman queried.

“Well. For one, I would extend match times in the Great Games. The current time limits are unfair. Some of us prefer to wear down our opponents,” Ravius said, his voice becoming earnest as he looked at his friends then back to the woman as he spoke. “And I would push to make food subsidies for the poorest citizens available in every Domain. People should not starve when we have both the magic and the productivity to supply their needs, just so that the merchants can keep their prices high. The greatness of any civilization is measured by how it treats its poor and meek.”

“Spoken like a true Red!” Omodo rumbled in loud approval. “Although I cannot support the change to time limits, at least not by a notable amount. It would favor defenders and skirmishers too much.”

“Not to mention make the matches dull and drawn out,” Karmal added. “The games are meant to enflame the audience’s blood and keep them on their feet. Having them watch Gladiators bash away at each other until the time was called would bore them. You might as well suggest that heavies get to wear full-coverage plate armor again.”

“I do like the idea of extending food programs though,” Sadira said with a thoughtful expression on her face. “We have enough food to feed everyone in the empire, why not make sure no one goes hungry? But you would run into opposition from the Blues on that course. They don’t support spending public funds unless it helps the Chosen and the merchants. And to be fair, they might have a point too. The farmers need to make money to make their efforts worthwhile in the first place, and they don’t seem keen on extending subsidies.”

“It is a complicated and contentious issue,” Ravius agreed with a half shrug. “But as a Chosen, you would have a lot of time to spread your influence, and I like to think that’s something I am good at. Besides, if we shy away from problems just because they don’t have easy solutions, then our best days as a society are behind us. Anyway, that’s how I feel. How about the rest of you, what will you do if . . . when you take your place among the Chosen?”

No one moved to answer the skirmisher’s question immediately, so Ravius pointed at Karmal.

“Well, I’d like to introduce greater oversight into private arenas,” Karmal responded, her eyes growing unfocused as she recalled a distant memory. “Men like Meady Mox should not be allowed to have any say at all in other people’s lives. Ever. He only reached that position because of those supporting him, and I cannot help but think of all the careers people like him have ruined. It just isn’t right to let that continue, to let a single person control a Gladiator’s destiny. The arena masters may grumble about lost profits, but in the end, such a change would be better for everyone, including the Chosen.”

There was a pause as the everyone considered Karmal’s words and the touchy subject that was Meady Mox. Despite the time that had passed from the incident, none of them, to Gavin’s knowledge at least, had heard the full story about what had happened between her and the Dreadwood arena master.

And better yet why the Deliberative let her get away with killing him. Both Sadira and he were afraid that the arena master had wounded their friend deeply and that her pride was keeping her from confiding in them. Gavin also wondered if Cleothera knew anything about it.

“That’s a great idea,” Gavin said after a few moments of thought, remembering all too well the sight of Sadira holding up Bella’s head in triumph.

Bella and Cat had been willing pawns in Mox’s greedy games, which had led them all into a senseless Deathmatch that might have, should have, been avoided if more regulations had been in place.

“I would also make my Domain in the north, in the Sky Islands,” Karmal added, nodding once at him before changing the subject. “I visited them once with my father, and they were so beautiful. Crystal waters, rocky coasts—I even remember seeing a sea serpent!”

“Frigid as a frost-blade though,” Ravius noted in an innocent tone. “Although, that might suit you perfectly . . .”

Karmal snorted and made a rude gesture towards the skirmisher in response.

“I’d make my Domain in the hills beyond the Brighthoof plains,” Omodo said after it was clear that Karmal had nothing else to add. “A place like that appeals to my people. My parents would love it there.”

“It would also open up another front against the beastmen tribes in the south,” Vintia noted. “It’s not a bad idea, as long as you don’t mind building some fortresses.”

“Just because I am a charger, do not think I have not learned the value of protection,” the armodon replied, winking at her while tapping his heavy breastplate with his huge fist. “I would also try to make it easier for outsiders to gain citizenship in the Domains. The more hands we have to labor and the better exposure to new ways of thinking make increased immigration worth the risk. Especially if we are to found new Domains and expand our holdings.”

There was a brief pause as the mighty armodon gathered his thoughts to continue, but simply chose to shrug instead. “I could go on longer, but I sense that you all get the thrust of my dreams.”

“Worthy dreams for certain,” Gavin agreed, the others letting out similar sentiments.

“I think I would look to make it harder for low-ranking Gladiators to get into a Deathmatch.” Vintia spoke, pinching her lower lip. “Too many lives are ended far too early. I don’t deny that one can earn a lot of glory from an early Deathmatch victory, but there are very few new Gladiators that are able to assess that kind of risk properly. We all think we are unbeatable when we first leave training. I’d like to limit Deathmatches to rank two and higher.”

“I’d support that idea if they allowed executions in normal matches,” Sadira added, even though Gavin knew her first Deathmatch kill had been before the second rank. “The fans love the extra drama and audience participation of a good execution. The risk of lasting damage or death is not any higher than getting beaten in any other way.”

“I’d bet you could get the popular assembly to vote that in,” Cleothera noted in a dry tone. “The crowd does like blood.”

“That it certainly does,” Vintia agreed, before continuing once more. “Beyond that, I would also end the manpower tithe in all Domains. The legionnaires I’ve spoken to here are all in favor of a full volunteer army, and I think it speaks sense if you give it thought. Krass and most of the more progressive Domains have done away with the draft, and now that I am older and understand better, it seems terribly wrong to take those who are barely older than children away from their mothers and fathers to send them to war or labor camps.”

They all nodded at that thought. Most of the Gifted knew the pain of being taken from their families all too well, even those like Sadira who were lucky enough to remain in contact.

“I would make laws to preserve some of our wild spaces,” Sadira said once her turn came. “With the advances in artifice and alchemy magics, we can harvest resources so much more quickly than before, but we also have a much greater need for them. We need to be careful if we don’t want our forests to end up as barren wastelands, as they have in some Domains.”

“Now that would ruffle some feathers in the Council of the Chosen!” Cleothera said with a smile. “Some already chafe at the restrictions that have been decreed. To further strengthen them would make them angry.”

“No serious decision ever satisfies absolutely everyone,” Sadira said with a shrug. “And it would encourage them to find new ways to exploit the land. Beyond that, I would also seek to end the abuses against Taskbound in some Domains. In particular, the plight of the young with the Gift who do not chose to become Gladiators in Volcanus is quite horrible. The Grey-Robes should protect them as well.”

Gavin couldn’t help but look at Ravius as Sadira spoke those words, remembering all too well the two broken-eyed women in Valaran diVolcanus’s shadow.

“That is something I wish that we could change,” Cleothera said sadly. “The last time the Deliberative tried to force such an issue, it almost led to war. The Chosen don’t like us interfering in how they run their Domains, even those who abhor the way Moltar treats his people. To set such a rule against one allows precedent for other . . . possibly less-agreeable rules to be set in turn if enough demanded it.”

“Sure, and some of them even rebelled when it was decided that the Deliberative would supervise the training of Gladiators,” Gavin said. “But I doubt any of the current Chosen would voice a desire to return to the old, corrupt system of training and schooling that once was.”

“In public, no. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t trying to affect whatever they can behind the scenes,” Cleothera replied. “Now, unless I’m mistaken, everyone has now spoken about what they would do as Chosen, except you. What are your dreams for the Domains, Gavin?”

“Ha, you would be right calling them dreams,” Gavin said with a snort as he half waved with a hand towards the others at the table. “I doubt I have much chance of becoming a Champion, much less a Chosen as the others do. I feel when my time in the arena comes to an end, I might look to teach, perhaps even found a school.”

“Which you would be more than welcome to do in my Domain, beloved,” Sadira said softly as she put her hand on Gavin’s shoulder, well familiar with the doubts that plagued him.

“No dodging the question!” Ravius said eagerly. “Don’t be so serious for all the time, little brother. Let us say your dream has you standing over Valaran’s head after a glorious battle at the Grand Championships. What then?”

“Well, since you paint such an enticing picture,” Gavin replied, allowing a wry smile to cross his face. “I think I would work to heal the wounds of the Reckoning, and bridge the strife that divides the Gifted and ungifted. Hopefully enough that they would be able to live in harmony with each other once again. Enough that there was no need to choose between becoming a Gladiator or a Taskbound at a young age. The Gifted should be tested and taught to use their abilities for the betterment of everyone, without the threat of heresy held over our heads.”

Gavin paused for a moment as he felt his heart begin to beat faster, forcing himself to take a breath before continuing. “Really, above everything, I most desire freedom from this great machine that has been put in place around our kind, and when I am free, I will work to free others. No one should have to waste their lives in the arena just to avoid being cut off from their magic. No one should be labelled a traitor because they don’t want to give up a Gifted child. No one should be called a Scornbound because they chose the wrong path. There has to be a better way. That’s what I would work toward if I were a Chosen.”

Silence reigned for a long moment until Cleothera took her delicate crystal wineglass in her pale, graceful hand and raised it toward Gavin. She alone did not seem shocked.

“To the future,” she said, softly.

One by one, they raised their glasses and echoed her.

<>

The wind howled winter as the two Gladiators entered the arena. Bitter snow seemed to claw at them as they left the shadowed doorway of the Gladiators entrance. Although the cold wind gusted across the fighting grounds, there was only a light dusting of snow upon the white sands; the ward screens and arena heating kept the sand clean.

This must be part of the ranking test, Gavin thought. I wonder what they have in store for us.

The audience, many of whom had been waiting to see Sadira fight all day, belted out their warmest greetings as the beautiful shadow elf broke into her customary acrobatics, tumbling toward the center of the arena, leaping impossibly high and drawing her curved obsidian-colored swords at the apex of her leap. Gavin, trotting in her wake, stopped moving as she fell. She dropped out of the air to land on his armored shoulders. Such was her grace that he barely felt the impact.

“SADIRA, SADIRA, WE’RE HERE-A, FOR OUR HERO, SADIRA, SADIRA!” they cheered.

She saluted them with her twin black blades and then dropped lightly to the ground beside her beloved, kissing him fiercely. As she dismounted, Gavin could see that Sadira was smiling happily. The adoring fans of Camp Valorous shouted her name, over and over.

“I hope they have more heat than we seem to,” Sadira said, leaning close. “Do you think this is part of the test?”

“I fear it must be.”

The Call to Battle sounded, and the match began. A wave of cold hit the two Gladiators as the largest gate of the arena pushed open across from them, wood and brass doors shaking off a crust of ice. Icicles shattered on the sands, and the crowd went quiet, all eyes drawn to movement in the dark just revealed. A monstrous manlike form, huge and menacing, stirred in the cloud of frost and shadow. The giant emerged onto the sand and Gavin felt the light wane as if the bright sun itself had gone pale with dread at the sight of their foe. This creature seemed different than the last giant they had fought; its eyes shone with a cold, malevolent intelligence that the one in Dreadwood had lacked. It had pale blue skin, long white hair and beard, and it carried an immense, frost-kissed greatsword. Eddies of Thaom and Thune formed created a haze of cold air surrounding the creature, causing a shimmer in the air. As it moved, ice cracked and reformed on its skin.

“He’s a cold one,” Sadira quipped.

“I’m certain he will appreciate the joke.”

The giant emerged fully into the waning light and the winds howled. Gavin could see his own breath now, and he felt a gnawing dread take hold of him as frost began to form on his skin. The giant’s rheumy, ice-colored eyes gazed balefully at the duo. Gavin thought he saw something else moving in the creature’s shadow. He shook his head as it began moving toward them, shaking the earth with its heavy tread, growing bigger and more menacing with each long stride, its frosted sword massive and terrible in the feeble light.

The audience, protected by magical barriers, still felt enough of the cold and fear emanating from the giant to send a thrill of terror through them.

Gavin breathed out, calming himself. He felt something unnatural at work, a nameless dread trying to worm its way into her mind; instinctively he grasped that this was part of the test. As he moved out to meet the giant, Gavin steeled himself against the cold. The Gifted were more resistant to weather than normal people, but this was like being caught in a blizzard. The giant carried an enormous sword which it swung down at Gavin. The Gladiator raised his shield defiantly, but at the last moment decided against parrying the massive weapon and dodged aside as it crashed into the sand. Cold washed over him.

Sadira charged. Gavin watched as she sprang forward. Her customary war cry seemed strangely muted to him, her colors faded and washed out. He willed himself forward but did not move; his joints seemed frozen. Had cowardice claimed him at last? He felt ice on his feet and legs. The giant swung its massive sword at her, leaving a train of snowflakes as it rent the air. Gavin’s heart skipped a beat, but Sadira rolled aside without stopping, running through its legs, her own blades slashing out at the giant’s knees.

I will not give in to this, Gavin thought, pushing forward slowly. Ice formed on him, slowing his progress and filling his body with numb agony as it threatened to envelop him. He could not escape the fact that he was afraid: afraid of being a coward; afraid of being laughed at by the audience; most of all, afraid that he might fail Sadira. His fear was ice, and he felt as if he were trapped in a terrible blizzard. He could no longer see the giant clearly, nor Sadira, nor the audience. He was lost, alone. He had no family; his friends did not really care about him. The cold closed around him, robbing him of energy and vitality. He fought on, making his way through the storm to the only part of the giant he could still sense: its Thaom.

I may not be fearless, but I know the workings of magic, Gavin thought as he sought to push away the torrent of emotion that surged through him, summoning a wave of power to him.

Perhaps I can use that to my advantage.

<>

He’s frozen solid! thought Sadira, looking over to Gavin as she maneuvered around the giant. But I can still sense his magic working.

The sword came down again, and Sadira jumped aside, dancing through the giant’s legs. She could sense that Gavin was covered in frost, but the giant’s merciless sword sought her out wherever she moved. Her attacks were drawing blood, bright red crimson dripping down pale blue skin, steaming in the cold, but none of them were deep enough to seriously wound the giant. She fought on, looking for an opening. Perhaps if she wounded the giant, its magic would falter, and Gavin would be free. She began to shimmer as the frost melted around her.

<Gavin, can you hear me?> she asked through their link, sending a wave of healing energy towards him in hopes that it would help break him out of the ice.

<Yes . . . yes, I can,> he replied, his voice coming through faintly in her mind. <I’m . . . trying to fight the giant’s spell. I need you to keep it busy.>

<Now that, I can do,> she answered back before rushing around the creature, striking at its legs and evading its stomping feet and the cold blade of its massive sword.

Sadira could see Gavin’s Thune mingling with the giant’s magic. The massive beast turned towards her ice-encased partner, raising its blade. Sadira let out a piercing war scream and leapt up, stabbing it in the back of the leg below the knee before it could strike. Cold buffeted her as the giant turned and bellowed, covering her in frost that burned her skin as she ran.

<I can sense whatever it is you’re doing!> she mentally called to him while moving, feeling the energy in the air begin to shift as Gavin’s Thaom surged.

<>

Gavin grappled with the giant’s magic, his mind overwhelmed with endless waves of fear, doubt, and self-loathing that served only to feed back in on itself and empower his opponent. But then to make matters even worse, there was the cold, which endlessly drew heat and hope from him, growing ever deeper with every second that passed. He searched for patterns in the strands of Thune that he saw before him, but found his mind too distracted by the dread coursing through him. He was afraid of being afraid. Everything was grey and cold to him, and hungry shadows closed in all around. The silence was deafening, the silence of a winter without end, the barren graveyard of his many failures. Of course, he would fail to counter this magic, and he would fail to rank. But despite everything screaming at him to stop and to surrender to the torment, he forced himself to struggle on, looking for some way, any way, to overcome the ice and dread.

I . . . I . . . can do this! he said to himself as he reached out towards the magic around him, moving it just enough so that it allowed the roar of the distant crowd to finally pierce through, the sound immediately heartening the Gladiator.

Redoubling his efforts, he forced his will against the threads even harder, causing the chorus to intensify. It still sounded muted from what he was used to hearing in the arena, but it was all the encouragement that he needed. He channeled Thaom heedlessly, and the ice cracked off his body as it rose into the air on a current of magic.

Sensing his efforts, the storm began to flare and roil against his efforts, but Gavin battled against it, slowly calming the raging tempest and bringing it to heel. Before long, he could hear the crowd properly as well as Sadira’s endless litany of encouraging words.

<You can do this, Gavin!>

Then he saw the frost giant looming large ahead of him as it swept its weapon low to the ground in an attempt to hit Sadira, who rolled gracefully under the blade.  The move however put the giant’s back towards Gavin as it moved to strike at her again, giving him an opportunity that he could not ignore. Ice sloughed off him, seeming to burn away as he gained control.

<I’m coming!> he called to the woman through their link, his feet already in motion towards the pair.

Closing the distance that separated them in a blink, Gavin thrust his spear upwards with all his might as he charged beneath the giant, the brutal, barbed spear point sinking deep into its leg just below the groin and right into the thick artery for which he aimed. Letting out a triumphant yell, he didn’t hesitate in twisting his weapon in the wound as he pulled it out, immediately being rewarded by a great gout of hot blood splashing onto the ground.

Feeling a surge of savage joy chase away the cold that had been plaguing him, Gavin’s shield was already in place to intercept the giant’s retaliatory kick, the wall of metal blunting, if not completely stopping the blow that lifted him from his feet. Grunting from under the force of the attack, Gavin had just enough time to brace himself before he slammed back-first into the arena wall, feeling several bones crack from the impact as he fell to his knees. The pain however was drowned out by the triumph that surged through him as he saw his foe falter, the wound he had landed gushing profusely. Letting out a defiant yell as he forced himself back upwards, he saw Sadira move in for the kill, the men and women in the stands joining him, the resulting chorus sounding like a line of warriors readying themselves to charge.

Ever deadly, Sadira made the giant pay for shifting its focus away from her, weaving a spell as she pointed her swords at the giant’s back. A thick spray of inch-long thorns erupted into from her outstretched weapons, each one flying forth and sinking deep into the giant’s thick hide as if it were paper, prompting it to bellow in pain and twist back to face her.

<The creature is weak to life magic!> she called out to Gavin while immediately dodging another attack from the giant, having quickly realized why her spell had been so potent.

<Then let me help you do more with that then!> Gavin answered back as he wove a spell through their connection that would allow her to tap into his Thaom as well as her own. <Finish him for good!>

Not needing to answer as she grabbed hold of the power he had offered, Sadira grew bright with Thaom and wove another spell, its effects not readily apparent until blood-covered vines and flowers began to erupt from giant’s hide, precisely where the thorns had struck it a moment earlier.

Howling in agony, the great shaggy frost giant had no answer for the magic coursing through its body save to tremble in fear as Sadira charged in for a second time, darting in close before it could react. Panicking at the woman’s speed, it stumbled, its body weak with blood loss and overcome by the agony from the living thorns taking root in its back. It was enough for Gavin to feel the unnatural cold that filled the arena to begin disperse as the giant desperately rallied its magic, the world seeming growing warmer and brighter with each second that passed afterwards. He saw the woman smile as she charged in, her expression easy to see in the bright light of the sun now that the giant’s magic had broken, her weapon held up high before her.

Ducking under the clumsy swing of the giant’s heavy sword, she ran forward to drive one of her blades through the beast’s foot and into the sand beneath while channeling a surge of verdant magic and weaving a Grasping Roots spell to tug at its other foot. Off balance from its swing and weak from its afflictions, the giant had no chance to save itself. Screaming in anger, it fell backwards and crashed on to the ground, the last of its ice breaking loose to immediately melt, turning to steam on the hot, bloody sand. Letting go of the blade in its foot, Sadira continued her charge forward, darting around a huge arm that lashed out at her as the beast flailed before cruelly driving her blade in between its ribs, deep into its chest and the heart beneath. Announcing her success with a victorious war scream, she twisted the blade, her vicious cry drowning out the giant’s death rattle as it desperately tried to catch her. Dancing away from a final grasping hand, she tore the blade free, earning a spray of hot blood, followed by a deafening roar of approval from the crowd.

Breathing a sigh of relief now that the battle was over, Gavin began to realize just how close he had come to failure; had he been just a little slower or less focused, the match could have easily gone the other way. But all of that wasn’t important right now, and he could not help but smile as he saw Sadira turn to salute him, her face filling him with a surge of joy.

Rising to his feet, he joined Sadira in the center of the fighting grounds, where they both climbed up onto the chest of the dead giant, the crowd shouting and cheering at their display.

“The baths are going to be glorious after this,” he said to Sadira as the applause rained down upon them.

“You have no idea,” Sadira replied with a broad grin as she turned to look at him, a mischievous look in her eye. “You have no idea at all.”

Chapter Twenty-Three: Farewell

1143/02/19 AR, Camp Valorous

“I would give all the glory I have ever earned to be in a peaceful place, surrounded by friends and family, full of joy. But because some few would sacrifice anything and everything for power and glory, I cannot take the peaceful path.” Chosen Brighthoof

“Late, as always,” Karmal growled as Sadira and Gavin entered the shared kitchen of their little cottage.

“Sex and Sui-Thaiune,” Sadira answered with a grin, helping herself to one of the omelets that Vintia had cooked. “Two things I would rather not start the day without. They both count as training in my eyes, Karmal.”

Gavin smiled, enjoying the simple companionship and banter that mornings typically brought. Today was their last match in Camp Valorous, and soon afterwards they would be leaving to make their way to the Faction Leagues. He already felt as if he were missing the place, despite not even having left yet.

“Ugh,” Karmal replied, making a sour face. “I would rather be burning and killing on the training grounds.”

“We’ll get there, Red,” Sadira assured as she took a bite of her breakfast and immediately signaled her approval, “Mmmm, great as always, Vintia. Are you sure you don’t want to take my turn tomorrow?”

“You know, I would, but as luck has it, I have spell practice scheduled,” Vintia replied in a half-sarcastic tone. “And while I do appreciate the compliment, you don’t get to shirk your share. As it is, it’s kind of cheating that you’ve managed to convince dear Gavin to help you.”

“Only because he has enough sense to try and save us from my attempt at cooking,” Sadira replied with a laugh, one that everyone at the table joined in on.

“So, our offer came in this morning,” Ravius announced once the laughter had died down, though in a way that sounded off to Gavin’s ear, especially since he hadn’t made any move to join in on the banter.

“It’s about time!” Sadira exclaimed excitedly. “Did Camille come through for us? Where are we going?”

“She did,” Ravius answered with a slow nod, Gavin noticing that his eyes had flicked over towards Omodo as he spoke. “Five of us will be going Scorpion’s Oasis, as you requested, Sadira.”

“Wait, what? Five of us?” Sadira repeated, her voice turning instantly angry. “That’s not the deal I made! I will—”

“Peace, Sadira, it was me that asked to stay behind,” Omodo interrupted. “This isn’t anyone else’s choice. I . . . I don’t feel ready for the Faction Leagues yet.”

“Nonsense!” Sadira replied, slicing a hand through the air sharply as if to banish the thought. “You are amazing, Omodo. I can’t think of another charger I would rather have beside me on the sand. Is this about the Nuls?”

“Partly,” the large armodon admitted, giving her a half-nod. “But it is mostly about my own confidence. I need to know that I can face the crowd, even a hostile one, on my own. Else I will not grow any further.”

Sadira looked ready to argue with the man, to try and convince him that such a path wasn’t needed, but Gavin knew Omodo well enough to know that such a course would be fruitless. So, before she could say anything speak, he interjected first.

“I will miss you, Omodo,” he said, meeting the large Gladiator’s eye from across the table. “And if this is what you truly want, then we will all honor it.”

He paused for a moment to glance towards Sadira and the others, all of whom simply nodded in response to his words.

“Thank you,” Omodo said in a gracious tone, his shoulders visibly relaxing now that his news had been delivered.

“Think nothing of it,” Gavin said before moving to shift the subject. “Now, I suppose this makes our next match the last one we will have together. Let’s see if we can make it one to remember.”

<>

Gavin and Sadira stood with Vintia, Karmal, and smiling Ravius in the shadows of the Gladiators entrance. They were mostly silent now, all talk having died away as the appointed time drew closer. Omodo sat on the ground a few paces away from them, his eyes closed and with his massive war maul on his lap, steadfastly ignoring the sounds of the excited audience in the arena outside. Gavin knew that the others were heartbroken that he was leaving them, and he certainly couldn’t blame them. Omodo had been a steadfast presence in their lives for years now, and his absence would be sorely felt.

He’s helped me through my troubles, Gavin thought as he looked at the armodon. But I cannot help him with this, save by supporting his decision.

“I’ve never seen the stands so packed,” Sadira said as the appointed hour grew closer.

Practically all of the people in Camp Valorous had filled the seats for this event, despite the lateness of the hour. This was the last time that many of them would have a chance to watch these six Gladiators fight, let alone fight together. Sadira may have been be the biggest draw overall and the most celebrated of their group, but each of them had their own fans amongst the crowd beyond. Many of whom took great pride, like parents do with children, in the accomplishments of the young fighters who had been training in their town for the last two years.

“Spiders again?” Ravius asked as he looked onwards, his face wrinkling in distaste. “I don’t like spiders, friends. It’s the eyes, so many, always staring.”

“Well, you’ll get ample chance to show your dislike soon enough,” Vintia replied, glancing over her shoulder at the man with a mocking smile. “And in case you find yourself a little short on courage, just stay near me, little brother. I’ll make sure they don’t eat you. Or much of you at least.”

“Hold on, now.” Karmal looked over quickly from where she and Sadira were standing. “You’re supposed to be my protector this match, Vintia.”

“Oh, so now you want my shield?” Vintia replied, an eyebrow rising upwards as she glanced at the other woman. “I seem to remember you spurning my skills not so long ago.”

“Ugh, how many times do I have to apologize for that?” Karmal said while rolling her eyes. “If you don’t keep the creatures off of me, I may not be able to weave my spells quick enough—”

“Might I ask we stick to the plan, dear ladies?” Ravius interjected, his tone mock serious. “Because I’d certainly rather not end up bitten and wrapped up in a cocoon because the two of you started bickering like an old married couple.”

Omodo stood up, filling the corridor, his ears flicking to attention. A fraction of a second later, they heard the trumpets sound the Call of the People. The big armodon led them into the fighting ground, followed by Sadira, and then by Karmal and Vintia behind her. That left for Ravius and Gavin to bring up the rear, the crowd roaring loudly to greet them, already warmed up by a troll fight and a series of stunt performers. The Gladiators moved in formation until they reached the center of the sands where they stopped and drew their weapons in salute to the audience. The happy crowd cheered raucously, a few shouting Sadira’s name above the din.

“Let’s hear it, REDS!” she shouted in response to the cheers, pumping one of her arms, and the sword it held, into the air in time with her chant. “REDS, REDS, REDS!”

Bellowing even louder in response, it only took a second for the crowd to reply, their thundering response blocking out everything else to Gavin’s ears. “REDS, REDS, REDS!”

Showing no sign of paying attention to the crowd, Gavin saw Omodo plant his maul on the ground and then kneel, holding his hands in the air, arms level with his shoulders. Vintia and Karmal moved forward, stepping onto his massive frame and sitting on his biceps. Sadira vaulted lightly into the air, landing with her feet on the rhino-man’s armored shoulders. The audience cheered as Omodo rose to his feet, and Gavin was heartened to see a broad smile split across his friend’s face. The big armodon held them there with Gavin and Ravius flanking on either side of him while the crowd whistled and clapped.

“Now that’s the biggest cheer I’ve ever gotten!” Omodo joked as he let the three women down.

“So far,” Sadira stated, matching the armodon’s smile with one of her own as she looked up at him. “One day soon, people will roar your name as loudly as thunder peals across the sky, my friend.”

The trumpets sounded again, signaling the Call to Battle, and doorways all around the fighting grounds shot open. The six Gladiators formed a loose circle at the center of the arena, bright weapons held at the ready, their armor gleaming in the lights of the arena at night. For a moment, nothing happened as hundreds of hate-filled eyes glinted at them from the shadows of the doorways, save for Karmal beginning to draw on her power. Then a peculiar sound of chattering reached their ears, signaling for what was about to come next.

And here we go, Gavin thought as he tightened his grip on his spear while patiently waiting for the inevitable. Or at least he was planning to, until Ravius decided to take things into his own hands.

“Come out, you ugly little buggers!” he shouted while wildly hopping from one foot to the other, whirling his folded net. “Let’s get this over and done with!”

Responding promptly to his shout, the spiders obliged the skirmisher’s wishes by bursting from their entrances en masse and charging towards the Gladiators in unison. Their carapaces shone a sickly green in the bright arena light, while their eyes gleamed a hateful red. Staring at the oncoming creature, Gavin steeled himself as he watched their approach, reminding himself that he had fought this variety of spider frequently, both in the arena and also during training back at Camp Valorous. Yet despite his best efforts, he still felt a primal shiver caress his shoulders and spine as they closed.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Vintia cast a protective stoneskin enchantment on Sadira, who had decided not to wait for the spiders to arrive, jogging in behind Omodo’s thundering form as he charged forward. The giant armodon slammed into the horde of arachnids, impaling one on his horn and sweeping away two more with a single broad sweep of his immense war maul as the rest scattered to avoid him. Coming in from behind, Sadira vaulted up onto his shoulder and launched herself into the writhing mass, landing where the spiders were thickest, her war shriek sounding. Her twin black blades swept out as she whirled into them with a Cyclone Strike, finding the fat thoraxes of her enemies, spilling their bright green innards on the moonlit white sand. Her fell swords drenched in gore, she danced her way back to Omodo, killing as she went.

Having moved to keep pace with the group, Gavin rushed forward to impale a charging arachnid on his spear, while slamming another out of air out of the air midleap with his shield. Based on the battle plan that they had crafted for the match, it was his job to protect the main group, which at the moment meant Omodo’s rear. Nearby, Ravius moved to support him by casting his net ahead of him and snaring a pair of the beasts, who promptly began to slice themselves apart as they tried to escape from their barbed prison. The skirmisher howled in laughter as he darted forward with his trident to slay another one of the attacking spiders as it tried to climb over the struggling bodies of its cohorts. The crowd cheered at his exaggerated antics, echoing of laughter reaching Gavin’s ears as Ravius slaughtered his captured prey. The display prompted Gavin to wrinkle his nose in distaste; he knew Ravius was just acting to the role that had been cast for him, but it seemed cruel nonetheless. With the creatures then cleared away from them, Gavin then found himself with a moment of a peace, one that he immediately used to glance in the direction of his other fellow defender on Omodo’s opposite flank.

And promptly discovered why the swarm of spiders had stopped on his side of the battle.

Slowly giving ground with every extra spider that arrived, he saw that Vintia was fending off a veritable wall of eight-legged nightmares, barely keeping them at bay from behind her massive tower shield held out in front of her. Her long, silver blade darted out to wound a few of the spiders who gave her an opportunity to do so, but she was mostly concentrated on defending Karmal behind her, who was busily bombarding their ranks with small bolts of fire.

And that’s not the only thing, either, Gavin noted a second later as he began to move to help the women, sensing a growing well of power surrounding Karmal, one that was slowly lifting her off of the ground on a current of Thaom.

“Faster, Karmal!” He heard Vintia shout. The spiders in front of her were beginning to form forming a living ramp in an attempt to climb over her tall shield as she tried to scatter them back with her sword. “I can’t hold them much longer at this rate!”

“You won’t have to, little sister!” Ravius announced as they arrived, the skirmisher’s net flying out ahead of their arrival and managing to ensnare and hinder an entire handful of the spiders. “We’re here to help!”

“I’ll take it!” the woman answered, relief evident in her voice as she spoke, the next few seconds passing in a blur of carnage and attacking limbs that arrived from seemingly every direction, enough so that it prompted Gavin to call out to Sadira and Omodo.

“Form up close!” he ordered, the other pair not wasting so much as a breath before they scampered in back with him and the others, the group’s formation tightening until they were fighting practically back to back with Karmal in their center.

The Gladiators then fought on for what seemed like an age afterwards, battling against a seemingly innumerable foe as spider after spider climbed over the broken shells of their brethren to attack. Throughout the battle, Gavin made sure to keep a watchful eye upon one of the massive doors in the arena wall that had not opened yet, his mind imagining the sounds of something big and angry moving on the other side. When they had taken on the match, Druth had not told them everything that they would be fighting, promising that he would have a surprise in store for them at some point in the match.

A surprise that I would like to see sooner than later! he exclaimed to himself as he thrust his spear into another spider and pulled it free before it could get tangled in the press. I don’t know how much longer we can—

A scream and a swell from Karmal behind him abruptly cut off his thoughts midstride as she finally finished weaving her magic and her spell came into being. Announcing itself with a near-deafening clap of power, energy erupted all around them as whirling pools of fire, chased by tongues of lightning, and sudden snaps of intense cold appeared all around them, all in the midst of their eight-legged foes. In a blink, the air was filled with smoke, ozone, frost and thunder the like of the one that shattered the lands during the Reckoning. Caught in the raw elemental chaos of Karmal’s spell, the spiders had no choice but to burn, freeze, or simply dissolve from the onslaught of magic. Gavin even saw one particularly unlucky spider turn to stone in midleap, its chitin losing its luster midair, legs snapping off as it smashed against Vintia’s shield.

Most of the spiders died immediately under the magic’s onslaught, but due to the sheer number of them, some lucky few managed to avoid the chaotic storm’s effect and continued their charge against the group. Slashing at one of the unaffected creatures, Gavin saw Ravius kick one of his assailants back into the elemental chaos, letting out a victorious whoop as it was struck by a bolt of lightning and turned to ash. Well controlled by Karmal’s focus, the Gladiators managed to remain untouched by the raging maelstrom, the woman directing its effects with skilled precision. It was enough to cause the crowd to shout and cheer at the display, each and every one of them enjoying the bright and beautiful spectacle of magic.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he heard Karmal shout as they cut down the few remaining stragglers, her spell finally beginning to end.

Of course, as if hearing her words, it was then that the door that Gavin had glanced at a few moments earlier finally began to open, unleashing another tidal wave of spiders from within.

Along with something much, much, larger.

Shouting in shock and fear, the spectators cheers abruptly stopped as a truly colossal, spiderlike creature burst forth into the arena, its spike-studded black and yellow carapace glistening in the moonlight. But where the creatures that they had faced before had been true arachnids, this beast was warped far beyond them, its body and mutated by wild magic, a living embodiment of the Reckoning’s taint that all good folk in the Domains feared. Its slavering jaws were closer to that of a wolf than that of a traditional arachnid, despite the mandibles that also protruded from either side of the maw. Then there were its tree-sized forelegs, which were sharply bent backwards, like that of a praying mantis, clearly designed to scythe through or impale the creature’s prey upon. Letting loose an unnatural, gurgling roar as it charged forward, the beast launched itself toward the Gladiators, eating up huge swaths of the arena with each step it took.

Reacting instantly to the gargantuan beast’s appearance, Gavin, Vintia, and Omodo didn’t hesitate to meet its charge, breaking from their tightly knit formation. But instead of slamming into them as they had all expected, the spider creature showed a startling glimpse of intelligence as it promptly slowed in its approach, choosing to instead rear back and scythe its wicked forelegs before it. Caught by surprise, the Gladiators were forced into a momentary panic as they threw themselves out of the way and into the ground, the passage of the claws sending up a spray of sand that momentarily blocked out the crowd. Scrambling to regain his feet, Gavin just barely managed to begin to rise upwards before he saw a torrent of black globs sailing towards him, an acrid stench reaching his nose a heartbeat ahead of their arrival.

Moving more on instinct than anything else, he caught as many of the globs as he could on his shield, protecting both himself and Omodo beside him. Yet despite his effort, some of the black slime landed across his one of his unprotected legs and arms, causing his skin to itch and burn fiercely as the acidic tar ate into his exposed flesh. Gritting his teeth, he flicked what little he could off of his limbs with a quick motion and charged ahead into the spray with yell, seeing Vinta join him with her thick tower shield held up high before her. Together, the two of them managed to blunt the worst of the spider creature’s attack, which now completely coated the arena sands all around them.

“Don’t let it do that again!” Gavin shouted as he shook another layer of the acidic slime free from his shield. “I don’t think we’ll survive another spray!”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t plan to let it live long enough to do so,” Sadira answered back as she charged past his flank with Ravius at her side, the pair slicing through the smaller spiders accompanying the larger creature.

That left Gavin to absorb a series of probing blows from the large creature as it lashed out at him again, the barrage of attacks ringing off his shield causing his arm to eventually go numb. Weathering the attacks with all the stoicism that he could muster, Gavin worked to distract the creature long enough for the others to shake off the effects of its acidic spray and join the battle. Something he saw Omodo in particular had been afflicted with, the large armodon attempting to scrape large globs of the slime from his body with the edge of his armored glove, pain visible on his face as he did so. Fortunately, however, Vintia and Karmal seemed less affected by the blast as they charged forward on Gavin’s right, mirroring Sadira’s and Ravius’s efforts as they sliced through the smaller spiderlings before them, the latter searing a half-dozen of them with a well-timed blast of fire.

<We need a plan!> Gavin shouted through their link as he absorbed another blow from the massive creature, the healing magic that he didn’t remember Sadira casting on him doing little to heal the growing agony in his arm. Little by little, the creature was slowly forcing them back toward the wall of the arena, with the smaller spiders accompanying it cleverly hemming them in and preventing them from easily making a break to the sides. Unless they did something quickly, he—and by extension, they—would run out of space to maneuver.

<I am certainly open to suggestions!> Omodo called back as the powerful armodon smashed his heavy war maul into one of the creature’s forelegs as they came down to strike at Gavin, only to deflect off the creature’s thick chitin. <Nothing I can do gets through this beast’s—ah! Watch out!>

Rearing back in response to the attack, the creature pulled its limb backwards and opened its maw in clear preparation to unleash its acidic spray once again.

<I see it! Get behind me!> Gavin called back as he charged forward to block the spray, Vintia arriving beside him to help.

Together they were then able to block the worst of the slime that erupted free from the spider creature’s mouth, deflecting it away from Omodo and the others around them. But that didn’t mean that they themselves remained unscathed, the two defenders choosing to sacrifice pieces of their bodies to the slime so that their companions would remain whole. It was only due to Sadira’s timely arrival—and another round of her healing magic—that they were able to remain standing, the verdant magic thankfully neutralizing the burning slime before it could eat too deeply.

“I don’t think I can do that again,” Sadira said as her spell came to an end, the woman having been freely using her magic the entire match so far to patch their various injuries. “Not if you want me to be of any use later.”

“Well, I may have an idea,” Ravius chimed in from the nearby flank as he stabbed another spiderling. “But it may be a bit . . . risky as things go.”

“Risky is about the only option we have left,” Sadira said quickly, another roar from the spider creature causing them all to glance in its direction. “Go. Do what you must and call me if I’m needed. Until then, I will keep the left flank clear. And Karmal, you do the same on yours.”

“Of course,” the other woman replied simply a second before they all darted away from Gavin, on their way to their assigned responsibilities.

From there, the battle then resumed its fevered pitch with the spider creature steadily driving them towards the arena wall, alternating between punishing attacks on Gavin and Vintia with its scythe-like claws or spraying all of them with its seemingly endless supply of acidic slime. During this stretch however, Ravius lingered along with them, his eyes never leaving the massive spider as it attacked them, watching and timing its movements until at one point he finally called out.

<I see a pattern!> he exclaimed excitedly through their link as another spray of acid rained down upon on them. <Gavin, Vinita, come and follow me! Karmal, blind it now!>

Lunging forward as he spoke, Ravius dodged between the grounded spear-legs as the creature began to rise from its previous attack and planted his trident in the ground butt first, leaving Gavin and Vintia to mirror his actions just steps behind. As they moved, Karmal played her part by shooting a bright lance of flame into the spider-creature’s eyes, causing to flinch its head downward in a failed attempt to evade it. Blinded from the blast, the creature then had no chance to see, let alone react to Gavin and Ravius’s weapons as its desperate dodge drove its lower jaw and neck into the braced and waiting points of their weapons.

Ordinary weapons would certainly have snapped under the creature’s colossal weight, but their weapons were far from such, made of the finest metals that the Domains had to offer and enchanted with even more potent magics to ensure their resilience. The result had the Gladiators holding them firmly as the beast impaled itself upon them its thick armored carapace finally giving way under the immoveable points.

<It’s your turn now Omodo!> Ravius shouted as the spider creature howled in agony and moved to pull itself free. <Hit it now with everything that you have!>

With no poison spray to force him back, Omodo charged forward at the wounded creature, holding his massive war maul low to the ground as he ran, its spiked end furrowing the sand behind him. Following a step behind him was Sadira and Karmal their gleaming weapons also ready to strike. Arriving with his full speed behind him, Omodo swung his maul upwards at the spider’s slowly rising head, twisting his hammer at last instant to lead with its spiked side first.

Unable to react in time, the massive spike caught the spider-beast just under the jaw, the mighty impact completely ripping the lower part of its jaw off, sending it sailing through the air and toward the crowd. Wailing with a new and untold pain, the beast immediately tried to pull itself free of the spike and backpedal, its limbs flailing at Omodo in a wild panic, but to no effect. Seeing its plan, Vintia didn’t hesitate to throw herself into the way of one of the deadly scythe claws as it swept the air, deflecting the attack meant for the armodon with her shield. The result had the small defender thrown through the air like a child’s doll, but no sooner did she hit the ground than she rolled back to her feet with seemingly little effect.

Seizing on the opportunity, the other Gladiators drove their weapons into the creature’s relatively lightly armored thorax as thick ichor dripped down from its ruined jaw above them, each of them shouting in frenzy as it frantically tried to batter them away. It was during this exchange that Gavin saw Omodo rushed forward again, this time slamming his massive, armored shoulder into the wounded creature and sending it reeling back. But he did not stop there, instead choosing to continue driving forward into the spider as he worked under it, his arms letting go of his hammer to grasp the underside of its body. Heaving in the instant that followed afterwards with a titanic display of strength and power, the next thing Gavin saw was the spider creature landing hard on its back after having been flipped completely end over end.

“Now kill it!” Omodo shouted as he charged once again towards the creature, pulling his weapon out from the struggling beast.

Not needing to be told twice, the end of the battle turned into chaos as the team pounced upon the fallen creature, a mad tableau of frantic limbs, bloody metal, and green gore filling Gavin’s vision over the next moments. It was during this ensuring melee that Omodo punctured another bloody fissure into the creature’s carapace, which then Karmal promptly took advantage of, throwing a blazing fireball into the wound, which exploded deep within the beast. It was enough to send a hail of charred flesh through the air, which even further opened the wound, giving the rest of them the opportunity to follow up with their own magics. By the time they were all finished, only a smoking shell of the spider’s thorax remained the beast lying deathly still on the charred black sands.

“Now, how was that for a farewell match, little brother?” Ravius asked as the horn sounded, signaling the end of the match.

“It was perfect,” Omodo replied with a loud chuckle as the thunder of the crowd began to reach their ears, growing in volume until it began to the very shake the ground beneath them. “It was absolutely perfect.”

Chapter Twenty Four: Scorpion’s Oasis

1143/09/21 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis, a luxurious resort town that caters to the wealthy elite

“Scorpion’s Oasis is all about image, people go there to see and be seen. The relaxing vacation is secondary to the proof of status that this brings. It is more like a mirage in some ways . . .” Amoura Vogue

“Look at it. It must have been bigger than Krass.” Ravius shook his head as they looked onwards. “Now it’s all lost to the sands.”

The five Gladiators and their Grey-Robe escort, Cleothera, all muttered to one another as they gazed out across an expanse of seemingly endless sand. The land was mostly flat, broken only by a few rare dunes and rocky hills in the distance, and of course the single winding road upon which they and their convoy travelled. The only feature of note. But that wasn’t what held their attention. Rather, it was the forest of broken minarets and towers that thrust out of the distant sands, bordered by the outline of what must have once been a stately city wall.

“It was bigger than Krass,” Vintia said to them. “In fact, this whole region was once home to an empire that was more populated than the Domains are now.”

“It was?” Karmal asked, a note of surprise in her voice as she turned to look at the other woman. “Then it should be good for reclaiming, no? Why hasn’t the city been excavated and resettled?”

“Because there is nothing to drink for miles upon miles from here,” Vintia answered. “When the chaos storms hit this area during the Reckoning, they destroyed all of the water sources in the region. I’ve read some explorers have found traces of old riverbeds deeper in the Sea of Sands here, but no one has ever found where it was fed from. Likely a highland lake that once lay between here and Rivergate.”

“And without water, no life here is possible.” Karmal sighed wistfully. “A shame, then.”

“A beautiful one, though,” Gavin added, the tone of his voice matching Karmal’s. “Imagine seeing it when it was as busy as Krass. These towers have stood against sand and wind for centuries, yet they are still majestic. Imagine what they must have looked like before all of the finery was stripped off.”

“What do you mean?” Ravius asked as he glanced between the Gladiator and the towers in the distance. “Do you see something we don’t?”

“Not quite,” Gavin replied with a chuckle. “But I’ve read the same book that Vintia has, and it was thought these towers were all covered in decorative frescoes, metalwork, colored glass, and so on. At least before much of it was recycled by the survivors who became the Sea of Sands tribes, or if not, plundered by the others who passed by in the ages afterwards.

“Supposedly, some of these towers were even covered in gold leaf and had large, enchanted sapphires imbedded at their peaks that gave off a glow at night, one bright enough for those in the city to see by,” he continued. “I can almost believe it looking out at them.”

The size of the ruin was hard to comprehend from their vantage point as it stretched into the distance, hinting at a vast and glorious past, the towers poking out of the sand like a formation of time-worn soldiers standing ever vigilant over the city’s grave. It was a sight that particularly twisted at Gavin, thanks to all that he had read about the nations that existed before the Reckoning. To finally have a chance to see one of their ruins up close was an incredible feeling. One far more powerful than anything he’d been expecting.

“You have that look,” Sadira said after a few moments, touching his arm to get his attention. “What are your thoughts?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” he replied with a slow shrug. “I suppose wish I had been able to see this place in its glory. It seems like such a waste that it has come to this. That something so large as a whole empire could just fade away into the sands and be forgotten.”

“I know how you feel,” Sadira replied, several of the others signaling similar sentiments. “But time eventually grinds down everything in its path. Even the mightiest of works. All we can ever hope to do is to simply catch our moment, and make the best we can of it.”

“A good sentiment to hold in one’s heart,” Cleothera stated, the mostly silent Grey-Robe looking like she was about to say more before being rudely interrupted by a shrill whistle that rang out in the distance. “Ah, drat. That’s the signal to leave. We had best hurry back. The Caravan leaders do not like to be anywhere near here when the sun sets.

“Apparently the bones of fallen empires unsettle them too.”

<>

Continuing on their journey, it took the Gladiators quite some time to reach Scorpion’s Oasis, finally arriving on a boat after skirting the shores of Brighthoof Plains down the Greensea to Rivergate. Finally sighting their destination on the horizon was well appreciated after enduring their long, caravan-led trek through the Sea of Sands before finally arriving at the distant shore. It was a trip that Gavin found refreshing, if only because of the sheer number of ruins and wild, magic-torn regions that he had been able to see along the way.

To make their journey even more worthwhile, they all found themselves quickly impressed by Scorpion’s Oasis before they managed to disembark. The regal palm trees and flowers that lined every street surrounding the sprawling waters of the Oasis called to them the instant they spotted them. Gardens, let alone parks, were so rare in the desert heat, the effort to maintain them being an impossible task anywhere else. But here within Scorpion’s Oasis, they abounded everywhere, giving plenty of shade and greenery for the weary travelers to enjoy. It was not the only sign of luxury here, as a dozen palatial bath-houses, magnificently decorated with gold and marble, along with a score of opulently decorated inns lined the pure and perfect crystal shores. A quartet of peacocks even wandered freely in front of a series of fountains adorned with beautiful statues of the town’s founder Chosen Giselle, Great Ancestor Ezuis, and a few allied Chosen. The whole place was spacious, clean, and beautiful, full of smiling young attendants who were eager to assist guests in any fashion.

A handful of independent taverns, brothels, and restaurants competed with those that could be found on the expansive grounds of the baths and inns. Gavin saw residences of modest size but great sumptuousness that must have belonged to those who could afford the absurd expense of buying property within the town. Tall, crystal lantern posts lit up the city at night and also sprayed a fine mist into the air that kept pedestrians cool during the hottest hours of the day.

“Chosen’s Oath, I feel like I am sullying the place just by walking through it!” Ravius exclaimed at one point as they walked down a beautifully crafted street, the very stones beneath their feet perfectly manicured into ornate multi-colored patterns that showed surprisingly little wear for such a hostile climate.

“You’re telling me,” Gavin replied as their route through the city had them passing by the arena, which he noted was built in the same pattern as the Grand Arena of Krass, though with much more opulent materials and on a smaller scale. “I never thought a place like this could exist.”

“You haven’t seen anything just yet.” Sadira’s hand came up to point at a nearby building ahead that was slowly coming into view, followed by her pace quickening rapidly. “Those are our apartments up over there! They should be better than anything we’ve ever had yet.”

And they were. Following a near-sprinting Sadira towards their new home, it wasn’t long before they found themselves greeted by a staff of waiting attendants and ushered into a palatial feast hall pre-emptively arrayed with a cornucopia of delicious foods sourced from every corner of the Domains. Once that decadent meal was over with, they were then each individually toured through a series of private baths, saunas, and one colorfully tiled pool filled with crystal-clear water for exercise and swimming. Each of their apartments were spacious and richly decorated with an array of tasteful tapestries and carpets that matched perfectly with the marble walls and flooring. The few furnishings they had shipped from Camp Valorous ahead of their journey were already in place and their individual apartments already decorated according to their inclinations long before they appeared.

“Well, I could certainly get used to this!” Sadira pronounced once she and Gavin were finally alone in their shared apartment, her arms spread wide as she reveled in the space and luxury of their new home.

“Careful now, Sadira,” Gavin chided with a grin as he watched her do a spin. “All of this finery and easy living will make us soft.”

“As if!” she responded with a sharp laugh, continuing along with her exultations by doing a cartwheel down a hall. “I’m still here to win it all, regardless of the luxuries we’re burdened with.”

“A real burden they seem to be,” he started to say, only to be interrupted by a soft knock on the door. But before he could reach the door to answer it, a letter fell in through their mail slot.

Well, that was quick, Gavin thought as he moved to pick up the paper and read its contents. We just arrived here. Who could possibly be sending us mail already?

“Hey, did I hear a knock?” Sadira asked excitedly as she reappeared from the hallway she’d vanished down a few seconds earlier, spotting the letter in Gavin’s hand. “Oh, what’s that?”

“It’s . . . a summon from the faction promoter, Sulius Nof’Cyrus,” Gavin answered as he read the letter. “We are to meet with him . . . downstairs. Immediately, apparently. He’s either already here or will be shortly.”

“Ah, good, then they must be as eager as I am to get started on our conquest!” Sadira practically bounded out the door before she finished speaking, leaving Gavin standing alone in their new apartment still holding the note. She stuck her head back through the door and grinned. “Come on, let’s see what he wants!”

<>

They did not have long to wait before the man arrived, entering the feast hall with a score of attendants at his side. Despite being Gifted, and thus virtually ageless, the first thing that Gavin noticed about Sulius Nof’Cyrus was that he looked more like a well-to-do merchant than anything else, his body round and content. As if he were enjoying an expensive holiday in the city rather than being a figure of importance within the Red Faction. Camille, the woman who had recruited them for the Reds in Dreadwood Junction, had already warned them about the man’s tendency to be overly dramatic.

“Ah, good, you’re all already here.” He strode into the room with a broad smile on his broad face. “Welcome to Scorpion’s Oasis! I trust all has been going well so far?”

“It certainly has been spectacular,” Ravius answered, the skirmisher half-lounging on a couch with a large plate of seafood in his hand. “I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.”

“Good tidings and perhaps more importantly, results, my dear Ravius.” Sulius did not break stride in the slightest as he took a freshly loaded plate of food from an attendant while sitting down on an open couch. “Results are what we need the most right now. Especially from all of you.”

Hrm, I suppose we are right into business, then, Gavin thought as he watched the man swallow two shrimp practically whole in the time it took him to sip his own drink.

“I’ll be honest with you all. If I had my way, only Sadira would be here at the Oasis. The rest of you, I’m afraid, are unproven assets,” Sulius began in a matter-of-fact tone, his portly face stone serious while his hands gesticulated in emphasis.

It was enough to cause for all the Gladiators to bristle, the insult to their ranking and popularity clear as day.

“Look, I do not wish to be unpleasant with my words.” He immediately noticed the scowls being directed towards him. “Especially not after the journey that you’ve all endured, but we need the best talent we can get our hands out here in the Oasis. We have been badly humiliated in our last few seasons and are in dire need of a victory. The Faction Games are a serious business throughout the Domains, and the Blues have an almost unbeatable advantage here in Scorpion’s Oasis. One strong enough that forces me to be brutally honest with you all. If you don’t impress me in your next couple of matches, I will have to ship you back to training camp before the next season starts and try my luck on replacements. I don’t say this to insult you, but rather to impress upon you the gravity of the situation that you will be facing against each and every day that you are here.”

There was a brief pause as the man ate another pair of shrimp in quick succession followed by a creamy-looking pastry. His hands darted out like striking vipers at the plates.

“Now, with that initial unpleasantness is out of the way, I hope you are all truly enjoying your arrangements here?” Sulius asked with a smile at them, his shoulders visibly loosening as his manner became more cordial, and stress began to visibly bleed away from him. “We may not be as wealthy as the Blues across the way, but we do try to make sure our fighters want for nothing here. I dare say you’ll remember your stay fondly when you get to the Red Campus in Brightsand Halls, or wherever your careers take you after you are done at the Oasis.”

“I’m sure we will,” Gavin replied, deciding to speak up before Karmal beside him did. The woman looked particularly tense. Enough so that he doubted Cleothera would be able to stop her in time if the fiery-haired Gladiator decided to attack the promoter. “But I suppose your words beg the question of how exactly we can prove ourselves here if our faction already has such a poor record.”

“By winning, simple as that,” Sulius stated, tension momentarily returning before he waved off Gavin’s words. “But let us not dwell on that right now. Your time here may be short, but I want you to enjoy it nonetheless. Now let me tell you about the splendors of the Oasis that you can enjoy while you are here . . .”

Launching into a long explanation of the city, Sulius talked on for what felt like hours, steadfastly avoiding the subject of the arena and the faction itself whenever it was brought up. Even Ravius, who often did most of the talking for the Gladiators, found himself shut down when he led the man back towards more constructive topics, the recruiter outright dismissing his query before resuming with something else they could spend their time doing while at the city. It was enough to have Gavin and the others fuming by the time they were finished, the recruiter’s message clear to each of them.

They were baggage, merely adornments that Sadira had brought along with her upon her arrival to the place, a fact driven all the further home when the time came for their meeting to begin to close.

“Sadira, will you remain behind, please?” Sulius asked as the Gladiators rose to leave, each of their faces blank to conceal their emotion. “I wish to speak with you privately a moment.”

“Of course,” she replied, eyes drifting over towards Gavin, who immediately felt his hackles rise. At least until she nodded almost imperceptibly to him before turning her attention back towards the promoter and continuing to speak. “That won’t be a problem at all.”

<>

“You are the real prize of the group, Sadira.” Sulius looked up from the plate of sweetmeats he’d just finished devouring. “You should not saddle yourself with—”

“Chief Promoter Sulius, with all due respect, I do not like the way you treat my friends,” she interrupted, cutting the man off before he could say anything else. “We are a team. Without them, I would not have gotten this far. I will not abide any threats against them in my presence. And if you choose send them away, you should know that I will go with them as well.”

“I know,” Sulius replied with a sigh, his soft eyes holding her gaze without flinching, something few were able to do. “If you wish to put your friends above your career, it is your choice. I admire your spine, to be honest. There are few warriors, be it young or old, who are willing to put their teams above their own welfare. I wish I could be more accommodating, but the faction is in a very bad position. My hands are bound by their dictates.”

“Which is why I chose to come here, chief promoter.” Sadira chose to remain formal with the man. “I can help you. Rather, we can help you.”

Sulius frowned at her words, his eyes finally dropping down in thought for several seconds before making their way back upwards towards her. “A great fighter like you might be able to help us turn this place around. A few spectacular wins could potentially breathe some life into the rest of our roster or attract others to try their luck here. But I don’t know about your friends. They may be great; they may need more training. The scouting reports I’ve received are wholly inconclusive.”

“They’re good enough,” Sadira affirmed. “They got me where I am. You would have not noticed me otherwise.”

“That is true. We do value teamwork.” Sulius inclined his head as he conceded the point. “Fine then. As it happens, I have a challenge for five Gladiators that needs answering soon. So I will be putting you in charge of seeing it through. Show me what this team of yours can do, and I will crow your success to the stars themselves. Fail it, and I will have to make good on my threat. I can’t afford any more dead weight if I want to keep my post here, even if it means losing a rising star like you. Too many Reds already treat this place like a paid holiday, and it causes me no end of problems.”

“And how do I know you aren’t setting me up for failure?” Sadira asked. “Few would force a team into a match so soon after their arrival, especially after travelling so far.”

“You are right, few would,” Sulius conceded with a nod. “In fact, only the desperate would, which if I haven’t impressed enough already, is what we are. As for your question though, you will have to trust me, I suppose, if for no reason that your success means for my success. I’ve grown rather fond of this place, and I’d rather not see myself trounced to the ass end of oblivion to serve out the rest of my days. The food for certain would not be as good.”

“So this is all in the name of self-interest then?” Sadira asked in an acidic tone. “And here I thought we could fight for our own merit.”

“No, what you thought was that you could choose Scorpion’s Oasis to make your mark on the Faction Games,” Sulius stated. “And you most certainly can. Do you have any idea why we are losing here, season after season?”

“Because you need better Gladiators for one,” Sadira answered, crossing her arms before her. “Like those I brought along with me.”

“An easy answer, even if it is only mostly true,” Sulius sat back in his seat, vaguely waving a hand in the air. “Oh, we have plenty of skilled Gladiators pass through here, if not exactly regularly. Some of them even go on to be champions in Brightsand Halls. But for the rest, they look to treat this place as nothing more than a stepping stone on their path to glory.

“And why should I even think to blame them?” Sulius voice hardened. “As a perennial loser, this city is not a place that any Red wants to settle in for any length of time, regardless of what luxuries it has to offer. The problem is that the Blues don’t see it that way. For them Scorpion’s Oasis is a thorn in the side of Chosen Giselle and her Reds at Brightsand Halls. This is her town in her Domain and yet they own the Fighting grounds here. Imagine how that makes her feel?”

“Likely not much different than my friends did after you dismissed them for this conversation of ours,” Sadira stated.

“Then I hope they channel that emotion to good use,” Silus answered, once again not flinching away from Sadira’s gaze. “Powerful people have a vested interest in the state of affairs remaining as they are right now and have put a lot of resources behind the Blue team here to endure that fact. Their promoter is one of the best, which I am sure you will see in the coming days. Her team attracts the best talent that the domains has to offer.”

“Which will make it sting all the harder when we cut their feet out from under them.”

“Bold words that I look forward to seeing,” Sulis replied, this time moving to rise to his feet as he spoke. Standing for a moment he then gave Sadira one last look before half turning to leave. “Remember my words, Gladiatrix. Success or nothing. That’s all that I have to offer you here.”

Then with that he turned to leave the room without another word, leaving the new weight of sudden responsibility heavy on Sadira’s shoulders.

Chapter Twenty Five: Disharmony

1143/10/21 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis

“The Factions vie against each other for influence in everything. The Great Games, however, are their biggest battlefield; a good season can often shift the balance of power in the popular assemblies for the coming year. The incentives to cheat and exploit the rules are very high . . .” Deliberative Primer.

“This was so much easier when we studied it back in Campus Gladius,” Sadira groaned as she flipped through a massive tome. “I don’t remember it being this complicated.”

One of the most difficult adjustments for the Gladiators to the Faction Leagues was the scoring system for Faction Challenges. In the competition between factions, simply winning or losing a match was not everything. Gladiators could win points for their faction, which determined which faction won at the end of the season. A team that scored well, even when they lost, was a much bigger asset than a team that won but ignored faction scoring. Sadira found herself getting lost in the edge cases that governed the Faction League, the results of centuries of arena tradition.

“Well, for one thing, you’ve been pushing yourself rather hard of late,” Gavin replied as gently as he could manage, feeling the dozens of aches and pains that their training had brought him. “And it’s no surprise you’d be tired. Do you want to call an end to this tonight?”

“I’m fine,” Sadira assured him with a shake of her head, eyes dropping down to the book. “Now . . . where were we again?”

“Faction Challenges,” Gavin replied, letting a small smile play across his face as he spoke. “It’s a type of contest that’s issued by one faction to one of the other factions in their league. Which in the case of Scorpion’s Oasis, means only the Blue Faction and the Red Faction. None of the other factions have enough of a presence to qualify. Then, once the challenge is issued, any opposing faction Gladiator who qualify for the challenge and want to attempt it can accept and compete, earning points for the faction.”

“That part I believe I have down well enough,” Sadira replied, pausing for a second to flip between three different pages. “It’s what they can do afterwards that gets me. There is a provision that allows them to negotiate changes . . . somewhere. I swear I just saw it a moment earlier.”

“And you’d see it right now if you lifted your hand.” Gavin’s tone was still as soft as before while he motioned to a section of a page that a few of the dark elf’s fingers were covering. “See? It’s right there.”

“What? Oh, drat, I see it now.” She did exactly what Gavin had suggested and quickly skimmed over the text, her exhausted eyes blinking rapidly as she read. “Right, I remember this now. Then after the challenge is accepted, the teams then compete to score points during the subsequent arrangement of matches or until the season comes to an end.”

“That sounds about right to me.” He nodded. “The challenges give much leeway—it’s just the details that need to be accounted for.”

“Details which I am truly glad to have you and Vintia to help me with.” Sadira breathed out a loud sigh as she leaned back in her chair. “I’ve never been so overwhelmed in attempting to a piece such a thing together.”

“It will get better, love,” Gavin assured her as he glanced down at his own notes, seeing all of the scribbles that they had made.

Any Faction Challenge presented a series of goals, in which meeting them gained the winning team points. The goals varied by match type but almost always included killing opponents, regardless if they were Gladiators on an opposing team, or as it more often tended to be, monsters. As would be expected, different opponents had variable point values which depended largely on their relative strength, and of course any modifications granted by the type of the match in question. Beyond that, the other common point goals included meeting specified time limits, surviving longer in the case of survival matches, or by using or not using special tactics in the case of more exotic match types.

Of course gaining points was only half the battle, as they could also be taken away from a team’s score for a variety of reasons. In some challenges, having a team member end the match incapacitated or otherwise tapped out, could result in a large penalizing deduction. In Gavin’s eyes, this made defenders such as himself much more important in such challenges and encouraged a higher level of teamwork. But as easily as some rules favored him, there were others that favored the other fighting types with the factions always trying to tailor their challenges so that they were as favorable to their own stable as fighters as possible. Fortunately, those sorts of details fell into the hands of the faction promotors who had a better mind for such nuances, not to mention scouting reports of the other faction’s gladiators too.

“All right. So our first challenge match will be using a scoring addendum called Ollanger’s Additions,” Sadira said a few minutes later, having exchanged for tome for her own set of notes.

“And are we going to include the eastern standard rules? Or not?”

“We’ll include them,” Sadira replied, looking up over her paper to nod at him. “Even if they haven’t been used in most of the eastern part of the empire for last few decades.”

“Then we’ll be on the forefront of bringing them back to popularity.” Gavin took a moment to parse exactly what that meant for them.

As it stood now, their first match would see them take the field at the same time as the Blue Team, something called a Direct Challenge. Ollanger’s Additions allowed the Gladiators from opposing teams to interfere with each other during the match afterward, but only to a limited extent. If the interference was good and well executed, it could prevent an enemy from claiming points on a killing blow. However, if it was bad, such as actively maiming or attacking an opposing team member, it could result in a loss of points or possibly the forfeiture of the match. Part of the challenge he still had left to him was learning exactly what was allowed and what constituted a foul, a distinction that the arcane, academic tone of the texts did not actually help with at all.

“He says that he hasn’t, but no matter what I do, I cannot shake the fear that Sulius may have set us up to fail,” Sadira suddenly confessed, interrupting his thoughts. “I truly wish I had a chance to get to know the man better before we were thrust into this.”

“He may have, but to what end really?” Gavin asked after a few seconds of silent thinking, trying to come up with an angle that the man could be playing at. “What does he have to gain if we fail?”

“He can separate us,” Sadira answered quickly. “Or at least he thinks he can. He knows I want to go to Brightsand Halls more than anything else. To fight in the greatest arena in the south. I won’t have it, though. We must win this match and prove ourselves worthy.”

“Sadira . . .” Gavin began, seeing the stress coursing through her. “If the opportunity comes, you must take the opportunity to follow your dreams—”

“My dreams involve all of us, Gavin,” Sadira stated firmly, her severe expression then abruptly interrupted by a wide yawn. She cursed, then slammed the massive tome she still had on her lap shut and unceremoniously tossed it onto a nearby couch. “All right, I’m spent and I need to rest. Our training will be short and light tomorrow. I want my team well rested for the match, and I know full well how hard I’ve been pushing us. I certainly hope you and the others don’t resent me for it.”

“You are doing the best you can,” Gavin assured with a dismissive shrug. “And as appealing as the oasis may be, I doubt that any of us would be doing anything different. After all, the more one sweats in training, the less one bleeds in a match.”

“An axiom that we’ve all certainly proven so far.” Sadira had a relieved smile as she rose from her chair, carefully stacking her notes on a nearby table. “But thank you nonetheless. It’s good to have a partner and friends who are strong enough to put up with my ambitions. That said . . . those ambitions may find themselves cut short if I cannot get those scoring rules memorized. If they were going to make them so complicated, couldn’t they have at least written it in an entertaining way? As it stands now, I could almost use these bloody tomes for strength training.”

“Oh ho, has the mighty Sadira Lacivia been humbled at last?” Gavin asked with a laugh as he too started to rise. “Has she been brought low by a brutal exception clause from subsection ten of Mazurin’s revisions?”

“As if! I’ll tame these rules in the end, you just watch!” she replied defiantly as she moved to grab at him. “I’ve got a completely different conquest in mind right now, though . . .”

<>

“And heeeere comes the . . . uh, the well, the new Red Team!” the announcer shouted as they all strode onto the sands, the day of their match having finally arrived. “Freshly arrived from a long trek across the Sea of Sands, these brave Gladiators are looking to make their mark on the Oasis. But can they? Or will they fall like all of the other Red teams before them? We are about to find out!”

“Well, that’s just quite the greeting to set the tone, isn’t it?” Ravius asked as they all looked towards where the arena announcer was standing at the ring’s edge. “But then I suppose that begs the question, were we supposed to submit a team name to them?”

“Evidently,” Sadira replied with a growl as her glare bored holes in the distant man, who was pointedly not looking in their direction while they took their place. “But it doesn’t matter—they’ll know all of our names soon enough.”

“Oh, I’ll make certain of that,” she heard Ravius say as he made some sort of gesture that she couldn’t see that managed to draw a small chorus of laughs from the crowd. “See? It’s working already.”

“Good. Keep it up, then,” Sadira replied, her focus then shifting towards the rest of the group. “Remember, everyone, that it is only a kill that will get us the points we need. And Karmal, be wary. If they have the same scouting report that Silus has, they will know about your temper, they will try and use it to draw you into a foul if they can.”

“So you’ve told me time and time again,” Karmal growled in response, her voice already carrying an edge. “I will manage it. Now leave me be before you set it off yourself.”

Nodding, Sadira stilled her growing nerves and was about to continue speaking only to be interrupted by another sound of trumpets, signaling the other team’s entrance.

“First onto the fighting grounds, we have Sapphire Lotus!” the announcer called out, the volume of voice more than doubling as he shouted out the Gladiator’s arena name. A name that was quickly matched to an athletic, dark-skinned, human woman dressed in medium-weight armor and armed with a lithe-hafted glaive as she entered onto the sands.

Turing to look towards her, Sadira’s eyes quickly landed on the source of her namesake, a lotus blossom, fully formed of glittering sapphire pieces that decorated the chest piece of her plated war harness. Shifting upwards from there, Sadira’s attention then traveled over to Lotus’s weapon, assessing it in a blink.

A skirmisher, maybe? she wondered, the weapon looking lighter and thinner than most other glaives she’d seen. From there, she then reached out with her magical senses and inspected the weave hanging over the woman, finding it intimately familiar to her. Hmm, there’s druidic magic hanging over her, which may make her even more deadly than she appears. Lovely.

“And following her is our crowd favorite Shield-Splitter!” the announcer continued as a massive ogre, one nearly nine feet tall and dressed in heavy armor, appeared from the far gates, carrying an even larger version of Karmal’s heavy war cleaver draped over one shoulder. His thick armor was covered in a short blue tabard and had shoulder guards modelled to look like the fanged skulls of the deadly sea rippers that prowled the nearby coast. But despite the fearsome appearance he had, this Gladiator was accordingly easier to read, his build and armament signaling that he was a charger. One probably trained in the Executioner school techniques and supplemented by elemental or other battle-related magic.

“And next we have Steel Harmony!!” the voice continued without pause, forcing Sadira to shift her attention onwards once again, this time towards a small, wiry quickling woman dressed in light armor that had followed the ogre in on his heels. Armed with a long rapier and a viciously curved golden sickle, the woman’s spiky hair was dyed a vivid, vibrant blue that reminded Sadira of a flower she’d seen once. A flower that was notorious for badly cutting those who attempted to pluck it without thinking.

Probably a charger as well, she thought as she assessed her opponent. And given her size, likely trained in the Thousand Step School. If so, then she’ll be a pain to keep up with. Once we’ve finished here and managed to catch a breath, I need to send Ravius to scout their training sessions from here on out. I hate being as blind as I am right now.

“And here we have Blue Calamity, coming in fourth!” the announcer declared, his voice still bellowing strong as an obsidian-skinned shadow-elf with long white hair strode in next, complete with a featureless white mask covering his face. His arrival was greeted by a distinctly feminine cheer from the audience as women called out appreciatively as he strutted across the fighting grounds, pelvis thrust forward. Dressed in a way Sadira could only describe as provocative, the elf’s light armor left little to the imagination, his bare chest glistening with oil to better show off his exceptionally sculpted physique. Rolling her eyes at the display, she focused on his armaments, noting that he carried both a coiled fighting whip as well as a barbed war spear similar to Gavin’s. It was such an obvious display and armament suited for a skirmisher that she didn’t even need to think twice about it. Not that she would have had the time to as the far arena doors thundered closed with a loud boom.

“Eh? And that seems to be it for the Blue Team? I’m afraid I didn’t see a fifth Gladiator take the field for the . . .” The announcer’s confused voice suddenly trailed off for a second, causing Sadira to glance back towards his perch, where she spotted a pale elven woman with long silver hair in whispering in his ear. The heavyset, bearded announcer nodded several times to the blue-dressed elf before turning to speak with the Grey-Robe arena master sitting next to him. The delay prompted the audience to begin muttering while the Gladiators eyed each other across the grounds.

<I believe I sense mischief afoot,> Ravius informed through their link, which Gavin had formed on their way onto the sands.

<As do I,> Vintia echoed, her mental voice sounding particularly wary as the announcer finally rose back to his feet to address the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the honorable Blue Team has declined to field a fifth Gladiator using the exclusion clause from the Third Revision.” The crowd listened attentively as the announcer spoke again. “The reason that has been given is disparity of rank. The Reds are fielding under-ranked Gladiators, rank three for a rank four challenge. The Blue Team has given up their advantage for the pleasure of the audience. What gallantry for our beloved Blues! Surely such honor has not been seen since Chosen Artuis himself fought in this very arena as a young Gladiator. Give them a cheer, folks!”

“Gallantry?” Sadira repeated, she couldn’t help but feel that she’d been outmaneuvered somehow, even if she couldn’t begin to articulate how. But that didn’t matter to her right now, what did, was that the crowd was now showering the Blues with praise for purposefully putting themselves at a disadvantage. Unfortunately there was nothing that she could do about it, as the announcer continued on with the last of his duties, which was then promptly followed by the trumpets sounding the Call to Battle.

“Today’s match will use eastern standard rules with no banter. Now, without further ado, let us bring forth the beasts!”

The next thing that Sadira knew was a cleverly concealed trap door opening in the middle of the fighting grounds a few strides away from her, followed by the appearance a dozen snarling spike hounds that abruptly rose into view. Leaping into the arena eagerly between the two teams, the creatures’ spines rippled as they pawed the ground, growling viciously as they scanned the waiting group of fighters.

Then, without any warning at all, the chains that had been affixed to their collars fell away and set the hounds free, the animals wasting no time to break up into three separate packs and charge the Gladiators.

Moving as a group, Sadira, Gavin, and Ravius rushed forward to meet the hounds while Vintia and Karmal lagged back, preparing to use their magic to wreak havoc against the dog-like monstrosities.

Running at the head of group, Sadira’s long strides devoured the ground separating her and the closest pack, eager to reach them and score the highly coveted first kill goal, and the points that came with it.

The quickling, Steel Harmony, beat her to it, speeding forward out of the corner of her eye in a blur of motion and scoring a spectacular kill with a well-aimed thrust of her needle-bladed rapier that drove the blade into the beast’s skull, between its eyes.

“And the first kill of our match goes to our gallant Blues! What a display of skill!” The announcer’s voice thundered out as Sadira saw the hound fall to the ground in a heap, the quickling effortlessly dodging away from the rest of the pack before they could fall upon her.

Angry at by being beaten to the punch, Sadira immediately rushed to make up for it, howling out her signature war scream as she leapt directly into the midst of the hounds ahead. In the moments that followed, she felt all of the stress and worry of the last few hectic days spent training and researching melt away as she whirled her blades through the hides of the scaled monsters.

Finding blood quickly, her deadly twin swords raked the sides of the beasts as they turned to snap at her, the Gladiatrix evading one bite from a creature only to then duck under it and carve open its belly. The crowd instantly roared at the vicious evisceration, and Sadira couldn’t help but feel a thrill of satisfaction at the sound.

She was in her element now, a torrent of verdant magic pulsing through her veins as she whirled and slashed at the beasts, drawing them all to face her.

Picking his moment to arrive perfectly, Ravius entered the fray the same instant, finishing one of the hounds she’d wounded with a precise thrust of his three-pronged weapon. Playing his part to its hilt, the smiling skirmisher followed this with a crude gesture at the passing Steel Harmony, earning another chorus of laughter from the crowd.

<Someone catch that one!> Sadira shouted through their link as one of the hounds fighting the Blues suddenly broke away from its pack to run toward Vintia and Karmal, who were both in the middle of channeling.

<Already on it.> Gavin’s calm voice echoed in her mind no sooner than she’d finished speaking, the heavily armored man charging into Sadira’s vision, darting in towards the creature.

Closing the distance separating them in the blink of an eye, it was barely two heartbeats later that the spike hound was falling to the ground in a lifeless heap with a gaping wound in its side, courtesy of Gavin’s spear.

At least we know they like blood, Sadira thought as the crowd let out another cheer at Gavin’s kill. We can most certainly work with that.

And work with it they did, as Vintia and Karmal, both bright with Thaom and powerful spell weaves, picked that moment to let loose with the magic they’d been building, sending a storm of fire and lightning streaking across the arena. Lancing across the arena sands, the torrent of power instantly killed several of the attacking hounds, even going as far as to turn one of the packs completely to ash. It was a display of might unlike any other seen in the battle so far and one that filled Sadira with joy to watch unfold, at least until she saw Shield-Splitter abruptly lunge forward into the path of one of Karmal’s fireballs. Instantly, the massive ogre vanished in the ensuing explosion of fire was unleashed afterwards, reappearing a second later slightly blackened by its effects afterward and promptly turning to appeal towards the arena master with upraised arms.

“And we have our first foul!” the announcer immediately called out as the aforementioned Grey-Robe held up three fingers, signaling the points that had been lost. “That was a certainly stunning display by the Red Team, but they better keep a tighter grip on their magic if they want to win!”

Sadira heard Karmal shout out in anger at the call as she quickly risked a glance at the current score, being somewhat relieved to see that they were still leading by four points overall. While they’d lost a few points, the trade-off had been well worth it in the end, prompting her to call out towards the woman.

“That was brilliant, Karmal!” She slashed out towards the last of the snarling beasts within her reach with a savage swing of her twin swords and sent it to the ground. “We are ahead now! Don’t let their trickery get to you!”

With the last of the hounds slain by Blue Calamity on the other side of the arena, the first round came to a close with their four-point advantage intact, the group forming up together as the announcer began to speak once more.

“It looks like our Reds are off to a strong start!” he shouted loudly as the crowd cheered at the display, enough to sound like they were politely engaged, but still eager to see what else the match would bring. “Now let’s see how they fare in the next round!”

Arriving in time with the announcer’s words, eight shining clockwork figures, made of brass and steel, clamored out into the arena from a nearby gate. But instead of hands such clockwork warriors were often equipped with, each of these brass soldiers had short sharp blades installed on either limb, making it clear as to what their preferred tactic was likely to be. Wasting no time, the mechanical opponents then charged forward en masse, their motions eerily in sync with one another. Fortunately the clockwork warriors were familiar opponents for the Gladiators, as they were used in training, or as fodder for the Legions of Krass in large scale battles.

Which in turn meant that they all knew exactly best on how to deal with them.

<Lightning spells at the ready!> Ravius called out through their link as they all readied themselves to receive the automatons’ charge. <Or strike at their gears elsewise! Preferably those at the legs so they can’t maneuver!>

Screaming out again as the creatures arrived, Sadira found her first strike bouncing off of her new opponent’s thick metal skin as she just barely missed her intended mark, the blow leaving a sizable dent but doing little else. Scowling as her hand went numb from the impact, she redoubled her efforts with her next attack, this time her blade finding a gap in the automaton’s defense as her blade snuck up and under the creature’s thick chest armor into its vulnerable gears beneath. With a wrenching screech, the metal innards immediately began to scream and grind as they warred against the tougher metal of her blade.

A vicious wrench earned a spray of black oil that rushed down her hand and onto the bloody sands. Seizing, the mechanical soldier’s movements froze as gravity took over Sadira’s work, pulling it towards the ground where it then lay still. But that victory came at the cost of Sadira’s blade being momentarily trapped inside the construct, a situation that was made all the more dire when a second brass man picked that moment to attack her.

Forced to reached across her body with her remaining sword, she barely managed to parry the automaton’s opening attack, deflecting it out and to the side. Yet that move only dealt with one of its weapons, the other lancing out towards her unprotected and open side. Or it would have, had Gavin not suddenly appeared to intercept it. A light touch from his spear sent the offending arm down and into the sand. He followed with a brutal slam from his shield that sent the automaton flying backwards. Breathing a wordless grunt of thanks, Sadira used the time that Gavin had bought her to free her blade and rushed off to find another opponent, seeing Ravius trip the closest one to her with his net and send it crashing to the ground.

A brutal lunge and thrust into its neck later, it joined the rest of its fallen companions on the sands for good.

With no opponent nearby, Sadira risked a glanced across the arena, seeing the three smaller members of the Blue Team in the middle of dancing around their metal opponents. Working in tandem with one another, they skillfully drew attention away from the massive form that was Shield-Splitter, who took advantage of the relative freedom to smash two of the erstwhile opponents to the ground with a measured pair of strikes from his immense war cleaver.

In short order, the muscular ogre was looking around for more foes to attack, but fortunately none remained within reach.

Especially not after Vintia and Karmal unleashed another round of magic, this time channeling an arc of lightning to surge through a pair of the metal soldiers that the smaller defender had been holding back with her shield. Flinching and flailing wildly as the electricity touched them, the brass soldiers smoked and sparked as they fell to the ground, one of them catching fire as something flammable within leaked. The display was accompanied by smattering echo of applause that rippled throughout the crowd.

That then left a single brass soldier standing, the lone clockwork caught awkwardly in the middle ground between the two teams. It whirred and trotted forward with slow, jerking motions, something within its body appearing to have malfunctioned. Whatever the cause, however, it was enough to cause both teams to hungrily race forward, each of them eager to score the kill. Moving in a rush, Sadira was forced to dodge around Shield-Splitter as the massive ogre charged in ahead of her, the Gladiator swinging his gargantuan cleaver at the brass man’s midsection. Hearing the clang of metal hitting metal, she fed a torrent of Thaom into her body in attempt to get past him, shaping her verdant magic into Primal Surge to empower her strength and speed.

It was enough to send a spray of sand flying through the air in her wake as she rounded the ogre. But instead of finding the automaton that she so sought, she instead found Blue Calamity, the opposing Gladiator appearing out from behind their companion.

“Too slow there, girl!” the rival shadow-elf called out as he spread his hands out wide to block her, forcing her to slow lest she trample the man and risk losing a portion of their preciously earned points. It was an unexpected development that only caused Sadira to grin as she stepped in as close as she dared to her opponent, crowding him in turn.

“And what makes you think that creature is what I was after?” she asked as the man flinched a step away from her sudden lunge, Sadira greedily snatching up the offered space.

To her opponent’s credit, it only took him a second to realize his mistake as his attention shifted behind her. But by that point, it was too late to do anything other than watch as Gavin’s spear sailed not only past the two of them, but also Shield-Splitter before unerringly lancing into the lone clockwork soldier’s head, skewering it completely. The attack caused the mechanical creature to collapse as if the strings controlling it were cut just as the ogre’s belated blow struck it flat.

“And by just a hair, that’s a Red Team kill!” the announcer exclaimed, the display finally earning a more enthusiastic response from the spectators, all of whom clapped and cheered with more vigor than before. “That’s it for the second round—now it’s time for the final bout! Let’s bring out the razorfist mauler and see how our teams fare!”

With a hungry roar from the crowd filling the air, Sadira spun away from her opponent the instant she felt the ground beneath begin to vibrate, turning her attention towards the arena center where she felt power emanating. A pillar—or rather a massive cage—began to rise upwards from where it had been concealed by yet another trap door beneath the arena sands.

Eyes widening as the cage rose into the sunlight, Sadira and the other Gladiators had plenty of time to take in what was within, the winches raising it upwards slowing to half speed to give both them and the crowd a good look.

And a good look is exactly what Sadira got in the seconds that followed.

The razorfist mauler was a masterpiece of the necromantic arts, a ten-foot-tall abomination made of the sewn-together flesh and bone of well over a dozen lesser creatures and animated with powerful magic. Vaguely humanoid in shape, the creature bore short, stout legs, and a thick body to which runed steel plates were bolted, completely heedless of the flesh it pierced.

On top of its massive shoulders sat three heads of a species that Sadira couldn’t identify, their size almost comically small when compared against the otherwise gargantuan mountain of necrotic flesh. Completing the creature form, and perhaps the most important part of its appearance, were the huge, saw-edged blades that had been embedded into the end of each of its broad arms, the wicked weapons stealing attention away from the other hooks and spikes that protruded elsewhere all across its terrible bulk.

Reaching its zenith just as Sadira finished her inspection, the cage loudly locked in place, the vibration beneath her feet ending as quickly as it had begun. Freezing there for just an instant, the next thing she knew was a section of the creature’s prison abruptly falling away to crash on the sands.

<Now strike me down if that doesn’t look exactly like Karmal before she has her morning tea,> Ravius linked as the mauler immediately took a lumbering step out of the cage, the sun shining brightly off of its dripping-wet, putrid skin.

<Oh, I’ll strike you down all right, skirmisher,> the woman replied, still carrying an angry edge to her voice. <Come on over here and see.>

<Another time, Karmal!> Sadira immediately cut as she moved to sheath her sabers in favor of Bellasdoom, the great sword that Gavin had gifted her. She knew exactly where Karmal’s mind was at, and none of them needed that sort of distraction at the moment. <Help kill the creature first, then you can torment Ravius with my blessing!>

<Hey now, let’s not be so hasty—> the Skirmisher started to reply, but Sadira pushed him from her mind as she focused her attention on the mauler.

There was only a handful of points separating the two teams, enough so that whoever killed the necrotic creature would likely win the match.

Which means that we need to be the ones to land the finishing blow, she thought to herself as both teams charged forward at the creature, each of them channeling power and weaving it into deadly spells. Eager to arrive first, Sadira flew across the fighting grounds ahead of everyone one, her feet barely touching the ground as she ran, her weave still lending strength to her strides. Yet as she charged forward, she heard a warning shout from Gavin, his voice arriving just a second before a blurry form appeared in the corner of her eye.

The quickling! Sadira exclaimed as she instantly understood what her opponent was trying to do, Gavin’s early warning just enough for her to force her body upwards in a powerful leap, just barely managing to clear the quickling.

Or at least so she thought.

Hearing the angry roar of the crowd a second before she felt something hook her ankle from beneath, Sadira’s trajectory abruptly shifted, completely foiling her jump. Panicking for a brief second, she just barely managed to avoid slamming face first into the ground, instead turning her fall into a not so graceful roll.

“And that’s minus five points for the Blue Team!” she heard the announcer call out as she rose to her feet, a part of her ready to track Steel Harmony down and return the favor with interest. But she forced that part back to the dark recesses of her mind as she spotted both Gavin and Ravius sprinting forward to meet her, remembering her other, more important task.

Killing the razorfist mauler before the Blue Team did.

Whirling back towards the creature, she turned just in time to see it in the middle of swinging its massive blades at Blue Calamity, but somehow failing to land a strike. Standing deep in the darkness of the beast’s shadow, the elf’s form was faint and insubstantial to her eye, never seeming to be exactly where he appeared to be, an opportunity he used to relentlessly whip the creature while occasionally jabbing it with his spear, the attacks enough to keep the mauler constantly turning to chase him, rather than focus on his teammate, Shield-Splitter as the ogre charged in on the creature’s rear. Glowing with a surge of primal magic, courtesy of Sapphire Lotus, the ogre arrived with a brutal overhand cleave that carved a massive chunk out of the mauler’s side where its armor didn’t protect.

<It won’t last long if he keeps that up!> Gavin called through their link as the animated creature wasted no time in spinning towards the ogre, forcing the Gladiator back several steps with a wild cleave. <Ravius, make sure he doesn’t get another clear strike like that!>

<I’ll try,> the skirmisher replied in a dry tone as the three of them finally closed with the mauler on its opposite flank, each of them landing a series of punishing blows that either carved through flesh or in Gavin’s case, pierced straight through its armor.

<Do whatever it takes!> Sadira ordered as she slashed at an opening, her sword effortlessly carving through a layer of flesh and releasing a putrid stench of rot in the process. <Just try not to get penalized if you can help it!>

<Got it,> Ravius replied as he immediately started moved to his assigned task while Sadira and Gavin attacked the creature yet again, this time sending gobs of putrid meat flying through the air.

This time the attack was enough to earn a reaction from the creature as it flailed its bladed arms around its body, the sudden motion causing all of the Gladiators to leap or roll away from it.

<Something that big has no right being that fast!> Ravius shouted through Sadira’s mind as both she and he rolled under a sweeping blade and immediately sprang up to their feet. Yet as they rose, Sadira heard a curse echo out from Gavin.

Whirling, it only took her a second to spot her partner lying flat on his back with Blue Calamity practically on top of him, the Gladiator’s spear tangled in between Gavin’s legs. At glance it seemed like an innocent situation that could have resulted from their desperate dodge, but the snicker that reached her ears from the Blue Team Gladiator told her it was anything but.

The exchange happened too fast for arena master to notice, leaving Gavin to scramble as he roughly shoved Blue Calamity off of him just in time to roll away from the Mauler’s cleaving chop that cut a massive furrow in the sands where he’d just been.

Enraged by the blatant cheating, Sadira did the only thing that she was able to do in response and threw herself at the mauler, landing a punishing blow that carved another weeping gash in its flesh. But was she far from the only one to do so, as Shield-Splitter picked that moment to strike, the massive ogre practically trampling Ravius as he closed with the undead monstrosity. Letting out a vicious roar as he slashed downwards with his enormous war cleaver, the empowered Gladiator’s blow connected solidly with one of the mauler’s flailing arms at the elbow and sheared through it completely, sending a spray of vile-smelling fluids everywhere. Hitting the ground with a wet slap, the appendage continued to flail and writhe as if it were a fish out of water, the powerful magic animating it refusing to die.

“And what a mighty blow by the Blue Team!” the announcer declared, his voice accompanied by a thunderous roar from the crowd. “Could this be the beginning of the end for the—oh, look at that!”

Arriving mid-speech, a surge of fire and lightning from Karmal and Vintia slammed into the creature. The wave of magic sent it rocking backwards onto its heels. Sensing the opportunity to put an end to the fight, Sadira lunged to attack the creature once again while it was off balance, both Gavin and Ravius joining on either side of her. Together they hacked, stabbed, and chopped into the razorfist mauler, desperately trying to land a telling blow, or in Ravius’s case trying to prevent the other team from doing the same. Weaving in close to Shield-Splitter as he readied himself for another attack, Ravius darted in close to the Gladiator right as the mauler swung its remaining bladed arm towards him. The result had the ogre abandoning his attack in favor of a sudden defensive parry, one that slammed into the Gladiator’s war cleaver with enough force that it caused a blood vessel to burst in his arm. The magic coursing through his body forcing it past its physical limits.

The result gave Sadira the opening at the mauler she needed, and she eagerly sprang forward, ready to deliver what she hoped was a telling strike. Yet as she readied her blade for an overhanded cleave, she felt it abruptly tugged to one side, spoiling her attack before it could even begin.

“And we have another foul to the Blue Team! Minus five points!” the announcer called out, struggling to be heard above the sudden cry of the crowd.

<About time they finally said something!> Karmal snarled through their link, her hot anger matching Sadira’s as she shook Blue Calamity’s whip free of her sword.

The damage had been done, the delay just enough for a surge of Thaom from Sapphire Lotus to fill the air and send a brightly glowing Shield-Splitter charging forward almost faster than she could follow. Filled with more magic than she thought possible for a body to hold, the massive ogre leaped forward with a screaming cleave as he brought his war cleaver downwards directly on top of the middle most of the mauler’s heads. Slicing through, the sword carved a path downwards, release a torrent of blood and embalming fluid as it sheared through armor, flesh, and bone, only coming to a stop when it reached the arena sands at its feet. The crowd, brought to life by the dramatic race to destroy the razorfist mauler, cheered enthusiastically as its body split in half, each side managing to stand on its own for a pair of heartbeats before crashing to the ground in a heap.

The Call to the Ancestors sounded out and ended the match.

Shit, we didn’t get it, Sadira cursed inwardly as she glanced over towards Gavin, her partner offering her a slight wince in reply. They had a slight edge in points before this round, but she knew the mauler was a high value creature, enough so that it could easily make up the difference that separated them, even with the penalties that they’d accumulated.

Not that we can do anything about that now, she thought as they all held their breaths, nothing left for them do but wait for the final tally.

<Please, please, please,> Ravius muttered as they waited, the skirmisher’s anxious words perfectly reflecting their thoughts.

“RED TWENTY-SEVEN POINTS, BLUE TWENTY-FIVE. RED WINS!” the announcer finally declared after what seemed like a lifetime of waiting. “GLADIATORS, SALUTE!”

Their shoulders falling the instant of their opponents’ victory, the Blue Team scowled as one as they turned to stare daggers at Sadira and the others as they all moved to line up. Sadira had a feeling that they all must have been acutely aware that their purposeful interference had cost them the match. Had they taken just one fewer penalty, then they would have won instead.

Or if they had just one more member to round out their team, Sadira thought, the closeness of the match despite their having entire an entire person as an advantage weighing heavily on her. We need to get better, much better, if we are to have a hope at matching them on even terms.

As if sensing her thoughts, she heard Blue Harmony whisper to her as they lined up for the crowd, raising their weapons upward. “Welcome to the Faction Leagues, honey,” the quickling smirked. “It’s only going to get harder from here on out.”

Chapter Twenty Six: Regina’s Gambit

1143/10/23 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis

“The Great Games are fixed; there are a thousand ways to make sure that the wrong Gladiator never makes it far enough to become a Chosen.” Oratho diKrass, Scornbound

“Gladiators are often seen as pawns in the politics of the Domains. The analogy is interesting, for like pawns in the game of chess, some Gladiators can become much greater if they make it far enough.” Chosen Mazurin

“I must say, your victory against the Blues was impressive,” Sulius said during their meeting with Gavin and the rest of the Gladiators. “Four rank-four Gladiators actually outmatch five rank threes, despite what the crowd might think. That you beat them at all was a remarkable feat.”

“I told you we could do it,” Sadira stated, this being easily the third or fourth time she’d reminded the man of such.

“So you did. And so did Camille and Druth, if I were to be fair and honest,” Sulius replied with a nod, his face going on to wince slightly as he continued speaking. “And again that reminds me that I owe you all an apology for threatening you with expulsion without at least seeing you all preform firsthand. As you’ve all seen now . . . the pressures of the Oasis are high. Extremely high. In any case, I let that color my thinking far too much.”

“And we accept that apology,” Karmal said in smug tone. “Provided that it doesn’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” Sulius assured, shaking his head. “Like I said before, we have had plenty of success in attracting top talent to Scorpion’s Oasis, but none who have been exceptionally willing to work with me or our other Gladiators. Most of them fixate on their own personal status and rankings, using this place as a stepping stone in their search for a team that actually has a chance of winning the faction laurels and then transferring there as soon as they are able.”

The portly man paused for a second to wave at all them. “You lot on the other hand have arrived completely meshed with one another, along with a burning desire to continue growing and training. It’s exactly what we haven’t been getting here, despite desperately needing it.”

“We’ll aim to continue proving ourselves with every match we take,” Vintia’s expression turned pensive. “But that reminds me of a question I had. Who was the woman that interrupted the match for a rules change? I take she was your Blue Team counterpart . . . but she had a particular presence about her. Even from the sands.”

“Ah, yes, that would be Regina diCouture,” Sulius answered with a sigh. One of his hands coming up to rub his face as he scowled. “You will learn to dread her appearances. She not only has a peerless command of the Faction League rules, but she has built up a team that can counter anything that I can field. Or at least she has until now. She is a master at understanding the strengths and weaknesses of each Gladiator in the league and how best to counter them.”

Sulius waved a hand again, this time directly at Gavin. “And as you no doubt saw during your battle, she has taught her people how to best skirt the grey areas of the rules. Such as that foul that nearly saw you split in twain by the mauler.”

“It was a close call,” Gavin admitted, recalling the exchange and how he had been forced to risk simply throwing the other Gladiator off of him in order to get free. As it stood, he was still relieved he hadn’t ended up getting penalized and costing them the match. “But their . . . trickery is what cost them the match in the end. Had they played the match cleanly, they might have had a chance.”

“They might have.” Sulius shrugged. “But that is not how the Blue Team thinks. Nor how they approach their matches. They want you to fear that you will be fouled at any point in time, either to earn a point off your reaction, or to make you hesitate during the battle.”

“That sounds rather . . . poisonous.” Sadira eyebrows drew down in disapproval as she spoke. “It would make any of her Gladiators ill-suited for another team elsewhere. No one would want to partner with such a teammate.”

“And that is partly how she ensures that none of her prospects leave,” Sulius stated. “Every move that she makes is suited for the betterment of her faction, not its Gladiators. And even if I wanted to, it’s not a skill I could ever hope to match. As it stands now, the only reason I have survived at this post is because no one else wants to face someone like her.”

“Then how can we help turn the tide?” Gavin asked.

“By continuing to win, for one.” Sulius snorted. “But truthfully, even that doesn’t quite matter. Your training regimen set a fine example for the rest of the Gladiators in our stable, and I’ve seen a fire building in some of them who are eager to follow on your heels. Going forward, I will make certain that you have everything that you need to succeed. Be it training opponents, instructors, what-have-you, you need but ask, and if it is in my power, I will deliver.”

“Then I’ll get you a list as soon as I can figure out what we need most,” Sadira replied, picking up on the implied meeting’s end and moving to stand. “After that last match, I have a better idea of where our shortcomings are, and I’m eager to see what we can do to address them.”

“And why does that sound like it’s going to be a lot of work?” Ravius asked with a mock groan as the rest of them followed in Sadira’s steps.

“Because it will be.” Vintia chuckled. “After all, don’t you know the punishment for doing a good job?”

“Of course I do,” Gavin heard the skirmisher reply as he gave the promoter a farewell wave and moved to depart with the rest of them. “That’s why I try to avoid doing it any chance I get. Because if I don’t . . .”

Ravius paused, his face turning into a scowl as if he was about to say something distasteful.

“Well, then they’ll expect excellence every time . . . and who really has time for that?”

<>

“Our final match for this season will be a single-team trial survival match with standard additions from Marius and Southshire.” Sadira’s eyes played over the group, her attention lingering on Gavin just a few seconds longer than anyone else. “Does anyone have any objections to that? I need to get these revisions to Sulius so he can deliver them to the arena master today. And remember, the Blues will be pushing to humble us after we beat them, so if there is anything that any of you are unclear on, speak now. We need to be at our absolute best if we are to have a chance.”

“Eh, well, if you put it that way, can you repeat what the rule additions mean?” Ravius asked more than a little sheepishly, the lithe Gladiator looking completely exhausted. “I’m sorry, I know I should know by now. But the Blues have started extending their training sessions later and later into the night, and I am starting to struggle to keep up.”

“It’s fine,” Sadira immediately replied. “It’s worth repeating as many times as it takes until we each know them by rote. For I assure you all, the Blue Team certainly will.”

Gavin saw her work hard to hide her frustrating at needing to go through a full explanation yet again. The last few days in particular had been stressful for everyone as they redoubled their training efforts and went about their assigned tasks.

There were a series of resigned nods from around their circle, Gavin included, as Sadira glanced around.

“Right, anyway.” Sadira launched into her explanation. “Marius’s additions double the loss of points for any team member unable to stand at the end of the match. This makes defense even more important than usual, since a twenty-point penalty almost guarantees a loss. Of course, that cuts both ways, for if any of the Blues fall during their match, the rule will make them pay a rather hefty penalty. Enough to almost guarantee a victory for us.”

“Ah, okay, I remember that one now,” Ravius agreed, his head bobbing up and down in approval. “I haven’t seen that many defenders in their stable at all, and those that I have seen can’t hold a candle to either Vintia or Gavin.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, little brother,” Vintia immediately purred in response. “It’s about time Gavin and I had a chance to shine.”

“Well, shine you will have to, little sister.” Sadira steered the conversation back on track. “Because the Southshire rules add the provision for bonus points for monster kills with a maximum equal to our survival score. This rule addition forces all of us to be as aggressive as possible throughout the match so that we can earn the maximum amount of bonus points. It’s my hope that with the Blues’ weaker defenders, they will overextend themselves and one of them will fall in their round, earning ourselves an easier chance at victory.”

“We will just have to see then,” Vinita replied, her tone eager as she spoke. “But what about that other rule we were talking about? The one that doubled the number of monster waves we’d have to deal with at a time?”

“It was rejected,” Gavin answered, remembering his disappointment when the reply had come. “The same with our requested terrain changes.”

“Ugh, how boring,” Vinita grunted as she leaned back in her seat.

“I’ll take boring if it means we won’t have to deal with them cheating again,” Karmal interjected. “After all, they agreed to making the match a single-team trial. As it was, those bastards nearly cost us the last match with their cheap tricks, and I’ve had plenty dreams since about getting my hands on Steel Harmony.”

“You’re not the only one, Karmal,” Sadira agreed, the red-haired woman’s comments earning a rare a half-smile from her. “On that last note however, be sure to keep in mind that as the challenging team, we will have to go first. That will allow the Blues to see our score and compete against it.”

“So we’ll need to show them up right from the get go,” Ravius chimed in, a broad grin on his otherwise tired face. “I think I like that. We’ll have them staring upwards at an impossible climb. Hopefully it’ll demoralize them.”

“Hopefully.” Sadira nodded. “Anyway, that is about all I had for our day today, aside from the reminder that we also need to submit our arena names, should you want to use one. I will be taking on the name ‘Red Scorpion’ for myself.”

“Eh, hasn’t that one been taken?” Karmal asked, her eyebrow arching upwards.

“It is, but what can I say? I’m a fan of the classics,” Sadira replied with a grin. “That and I am also eager to add on to its legend. So long as no one in the region objects to the name when I register it, at least.”

“I’ve already thought about mine.” Gavin pointed at the lion emblazoned on his breastplate and shield. “I’ll be going with Lionfang. I know there is the cliché name of Lionheart, but it sounded a little off for a Gladiator. Or at least for me.”

“I think it suits you.” Vintia glanced over towards Gavin in thought. “What do you all think of Stronghold for a name?”

There was a brief pause as she glanced around their circle for a reaction, the lack of one prompting her to frown slightly. “Ugh, that bad is it?”

“Eh, it’s not exactly bad, just lackluster, little sister,” Ravius said in a gentle tone. “I feel that it does not bring your better qualities to mind like a good arena name should. Afterall, this is the epithet people will remember you by. And while Stronghold does invoke an image that is tenacious, I don’t think that it sufficiently captures all else that there is about you.”

“Mmm, do you remember what I said about flattery? Don’t stop now,” Vintia replied with a smile, her cheeks blushing at the barrage of compliments. A blush that Gavin noticed Karmal immediately raise an eyebrow to, leading him to wonder if she was perhaps a tad jealous or maybe disagreed with the skirmisher’s sentiments.

“How about Brightshield?” Gavin went onto suggest, deciding to speak up before the red-haired woman could make up her mind and potentially derail their conversation.

“Oh, I like that one.” Vintia eyes brightened at the suggestion, no doubt imagining the crowd shouting it for her. “I’ll have to think about it some more, but I’ll certainly keep it in mind.”

“Well, if it helps, I really like it. I think it suits you well.”  Sadira smiled. “And how about you, Karmal? Any thoughts to a name?”

“If classic names are allowed, then I am thinking I will follow your lead and go with Crimson Dragon,” the red-haired woman answered. “It’s fiery and tough just like me. I can think of nothing better I’d want.”

“Then I hope you can get it.” Sadira gave an approving nod, her gaze then turning towards the last member of their group. “And that leaves one more.”

“Oh, here we go,” Vintia muttered. “I’m not certain my ears are ready for this.”

“Or perhaps they are?” Ravius countered, already smiling broadly in anticipation, clearing enjoying the attention everyone was giving him. “From here on forth, I shall be forever known as Ravaging Rude Ravius!”

“Hah, that’s a good one,” Gavin said as a chuckle rose up throughout the group. “But really, what are you going to choose?”

“I just told you,” the skirmisher replied, the smile on his face only growing wider.

There was a long pause as everyone absorbed his words, the mirth that had just filled the air turning to dreadful realization.

“Wait . . .” Vinita was the first of them to recover as the rest continued to stare onwards in shock. “. . . you were being serious?”

<>

Ten days later, the group found themselves taking the field to an apathetic crowd, their entrance barely earning an acknowledgement.

“Well, isn’t that just encouraging,” Ravius said as they all strode forward together, their emotions wound up tight as they often were before a match. “I’ve seen better reactions from . . . well, from well, anywhere.”

“Then I suppose we only have one direction to push them in,” Gavin replied as he took glanced around the stands to find the audience rather bored in spite of their arrival, though he supposed he couldn’t quite blame them. The Blues had already clinched the season’s victory in Scorpion’s Oasis long before he and the others had even arrived, let alone had a chance to fight. That left for little meaning to this match when it came to the overall standings and, as a result, made it lack the drama and excitement that the fans desired.

“Welcome, everyone, to the arena on this fine day!” the announcer called out as they strode across the field, barely needing to raise his voice to be heard. “Today, we are here to experience the last of our faction challenges for the season where our resurging Red Team has challenged our gallant Blues to a survival match, where they will each need to withstand waves of monsters until the time limit is reached. The more creatures that they slay during this time, the greater their tally will be at the end of the match.

“And now without any further delays,” the announcer continued, his long explanation earning little more than a cursory rumble from the crowd. “We will begin with the challenging team, the Reds, first! Good luck, Gladiators!”

And with that, the bright, brass Call to Battle promptly sounded out, signaling the match’s start.

Here we go, Gavin thought, his heart already racing in anticipation as he turned towards a set of doors that opened from across the fighting grounds, allowing for a dozen clockwork soldiers to spill forth.

Practically identical to the ones that they’d fought in their last match, the mechanical warriors wasted no time in sprinting forward in unison, their polished brass armor gleaming in the bright sun. The only difference to this particular batch of automatons that he noticed was their armament; the dual blades they’d been equipped with earlier had been replaced with a single heavier sword and a large, spiked round shield.

“Form up!” Gavin called out as both he and Vintia moved to take positions on opposite sides of their group, each of their respective shields held high at the ready.

Well drilled at the command, it only took a second for everyone to fall into their assigned spots with Sadira falling in beside him on his right and Ravius doing the same on Vintia’s left. It was a formation that left Karmal protected a step behind at their center, the woman already unleashing a bright stream of lightning that lashed out to strike one of the oncoming clockwork soldiers, leaving it a smoldering and sparking ruin.

And also earning a resounding cheer from the surrounding crowd, the flashy magic immediately catching their attention.

Yet despite losing one of their number, the brass men showed no reaction as they continued their charge forward en masse, arriving on top of the Gladiators just as their companion fell to the sands. Letting out a loud shout as he surged forward to meet them, Gavin swung his shield in a wide arc before him, slamming his lion-headed bulwark into three of the mechanical warriors. Reeling backwards on their heels as their assault was stopped cold, Sadira wasted no time in darting past Gavin as he drew his shield back, her sword Bellasdoom claiming one of the clockwork men’s heads faster than he could follow.

“Now there’s the fire that we deserve!” she exclaimed with a shout, the crowd roaring with excitement as they reacted to the sudden decapitation with glee. “We will make them stand for us before this match is over yet!”

With only enough time to reply with a grunt, Gavin found himself moving to defend both himself and Sadira against a barrage of attacks as the automatons quickly renewed their assault. Thrusting his barbed spear forward, he hooked one of their arms to stop a shield slam before it could even begin, while simultaneously moving to catching a thrust that would have found Sadira’s open side. A slight step forward followed by a twist sent a third slash bouncing harmlessly off the armor protecting his thigh, the movement perfectly positioning him for a brutal thrust that sent his spear blade deep into the gears of the offending automaton. Wrenching his weapon violently, he promptly pulled it free to release a spray of oil that the thirsty sands quickly drank, a sharp kick sending the now-seizing automaton flat onto its back.

“Close ranks!” He heard Vinita call out as he suddenly sensed a surge of Thaom fill the air, his body already moving to react before his conscious mind even finished processing the command.

A good thing considering the second surge of lightning that quickly flashed through the remaining brass soldiers, arcing from one to the other in a chain until all those still standing were consumed by electricity. Lasting for nearly a three count before it finally came to an end, the magic sent the clockwork soldiers to the sands, their bodies twitching and smoking from its power.

“Not a bad show for an opening round!” Gavin heard Ravius call out as they found themselves with a momentary respite, the skirmisher rushing forward to recover his net, having thrown it at some point in the battle Gavin had missed. As he did however, a blaring horn sounded out, already signaling the next wave.

“Ah, they’re definitely not wasting any time with us today,” Ravius mused as they all turned towards the next set of opening doors which revealed yet another wave of clockwork soldiers, though again with a different set of armaments.

One that Gavin instantly recognized.

“Spike throwers!” he shouted as his eyes fixated on one of the strange devices that now sat on the arms of the clockworks. Arms that were already pointed in their direction. “Take cover and close!”

Raising his shield as he spoke, he just barely managed to get it in position before he felt a barrage of metal connect with its face, each impact shooting up his arm and shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he surged forward in a sprint towards their new attackers, catching a glimpse of Sadira as she fell in behind him.

“Don’t stop until we are in the thrust of them!” she bellowed as they ran, the two of them rapidly devouring the distance that separated them and the new wave of attackers.

They were not alone in their efforts, a well-aimed fireball streaming past them to land amongst the mechanical ranks.

Detonating with a loud clap, the fire did little to damage the clockworks, their metal bodies particularly resilient to the searing heat. What it did do, however, was disrupt them and their efforts, the explosive force accompanying the blast not only throwing them off balance but also throwing up a cloud of sand and ash that spoiled their aim.

That extra advantage was all that Gavin and Sadira needed to finish their charge, the pair arriving at full sprint as they crashed into the mechanical warriors.

Leading the way half a step ahead of Sadira, Gavin used his momentum to knock a pair of shield-and-sword-kitted clockworks flat onto their backs, the brass men landing awkwardly with the sound of metal grinding on metal. That left a huge opening for Sadira to plunge through; the woman ducked and wove between both a spike fired at point-blank range and a defensive spray of steam before cleaving her sword through the shoulder of an automaton. Rewarded with an instant spray of oil and metal, she kicked the brass soldier away and into one of its companions, hitting it just in time to spoil its aim and send a six-inch-long spike flying harmlessly upwards into the air instead of at Gavin.

“Thanks!” he called out to Sadira as he deflected a chopping sword strike off his shield and promptly buried his spear into offending automaton’s stomach, once again to be rewarded by  the screaming of gears.

Yet that brief attack, even as successful as it was, did nothing to stop a new automaton from appearing on his now open side and slashing its sword across his unprotected skin, drawing open a line of blood.

Letting out a growl, Gavin immediately tore his weapon free and retaliated for the affront, or at least tried to, the sudden presence of three more of the constructs on either side of him forcing him to abandon the attack halfway in favor of defending himself. Desperately parrying, blocking, or dodging the avalanche of blows that fell upon him in the seconds afterwards, he felt glad to only escape from the exchange with a handful of minor injuries. Nor was he the only one hard pressed as the clockwork warriors threw the full weight of their numbers at them. Sadira retreated to Gavin’s side with a nasty cut across her midsection.

<Vintia, we could use a bit of help here!> Gavin heard Sadira call through their link as she rapidly wove a healing spell between the two of them, her druidic magic working to seal the worst of the injuries they’d suffered.

<We’re coming!> came the woman’s reply, her mental voice sounding labored as if she were intently focused on something else. <Bide and survive a moment longer!>

<We’ll try! But we don’t have too many moments left to us here!> Gavin replied as he began to hear the audience take notice of his and Sadira’s situation and begin jeering at them.

It was something that Sulius had specifically warned them about going into the match, for with this being the end of the season, a season with a guaranteed Blue victory, the stands would be packed with Blue supporters.

Supporters who very much wanted to see the Red Team fall and fail.

So it was with a titanic resolve to defy their wishes that Gavin fought onwards, defending both himself and Sadira as they slowly gave ground to the tidal wave of clockwork soldiers pressing down on them, lest they find themselves encircled.

It was a situation that lasted forever from Gavin’s perspective, ending only when a bright flash of white light erupted before him, accompanied closely behind by a rush of acrid air.

Letting out a surprised shout at the display, Gavin felt his air stand on end as a torrent of electricity arced through the wall of constructs before him, causing a half dozen of them to fall to the ground in a heap.

“We’re here!” Vinita shouted a second later, the small defender arriving at full sprint with Ravius and Karmal on either side of her.

Charging into the fray, the trio used their momentum to carve through the few stunned clockworks that hadn’t fallen, sending them to join their fallen companions. In a blink, Gavin felt the pressure upon him ease as the clockworks reacted to his companion’s arrival, half of the six pressing against him turning to face the oncoming Gladiators. A number which quickly proved to be wholly insufficient as Karmal’s war cleaver sheared straight through one of them and Ravius’s well-aimed net ensnared the other two, sending them both to the ground in a tangle.

That left just three for Vintia to easily handle herself, the smaller defender promptly knocking the group backwards with a powerful swing of her tower shield and into the backs of those fighting Gavin and Sadira. The move was enough to instantly turn the tide of the battle, allowing both of them to switch to the offensive, each of their respective weapons claiming one of the brass soldiers and sending them falling to the ground.

The crowd immediately began to cheer at the reversal, sending a wave of excitement through Gavin and giving him the energy to surge forward and trip a brass man with his spear. He quickly followed up the attack with a shield bash that foiled another clockwork’s attack before it could begin to swing.

It was the point of the battle that he loved the most, the moment in time where every step that he could possibly take was fraught with danger. Be it a chance to trip over one of the broken mechanical bodies at his feet, or missing a timely block that would save either him or one of his companions, or exploiting a sudden opportunity that arise out of the chaos of the fight. It was the struggle, the moment in time where he tested his strength and skill against his rival to see if he was good was enough that always fired Gavin’s blood.

Even if he didn’t particularly enjoy the slaughter that often accompanied it.

So it was then with complete surprise when he found his exulting reverie shattered by the sound of blaring trumpets sounding in the air, their fanfare signaling the end of the fight. Reacting immediately, the remaining clockwork soldiers promptly froze at the sound, their whirring gears suddenly going quiet.

“Rah, and that’s that,” Ravius said between gulps of air, the skirmisher’s voice sounding completely exhausted. “Sounds like they all liked it, though.”

“So it does,” Gavin replied a second later, for the first time becoming aware of the cheers that rained down upon them. It wasn’t quite as loud as what they’d become accustomed before joining the Faction Games, but it was a spectacular improvement over the tepid reception they’d received at the beginning of the match.

“Match by match,” Sadira said as they all raised their weapons to the crowd in salute. “We will win them all over to our side match by match.”

“Damn right, we will!” Karmal agreed loudly, their attention shifting towards the announcer as he bounded into view on the arena’s edge, his magically enhanced voice carrying over the roar of the crowd.

“And that’s the end of our match! And what a great one at that too!” the announcer shouted theatrically, the audience signaling their agreement with another cheer. “According to our arena master, the Red Team has earned seventy-five points for surviving the round and another seventy for their kills! That leaves a mighty mountain of one-hundred and forty-five points for our Blue Team to overcome if they are to . . .”

Trailing off mid-speech, the announcer abruptly turned as a woman appeared at his side, her bright silver hair and regal blue dress instantly identifying her to Gavin’s eye. So it was then with growing trepidation that he saw Regina diCouture whisper into the announcer’s ear, prompting him to slowly nod as a frown crept across his face.

“Ah, well. I am sorry, everyone, but there has been a change in plans!” he called out a few moments later. “I have just been informed that the Blue Team has forfeited this match, leaving the challenge to go to the Red Team uncontested! Congratulations to the new team for a battle well fought! But that is not the end of our day, however! Instead of their match, the Blue will instead end the day with a slaughter match for the crowd’s pleasure!”

The crowd clapped politely as the five fighters left the arena, but a few minutes from their arming room they could hear them cheer the Blues with real gusto as the fighting commenced again.

Karmal grunted and slammed her fist against the wall.

“What a cheap trick.” Sadira was pacing.

Gavin understood why they were fuming. By declining to compete with them for points, the Blues had robbed them of a chance for real victory while seeming gallant in the eyes of the fans.

While their win would be added to those of the Red Faction for this season, they could not claim to have beaten a Blue Team in a challenge.

“It was a poor welcome to be sure.” Ravius sighed. “But it does give us some idea of what we can expect from her.”

“Theatrics won’t save her from me on the fighting grounds,” Sadira growled.

Chapter Twenty Seven: New Seasons

1144/02/08 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis, Faction Score:  Reds, 0 points; Blues, 0 points

“If you know your enemy’s plan, then you have already defeated them.” Commonly attributed to Chosen Marius, who claims he is paraphrasing a more ancient source.

“If you cut the head off a creature, it will die quickly, and the crowd will cheer you once. If you cut off a limb, it will linger but die just as surely, and the crowd will cheer much longer.” Arena Proverb

“The principle is the same, whether you are striking with one or two hands,” Master Cuthlan intoned. “Begin in a ready stance and gather some Thaom. Like most Thaomic fighting techniques, you will only a require a touch of power to start and a jolt of it as you strike.”

Gavin did as Master Cuthlan instructed, moving smoothly into a stance with one foot forward and the other two steps behind, carrying more weight. He held his shield up before his body and grasped his spear underhanded, holding it perpendicular to the ground at his waist. The Seeking Spear school shifted grip frequently in its techniques, and so a stance that could flow into an attack or defense position was preferable.

“We’ve practiced this on training automatons, and while these boulders are easier to hit, they will be far harder to move,” continued the master, checking the stances of each of the five students in Ludo. “Good, Gavin. My only suggestion is that you don’t put more than two-thirds of your weight on your back leg, so you can shift forward more easily.”

“Avey, Master Cuthlan!” Gavin answered, following the instructions immediately.

As the master examined the last two students, offering suggestions, Gavin’s mind drifted to Sadira and Scorpion’s Oasis. Although he was training in Camp Valorous, he would be returning to south afterward. The new season of the Faction Leagues would be starting soon, and they would be together. Hopefully, that bastard Valaran has stopped stalking her.

“Ready?” the master queried in an authoritative tone, the words snapping Gavin back to the task at hand.

“Ready!” he affirmed along with the other students.

“Then, strike!”

Gavin touched Thaom as he lunged, transferring the power down his arm rather than through a spell weave. As his spearhead hit the boulder, a secondary pulse of Thaom flowed through him and into the impact. All around him, he could feel the other students doing the same. He felt resistance as he struck, but his spear did not stop dead, and the boulder rolled away as he extended fully.

“Well done, Gavin,” Master Cuthlan said as he walked past. “Keep going until you have rolled the boulder across the practice ground and back. It should take you no more than twelve hits.”

“Avey, master.” Gavin smiled back. He found this technique quite to his liking.

“Idacriss, our goal is not to whittle the boulder with our spear,” He heard the master call out as he moved along their line.

Gavin put his worries aside and set his mind to the task, enjoying the simple process of mastering a technique.

<>

“I’m sorry, Cleo, I don’t really pay attention to that sort of thing.” Gavin smiled. “What were you saying about Ravius?”

“It would surprise me if he had managed to seduce Karmal.” She said in a knowing tone. “Even though Ravius can be hard to resist.”

Gavin’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to ask the obvious question but quickly shut it. Omodo, who had met with them in Camp Valorous every day since they arrived, laughed.  Gavin could not help but reciprocate. It was good to see his friend again.

“I’m glad you came all the way back here to share your gossip, Cleo,” Omodo boomed with a continuing chuckle.

“Why are you so interested in who is bedding who, Grey-Robe?” Gavin asked.

“Not everyone has the perfect partner, Gavin,” Cleothera said while rolling her eyes. “Besides, you know as well as I do that arena fans love gossiping about which Gladiators are together almost as much as the fighting.”

“Fair enough.” Gavin shrugged.

“Why would Ravius have trouble with Karmal?” Omodo asked.

“She does not usually like men,” Cleothera replied simply. “Although I suppose she might still flirt with him to annoy Vintia. We’ve talked about him. I get the feeling she doesn’t see him that way.”

Gavin shook his head. The things he didn’t know about his own friends. He did not keep close tabs on their romantic entanglements, having no wish to pry. He remembered now that Sadira had mentioned she and Karmal had been “very close” in training, and he realized what his beloved had been trying to communicate. He laughed, shaking his head. Cleothera and Omodo looked at him, puzzled.

“I can be a little dense sometimes,” Gavin said. “I have such a good relationship with Sadira that I sometimes forget other people haven’t settled.”

“Don’t worry, Gavin,” Cleothera responded, touching his arm. “I forgave you for that a long time ago. Your indifference to basic social cues is part of your charm, I think.”

Omodo’s laughter filled the tavern for a second time and Gavin could not help but join in again, clanging glasses with the big Armodon. Cleothera went on, cheerily relating some of the “gossip” that she had learned in her work as an officer of the Deliberative. Although Gavin learned more than he ever cared to know about the lives of the Chosen, he was genuinely interested in hearing about the politics of the Popular Assembly and Council of the Chosen.

What really caught his attention were the rumors circling Valaran diVolcanus, the rising star of the Blue Faction, and self-appointed rival for Sadira’s affections. The giant, golden-armored warrior’s streak of Deathmatch victories had continued, including a spectacular win over a skilled Gladiator two full ranks above him in the notorious Killer’s Circle. Valaran had thus far avoided the Faction Games, where Deathmatches were rare and seen as a last resort. The man’s gleeful, violent executions were the talk of some of the worst fans of the Great Games, heralding a return to the bloodier days of arena conflict.

“Actually, talk among the other greys is that our superiors are quite worried about Valaran. None of the man’s opponents have survived against him.” Cleothera’s voice was low, a conspiratorial whisper now. “The arena crowds always give the thumbs down to his victims, even when he fights popular Gladiators who face him with great courage. It is actually quite rare for the crowd not to spare a local favorite who fights well these days; even in the Killer’s Circle, they show mercy with reasonable frequency. I’ve heard all kinds of rumors about him, including that he has subverted a few Grey-Robes, which is wild!”

“Can you imagine?” Gavin shook his head. A conspiracy that infiltrated the Deliberative was almost beyond imagining, hearkening back to the days of civil war centuries past.

“Is it true that no one wants to fight him now?” Omodo’s broad brow furrowed.

“Yes, even in the Killer’s Circle,” Cleothera answered. Gavin had never seen her look so serious. “He wanders from arena to arena now, going to the few places where they do random draw Deathmatches between Gladiators. He tries to arrive in secret so no one has time to back out.”

“They still do that?” Gavin interrupted in an incredulous tone. A random draw Deathmatch pitted a Gladiator against an opponent in a brutal fight to the death, with neither fighter knowing who they would face beforehand. He had thought they were a relic of the past. “I thought even Volcanus outlawed random draw Deathmatches.”

“They do in the Trapholds and some of the border Domains.” Cleothera replied with a shrug. “It is still a still really popular with a certain crowd. Truth be told, Volcanus only outlawed them as part of a settlement forced on Chosen Moltar. Even the toughest of the hardcore Deathmatch enthusiasts back off after Valaran appears on the scene though, so he usually gets in one fight and then moves on. The Greys want to investigate him, but we don’t have any official grounds for doing so. I stole a quick look at his file, and we don’t really actually even know very much about him, except that Chosen Moltar has claimed him as kin. Valaran is causing chaos in the Deliberative.”

“Why?” Gavin queried.

Cleothera shrugged yet again at the question. “Even if my superiors told me, which they haven’t, I couldn’t tell you. All I know for certain is that when Chosen Moltar throws his weight behind a Gladiator, many people really get nervous. Enough about him, though. Gavin, you must tell me what Sadira is doing with her hair these days. I miss seeing her every day.”

Gavin rolled his eyes, but in truth he was happy to change subjects as well. Valaran had sent a constant stream of gifts and missives to Sadira since seeing her fight in Camp Valorous, professing his undying admiration for her. Much as Gavin did not like to admit it, Valaran got under his skin. In more ways than one, since he still had nightmares about their confrontation on the Campus Martius training grounds.

“And tell me all about what the girls are wearing. You have no idea how important style is, and how an up-and-coming Gladiatrix like Sadira can inform cutting edge fashions.” Cleothera leaned in, her bright eyes serious and eager. “I’d like to be on the cutting edge of style when people start noticing her and following suit. I already have a stunning set of obsidian scorpion earrings.”

“I thought the Chosen informed fashion?” he asked.

“Silly man, of course the Chosen make fashion.” Cleothera sighed dramatically. “But most of the time, they wear the same things they always wear. The Chosen are old and immutable. Even Chosen Brightloch took the laurels two decades before any of us were born. Any time a popular Chosen like Giselle changes her wardrobe, it sets fashion trends for years, but that does not happen very often, so we have to rely on beautiful up-and-comers to create interim trends, and we both know that Sadira is turning heads already.”

“Scorpions, black and red,” Gavin noted dryly. “She has been trying out new hairstyles but I can’t say what she is going to choose.”

“Then you’re useless to me.” Cleothera declared theatrically as she threw up her hands.

Omodo laughed at the exchange. “I missed you both. It is too bad that you are headed back to the Oasis so soon, but I’m glad we could see each other again.

“Perhaps you can visit some time,” Cleothera said. “I would take you. I know the route quite well at this point.”

Gavin raised his glass. “To good friends!”

<>

“No, no, NO! Leap. Slide. Twirl. Leap. Slide. HOP. Twirl!” The voice of Sadira’s battle-dance trainer, the brooding and handsome Tiber Nof’Sala, snapped at her like a whip. “Am I wasting my time here, Gladiatrix? Is this the best you can do?”

Sadira held her temper. She was the only person in the vast marble ballroom other than her trainer. Tiber was temperamental and passionate, often exploding with rage when she failed to perform the complex steps of the rhythmic combat techniques that he was teaching her. On the first day of training, she had drawn her weapons on him when he called her “an ungainly, top-heavy, milk cow with all the grace of an overweight sand-runner.” He had merely laughed as her swords sang into the air, embarrassing her by asking if she was that easy to anger in the ring. He had been a noted skirmisher in his arena days.

He had to be a skirmisher, she thought. It would be like trying to learn something from Ravius . . .

She had, however, learned that Tiber was equally eloquent in his praise, lavishing her with poetic descriptions of her grace and skill when she performed the complex steps of the dances well. She enjoyed earning his grudging good words, and she was not oblivious to his considerable physical charms either. It made for an interesting learning experience.

“Again, AGAIN!” Tiber commanded.

Concentrating, Sadira flowed into the movements of the Panther’s Hunt war dance. Unlike the techniques of other schools, which focused on mastering weapons or certain kinds of spells, the war dance schools forced their adherent to rethink their very approach to movement. Panther’s Hunt required her to bound and pounce like a great hunting cat; the very concept seemed ridiculous, until one saw it in action. Sadira’s stride lengthened as she bounded around the room. After a few moments, she bounded and then pounced at one of the training automatons, landing on its chest and bounding into the next. On the third, however, she skidded into a roll.

“No, no, no,” Tiber grumbled. Unlike Sadira, his Thaom was unleashed. He was one of Chosen Giselle’s Lifebound bodyguards. “Like this.”

Sadira watched as Tiber flowed into the movements, bounding and leaping like a cat at play. When he attacked, the movement began so subtly that she did not realize he was pouncing instead of bounding. He pounced from automaton to automaton, knocking the brass men all to the ground in a single series of motions.

As she watched him, Sadira felt herself growing heated. Tiber was handsome and graceful, and his presence was a reminder that she had not seen Gavin for some time. She didn’t feel too guilty; it did not hurt to admire the man’s beauty, even if it was kind of distracting.

“That was amazing, Master Tiber.” She said with loud sigh as he stopped.

“Then imagine how it would have been if I were using weapons.” He grinned as he bowed theatrically. “You must be able to flow into this dance and weave it together with the others to master this school. It is good that you started training early. You have much work to do. Now do it with those blades of yours and try not to embarrass me.”

Ignoring Tiber, she launched herself into the dance again. Each movement required a combination of balance, graceful footwork, proper breathing, and above all, the right movements for the situation she faced. It was much harder than just dancing with a blade in her hand; her weapons had to be part of the dance, and each step had to flow into the next step without missing a beat.

This time she fell into a kind of rhythm. She felt it as she bounded from side to side and when she moved into a pounce step it felt natural. She hit the first automaton, cutting it down, bounded off its chest onto the next as it fell, cut that one down, bounded, pounced, and cut down the third and then the fourth. On the fifth, she flowed into a different dance, flipping and over it and cleaving through its shoulders with a pincer motion.

Now, Tiber clapped his hands. “Bravo! You did that so beautifully. I have met few women who could perform Panther’s Hunt half as well with as little training as you. Flowing into Scorpion’s Gambit for the fifth was a good choice. War-dance is more artful than most schools, and we must let the rhythm of battle guide our steps instead of resisting it. You almost make me wish I was back in the arena, my dear. Our dance would be legendary.” His tone was mock-sad, but Sadira thought she detected an invitation in his tone.

A brief image of her pushing him to the floor flitted through Sadira’s mind, but she pushed it away. She loved Gavin, and Tiber was the Lifebound of Chosen Giselle herself! That he had deigned to teach her at all was an incredible honor.

Covering her embarrassment, she bowed. “Thank you, Master Tiber. Now tell me about Razorwing’s Flight . . .”

<>

Handsome, arrogant Tiber Nof’Sala watched Sadira leave, unabashedly enjoying her grace and beauty. He wondered idly if a lion admired a lioness in the same way.

“I am surprised she has resisted you so far, Tiber!” A woman’s voice came from behind him, he did not turn. There was an undercurrent of power, unfathomably strong, in the silken sound. “I know I would have given in . . .”

Chosen Giselle, oft called the Silken Scorpion from her days as a Gladiatrix, stepped out of a cunningly screened alcove and moved into the marble ballroom to stand behind him. He could feel her presence, full of Thaom like the bright beams of the sun shining on him. He found it difficult not to turn immediately; the Chosen was simply impossible to ignore.

“As I said before, Chosen, she is in love, and her will is very strong. She will not give in to pure physical lust, no matter how tempting the bait.” He shrugged, about to turn, but the Chosen clasped her hands around his waist and leaned her head on his back. Her physical body seemed too small to contain the force of the presence that he felt. It always shocked him that she was actually a head shorter than he was.

“It is a small matter. Sadira would be better served facing the challenges that lie before her without the encumbrance of love. Life in the arena will likely strip her of this without our interference, I suppose. It would have been cleaner this way, though.”

He felt her hands sliding up his sides.

“Don’t worry though, I am pleased with your service, Tiber.” He felt her breath on the back of his neck. A hand both delicate and strong caressed his bicep. Desire surged through him, overwhelming.

The Chosen laughed. “And now since the faithful Sadira has rejected your considerable charms, my Lifebound, I will make sure they do not go to waste.”

“Let us dance again, my Chosen.” He turned to her.

And they did.

<>

As the winners of the last season, the Blues were allowed to make the first challenges of the new season, setting the terms of the match against the Reds. Their very first challenge was issued specifically for Sadira and her team.

“I’m so happy!” she exclaimed after she read the challenge to the team.

“Uh—maybe we should think about this?” Vintia warned.

Team-specific challenges were uncommon, and Sadira was thrilled to have the attention of her enemies already. She took it both as a great sign of respect but also as her rightful due. She intended to make her mark in Scorpion’s Oasis this season, gaining the attention of the Chosen and earning a promotion to a bigger arena, hopefully Brightsand Halls.

The rules of the challenge were quite simple. Both teams would take to the fighting grounds at the same time and compete to slay the same monster for points. Tripping and shoving were allowed—in fact, each time a Gladiator fell or hit the ground, the other team would gain points. Other, deadlier forms of contact with the other team, including magic and weapon strikes were still prohibited and fully penalized.

“I know it’s a trap,” Sadira acknowledged as she discussed the match with her teammates, “But I can’t let this go. I want to show the world what we can do this season, and I’m not going to back down from a challenge. If we win this, we will demoralize them right away.”

“I agree, little sister.” Ravius nodded along. “This match is obviously meant to bait us—just look at the rules. They’ll be all over you like ants on honey, trying to trip you up. But if we know how they plan to play, we might be able to turn this against them.”

“Well, we know they want to bring Sadira down.” Gavin paused, lost in thought, turning to Sadira. “What if we use you as a distraction?”

“I can be our primary offense if they concentrate on Sadira.” Karmal said, clearly relishing the idea of being center stage. “If they stay off me, I can bring out the big magic.”

“And I can run interference and try to trip up the people who go after Sadira or Karmal, in turn,” Ravius added.

“Do I get any say in this?” Sadira queried with a glance at the group. “You people seem to really like the idea of dangling me in front of the Blues as bait.”

“You must admit it is a good plan.” Gavin nudged her. “You are very tempting, after all.”

“I know, I know, I’ll do it.” She grinned at him. “But only because you have all put up with my training sessions without complaint.”

“You know, this plan is growing on me.” Vintia’s voice was pitched high with excitement. “We will use their own tactics against them. If we know who their main attackers are, we can shut them down in return, it will be easy to get our shields between them and the monster if half of them are chasing Sadira.”

Sadira laughed. “I’m glad you’re all excited. This is a team match, and I am only a single part of the team, after all. We know they will try to humiliate me and take me out of the fight, yes? So while they waste their efforts on me, the rest of you can buy us a victory by turning the tables on them. They think the four of you aren’t worth any consideration—let’s show them otherwise. I’ll be the best distraction they’ve ever seen.”

“Bloody Reckoning, YES!” Karmal bellowed, a vicious smile on her face. Sadira knew that Karmal would love the chance to be their main offense.

They sent word to Sulius, asking him to accept the challenge on their behalf, and he did so with an air of resignation.

After all, the Blues always won the first challenge.

<>

The Red Team, as the less popular faction, took the field first. With it being a fresh season, the normally indifferent patrons of the Scorpion’s Oasis arena were more attentive. They took stock of the newcomers, eyeing them curiously while those who had already seen them fight last season provided insight to any who would listen. Gavin, Sadira, Ravius, Karmal, and Vintia drew their weapons in vigorous salutes as they were announced. A smattering of polite applause came from the crowds.

While Ravius carried his normal armament, a net, trident, and buckler this match, more astute observers of the Great Games would note that his net carried no barbs or hooks this match, allowing it to be used to snare and hinder other Gladiators without technically being considered a weapon strike.

The Blue Team consisted of the huge ogre Shield-Splitter; the swift quickling Steel Harmony; beautiful, silent Sapphire Lotus; the black-masked Blue Calamity with his whip and spear; and an unfamiliar Gladiator named Blue Hornet, a light-armored fighter; armed with two gauntlets sprouting eighteen-inch, needle-like, sharp-edged spikes; and wearing a yellow, spiked buckler mounted over each for extra defense. He wore a partial helm, a rarity for light Gladiators, adorned with sparkling blue eye covers designed to look like the compound eyes of an insect. He was taller than Gavin, nearing seven feet, but cadaverously thin.

“I hear he’s good,” Ravius stage-whispered.

“I hope he likes the taste of sand,” Karmal snarled back.

The trumpets sounded the Call to Battle, and a large gate yawned open. The ground shook as their target lumbered into the arena. It was a single towering metal colossus, all brass limbs, steel plates, sharp spikes, and whirring gears.

A clockwork siege golem.

Slightly smaller than a real giant, the metal monstrosity belched steam and fouled the air with plumes of black smoke as it strode into the arena. Its massive arms ended in vicious-looking round saws, with whirring blades the size of wagon wheels. The audience cooed in awe of this shining monster of industry as the Gladiators sprang forward to attack, each team seeking to take it down before their opponents did.

<Watch them!> Vintia warned.

Sadira charged toward the creature, keeping an eye on the fast-moving form of Steel Harmony and the whirling whip of Blue Calamity as the two Blues moved to intercept her. Ravius trailed her silently, trying not to draw attention to himself. Sadira let them think she was reckless and eager for the kill, seeming to pay little heed to their movements, letting out a piercing war scream as she charged at the siege golem. Steel Harmony ran in with limb-blurring speed, attempting to blindside her.

Blue Calamity stopped, shouting a warning to his quickling teammate, but it was too late. As Steel Harmony dropped her shoulder to ram Sadira’s legs, her target suddenly shifted and dropped, sticking her leg out. The quickling’s own incredible speed worked against her, making it impossible for her to shift in response. Sadira’s foot hooked the little Blue’s boot, sending Steel Harmony flying through the air and sending up a spray of sand as she crashed down, rolling.

“Blue Fall! Three points are awarded to the Red Team!” the announcer shouted.

Sadira grinned viciously at her fallen foe, reveling in the petty triumph and further antagonizing the quickling.

“How does the sand taste? Like defeat I hope,” she taunted with a savage grin before turning back to the fight.

Snarling, Blue Calamity raced after her, trying to snare her with his whip, but Ravius came at him from the flank.

“Now where do you think you’re going?” The Skirmisher queried with a laugh, slashing his net at Blue Calamity’s feet, and forcing the other to jump back.

Meanwhile, Gavin and Vintia had engaged the golem with Karmal trailing them, channeling power and weaving the patterns of her spells as subtly as she could. They reached the golem just before the massive ogre, Shield-Splitter, arrived, the air around him rippling and shimmering from the powerful enchantments gifted to him by his teammates.

The ogre raised his immense war cleaver to strike as Gavin ducked under a swing of one of the huge, whirring saw blades on the clockwork siege golem’s hands. Much to the Shield-Splitter’s surprise, his swing was foiled as Vintia threw herself into the path of his blade, slamming it with her heavy shield. The powerful attack was pushed to the side, leaving a deep scratch in the giant golem’s armor but doing no real damage. The crowd cheered as she foiled his attack, and Shield-Splitter’s face contorted with rage as Vintia grinned at him.

“I’ll break you for that, little girl!” he roared at Vintia, who simply laughed at him in response, further earning an enraged growl.

Sadira, maneuvering her opponents away from the fight, watched with concern as Vintia intercepted another attack. Shield-Splitter hit hard. The hardest she’d ever seen in fact. And yet, as the ogre swung his massive war cleaver at the metal giant again, Vintia fearlessly repeated her maneuver, skillfully deflecting the ogre’s attack yet a third time but getting knocked off her feet in the process.

“Red fall! That’s three points to blue!” The announcer declared, his words doing nothing to dissuade Vintia, who wasted no time in positioning herself in Shield-Splitter’s way once more. They could afford to lose the points if it kept the massive Shield-Splitter, the main thrust of the Blues’ offense, from taking down the golem.

Gavin kept the clockwork siege golem’s attention on him. He dodged and ducked, deflecting the huge, whirling saw blades on its arms with his trusty shield, causing a shower of sparks. He tested its metal skin with his spear, searching for a weak point. Beside him, Karmal swung her heavy blade over and over again, denting the metal plates of the creature’s leg. She had not yet let loose with any of her spells, trying to avoid attention while she channeled power and wove something huge.

<The bug-eyed one is up top the creature!> Karmal warned through their link.

Sadira followed her gaze to see Blue Hornet nimbly climbing on the brass-skinned giant’s back, shooting small bursts of lightning into it while trying to dig through the armor with his needle-spiked gauntlets. This posed a slight problem to their plan, since Karmal could not use her most powerful spells on the golem now without hitting Blue Hornet, which would get them disqualified.

<Then we need to get him off,> Gavin answered back. <And quickly at that too!>

Sadira danced, agile and untouchable as whip-wielding Blue Calamity and Steel Harmony tried to tackle her, trip her, and push her down. She was elusive yet tempting, making attack passes at the golem whenever her two pursuers were distracted. Their attempts to catch her were made more difficult with Ravius following in their wake, taunting them and foiling their efforts to flank her. Steel Harmony in particular looked like she was about to boil over with rage, the skirmishers efforts having taken their toll on the woman. It was sign that made Sadira send a cruel, challenging smirk at the pair, daring them both to match steps with her, knowing that every moment they ignored the rest of her team in favor of stopping her only increased her chances of victory. She let slip her war shriek and pointed her twin obsidian blades at them in a taunting gesture, loving every moment of the chase as they stormed after her, Ravius in turn following after them, all while cackling like a madman.

<We need to get this done!> Gavin called out for a second time. <Vintia and I can’t hold much longer!>

Across the arena, Gavin, who had the unpleasant task of holding the siege golem, was hard pressed to avoid the massive swinging blades. It had adjusted its attack style, using broad, low swipes, making it harder for the Gladiators to dodge. One blade glanced off Gavin’s shield, grinding across the lion’s face and nearly knocking him down. Sadira could see why he was worried about Vintia, who was taking a pounding while trying to keep the mighty Shield-Splitter out of the fight. So well in fact, she could hear the ogre snarl again in frustration as yet another attack was foiled once more.

<Just relax and focus on your task,> Karmal sent back a second later, her voice cool and collected. <Once Blue Hornet falls off, we have this.>

Glancing over her way, Sadira saw the flame-haired Gladiatrix continuing to pound away with her war cleaver on the golem’s side. As she did, she used her minor magics to send small surges of electricity and bursts of flame into it, unwilling to risk using her most potent lighting spell, lest it burn Blue Hornet to ash and disqualify them. All throughout the process she shouted and bellowed as she attacked, putting on quite a show, hoping that the Blues would be distracted by her physical efforts and not realize her true purpose.

A call from the announcer signalled another fall from Vintia, the fifth one, unless Sadira was mistaken, the Gladiatrix spotting the small defender already rising to her feet by the time her turned to look, seeing that Vinita’s huge tower shield was badly dented and smeared with sand.

“Had enough, little girl?” She heard Shield-Splitter snarl a second later, his voice radiating pure rage as he raised his weapon for another attack.

“Hardly,” Vinita replied defiantly as she readied herself once again, her mental voice flowing into Sadira’s mind a second later.

<We need to get the golem down, and quickly!> She said in an urgent tone. <I’ve gone one, perhaps two, more blocks in me and then I’m finished.>

<You heard her everyone!> Sadira immediately called out as she spun her attention back towards the golem and spotted Gavin in the middle of being forced back, thanks to the golem’s whirring, table-sized saw hand splitting the ground in front of him and showering the air with sand. Eyes flicking upwards, onto the back of the Golem, she saw Blue Hornet still on his perch, sending blasts of lightning relentlessly into the creature as he struggled to hang on.

Knowing that all she could do was buy time, Sadira continued her cat-and-mouse game with the two Blue Gladiators chasing her. But before she could pick up her speed, Blue Calamity’s whip, obscured by sudden shadows, struck her in the face and instantly drew blood. Staggering half a step from the unexpected blow, she heard the crowd shout in cheer, followed by no penalty announcement for the illegal strike. Cursing at the favoritism, she forced her anger down and reversed direction to fool the Quickling before a second strike could land, the unexpected maneuver allowing her to catch Ravius ensnaring Blue Calamity’s whip with his net from the corner of her eye.

Free for a second, she turned her attention back towards the golem and once again spotted Blue Hornet in the process of digging deeper into the back of the metal colossus, the man tenaciously clinging to it, as his needle-like gauntlet spikes tore at the metal. She even saw his tenacity starting to bear fruit as his efforts began to pry off some armor plates, but only for a fleeting instant. No sooner did a fragment of metal come free in one of his hands, did the siege golem suddenly rear up in a frenzy, shaking itself like a giant wet dog. The unexpected motion broke the tenuous hold that he had on the golem, sending him landing nimbly on the ground and into a roll, narrowing evading a stomping foot that would have seen him splattered across the sands.

<Now Karmal!> Sadira shouted, her heart leaping into her mouth as she saw the gladiator fall. <Take it down with all your might!>

Not wasting a second to reply, Karmal did exactly as she was assigned to do, the woman taking a leaping step backwards and unleashing the Thaom she had channeled into the pattern of her spell. With the entire fight thus far to call upon it, the amount of energy that she had built up was an overwhelming thing to witness at first as a mighty tide of magic lifted her off the ground. In an instant, the Blues realized their mistake as they sensed her Thaom crest, but with Vintia and Gavin in their way they could do nothing to stop her. Sadira felt the magic surge through Karmal, and heard the Gladiatrix let loose a triumphant shout as she called upon the full fury of the elements.

In a blink, a pillar of white lightning erupted from the ground, coursing through the clockwork giant and streaking skywards, dissipating with a thunderous crash as it hit the protective ward barrier above the fighting grounds. This was followed by a tremendous eruption of flame that engulfed the massive automaton. The heat of it washed over the arena, while the brightness of the flames forced her to cover her eyes. She blinked, blinded momentarily, smelling burnt oil and scorched metal. Then, she heard the roar of the crowd as her hearing returned with a loud pop. The clockwork giant sparked, smoked, melted, and stumbled. Sadira rushed forward, shoving her blades into a vulnerable knee-joint. The golem fell, forcing both Gavin and Blue Hornet to dive to the side. Karmal ran forward eagerly, bringing her heavy war-cleaver down on the huge metal neck, severing tubes and sending cogs flying in a spray of oil, shooting a blast of fire into the severed mass of tubes and steam-pipes for good measure, setting off a series of small explosions all over the massive metal body. Shield-splitter tried to get in the killing blow, but Vintia once again rammed his sword aside.

The crowd cheered lustily for the underdog Reds as the match was called.

Sadira relaxed, but kept her eye on Shield-Splitter. The mountainous ogre was heaving with fury, glaring with hate at Vintia. She had succeeded in keeping him out of the fight, after all.

Sadira and Gavin both came to stand beside her as the points were tallied. She was tempted to taunt the ogre, but decided against it.

“You did brilliantly, Brightshield,” Sadira said as she put her arm around Vintia’s shoulders. “Most valuable Gladiatrix for certain.”

“Thanks,” Vintia replied as she wiped a stream of blood from her mouth and leaned even heavier into Sadira, what strength she had rapidly fading from her body.

“Blue Fifteen, Red Twenty-Three!” the announcer roared as the tally came through a second later.

And prompting the crowd to leap to their feet, answering victory with a rain of cheering thunder.

Chapter Twenty Eight: Image

1144/02/27 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis, test match for the Fourth Rank

“Never underestimate the importance of popularity in the arena; a Gladiator will not become a grand champion without winning the respect and the support of the People. That is why we call ourselves the Chosen; we would not have gained our exalted position without the people’s consent.” Chosen Giselle

“I can’t believe we still have to do our ranking matches,” Gavin grumbled as they luxuriated in the bath after training. There was something about the waters of Scorpion’s Oasis that he found profoundly refreshing. “Even with all of the faction challenges that we have this season.”

Sadira, languid beside him, opened an eye and frowned. “With the number of challenges that we are going to answer, you may have to rank up more than once this season, beloved.”

“Is that wise?” Gavin’s eyes widened as he realized that she was right. “We won’t have time to train to our full potential in that time.”

“Wise or not, I intend to win this season.” Sadira said it like it was a matter of fact. “The Faction Leagues move at a faster pace than the other arenas, and most teams only fight a few matches. If we answer more challenges, we can have a greater influence on the outcome.”

“As long as we aren’t broken down by the pace.” Gavin sank deeper into the water.

“This is what we do,” Sadira needled him. “But you might feel more rested if you actually relaxed instead of worrying all the time.”

<>

In spite of her busy schedule, Sadira and the others gladly went to meet Amoura Vogue in the Shato diOre, the most expensive of the exclusive resorts that surrounded the crystal-clear waters at the heart of Scorpion’s Oasis. One did not turn down an invitation from an illustrious trend-setter and the wife of an Elder Chosen.

The Shato diOre was every bit as opulent as she had heard. Sadira felt ridiculously out of place here in her armor, weapons sheathed at her side, with their traditional Deliberative escort keeping an eye on her.

“I’m glad you’re here with us, Cleo. I feel like we stand out enough without some stiff, disapproving old Grey-Robe watching over us.” She glanced around as they walked through shaded marble halls decorated with elaborately carved fountains of beautiful nymphs frolicking playfully, graphic paintings of scenes from famous “romances,” and other decorations designed to invoke a lusty and playful atmosphere.

“I should thank you. Meeting with Amoura Vogue is a dream come true. It is unfortunate that Gavin is too busy to . . .” Cleothera trailed off as a nude woman with skin that looked as if it was covered in liquid gold walked out of a side passage door, her voluptuous form glistening in the light.

The sounds of dozens of voices raised in frivolity, and the distinct crack of a whip followed by a cry of anguished joy washed over them before the door swung shut behind the golden apparition. The woman, enjoying the effect her appearance had on the visitors, smiled, swaying seductively as she strolled over to them.

“Welcome to Shato diOre, girls. Are you here for the masquerade? I love your costumes! One of my clients took me to the arena to watch the season opener. You have the best Red Scorpion outfit I’ve seen all day! Oh, and you have a Ravius as well!”

Ravius grinned and bowed. “No celebration should be without a Ravius.”

“Why don’t you join us?” the woman asked, smiling at the skirmisher.

Sadira sensed that Karmal was about to go off. She cleared her throat. “These aren’t costumes, actually. Would you mind sending an attendant out to see us?”

The woman’s eyes went wide and she eyed Sadira’s blades before retreating back into the room. A moment later an attendant slid out the door, bowing gracefully. “How can I help, honored Gladiators?”

“We are here to see Amoura Vogue, sister.” Sadira smiled reassuringly at the attendant. “It would mean a great deal to me if you could help us find her. We don’t want to disturb any more guests.”

“It would be my pleasure.” The gold-painted girl was clearly delighted now. “Follow me.”

Cleothera frowned at Sadira. “I don’t like bringing weapons into a place like this. The patrons are going to complain, and I’m going to have to sit through an interrogation if another grey sees me here with you.”

“True,” Sadira said. “But what are the chances of finding an officer of the Deliberative in a private pleasure palace like this?”

“Surprisingly high,” Cleothera replied sardonically. “You’d be amazed at how much of the business of the Domains gets conducted in places like this. Also, not all of us are stuffy. I’d come here, if I could afford it. I’ve read all about this place. Let’s hope that we don’t find Miss Vogue in one of the orgy rooms.”

“What kind of books have you been reading, exactly?” Sadira teased as she wrapped the binding chains, used to keep Gladiators from drawing their weapons in public, around her swords.

“Can we just get on with this?” Karmal asked plaintively.

“Why rush? The view is exquisite.” Ravius eyed the attendant, who flashed her teeth in a wicked smirk when she noticed his attention.

“Not now, Ravius.” Vintia said, everyone practically hearing her eyes roll as she spoke.

They passed all manner of food, relaxation, and more before finally making their way to the sunny, secluded enclosure where Amoura Vogue held court. Their guide bowed to Amoura, and then Sadira as she left. The golden-dipped girl threw Ravius a wink as she disappeared.

“I have never liked gold as much as I do now,” he opined after she left.

A footman, unremarkable but handsome, covered in glistening gold as well, was rubbing oil into the skin of a platinum-haired human woman lying on a coral-colored marble altar covered in red satin cushions. Both were naked, but this was no surprise. They had encountered fewer and fewer clothed people as they moved further into the resort. Amoura Vogue stood up to greet them, her expression both radiant and welcoming. She was beautiful and sculpted, with not a hair out of place despite her lack of attire.

She makes me feel under-dressed. Sadira thought with a smile, hearing both Ravius and Karmal both make slight gasping sounds as they took in her presence.

After pausing brazenly for a moment, letting the visitors get a good look at her, Amoura walked over to Sadira, kissing the Gladiatrix on each cheek in greeting. Sadira’s smile immediately widened, mostly amused by the ostentatious display. She noticed the woman’s eyes were exceptionally large, an unnaturally bright topaz color, and ringed by voluptuous lashes that sparkled in the sun. Everything about Amoura glowed. An indescribable scent, pleasant and intoxicating, filled the air.

“Well met, my beautiful Sadira,” Amoura cooed, her mysteriously accented voice laden with sensual undertones. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last . . . and who is this sweet little thing that you’ve brought me, hiding herself away in such drab grey?”

Cleothera met the woman’s gaze for a moment, coloring slightly as the bombastic Amoura bent to kiss her cheeks.

“I am Cleothera Orphania, third rank officer of the Deliberative.” She bowed low. “I am Sadira Lacivia’s escort today.”

“Cleothera is also a big fan of yours, Miss Vogue,” Sadira added with a sly expression.

“Oh, I do so love to meet another fan. You are far too pretty to be a Grey-Robe, my dear Cleothera.” Amoura sank back down on the cushioned altar, the golden-skinned man moving forward smoothly to massage her shoulders. “Those lively eyes are wasted looking through the dull pages of laws and covenants. I could teach a young Gifted girl like you to steal the hearts of all she meets. It only took me thirty years to work through my time as a Taskbound, you know.”

“Yes, I have followed your exploits closely, Miss Vogue.” Cleo’s cheeks reddened again. Perhaps it was simply that the little Grey-Robe was unused to being called beautiful. It was hard to stand out among the likes of Sadira, Karmal, and Vintia. “I am so happy to meet you. You are even more beautiful in person than I had dreamed was possible.”

“How gracious. Thank you, my dear Cleothera. Consider yourself a friend rather than a fan.” Amoura smiled at Cleo with matronly affection. “If only all of the Deliberative were as charming and beautiful as you. And here we have the rest of the team that has the Blues of Scorpion’s Oasis up in arms. Karmal, Vintia, and . . . Ravius. Lovely to meet all of you.”

Ravius bowed, and Amoura Vogue laughed.

“Now, I have a lovely massage table in the next room for my favorite friends, complete with all the amenities. Why don’t you all run along and enjoy the best massage of your life while I speak to Sadira.” She smiled again as the others left. Sadira realized that the woman was quite comfortable in her presence, not at all worried about being alone with an armed Gladiatrix with no Grey-Robe nearby.

She could not help but admire the way that Amoura had handled both Karmal and Ravius and even Cleothera. Music started up from the other room, just loud enough to cover any other sounds that might pass between the walls. Amoura’s face was thoughtful now as she turned to Sadira. She met the Gladiatrix’s gaze with a look of frank appraisal.

“I have to admit I’m impressed, Miss Vogue,” Sadira said. “You handled my friends well. It is difficult to part a Grey-Robe from her charge and even more difficult to tame Karmal.”

“I have had a great deal of practice in taming Grey-Robes and Gladiators, truth be told.” Amoura answered with a laugh. “The secret to dealing with the Grey-Robes is to realize that they are still people, like the rest of us underneath their robes of office. As for Gladiators, they wear their desires on their sleeves. But don’t worry about them—they won’t come to mischief here. I mean what I say; I take care of my fans, Sadira, I like to think of myself as their mother in some ways. I expect that makes sense to you.”

“Yes, I feel the same way about my audience.” Sadira’s eyebrows jumped up.

Amoura smiled, radiating approval. “That is good to hear. I say this because it puts you ahead of the game, my dear. Most Gladiators of your rank would do well to spend more time cultivating a relationship with their fans. Image is an important part of building your legend. I can see that you are a woman who pays attention to her own appearance. Tell me, Red Scorpion, what do you think of the way I look?”

The question caught Sadira off guard. Amoura turned slowly, moving her body into provocative poses, her face calm and challenging now.

“Well, you have spent a lot of time and effort body sculpting.” The Gladiatrix was unsure.

Amoura rolled her eyes, smiling as she did so. “Yes, an important observation, but a little shallow. Any woman who started from my humble beginnings and sculpted her way to beauty has spent some Sui-Thaiune, my dear. You can do better. Follow it up, see where it leads you. Don’t worry about insulting me. As the wife of a Chosen, I have heard it all.”

“You enjoy showing off.”

“Absolutely, darling! When I finally ascended to my true, feminine form, it was a moment of triumph for me. I have never been more comfortable in my own body than now. It’s not that difficult, as long as we are willing to jump the first hurdle, which is talking about our image honestly. I enjoy being admired and helping others find the confidence to be their true selves.” She turned and sat down again, her platinum mane twisting into a tight bun as she invoked an effortless glamour. Sadira was envious for a moment; she was not permitted to use even such simple magics in public without supervision. “Many who look at me dismiss me as a plaything, yet I have used my charms to gain great power in the circles in which I move.”

“Image is powerful.” Sadira spoke thoughtfully, carefully, enjoying the discussion now. “I suppose I always knew that. I enjoy the reaction of the crowd when they look at me, especially in a place where people are less . . . guarded. Scorpion’s Oasis seems so uptight compared to Camp Valorous.”

“Yes! I can see you are going to be a joy to work with, Sadira Lacivia.” Amoura spoke glowingly. “Note that those who try to attack my image are actually my greatest allies in this case. Their criticism of me only goes skin deep. With the power I now wield and the confidence I have in myself, I have revealed those shallow minds at the Arena Post and all of the others who decry me to be small.”

“. . . That is interesting.” Sadira felt like she was only just beginning to catch up to the conversation. “Are you saying that if I gain power here by doing well in the Faction League, the fans of Scorpion’s Oasis will appreciate the way I present myself to them?”

Amoura nodded sagely. “Yes. Most people know this deep down, but they will still spend money and power trying to chase a style or image that is not rue to who they are. Those who follow fashion and cosmetics blindly and fervently, out of envy or idolization, are as doomed as fanatics of any other sort. But using another person’s image is not entirely a losing strategy—many a clever woman has followed the path I have laid out to become her best self. They used my image to their advantage. Control is the key. They turned my path to their purpose.”

“I see. I need to be in control of how I am seen or if I am following in another’s footsteps. I should be aware of the dangers of losing control.” Sadira paused, considering. She had modelled her career after that of Chosen Giselle, even taking the name Red Scorpion in homage to this woman she admired. If she took her admiration too far it, would give Giselle power over her. “Very interesting. I did not expect this kind of honest discussion, Amoura Vogue.”

“And that would be another advantage that I have cultivated through how I present myself,” Amoura replied with a smile.

“They think you are a one-dimensional woman.” Sadira nodded. “That you are interested only in hedonistic pursuits and not worth considering otherwise. As a Gladiatrix, I understand this. People think all we do is fight and strut. They are often shocked when they hear I like to garden, even though my principal magic is druidic.”

“Exactly so! I feel you have great potential, Sadira, not just as a Gladiatrix. The Faction politics are but a child’s game in truth, an illusion that covers those who play the Great Games at a deeper level. I am only a pawn in that game, but knowing that gives me power.” The man massaging her gave a slight start, his hands on her shoulders stopping a moment. Amoura almost laughed. “And if a pawn may be of use to one who will be a queen one day, then it is in my best interest to help . . . so long as you don’t get knocked out of the game.”

Sadira considered the implications of Amoura’s statement. Some would rebel against the idea of being a game piece for the Chosen, but Sadira was of a more practical bent; she knew that much of life was far beyond her control, so she set her will to changing what she could, instead of railing against those things which she had no way to influence. “I’ll think on what you’ve said, Amoura. You have my thanks. Consider it a pledge.”

“Well then, honored Gladiatrix, let us discuss your image and see how I can help you further develop it for the audience of the Oasis without submitting to their tastes . . .”

<>

Gavin fought his ranking match on his own. Arena Master Bloodsmith had insisted that the new Reds pass these matches individually. The stern, grey-robed orc had stated bluntly that he was worried that Gavin, Sadira, and their friends had been called up into the Faction Games too early and that an individual evaluation was the only way to prove they were ready.

The Scorpion’s Oasis arena was nearly empty when Gavin took the field mid-morning. The handful of people in the stands were mostly there to enjoy the arena restaurants, or get good seats before the Faction League events began later on.

The Reds were keeping up with the Blues so far this season, and although patrons of Scorpion’s Oasis tended to support the Blues on principal, the added excitement of real competition was still invigorating.

Still, as Gavin trotted out to the center of the arena, bright sun shining off the silver-white lions on his shield and breastplate, he did not detect any real response from the crowd. Standing tall, he squared his shoulders and delivered a crisp salute to the audience, raising his spear high. He heard Sadira, Cleothera, and Vintia cheering him enthusiastically and smiled. He was glad they had made it back from their meeting with Amoura Vogue in time to cheer him on. It was always nice to have friends in the stands.

Gavin was always wary of ranking matches. The last two, the manticore with its infectious visions of madness and the frost giant with its waves of icy dread, had been tough on him. As with anything involving the Deliberative, there were many theories about the tests; some Gladiators felt they were tailored to test an individual’s weaknesses, others insisted they were rigged to impede the progress of fighters who would make less-than-ideal Chosen. Gavin was not quite sure what he believed, but it felt good facing the test alone. This way, if he failed, at least he would not drag anyone down with him.

The Call to Battle sounded promptly, summoning his opponent. A half-dozen smaller doors opened, revealing shadowed corridors. He waited, seeing nothing. The doors closed. He looked around. Still nothing. Gavin heard footsteps behind him and turned. Nothing. A shiver went down his spine. The fighting grounds were oddly silent. What was going on?

<>

In the stands, Sadira, sitting between Cleothera and Vintia watched anxiously as the shadowy humanoid form of Gavin’s opponent circled, trying to get behind the confused Gladiator. Although he did not realize it, Gavin was facing an invisible sand stalker. The spectators could see it as part of the ward screen effects, but Gavin could not.

“You’re sure he can’t hear us?” she asked Cleothera. She had tried yelling a warning to her lover.

The Grey-Robe shook her head. “No, not in this match. He can’t see the stalker, either. They bespell the audience protection barriers to make it easier for us to see. It would be a boring match to watch otherwise, but the same spell makes it hard for us to communicate with him since it would be easy to direct him by shouting otherwise. I’m pretty sure even if he knew to look at your gestures, the wards would foil you pointing it out to him. It’s pretty well thought out.”

“It’s never flawless though,” Vintia noted.

“Will I be facing one of these stalkers in my ranking match?” Sadira asked eagerly, watching as her lover turned toward the sound of the approaching sand stalker, raising his shield and bracing for an attack, still looking perplexed. Instead of attacking, the stalker stopped and tried to move around Gavin to strike him from behind.

“I don’t think so, Sadira. My superiors would have frowned on me taking you to a match like this if they wanted to spring one on you as a surprise. I can’t say for sure, though. Arena Master Bloodsmith is pretty tight-lipped about the tests he has planned for you. Don’t worry, though—he will be fair.”

<>

An invisible enemy, what a lovely surprise. The only experience he had fighting invisible opponents was against a handful of practice bouts with Gladiators who practiced luminescence, one of the rarer forms of magic.

Gavin heard his opponent moving through the sand, but he could not pinpoint its location. He looked at the sand for signs of footprints but saw none. His heart hammered. Even casting about with magic, he couldn’t detect the creature. The footsteps ceased. A new sound came from behind him. He threw himself forward into a tumbling roll, feeling something slice through the air, just missing his back. As he came to his feet, he turned and lifted his shield to face the direction from which he had just rolled.

Nothing happened.

He felt rather than heard the next movement and turned, desperation gifting him with speed. Raising his spear to ward off the attack, he tried to minimize his exposure.

The blow struck off his shoulder armor, staggering him. For just a moment, he caught sight of a human-like shape, a being made of sand, shadow, and wind. Recovering quickly, Gavin thrust his spear at the vision, but it caught only air. His phantom opponent responded with a slash of its invisible weapon, cutting him on the back, leaving a bloody line. Gavin whirled, slashing the air with his spear, trying a wide attack, but it did not connect.

How do I hit it? he wondered. It can remain invisible and attack me with impunity.

Gavin fought for calm, backing up in a defensive posture to ward off attacks he could not see. He could hear it stalking him as he moved, but the creature was both cunning enough to realize his intent, and patient enough to move slowly and quietly when needed. He could not see any traces of the creature’s movements. It was just as elusive to direct mental contact using his magic. What other ways did he have of detecting it?

Reaching out with his mind, Gavin extended his senses into the Thunic patterns all around him, passively waiting for the creature’s thoughts and emotions to appear. He sensed a glimmer of hatred and an impulse to attack beside him, and he turned, pushing his shield forward as he adopted a firm stance. As he did, a weapon glanced off his shield.

He could not physically pinpoint the creature by sensing its mind, but he could use his magic to attack it through that tenuous connection. He called forth the pattern of Thought Vice, a spell that would debilitate it with searing mental pain, and channeled his power into it. He waited for the creature to attack again and cast as soon as he sensed it.

With some satisfaction, Gavin felt the creature’s pain as the spell took hold. But his elation was short lived.

Sensing another attack, Gavin leapt aside as something sharp cut into his back. He stood up, rolling his shoulder to make sure it still worked, feeling blood trickle down from the wound. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind.

The creature always tries to attack me from behind, he thought. It has never come at me head on. With his magic, he could sometimes sense its impulse to strike. He guessed it was using some kind of sword or long knife from the way it attacked and the wounds it had left. That knowledge was helpful. A plan formed in his mind.

Gavin held perfectly still, closing his eyes, feeling strangely like a hero in a child’s fable. He took a deep breath, switching his grip on his spear and shield just a little. Time slowed. He suddenly realized that he could not hear the cheers of the crowd because they had been magically silenced for this match to prevent them from warning him. Soon he felt the creature’s hatred, its impulse to attack, and when he heard the tiniest of sounds from behind him, Gavin exhaled, dropped to a crouch and thrust his spear underhanded into the air behind him. Something cut through the air above his head followed by the satisfying shock of solid impact ran along his spear arm, and then by an inhuman shriek of pain.

The invisible creature backed off more quickly than he had hoped, pulling itself off his spear. He saw no blood, only a clear fluid evaporating on his weapon. He might not be able to  target the creature’s mind directly, but now he could sense its pain and attack it with his magic through that connection.

Gavin channeled Thaom, a heady amount which flowed through the spell weave, forming a Brain Burster spell which flowed along his mental link to his invisible opponent’s emotions and slammed through its mental defenses. He could sense the creature’s brain swelling painfully. Then he heard an eruption as the creature’s head burst like a huge, ripe melon had dropped from a great height. Something fell heavily. Ten paces away, he saw the now-visible body of his foe appear, lying headless on the ground. Its blood, now red like his, stained the sands as he turned with a smile to salute the crowd, hearing the sound of his friends cheering enthusiastically amidst a smattering of applause as the sound barrier was lifted.

Gavin did not mind that the small audience seemed rather ambivalent about the fight. He felt a certain satisfaction at overcoming the problem placed before him, facing an invisible foe and overcoming it with his own wit and skill. He retired to the arming room with a thoughtful smile lighting up his face.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Six Bladed Blossom

1144/03/16 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis, Faction Score: Blues, 356 points; Reds, 318 points

“Gladiators achieve the rank of Master after passing their tenth ranking match, having fought a minimum of fifty matches. At this time, a Gladiator can retire to teach, suffer through the Sundering and become a free Taskbound, or join the Warbound. A few, the best and the most stubborn, continue fighting, striving to become champions, the final stepping stone on the way to becoming one of the Chosen.” Codex of Arms and the Arena

“Some of the machinations of the Chosen are subtle, ripples of a stone dropped far across the lake. In the Domains, things that seem like pure chance are often the fruits of meticulous plans made by subtle minds long ago.” Chosen Marius

“We’re behind,” Karmal growled. “If the rest of these Reds were worth anything at all, we would be winning.”

“You can’t right a sinking ship with a single pump of the bilge.” Gavin said, drawing an acidic glare from Karmal. “The Red Team here never saw any reason to take risks for faction standings when they had no chance of winning the season. As long as their personal records were good, they saw no reason to expose themselves.”

Morale was now much higher among the Red Faction in Scorpion’s Oasis after several wins, including a spectacular slaughter match where Vintia and Karmal outlasted their opponents to score big. As the rain brings out the long-hidden blossoms from the hidden desert flowers, victory nourished the Reds and started to draw them out of their habitual torpor. Sadira and her team were the focus of intense well-wishing from the rest of the Red Gladiators and even some competitive jealousy. Thus awakened, some of the other Reds made a good showing in the first month of competition as well. Their section of the training grounds was now much more active, the strength of new hopes had broken the chains of past failures.

“We’re not insurmountably far behind the Blues, Karmal,” Sadira said. “Don’t forget they were promised an easy time here in Scorpion’s Oasis. Keeping it this close will have them worried.”

“That is a good point.” Ravius interjected.

As the competitive season entered its second month, the Reds were only slightly behind the Blues in overall points. Sulius Nof’Cyrus, chief promoter of the faction, was overflowing with joy, lavishing praise on all his Gladiators, taking an active hand in helping them plan and train. Though their training sessions were the most intense Gavin had taken part in since the Campus Gladius, the amenities that they enjoyed made up for it.

“It is our turn to challenge,” Sadira said. “Sulius is letting us dictate terms. Any ideas?”

Sadira retained her position as leader of the team, but she preferred to let others have their voice when crafting the challenges. Ravius, Vintia, and Gavin were more at ease with complex strategies, while she and Karmal were trained to prefer a more aggressive, direct approach. She found it relaxing to let the others take the lead instead during these discussions. It also gave her time out of the spotlight, which was becoming more precious to her as her personal renown increased. She only interceded if she had a useful insight or if the arguments over planning got out of control.

“I noticed that most of the other challenges the Blues put up last season, other than against us, were individual or pairs,” Vintia said. “I have a chart that you can check on your link-crystals that shows all of the matches and rules used. They definitely seem to avoid larger team matches whenever possible.”

“Why don’t you just say ‘we should challenge them to a five-man team match,’ Vee?” Karmal cut in, clearly eager to be doing something else.

Strategy sessions seemed to bore her, but she had been taking more interest in them after winning praise from the other Reds for her recent victories. Their latest matches against the Blues had given her a chance to be the team’s main offensive weapon and Karmal relished the attention.

“I like backing up what I say with research, Karmal,” Vintia responded with a hint of frost in her voice. “I think we have a definite advantage in teamwork, and we have a more versatile team.”

“As do I, little sister,” Ravius added, smiling approvingly at Vintia. “We have shown that we make a strong team and we’d be better off with a match that lets us make good use of our exceptional versatility. Do we want to go head to head with them, or go with trials like we did in the last match of last season?”

“Trials would prevent them from interfering with us.” Gavin sensed that Ravius wanted someone to ask the obvious question. “Why would we want to go with anything else?”

“Trials do prevent them from trying to foil us,” Ravius continued in his most diplomatic tone, “but do not forget that we turned their interference into a losing strategy last match. Since we set the specifics in this round of challenges, we can make it work even better for us.”

“I like that plan, Ravius.” Karmal practically beamed at him as she spoke.

Sadira noted the venomous look that Vintia shot the red-haired Gladiatrix. Sadira felt a little guilt for not having enough time between training, fans, and Gavin to ease the growing tension between her two childhood friends.

Why can’t you just give Vintia credit, Karmal? she wondered, resisting the urge to rub her temples.

“Are you sure they’ll fall for it again?” Vintia queried, sounding a little unsure of the tactic. “We beat them pretty handily last match.”

“In my experience, little sister, an arrogant man will often double down on his errors.” Ravius answered with a confident smile. “I’m sure some of them are dying for another go at us, and don’t forget, they are more comfortable with direct challenges. Gladiator pride is a prickly thing and I imagine most of them will rationalize our last victory as merely luck. We may as well take advantage of the last of their overconfidence before they are forced to take us seriously.”

“I can see that, but it still seems risky to try beating them at their own game again.” Gavin said while stroking his chin thoughtfully. “They are very good at foiling us, and though we turned a challenge against them once, we might be the arrogant ones for thinking we can do it again. In a trial match, we don’t even have to worry about the other team. They aren’t on the field. Is there more to your strategy?”

“I’d also like to add that if we get unlucky, we could lose quite a few points,” Sadira added. “All it takes is for the arena master to miss a call or two in our favor.”

“Yes, you are both quite right. But—” Ravius paused dramatically, his perpetual grin broadening “—if we dangle this in front of them like a tasty carrot, we have a much better chance of them agreeing to other provisions that favor us in the challenge. That is the give and take of the faction challenge system.”

“So you think that we can leverage a chance for them to play dirty again into a more advantageous match for us?” Sadira asked, cutting the argument down to its core concept.

Ravius nodded.

“Can’t say I’m against the idea when it’s put that way,” Vintia said.

“Me either.” Gavin stated while nodding along thoughtfully. “We can load the match with a tempting format for them and then try to stack the rules as much as we can in our favor.”

“That’s not how I would put it, little brother.” Ravius feigned dismay. “You make it sound so devious and ignoble. I prefer to think of it as extending an olive branch to our most worthy adversaries. If we reap the rewards and get a more favorable match by being considerate of our fellow Gladiators on the Blue Team, it is only virtue’s just reward.”

“Or,” Karmal started with a snort.

“Maybe we could get a match where you just bury them under a steaming pile of words.”

<>

Sadira brought the results of their discussion to Sulius Nof’Cyrus the next day. The chief promoter looked them over, smiling appreciatively after he finished.

Despite her initial confrontation with the man, Sadira had come to appreciate the leader of the Red Faction in Scorpion’s Oasis. He had been more than fair to them after their initial match, going out of his way to find scarce trainers for herself and Vintia, quickly finding accommodations for Ravius when she had noticed the friction his living with the two girls was causing, and seeing to their every comfort. He had even offered to help them find Taskbound to help with their household, which Sadira had refused so far. She did not like the idea of servants. Sulius had also introduced her to Amoura Vogue, which was enough to earn forgiveness for him on its own. The chief promoter was accommodating, honest, and helpful, qualities the Gladiatrix could see clearly now after their initial confrontation.

“You’re trying to bait them into accepting the rest of your terms?” he asked. “Very clever, my dear. I wonder if Regina will allow any of her fighters to be hooked by it.”

“You think she’ll intervene?” she asked after a moment’s silence.

“Possibly,” he responded with a shrug. “After all, she is the one who keeps ruining your fun with surprise announcements, and my life with her lopsided victories, year after year.”

The man set the paper down and sighed, the next few seconds passing in silence as he glanced up at the ceiling.

“Tell me about her,” Sadira prompted, sensing that there was more to Sulius’s reaction, something worth exploring. “I need to know more the entirety of my opposition, not just the Gladiators I fight in the arena.”

“Hrm, where to begin . . .” He said as he grabbed a small pastry from a heaped tray in front of him, chewing it thoughtfully before going on. “Unlike me, she began her career in the arena, as a Gladiatrix. She was good but had a string of unfortunate losses late in her career that ended any chance of her being called to the Grand Championships. It’s because of her experiences there that’s given her a great eye for talent, better than most recruiters. In fact, she cut her teeth as a recruiter for the Blues before being promoted here. Regardless, she not only gets good fighters for her team, she has an even better record of getting under the skin of my own fighters. You’ll see it first hand soon enough, I’m sure. Regina can sense a fighter’s weakness and is more than happy to expose it on the fighting grounds or through intrigue. Many of our roster are scared of her. She has been running the Scorpion’s Oasis Blues for more than two decades, and they have never lost a single season under her guidance. I have not even come close to defeating her while I have been here. And like I told you before, I am not the first chief promoter she has crushed here, either. Merely the latest.”

“So you’ve told us before.” Sadira stated, watching the man’s head bob as he continued speaking.

“Ah, right, I did, didn’t I? Anyway as you know I should have lost my job years ago at such a performance, but no one else has wanted to ever tackle the Blues here.” Sulius said with another sigh. “Most Red fighters who show real promise don’t even last a season here. She either finds a way to get to them on a personal level, or they transfer out as quickly as they can, leaving to chase their careers. The Oasis is tough on any Red with ambition. Most of our roster are either treating it as a vacation or have lost their competitive edge and care only about their own wins and losses. She’s even offered stacked challenges to make my own people work against their faction! Take some time to talk to some of our older fighters. Many of them were good, maybe even great once, but they have long since been worn down.”

He paused, distant for a moment. She could tell from his expression that it weighed heavily on him. Sulius wanted to be seen as a person who helped Gladiators achieve greatness. “You must understand, Regina prefers to take the wind out of her opponents early in the season, draining our morale. Now, she will fear that a few more wins might awaken our hunger for a redemptive victory. Scorpion’s Oasis is a plum position for Gladiators who align themselves with the Blue Faction. They are guaranteed a partisan crowd, frequent victories, and winner’s laurels at the end of every season.”

He looked sadly at the plate of food by his hand, his appetite apparently gone. “Lately they’ve had it too easy. With our side showing signs of life, many of her fighters are becoming cautious, and they might soon start trying to avoid tough challenges to protect their precious records. She could lose out on top recruiting prospects when they learn they might have to face tough opposition here. Something that will only snowball with time.”

“It is the nature of her faction. The Blues seek out the ambitious and the individualistic. A good strategy for creating champions, but it means Blues care more for themselves than for the rest of their faction. Their personal drive was usually a great asset, but the second that things turn against them, it becomes their team’s greatest weakness.” Sulius paused for a second to glance around the room, as if making sure that he and Sadira were truly alone, his voice continuing again in a whisper. “So you see, it all comes down to you. I have been getting interference from my superiors, and hers will be applying the same pressure. Demanding that she hinder your career, even at the cost of the season and her own fighters. The eyes of the Chosen are upon you. Giselle’s eyes are upon you. Regina will be under great pressure, looking for any weakness that she might exploit to take you out of the larger competition.”

He leaned even further back in his seat.

“If I were to give you any advice, you should get out of this arena as quickly as you can, Sadira.” Sulius stared at the plate of food instead of looking at her. “In good conscience, I have to say that you would be better off to build your reputation and run. Scorpion’s Oasis is a graveyard of broken Reds. Regina will undermine your friends, if the apathy of the crowds here doesn’t drain them of all ambition first. This is a beautiful town, but the charming façade hides a pit of vipers. With the way you have been fighting, you’ll get an invitation to Brightsand Halls or another big-time arena very soon. Take it the instant it arrives before this place gets to you.”

Sadira considered Sulius, wondering what he had been like before the years of failure had eroded him. The man obviously cared deeply about his fighters. Perhaps he had seen too many ruined and blamed himself. And yet deep down she could see him struggling to throw off his torpor, to grasp on to the hope that she was building here.

“No. I am a woman who finishes what she starts, chief promoter,” she said slowly, adopting a more formal mode of speech, letting her determination show. “I came here to make my mark, Sulius. I will be staying for the whole season, no matter what offers I get. My team will be fighting as often as we can. I personally will take every challenge I can answer, and I intend to leave this place with victory laurels.”

Sulius stared at her blankly for several seconds, the time that was needed for her words to fully register. Most Gladiators would compete in two or three challenges in a regular faction season. Training, preparation, and conditioning took much of a fighter’s time. More importantly, most Gladiators preferred only to participate in challenges that would make them look good, which meant being picky about what matches they chose. For Sadira to answer every challenge for which she qualified, she would have to risk damaging her enviable, unblemished record.

“I do not fully understand the life of a Gladiatrix, but I know enough about the Great Games to recognize the risk you are taking if you do this, Sadira Lacivia.” His rounded form quivered with emotion. “Few fighters of your renown would gamble their precious records or turn down a quick exit from Scorpion’s Oasis. If you truly want to do this, win or lose, I will do everything in my power to help you rise to your rightful position in the world. Even more than I have already promised. If you, or your team need anything under the stars, be it trainers, runesmiths, Taskbound to serve you, anything . . . no expense will be spared, and I’ll see that any interfering . . . rules are overlooked or bent if they need to be. I am your man, now and forever.”

“Thank you, chief promoter.” She favored him with a smile. “I am honored by your trust. I will send you a list of what else we could use. Now, by your leave, I must return to my team to prepare. Let me know when the Blues respond to our challenge.”

<>

Sadira informed the team of her discussion with Sulius when she joined them on the training grounds. “I want to take this broken-down faction team and lead them to victory. To do so, I’m willing to fight in every challenge I can, even if it means taking fights that I might not be able to win in order to get a few more points, or turning down a quick promotion to bigger leagues. I’ve always rushed to get ahead in my career, but I see I can make a difference here, and I’m going to try. If we do win here, we will be able to parley our victory into much bigger and better venues.”

“If it were anyone else, I’d say they were crazy.” Gavin chuckled. “But, truth be told, we all expected you to say this from the start. This type of challenge calls to you. We’ll follow your lead, my love.”

Sadira looked at each of them, reading their moods. It appeared Gavin spoke for all of them, except perhaps Karmal, but she knew that the flame-haired Gladiatrix would go along to show that she was just as good as her. “You’re not going to try and talk me out of it?”

“No. I think I’d have more luck trying to talk the desert sun into setting an hour early so we can get some shade.” Gavin grinned. “This is who you are. I’ll fight at your side in every match I can. If you will have me.”

She embraced him, pleased by the show of faith. She could dare anything with him at her side.

<>

“Can I help you?” Gavin tried to keep his voice calm.

It was Ravius who had actually noticed the other Gladiator first. The lanky ogre’s armor and weapons marked him as tenth rank, a master. Master-ranked Gladiators were common in big venues like Krass but had no reason to come to Scorpion’s Oasis. The ogre seemed intent on examining Gavin’s fell-headed war spear where it lay in the weapon rack, a behavior which was considered rude in the eyes of most Arenabound.

The ogre stood and turned to them. He was a light armor class, lean and wiry for an ogre, and he carried an elegant greatsword strapped to hang on his back. Gazing back at Ravius, he seemed unbothered by the challenge.

“This your spear?” he asked Gavin.

“Yes, it is,” Gavin replied coolly. “What is your interest in it?”

In response the tall ogre stepped back and drew his blade. It was done slowly and respectfully, but Gavin noticed the sudden presence of a worried looking Grey-Robe. The world seemed to stand still as the sun caught the brilliant gleaming greatsword that the ogre held up. The length of the blade was inscribed with runes that hummed with power. Without saying a word he turned smartly, presenting his blade to Gavin with a low bow. Gavin took the heavy sword, too long for him by several feet, feeling more puzzled than offended now.

“Look at the maker’s mark.” The ogre’s storm-cloud-grey eyes were piercing. Ravius peered over Gavin’s shoulder. “I have not seen another weapon of this make out in the world in many years. Too long, I would say. My friends call me Sax. If it is not too much bother, I would love to hear how you acquired this weapon.”

The ogre turning the long blade carefully, Gavin saw the very same maker’s mark that his sword and spear bore. His weapons had served him well thus far, but had had never given the maker much thought.

“I’m Gavin, this is Ravius.” Gavin introduced his friend before he could burst into the conversation himself. “Yes, runesmith Olga from Dreadwood Junction told me this weapon was a rare find, made by one of her old friends. There isn’t any great tale behind me acquiring these; I just picked them out of a shop in the Campus Martius at random. I have not really given it any more thought than that.”

“A retired Gladiator named Liam Valcoeur made these. He is an old friend, and he started making this blade for me on the day that he retired,” Sax explained in a matter-of-fact tone, still measuring Gavin with his gaze. “It is unusual for one of his weapons to end up in the hands of someone who does not know him. I think fate was smiling when you selected this spear, my young friend.”

“They have served me well.” Gavin looked lovingly at his trusty weapon. “Is there more I should know about this man?”

“Valcoeur is a very private man. His days in the arena were not kind to him,” the ogre replied. “I can tell you that having one of his weapons will gain you an audience with him, if you ever feel the need. I can tell you some of the tale, at least as it relates to how I met him.”

“I’d like that, Master Sax.” As a Gladiator, knowing more about his weapons was irresistible.

And so Master Sax and Gavin, Ravius in tow, retired to a comfortable room in the Red Faction residence where the ogre related part of the tale of the reclusive weaponsmith, Liam Valcoeur. The man who made Gavin’s weapon had once been a promising Gladiator. Sax had met him when they both fought for the Red Faction in the Border Domains and the Iron Hills. Liam had been interested in smithing even then, his own father having been a village blacksmith. Valcoeur gave up fighting in the arena after a personal tragedy, which Sax did not describe, and became a smith instead. Sax went on to list famous fighters who used the man’s weapons.

“You’re the first Gladiator I’ve seen bearing a new Valcoeur in many years, Gavin. I had feared that my old friend had given up on that part of his life. It is good to see them in your hands.”

<>

The audience was more enthusiastic as the Red Team took the field this time, cheering graceful Sadira as she followed the rest of her team in. Gavin and Vintia, flanked by Karmal and Ravius, raised their shields, making a platform onto which Sadira leapt, saluting the crowd with her blades. The spectator’s cheers were genuine. They recognized Sadira as a winner now.

The Blue Team came in next. Gavin recognized the oddly attired Blue Hornet and whip-wielding Blue Calamity, but the other Gladiators facing them were new to them. Desert Star, Azure Dream, and Bull Dangerous. Gavin heard Ravius and Karmal both laugh derisively at the last name. It was not the best form to mock Gladiator names, to his mind.

Desert Star was an athletic, graceful human woman in a colorful fighting costume made from bright yellow and orange silks with runed patterns and stars. Her large, dramatic eyes were very dark, almost black, and outlined with a painted arcane decoration. She carried a pair of heavy-bladed scimitars. She seemed distant, untouched by her surroundings, keeping a neutral expression on her face.

“This next Gladiatrix they brought in specifically to fight Sadira,” Vintia whispered.

Azure Dream was tall, dark skinned, with piercing eyes and a regal bearing. The way she held herself immediately reminded Gavin of Sadira. Her medium armor consisted of a breastplate, bracers, and greaves all made from a semi-transparent blue material. It looked like she was wearing armor carved from shining crystals. The effect was stunning, and the crowd roared to life at the sight of the newcomer. There was a gold-colored heraldic device over her heart, too small for them to make out. Azure Dream’s weapon was a graceful, long-hafted saber-halberd. Gavin was certain that she was a skirmisher. She grinned like Ravius and winked when they looked at her.

The aptly named Bull Dangerous was a male minotaur, large and muscular, dressed in heavily spiked and studded medium armor. He sported several trollish tribal patterns enameled into his armor, making Gavin wonder if he was from one of the troll kingdoms. His thick horns were painted blue and capped with sharp steel. The big Gladiator strutted for the crowd as he entered the arena, flourishing a greataxe with a blade nearly as large as Gavin’s shield.

“Mess with the bull and you get the horns!” he shouted.

It was a pronouncement that Ravius, who was unable to contain himself after hearing it, started to howl with mocking laughter, drawing a dark look from Bull Dangerous. Gavin just shook his head and was glad that any further commentary was broken by the announcer clearing his throat.

“This bout is a common, mixed-team monster slaying match and will take place over a single round, with Droik’s hardcore rules in play. So, expect some tripping and pushing today, fellow citizens!” The announcer’s tone was both jovial and excited as he spoke. “And now without further ado, release the beasts!”

The Gladiators all tensed at the announcement, caught in that fateful moment before the final piece of their match became known. Gavin could see that most of the Blues were eyeing Sadira and Karmal, although Bull and Ravius were staring each other down. For this match, they all knew the rules for the match beforehand, but only the arena master knew which monsters would be used. Gates opened on all sides of the arena. Sadira could see the glint of metal, and she heard the whirring of gears.

“They really like their clockworks here,” Ravius said with a note of boredom in his voice. “All that shiny metal, I guess, reminds them of . . .”

He trailed off, his eyes going wide and his smile fading as the first of their quarry emerged fully into the sun.

What they saw was indeed a clockwork, but unlike any that the Gladiators had heard of before. Gavin could see that the Blues were surprised as well. It undulated into the arena, a long, serpentine form made up of thousands of segmented brass plates. Its large, snakelike head was maned with bristling metal spines. In place of a mouth, it had a profusion of greedily grinding, sharp-toothed gears. But nor was it the only one of its kind, Gavin seeing more of the snake golems moving lazily into the arena as the Gladiators sized them up.

“Raaaah!” The Blue team’s massive minotaur, Bull Dangerous, broke the silence, charging the nearest mechanical serpent, his head low and axe held in high striking position.

The mechanical serpent cocked its head, paused a moment, and dove forward. There was an explosion of sand, and when it cleared the serpent was nowhere to be seen.

Bull Dangerous skidded to a stop, furiously looking around him. Ravius snickered, loudly enough that the big minotaur Gladiator heard.

<This isn’t ideal,> Vintia called out through their link as they all stood at the ready. <I can’t sense where it went.>

<Me either,> Gavin added, his eyes shifting towards the other serpents as they followed suit, thrusting their heads into the sand, wriggling their long brass bodies in after.

For a moment, the Gladiators lost sight of the monsters. The crowd forgot its apathy, watching intently for signs of the metal snakes. The anticipation built, moment by moment as they waited.

It is hard to defend against an attack that you cannot anticipate, Gavin thought, his mind briefly casting itself back to his fight against the invisible sand stalker.

But no sooner did he do so, did he spot Blue Calamity and Azure Dream start moving, followed a second behind by the rest of the Blue Team cautiously in their wake. An ominous ripple then appeared in the sand between the two teams, which prompted Sadira to start running herself. Then, without any sign like the one that had captivated their attention, the sands erupted just behind Azure Dream, catching her completely unaware, the long, metallic form of the serpentine automaton looping around the struggling Gladiatrix with astonishing speed. Shouting in surprise, Gavin saw her let go of her halberd and grasp the construct’s throat in both hands in an effort to keep the maw of grinding gears from her face.

The fearsome strength of the construct was apparent as it started to overpower the Gladiatrix.

Moving at a sprint, Sadira leapt ahead of them, thrusting her twin obsidian blades at the gleaming serpent’s neck just below Azure Dream’s grip. Immediately Blue Calamity’s whip snaked toward her and Bull Dangerous thundered in, both intent on saving his teammate from the metallic serpent and denying Sadira the kill. But despite their quick reaction, they were far too slow, Sadira’s elegant, curved blades slipping into a vulnerable area between plates and their sharp points ripping through the beast’s neck, sending a spurt of oil through the air. But as Gavin ran to help in the aftermath he saw already brewing, Blue Calamity caught Sadira with his whip, snaring her ankle. Still fueled by her change, her momentum made it impossible for her to free herself, and she tumbled to the ground just as Azure Dream freed herself from the serpent.

But before Sadira could so much as roll, let alone regain her feet, Bull Dangerous was on her.

Gavin watched with horror as the heavy minotaur scrambled to avoid colliding with the fallen Sadira. There were too many people in too small a space. Stepping on her on purpose would be a foul of the worst sort, and would lose the match for Blue Team. The minotaur’s momentum was too much. Collision seemed sickeningly inevitable. But, at the last moment, the athletic Azure Dream, now free of the serpent, surged forward, throwing her shoulder into Bull Dangerous. From behind him, Gavin heard the sound of electricity and burning metal as Vintia or Karmal downed a brass serpent, but he ignored it and powered forward. Sadira rolled, frantically, the whip still foiling her movements. A huge hoof crashed to the ground beside her head as Azure Dream pushed her teammate off course.  The minotaur ground to a halt, relieved that he had not stepped on Sadira. Both Blues shot hateful glances at Blue Calamity as he withdrew his whip and turned his attention towards an oncoming serpent.

The announcer and arena master, who had been watching the possible collision, finally called out the penalty. “Red fall! Three points to blue!”

Gavin arrived at Sadira’s side at the run, the woman already looking around for the source of her fall, Blue Calamity. A glance told him that the offending gladiator had found himself in the grasp of a metal serpent and felt a surge of Thaom from Sadira as she cast Primal Surge enchantment on the construct, empowering it greatly. Struggling under the surge of strength, the Blue Gladiator could not hold back the creature as it lunged forward, and the beast’s mouth gears chewed his face, mask, and all, into a bloody ruin before Desert Star could arrive and cut it apart. The bloody display caused the crowd to erupt into cheers and applause. Even better, no call was made against them for the trickery and Sadira quickly called for Gavin to follow her as they searched for their next target.

It was along the way that Gavin spotted, Ravius dodge a leaping serpent with a perfectly timed sidestep, allowing the mechanical beast to land, coil, and spring at him again with a single fluid motion. But this time however, the Gladiator held his net in front of him, daring the snake to jump. With just enough time to see the scene play out, the undulating automaton sprang at the Gladiator with little mind for his net where Ravius promptly caught it with a flourish, enveloping it with a single motion. Its mouth gears stalled as they ground against the wickedly strong fibers of the mesh. Panicking at its capture, the serpent then tried to dive into the sand, but failed, instead thrashing like a captured fish out of water. It was all that Ravius then needed to rush forward and thrust his trident into the back of its head, forever ending its struggles.

It was at that point that Gavin sensed a sudden surge of motion beneath him and ground to a halt, Sadira at his side doing the same. Immediately he felt her begin to channel her Thaom into a Heart of the Beast spell weave that caused her body to tense with power. Turning to look at her, he didn’t hesitate to add his power to hers, enchanting her further with Cogimantic Focus. As they cast, the two magics mingled and life entwined with thought. Suddenly Gavin could feel the immense strength and vitality coursing through Sadira’s limbs as if it were his own. He felt the world slow around them as reveled in the magic, watching the sand stir before them.

Linked by their spells, Gavin saw the creature arrive through both his eyes and Sadira’s at once. The metal serpent seemed to burst free of the sands and leap at Sadira in slow motion, its gleaming coils racing to constrict around her. But there was no fear in Sadira from the construct’s approach, Gavin feeling nothing but calm and power through their link. When she moved, it was an explosion of bladed fury, her feet moving in the most intricate of dances, through three perfect steps, as the clockwork serpent coiled inwards. Her deadly twin obsidian blades cut elegant flowing arcs on both sides of her as she completed each step. Each cut was utterly flawless, done so quickly and perfectly that to even to Gavin, her blades appeared to make all six cuts in a single motion, like a steel flower opening at the sun’s touch. A six-bladed blossom. Gavin felt what she felt and knew that Sadira also saw herself through his eyes.

It was stunning, and for a moment, the arena found itself absolutely silent.

As the serpent fell into a half dozen pieces, oil pouring like black blood onto the sand, Sadira stopped, absolutely still and poised, the powerful magics coursing through her forming a brief pyrotechnic halo of Thaom as they bled way. The world seemed strangely out of focus for Gavin as the effects of the potent enchantments wore off and he was banished back into his own body. He breathed deeply, adjusting to the normal flow of reality again. Even as he snapped back to normalcy, the pattern of her blades remained in his gaze, an afterglow of that perfect moment.

Wonder suffused the arena. For a heartbeat more, no one spoke, and no one moved. The crowd could sense that they had witnessed greatness, and the scene was now etched into the mind of everyone watching. That steel-edged flower cutting down the serpent as it opened to reveal the Gladiatrix within. It was no technique, nor any spell that any of them had ever seen, but rather a manifestation of something new and different.

Sound built slowly, dammed in by awe, and when it came, the roar of the crowd was as if each of them was a lion. They forgot themselves, caught up in the moment, shouting their praise, reveling in the transcendence.

Sadira seemed to return to the world even more slowly than him. Everyone was looking at her, cheering or staring. Her team, even the Blue Team. And yet she turned to Gavin, smiling at him, almost shyly.

<That was amazing,> she said, her mental voice completely breathless and tinged with awe. <Is…is that what it means to be Chosen—>"

“Blue Twenty-Seven! Red Thirty-Three!” the announcer’s voice abruptly boomed after a long delay, cutting Sadira’s voice off and declaring their victory. “The Red Team has won the match!”

Letting out a shouting cheer, Gavin came forward and raised his shield, onto which Sadira eagerly leapt up onto, a wide smile bearing down at him as he lifted her high for the audience to adore.

Chapter Thirty: Finding Flaws

1144/04/28 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis, Faction Score: Blues, 829 points; Reds, 776 points

“To beat a stronger opponent, use their own strength against them. Above all remember that the Law of Strength holds true even in the arena: if you allow stronger opponents to get a hold of you, they will break you.” Mistress Firetongue, in a lecture to fifth-year Gladiator Trainees

“While reaching Master rank without a lost match is very rare, most Gladiators have far more wins than losses. The Gladiator is the representative of the People of the Domains in the ritual of the arena, and while the audience loves drama, they do not like watching their representatives lose. Most losses in a Gladiator’s career come on the rare occasions when they fight other Gladiators directly, and are thus exceptional and dramatic.” Codex of Arms and the Arena, Commentaries

“A single lost match can change the trajectory of a Gladiator’s life.” Liam Valcoeur

Gavin was the first Gladiator to enter the arena for his twenty-second match. The audience clapped with some vigor as he raised his spear in salute. He had no idea who he would be facing. The Blues had issued a series of single opponent challenges with randomly determined fighters facing each other in single combat, a favored challenge of theirs. This type of match was commonly called a blind draw match and was more frequently used in the upper ranks of arena competition, since the very best Gladiators sometimes had trouble finding others of their rank willing to risk fighting them. It was a testament to the fact that the Blues were confident in their individual prowess, but possibly that they were also wary of Sadira now.

Many of the Reds, including level-headed Vintia, had declined the challenge. Blind draw could lead to an unfavorable match. This was doubly certain for a Red Faction Gladiatrix trained as a defender in Scorpion’s Oasis. Gladiators of equal skill frequently battled each other to a draw, and the partisan crowd would likely vote Blue, which would count as a career loss and also gift the Blues with easy points in the Faction League tally. Defenders were also at a disadvantage because many audiences found their fighting styles a little dull compared to the more aggressive chargers or the versatile skirmishers.

Gavin wondered if pride had driven him to accept a potentially bad match. In the end, he had to admit that he had chosen to do accept the challenge because he did not want to seem weak. Sadira had leapt at the chance, and he had followed suit, but she was an invincible charger, and he was a defender. Many felt that this type of match was best left to a more offensive fighter, or a defender with a partisan crowd behind them.

“And his opponent . . . Shield-Splitter!”

The ogre, an imposing mountain of muscle, entered the arena to enthusiastic cheering from the much larger Blue section of the audience. The seven-foot length of his thick-bladed war cleaver rested easily on his plated shoulder guards. He seemed even bigger than the last time Gavin had faced him on the fighting grounds. A heavy class, Shield-Splitter wore thick metal armor made in the pre-Reckoning Warlords of the Steppes tradition. It covered less of his body than most heavy armors, but it was much thicker, almost impenetrable, on the arms, shoulders, and over the abdomen and vitals. Spikes and snags, designed to catch a parried blade, stuck out of the bracers and pauldrons, giving the massive Gladiator a hungry, menacing look. Shield-Splitter flexed his bicep while raising his brutal weapon with his other hand in salute to the audience, who cheered his display of strength. After a moment, he turned to Gavin.

Lovely, here comes the banter, Gavin thought.

“Your team has cost me quite a few points this season.” Shield-Splitter ran a finger along his blade while staring at Gavin. “It’s time to pay the blood price for your victories, little man.”

Gavin rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He was not the least bit intimidated by the ogre’s banter. “I hope you wield that blade with more control than you have over your saliva, Word-Spitter.”

There was some laughter from the crowd at this, but his opponent seemed unperturbed at the insult.

“Well, I hope Sadira is watching.” His grin was positively demonic now. “I’ll show her how useless you are without her. Maybe after I pound your pathetic ass into the sand, she’ll realize what a drag on her you are.”

Rage blazed through Gavin, and he raised his spear, breaking banter. The trumpets sounded the Call to Battle, and his Thaom was unleashed. Already trying to cast, Gavin seized the initiative, weaving and feeding Thaom into a Mind Blast spell pattern. The cast was so fast that it caught Shield-Splitter by surprise and staggered him as blood erupted from his noise.

Serves the bastard right! Gavin thought, shifting his grip and sliding into a ferocious Seeking Spear lunge. The crowd gasped as the point of his war spear darted toward the ogre’s throat. To Gavin’s dismay, Shield-Splitter recovered in time to turn his shoulder, and Gavin’s spear glanced off a thick armor plate.

“Slow,” the big Blue Gladiator growled as he used the momentum of his defensive twist, returning the attack with a broad backhanded swing that cleaved through the space between them.

Gavin was too close to back out of the way and he was forced to block the attack, placing his shield in the path of the ogre’s tremendous weapon. The massive adamantine cleaver met the mithril of his lion-headed shield with a resounding clang. His attempt at Avalanche Slope Technique failed, and Gavin staggered backwards under the impact, wincing in pain as his shield arm was dislocated from the sheer power of the hit.

There was no choice but to give ground before the next two swings, popping his shoulder into place between steps.

“That little blonde on your team can take a hit better than you.” Shield-Splitter grinned as his attack rang off Gavin’s shield again. “Maybe you should call her in to take your place?”

Gavin snarled, but the pain had robbed him of any witty reply he could offer.

This time he stood his ground, using the proper technique to deflect the ogre’s attack. Shield-Splitter grunted and shoved him back through pure strength.

“It’s not the same without Sadira here to do all the real fighting, is it?”

Angry again flooded Gavin, and the desire to prove Shield-Splitter wrong overcame his self-control. Drawing Thaom recklessly, he began weaving the pattern for the Brain Burster spell. The Blue Gladiator closed and swung again, his cleaver ringing off the lion-headed shield. Gavin dodged the next swing by jumping back and counter-thrusting and then cast his spell.

Shield-Splitter stopped in mid-swing, shaking his head. Gavin increased the pressure, pushing all of the Thaom he could grasp into the spell weave, shouting wordlessly as he did. The giant ogre reeled backwards under the onslaught, bellowing now, blood pouring from his ears and nose as the dread spell assailed him. But Gavin’s hopes were dashed as he felt resistance build and then, with a staggering effort of will, the ogre threw off his attack. The crowd roared with approval as he did so. Moving in, Gavin stabbed Shield-Splitter in the chest, retreating as his massive opponent cut the air wildly with his wicked war cleaver.

“Who’s laughing now, Big Man?” Gavin snarled, as the big Blue Gladiator shook his head. “Looks like I have some sting after all.”

Shield-Splitter took a deep breath, straightened up to his full height, and looked at Gavin. One of his eyes was entirely red from the burst vessels caused by the spell, and his face dripped blood. Although angered, he did not charge forward recklessly in response to Gavin’s taunt. Instead, to Gavin’s surprise, he laughed.

“You should have stayed in and finished me, fool.” The ogre shook his head. “ You had the chance to go for the kill with your spear while I was reeling, but you didn’t. You must have thought your fancy spell was going to finish me by itself. It wasn’t enough, though. I’m still standing!”

The last three words echoed like thunder, eclipsing even the noise of the crowd.

As he shouted, Shield-Splitter rushed at Gavin, bellowing a war shout, weapon held high. Gavin smiled. An angry, charging opponent often made mistakes. The smaller Gladiator sidestepped the ogre’s colossal overhand swing, quickly attacking as he moved. The metal of his lion-headed shield smacked against his opponent’s head with a dull thud, and Gavin shifted to stab with his spear. The attack was foiled as Shield-Splitter, better prepared than he seemed, shrugged off the shield slam, throwing himself forward and driving a heavily armored shoulder into Gavin.

The hard metal slammed into Gavin’s face, and he was tossed back like a boat hit by a great wave, barely getting his shield up in time to meet a sideways slice from Shield-Splitter’s massive weapon. Gavin reeled under the blow, toppling, rolling back and over his shoulder to regain his feet.

“No Sadira to save you, boy.” The ogre shook off the last of the effects from Gavin’s spell. “If I were you, I’d stay down next time. You’ll be saving yourself from some real pain.”

“I’m not afraid,” Gavin growled. “If you want to face Sadira, challenge her, otherwise keep your head in the fighting grounds. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m still standing too.”

Shield-Splitter chuckled in response, hefting his cleaver and trotting toward Gavin unhurriedly.

Gavin lined up his spear blade, but the ogre did not break into a charge, taking a more measured approach as he closed, throwing himself into a series of attacks designed to wear Gavin down. His swings were less powerful but quicker—and much harder to predict. Gavin was pushed back by the relentless onslaught, his shield arm numb from the pounding when he failed to use Avalanche technique after the fourth and sixth attacks. As he struggled under the relentless tempo, Gavin battered the big Blue with brain damaging spells, trying to slow him down, but the beast just shrugged them off and kept swinging. The crowd roared and cheered, both Reds and Blues shouting encouragement to their respective fighters.

I am trained to deal with this, Gavin thought, struggling to remain calm. I need to take control and win over the crowd or put him down!

He feinted, moving left, baiting the ogre into swinging to catch him and then shifting right to avoid the attack. As the heavy war cleaver came down, burying itself in the sand, Gavin lunged, jabbing his opponent in the leg with his spear. The barbed point sank into the flesh just behind the ogre’s armored kneecap. It was not a deep wound, but Shield-Splitter’s leg buckled, and Gavin swung his shield, bladed edge first, toward his opponent’s face. A massive armored arm came up to deflect the attack, as the ogre stood, bright with Thaom.

He hasn’t cast before now, Gavin realized, worried about the sheer amount of Thaom that his opponent was using.

Gavin felt a wave of unnatural cold pass through him, leaving him nauseated and weak.

Necromancy! He realized with a grimace  as he struggled to overcome the spell as the ogre drained his life force but to no avail. Shield-Splitter’s own wounds began to knit as he syphoned life energy from Gavin. He cursed himself for forgetting that the ogre was a necromancer. It was an amateur mistake.

The ogre smiled as Gavin finally broke the Life-Syphon.

“Thanks for the energy, little man. I could taste your fear as you struggled, it was lovely!” He stalked forward again, favoring his injured leg a little. “Are you sure you are in the right line of work? You lack the fighting spirit of a real Gladiator. I think perhaps you would have made a better Taskbound.”

Gavin said nothing as he circled. Shield-Splitter’s insult hit too close to home. He really did often wonder if he was fit to be a Gladiator.

The ogre chuckled again, moving forward with a burst of speed and swinging hard at Gavin. The smaller Gladiator ducked under the massive cleaver, felt its shadow pass over him, and jabbed with his spear. Although the point bounced off Shield-Splitter’s armor, it also sliced open a small flesh wound which the mountainous ogre ignored.

“I come by my wins honestly. You? Without Sadira you are NOTHING!” He lunged unexpectedly, one-handing his huge slab of a weapon as he lunged, forcing Gavin to backpedal out of reach. “How does it feel to ride on your woman’s coattails?”

Gavin’s face flushed with anger, then shame as the ogre’s barbed words dug deep. The simple truth was that he did feel inferior to Sadira, unworthy of her affections. This small seed of festering jealousy was watered by a healthy dose of guilt. He felt as if he was a millstone holding her back.

The ogre swung again, his cleaver blade ringing off Gavin’s shield. The smaller man attacked the beast’s mind again, but his opponent easily disrupted the spell. He struggled against his anger. On the next swing Gavin stepped aside and rammed into the ogre. As he hit with his shield, he invoked the trollodestone. A colossal bust of force erupted from the shield, knocking the ogre off his feet, sending him crashing into the sand ten paces away. Gavin ran forward and lunged as Shield-Splitter got to his knees, only to have his point swatted aside before it could pierce the ogre’s jugular.

“Is it cold in her shadow?” Shield-Splitter taunted him, as he stood.

“You tell me!” Gavin shot back.

“Ha!” The ogre chuckled again. “You don’t even know you’re whipped, little man. Guess you’ll find out when she leaves you for Valaran.”

Spurred by unreasoning hatred, Gavin lunged recklessly, stabbing Shield-Splitter in the side, shoving the point of his spear deep. It felt good to see big Blue bleed and to hear him grunt in pain. Gavin twisted the spear spitefully, its barbed teeth shredding his opponent’s flesh. The bloodthirsty crowd roared as red gore spilled from the wound. But Shield-Splitter did not topple.

“How do you like that?” snarled Gavin.

Gavin enjoyed the sweet moment of exultation as he twisted the blade, as if his opponent’s pain would somehow erase the bitter truth invoked by his words. But as his opponent met his eyes, the moment passed. The ogre’s massive armored hand closed on the haft of the spear like a vice.

“I love it, because I am a Gladiator!” the ogre growled, tightening his grip.

Gavin did not have the strength to twist the spear to pull the weapon away. The wise move would have been to let go and draw his short blade, but he kept trying. It was too late. Muscles heaving, the ogre lifted his monstrous blade in his other hand and swung it at Gavin. Although the smaller Gladiator threw his shield up to deflect the titanic war cleaver, its incredible impact drove him to his knees, shattering one of the sapphire eyes on his lion-headed shield. The blue shards fell like glittering rain in the bright desert sun. The crowd cheered the display of power.

“Do you understand my name now?” Shield-Splitter lifted his war cleaver again as Gavin staggered to his feet, numb and dazed.

The big Blue swung. This time, Gavin finally let go of his spear, scrambling backwards out of reach, drawing his short sword. Roaring with defiance and pain, the ogre wrenched the grim spear from his side, barbs dripping gore, and planted it in the sand. The audience thundered its approval.

He's humiliating me, Gavin thought. How did I let this happen?

In spite of his wounds, the ogre smiled at Gavin as he stalked forward toward the smaller Gladiator, hefting his monstrous weapon in both hands. Gavin watched him come, aware that his own short blade had very little reach. The smart move now would be to run out the remaining time and avoid the risk of tapping out, but the desire to best his opponent burned within him. Gavin needed to show Sadira, watching in the audience, that he was worthy of being called a Gladiator. So he waited, staying within reach of the colossus. He would have to get very close to strike a decisive blow with his short sword. Gavin’s pride demanded a quick and brutal victory, to match humiliation with humiliation.

“I can read you like a book, idiot.” Shield-Splitter was a mountain of muscle and steel striding forward without mercy.

Gavin tensed, refusing to give way, waiting breathlessly for his opportunity to attack. Shield-Splitter raised his towering war cleaver, runes flaring up along the blade, and as it descended, Gavin timed his reaction perfectly and stepped nimbly out of the way, thrusting his short blade into the ogre’s unarmored belly with incredible speed. Savage triumph filled him as the sword bit deep. The beast roared in pain, dropping his cleaver as the tip of the blade emerged from his back. The spectators roared their approval.

Angrily, Gavin pulled his blade out with a cruel twist, but his savage desire to hurt the ogre made him reckless, and he stayed too close.

As he tried to step back, a massive arm caught his shoulder, and a metal-covered fist the size of a melon smashed into his face with enough force to shatter the skull of an ungifted man. Gavin felt his jaw break and his teeth fly as he lost focus. The ogre hit him again in the stomach, driving the breath from his lungs.

The crowd cheered its approval as the massive Shield-Splitter then lifted Gavin off his feet, wrapping him in a crushing bear hug. No, no, no, Gavin thought as he tried to escape. The defender fought back as best he could, channeling Thaom into Mind Blasts. Blood poured from the ogre’s nose. It was not enough.

The harsh law of strength is, rarely overturned, even in the arena.

Gavin struggled valiantly, but he could feel those muscles coil around him with grim inevitability. Gradually, with painful slowness Gavin’s bones snapped. Vision dimmed as his constricted lungs struggled for breath. Then as he lost the struggle, Gavin felt himself lifted high into the air. Frantically, he tried to move to kick to grasp Thaom and cast a spell—anything—but he was spent.

High above the ogre, he could see the audience jeering him, their faces twisted by hate and bloodlust. Worse yet, he could see the disappointment of the Reds. It was almost a relief as he felt himself plunge downwards. Shield-Splitter roared and the crowd erupted. Then a vast weight pushed through his back, and everything went black.

<>

The first thing Gavin saw when he regained consciousness was Sadira’s face. Their eyes met, and he could read the relief and love in her gaze. He looked away, cheeks reddening.

“You’re awake.” Her smile was as bright and as the desert sun, but it did not warm him. “Thank the ancestors.”

“How bad was it?”

“You’ve been out for a little less than a day, beloved. Shield-Splitter won, but you still racked up a decent number of points for lasting almost the whole fight, so don’t feel bad in that regard. We’re holding steady against the Blues.”

Gavin said nothing, looking away.

“He’s a beast, Gavin, but you almost had him.” Sadira sighed. “You can’t win every fight.”

“I shouldn’t have lost,” Gavin muttered, wishing he could disappear back into darkness instead of facing harsh reality. “You would have beat him.”

“Yes.” Sadira didn’t even try to deny it. “But he was a bad match for you.”

“I still had the opportunity to beat him, and yet I . . .” Gavin stopped, too ashamed to admit he had given in to simple anger.

“Well,” Sadira said. “Next time you will know. People understand that you were brave going toe to toe with a beast like that. It may have cost you the match, but the crowd loved it. You knew it was a risk for you, but you did it anyway and won some points for your team.”

She smiled down at him. He wanted to hate her for it, but could not, and he looked away again.

“He played me for a fool, Sadira, I should have backed off and run out the clock. You wouldn’t have let him get his hands on you. He made a fool of me. We both know the truth. He taunted me, played me into making a stupid mistake. I made the same mistake twice. I should have backed off instead of trying to hurt him more. I know better. Maybe he is right about me.”

“Gavin, beloved, please don’t be so hard on yourself.” The concern in her voice cut through him. “Whatever vile drivel he spat at you wasn’t true. You are a great Gladiator. You can’t let it bother you!”

Gavin looked up at her. He hated himself, feeling unworthy of her concern. But he realized that sulking would only hurt Sadira. He did not know how to handle this loss, the sense of humiliation he felt at being baited into a crushing defeat.

But if he did not put on a brave face, it would hurt her, and he could not bear that. “You’re right, of course.”

<>

“This will cheer you up,” Sadira said. “It always cheers me up, at least.”

And how would you know how I feel? Gavin thought more than a little petulantly. You’ve never lost a match!

He immediately felt unworthy at the thought. Sadira was trying to be nice, after all. Dwelling on his mistakes was one thing, but lashing out at others was not the kind of behavior he expected from himself. “I can’t help it, sorry.”

The Red Faction runemaster met them in a workshop overlooking a series of gardens near the east wall. The shop was not large, but it was well appointed. They were greeted by the master and one of his apprentices.

“Ahmed Sof’Kimet at your service, Gladiators.” The master smiled as they entered his shop. “Your arms and armor are waiting for you here, as requested.”

Both Gavin and Sadira had enchanted their respective armor with a rune of hardness to prevent the metal from being destroyed or deformed when deflecting powerful attacks from their body. Gavin attuned to the rune swiftly, weaving Thune into it, connecting his pattern to the rune. The metal seemed to gleam as if coated with Thaom.

“Ready to give it a real test?” asked Sadira, grinning wickedly.

“You read my mind,” answered Gavin, feeling his mood lift a little.

<>

That night Gavin dreamt again of the noble Scornbound, Olek Agvarson, but when it came time for the execution, it was he himself who was trapped in the Scornbound’s body while a leering Shield-Splitter with Sadira’s eyes cut his throat.

Chapter Thirty-One: On the Training Grounds

1144/05/11 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis, Faction Score: Blues, 1345 points; Reds, 1219 points

“A skirmisher’s job is to keep the enemy off balance, to keep picking at them, to force them to make mistakes. Against a charger, the skirmisher will act as a distraction and a screen, never presenting a solid target. Against a defender, the skirmisher will aggravate him into attacking prematurely or lure him out of position.” Codex of Arms and the Arena

“In the end a Gladiatrix’s goals are different from those of the Factions. Each uses the other for their own ends, but a Gladiatrix should never confuse the prejudices of her patrons with her own.” Chosen Giselle

“Pride is a lever.” Ravius said as he offered his hand to Gavin.

Gavin, struggling with his temper, took his friend’s hand after a moment. “What do you mean?”

“Certain emotions are mostly positive, and some are mostly negative,” Ravius intoned. “Some are both, and we skirmishers call these levers.”

After his loss to Shield-Splitter, Gavin threw himself into training. Increasing his training regimen by an hour a day, he spent all of his remaining time reading the great works of some of the best Gladiators and famed observers of the arena, trying to make sense of his loss through their wisdom. While this left him with less private time for Sadira, she accepted it without complaint.

“Why do you call pride a lever?” Gavin asked, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“Pride gets you out on the training grounds every day.” Ravius smiled. “It can be a drive. It can help you push yourself to excel. In that case, you are using it to lift yourself higher, like a lever. But some of us are taught to take control of that lever and use it against you.”

“As Shield-Splitter did.”

Ravius, Vintia, and Karmal were busy as well, following Sadira’s example and meeting every challenge they could. The Reds remained within striking distance of the Blues in the faction points tally. The training grounds were bustling with energy, both adrenaline and Thaom.

“As you let him do,” Ravius replied.

Gavin felt a surge of anger at his friend’s words, but he knew them to be true. “You’re right,” he admitted.

Inwardly, Gavin still questioned his fitness as a Gladiator. Shield-Splitter had baited him into losing the match with nothing more than simple base taunts, and he knew it. As did everyone else. Gavin found it hard to reconcile his feelings about this. On the one hand, he did not want to let his team down, especially Sadira, and he felt driven by a desire to prove his skill as a Gladiator, to show he was a worthy competitor.  He  enjoyed using his magic and perfecting his skills, competing against worthy foes. Yet he hated so many aspects of the arena, the slaughter and bloodlust, the politics of the factions, and the role of petty popularity in winning over the crowd. The tangle of conflicting desires was too difficult for him to sort out. He wished he could be free to go wherever he wanted and live his life the way he desired without having to forfeit his magic.

A most Scornbound thought.

“We’ve all been there, Gavin. You’re not at all alone in your thoughts and feelings.”

“That…is reassuring to hear, Ravius,” he replied. “I think I just need more time. To sort out how I truly feel and what it is that I want.”

As the two of them separated to start another bout, Sadira, Vintia, and Karmal walked over to them. The three Gladiatrices were covered in sweat and sand, with the half-healed wounds of practice bout evident on them. Sadira smiled as their eyes met.

“Have you decided on the next challenge?” Gavin asked.

“Well . . . yes,” Sadira sighed. “These two nearly came to blows. I’m putting in a simple challenge that the Blues will just accept so we can take some time to rest. A fan bought us all passes to the Shato diOre spa and I feel that today would be a good day for it. Do you want to join us?”

“By the ancestors, yes!” Ravius said.

“I think I’ll pass.” Gavin said with a heavily mustered smile. “I’m not as keen on naked golden people as Ravius is.”

“Good answer.” Sadira replied with a sharp laugh, the group then departing for their rest in short order.

Before returning to training, Gavin decided to eat. There were more Gladiators than usual in the spacious residential dining room; several of them nodded in his direction or greeted him as he passed. Gavin was not inclined to talk to anyone, since most of them would just attempt to show sympathy over his recent loss. He smiled politely and said hello as he moved quickly past, wondering if their strong showing this season was pumping new life into the Reds of Scorpion’s Oasis.

And why wouldn’t it be? Sadira was setting a good example for all of them, indomitable and unconquerable, risking her career for her team and record. He just wished he could live up to her example himself. She seemed superhuman at times, even to him. But then again, that was what it was all about wasn’t it? Finding the best person to join the ranks of the Chosen. No one fit that description better than Sadira, not even the famed Valaran diVolcanus.

Gavin put aside his thoughts and ate a heaping plate of omelets, savoring the fine cuisine. Eating put his mind off his recent loss, and he returned to the training grounds invigorated. On his way, he saw a few tired looking Grey-Robes and nodded to them, wishing Cleothera had not returned to Camp Valorous. He could talk to her about things he would not want to discuss with another Gladiator, even with Sadira. In the harsh midday sun, the only other Gladiator he saw on the grounds was the athletic Azure Dream of the Blues. He studiously ignored her.

He did not hate the Blues like many other Red Faction fighters professed to, but he did not desire a confrontation. The last thing he wanted was a Blue to start making fun of him for his poor performance against Shield-Splitter. He started stretching, pushing the limits of his flexibility, getting lost in his thoughts, going over his failures, recent and old, thinking what he would do if he could take them back. He did not notice Azure Dream until she was right beside him, clearing her throat. Grey-Robes appeared nearby.

“Hi. You’re Lionheart, right?” The tall, dark-skinned Gladiatrix’s confident smile was disarming. It nearly put Gavin at ease.

“I am.”

Despite his reticence, she went on, smiling. “I hope I’m not bothering you. I’m Azure Dream.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad that my fame precedes me.” She laughed. “Where is the rest of your team?”

“They are enjoying a break, actually.” Gavin was not bothering to hide his suspicion.

The only time the Reds and Blues really talked to each other was to trade insults, in his experience. He waited for the jibe he was sure would come.

“Sounds like fun!” She was still smiling, her tone casual and friendly. “Can you pass a message on for me, please?”

“That depends on the message,” Gavin responded, thinking back to Dreadwood Junction and Bella’s death at Sadira’s hands. He could not stomach a similar situation. Sadira was a prime target to any ambitious Blue who wanted to gain fame by beating her, although few of them had the spine to try it here.

“I just want to talk to Sadira.” She grinned broadly. “Nothing serious, and certainly nothing for you to get worried about, defender. I wanted to thank her for stopping that clockwork cobra from eating my face in the last match we were in together. I also would like to compliment her for her match against the Blue Hornet last month. And that last strike in our first match together, the sword blossom—I sometimes dream about that. She is really good. Really, really, good.”

“Yes, she is.” Gavin suppressed a chuckle, it seemed that his beloved was making fans even among her competition. If Azure Dream wanted to cause trouble, she was doing a superb job of hiding it. “I will pass your message along. She will be glad to hear it.”

“My thanks, Gavin. Ezuis keep you.” She smiled and waved at him again before leaving.

He did not know what to think of her visit.

Pure skirmisher, he thought with a shake of his head. There are either layers to her words I am not seeing. Or nothing extra to see at all. Maddening.

After Azure Dream left Gavin went out to the sands to practice his techniques. Moving slowly at first, he shifted his grip on his spear and performed the Skirmishing Spear technique, extending his weapon as far as it could go while still maintaining balance and control. He led it there and then repeated the motion slowly, increasing the tempo each time. Then he worked in the seeking spear lunge, pushing away imaginary opponents. Forgetting all about his troubles, Gavin spent the next two hours repeating this, pausing only when his thirst and hunger got the best of him in the middle of the afternoon.

Gavin was deep in thought, considering his choice, the choice that had led him to become an Arenabound, when a shadow passed over his plate.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Gavin looked up to see Sax, the master-ranked Gladiator who had taken an interest in Gavin after learning that their weapons shared the same maker’s mark, a fact of great significance to the older fighter. Gavin nodded in greeting and motioned for the other Gladiator to sit; he was curious about the taciturn ogre.

Sax nodded to him, sat down, and started to eat without saying another word. He had a rather modest meal for a Gladiator of his size, and Gavin recalled that he was a light-armored fighter. Idly, he wondered how Master Sax would have handled the massive Shield-Splitter.

“I would have hit him and backed off,” the ogre said suddenly, looking up from his plate for a moment.

“What?” The unerring accuracy of his comment unnerved Gavin, making him wonder for a moment if Sax had read his mind with a subtle spell. “How did you know what I was going to ask?”

“That’s easy enough to see. Been written all over your face since you came in here. In your place, I would tire him out and slow him down before moving in for the kill. We can talk about it if you want. But I won’t be offended if you choose to keep your own counsel.”

Gavin stared at the older Gladiator for a heartbeat. Strange how Sax’s face was no more lined than his own, and yet Gavin could see something in his eyes and expression that spoke of many more nuances learned. Experience. The ogre seemed to be surrounded by an aura of calm, like nothing ever bothered him, despite his taciturn mannerisms.

“I would like that, Master Sax,” Gavin answered.

“You might not like what I have to say,” noted Sax.

“It won’t sting any more than the loss.”

“Truth. What do you think lost you that fight?”

“I got too aggressive. He got to me.” Gavin sighed.

Sax looked at him, eyebrow cocked, grey eyes drilling into his.

“It was worse than that.” Sax shook his head. “You were winning and threw it away because you were angry. You were winning and you threw it away. Do you understand me?”

Gavin thought back to what Ravius had said earlier. “I think so. I let him get under my skin.”

“Something is bothering you, son. Something deep down, I’d wager.” The ogre spoke in a low tone, once everyone had stopped looking at them. “I know you aren’t ready to talk about it yet. I don’t think you’d want to listen to this old ogre’s advice even if you were. However, do remember that the path is not easy for everyone. The worst obstacle many of us face is ourselves. You are a better fighter than you let yourself be, Gavin. You could have beat him. You were beating him.”

Gavin looked up at Sax. He still felt a little resentful and ashamed his loss, but the master’s words rang true. “You’re right. That is worse.”

“Don’t feel too badly,” said Sax with a hint of a smile. “I’ve been there before, more times than I’d like to admit. But enough talk. I may actually get a match in this season, and I need someone tough to practice on. Would you mind helping me out?”

“I would be honored, Master Sax,” Gavin answered honestly.

<>

“As I said, Azure Dream approached me on the training grounds and introduced herself,” Gavin reported when they spotted the Gladiatrix in question on the Training Grounds. “It was strange, I know, but she remembers you pushing her out of the way of that artifice snake. She told me that she wanted to talk to you.”

“Sounds suspicious, little brother.” Ravius narrowed his eyes.

“When Sadira is done with her, she’ll have to change her name to Crimson Nightmare,” Karmal quipped.

“I agree with Karmal on the crushing her part,” Vintia said. “Never trust a Blue.”

“Here she comes.” Karmal, her hand moving to grip her sword.

“There’ll be none of that,” Sadira said quickly, before motioning for everyone to stay put. “Wait here, I’ll be back.”

She was pleased that they remained behind; she did not want to have Karmal start a fight with the woman.

“You’re Azure Dream, yes?” Sadira had to look up a little to meet Azure Dream’s eyes.

She offered her hand, and the other woman took it without hesitation, shaking vigorously. Azure Dream had a strong grip and a charming smile.

“Yes. Hi . . . I’m happy to meet you at last, Red Scorpion.” Azure Dream leaned on her halberd, looking at the ground for a moment, digging her foot into the sand. “You won’t remember this, but I was in Dreadwood Junction when you were there. Your Deathmatch with Bella was the first match I watched there. It was truly amazing.”

Sadira raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t sure what to think. The other woman’s face was full of sincerity, but she knew that Azure Dream was trained as a skirmisher, like Ravius. She had no doubt that the Blue Gladiatrix could be deceptive. Sadira decided to take her words seriously, if at least for now, it was a waste of energy to be suspicious of everyone. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about you, Honored Gladiatrix. I have to admit you’ve caught me off guard. The Reds and Blues don’t mingle much in the Oasis.”

“My friends know me as Minerva.” The Blue Gladiatrix laughed. “Listen, we may be competitors in the arena right now, but I really like your style. You could even say that I’m a fan. And you’re right to be suspicious, of course. Faction rivalries can be intense. But there is still value in making friends among rivals. Besides, I wanted you to know that I’m thankful that you stopped me from getting my face chewed in that fight with the clockwork snakes.”

“I consider us even, Minerva.” Sadira smiled. “After all, you returned the favor when you kept your minotaur teammate from accidentally stepping on me that fight. Speaking of faces getting eaten, how is Blue Calamity?

“He might not fight again this season.” Minerva shrugged. “Although I heard that he was more worried about his ‘beautiful face’ than the loss. The Blues who have been here longer than we have don’t really like ‘new blood’ like myself and Bull. So, tell me, what was going through your head when you beat Blue Hornet last month? He’s really good, and it was an absolutely brilliant match!”

“Thanks.” Sadira smiled, enjoying the praise. She could see Karmal making a face at them, territorial as ever, but Gavin and Ravius were already practicing with Vintia. “His spells were strong, and he was a lot faster than I thought he would be, but I don’t think he was counting on my magic. People often overlook spells that aren’t flashy, but I find a powerful healing spell serves me better than a fireball . . .”

“Not to mention the strength of a fighter twice your size, when you need it,” Azure Dream added.

Sadira laughed. In spite of her misgivings, she was enjoying talking to Azure Dream. They fell into conversation easily, just two Gladiatrices talking trade. Their conversation stretched on, out on the training field for all to see, neither caring what their respective factions would have to say about it.

<>

“Well, it is better than we expected at least.” Sulius read over the final agreement for their challenge.

“It is,” Sadira said. “I just think that it is unfair that they can waste so much time before the arena master gets to step in. We are so close.”

The Blues were wise to their tricks this challenge phase. Sadira and Sulius had to rewrite and resubmit their challenge ten times as the Blues added new stipulations or struck down old. Eventually, the arena master stepped in and rewrote the challenge himself, imposing the final set of rules.

“Maybe even closer after this match.” Sulius met her gaze.

The version of their challenge that the arena master settled on was fairly bland, but it was one that they were familiar with and had won before. A single-team trial survival match, which boiled down to each team surviving the onslaught of monsters and killing as many as possible with no chance of the other team interfering. She knew that Gavin and Vintia pleased. In trial matches, the teams took to the field separately and compared scores.

“Count on it,” Sadira answered.

<>

“SADIRA! SADIRA!” the crowd shouted as they took the field.

Gavin led the way, followed by Ravius and Vintia, then Karmal, and finally with a loud cheer, Sadira.

It was good to hear some real enthusiasm from the crowd as they took to the field this time. Their team was well known by now, the youngest and most dynamic of the Red teams, leading their faction to its strongest season in this arena in many years. Sadira’s match against Blue Hornet the previous month and her spectacular finish against the clockwork serpents had been the most exciting matches that many of the local patrons had seen in their lives, dramatic and acrobatic. They roared in approval as Karmal tossed Sadira high into the air, the shadow-elf twirling with her blades outstretched as she landed on Gavin’s upraised shield. The rest of them then drew their weapons in unison to salute the crowd.

“Like the view down there?” Sadira smiled down at her beloved, before stepping off his shield.

He rolled his eyes. “Ask the lion. I can’t see anything good through the shield.”

Sadira laughed. “I think we are drawing people over from Brightsand Halls, some real Red supporters.”

The trumpets blew, signaling the entrance of their enemies for this match. Doors all around the fighting grounds opened, and clockwork soldiers waddled forth, their mechanical limbs moving with precise, inhuman perfection. These ones were silver with long, shining plumes sticking from their metal heads. Gavin did not recognize their weapons.

“Bloody Reckoning,” Ravius swore. “Shooters!”

“Chosen’s hairy arse,” Karmal growled. “Not again!”

The Gladiators scrambled as the silver automatons raised their left arms, which ended in devices that looked like metal forge-bellows. Gavin and Vintia moved to cover the rest of their squad by moving toward the enemy with their shields raised. For a moment, Gavin envied Vintia with her larger shield and heavier armor.

<Don’t waste time,> Sadira called through their link. <Keep moving.>

The silver clockwork men expelled their projectiles with a hiss, sending a spray of metal spikes flying toward the Gladiators. Sadira ducked behind Gavin. Karmal and Ravius took shelter behind Vintia. The two defenders blocked most of the projectiles, using the Magnetic Guard technique to draw them in, but the sheer volume of fire dictated that several would hit home. Gavin and Ravius flinched as their flesh was pierced by sharp shards of metal. The silver shooters reloaded without pause, spikes chambering automatically as they aimed. Their weapons were simplified versions of the gas-powered spike throwers used by many units in the legions.

Sadira cast a healing spell on Gavin’s injured leg as she slipped out past his shield and ran toward the enemy. Karmal and Vintia loosed bright lightning at the constructs, which leapt past her, causing two of the silver shooters’ weapons to spark and erupt explosively. The crowd cheered. Sadira’s war shriek split the air as she closed the fifteen-yard gap between their lines in three long bounds with a Panther’s Hunt war dance. She whirled into them, cutting the plumed silver head from one of her foes, spilling its oil as her sharp blades sheared through metal and tubing. She dismembered another before retreating back and taking shelter behind Gavin’s shield as the air became thick with projectiles once more.

<Six seconds between volleys,> Vintia informed, the woman having kept perfect count of the attack intervals.

The sharp spikes whistled through the air. Sheltered behind Gavin, Sadira watched as his skin seemed to grow rocky as he was protected by Vintia’s stoneskin enchantment. This time, the few projectiles that got past his shield merely cut or bounced off his hardened skin. Sadira began to count as she charged out from behind Gavin, blades hungry for the kill.

She was closing in as she sensed a huge release of Thaom as Karmal dropped a massive Pillar of Flame on the back of the group of silver men, causing several to start smoking and fall over and at least two to melt into slag. The crowd roared, feeling some of the heat of the powerful spell even through the protective warding that separated them from the fighting grounds.

As the heat washed over her, Sadira was already in the air, bearing down on her prey like a shrieking, blade-winged raptor, burying both of her sword points in the chest of one of the clockwork soldiers as he landed and then shearing it apart. Oil splashed on her skin, like blood of a living foe. The crowd roared.

Wasting no time, Sadira brought down her blade on the next and the next, bounding between them. The fallen automaton’s comrades forced the Gladiatrix back as more of them strode into the arena. Ravius jumped in to help her escape, tripping two of the clockwork soldiers with a low, graceful sweep of his net.

“Thanks,” Sadira snapped as they slid back behind the defenders.

<Anytime,> Ravius answered with a grin.

Another volley of spikes lanced into the Gladiators. There were almost twenty silver shooters in the arena now. This time most of the Gladiators were struck hard. Only heavily armored Vintia escaped painful perforations. Sadira did not run forward to attack as she was inclined. Instead, she drove all of her considerable Thaom into a complex spell weave, creating a mighty Font of Healing. It was her first time using the spell in a match, and Sadira was relieved as the magic washed over them. All of her teammates would be healed, constantly, as the verdant magic flowed over them. This was what they had been waiting for.

<GO!> Sadira mentally shouted, Gavin’s magic carrying her words to the rest of the group.

Karmal shouted, sending blast after blast of bright lightning arcing into the enemy ranks. The air filled with smoke, hissing spikes, and shards of blackened silver. Ravius jabbed out with his trident while Vintia blasted several to the ground with powerful gust of wind.

“Move together!” Sadira yelled.

The Gladiators tightened their formation, making it easier for Gavin and Vintia to protect all of them and for Sadira’s Font of Healing spell to cover the whole group. Spikes flew, and the Gladiators staggered as they were pierced, but no one fell. Even behind Gavin’s shield, Sadira felt several spikes pierce her. The pain began to change almost immediately as the Font of Healing began to close her wounds.

Ravius darted out from the formation, casting his net with an expert motion, entangling a large group of clockwork men, who fell, struggling uselessly and getting in the way of their comrades, and then finished one off with a quick thrust of his trident. Although his movements were far from graceful, as he was pierced by several spikes, they were effective nonetheless.

Gavin scrambled the mechanical brain of one of the constructs with a mental blast, while Vintia hacked another down with her longsword, finishing it with a blast of fire as it thrashed on the ground. More of the silver-skinned automatons poured into the arena. Sadira ran forward and hacked into them with abandon, retreating at the last possible moment.

Another lethal volley slammed into the team. The machines were relentless, heedless of the casualties they were taking. The Gladiators staggered under the hail of spikes, but the Font of Healing proved to be their salvation. Sadira could feel metal sticking into her legs, arms, and belly. She felt blood dripping from dozens of cuts. Still, she felt exhilarated, alive, defying their enemies. As she moved past Gavin to strike again, she saw a grin on his face as he pushed into the ranks of silver shooters.

“We’re still standing!” he shouted.

Sadira whooped, whirling into a press of silvered bodies, cleaving through one and scattering more. Flashes of lightning danced among her foes as Ravius and Karmal cut into them beside her. It was a glorious thing to witness and filled her with vigor.

Her powerful healing spell continued to counteract the damage done to them, closing the wounds they suffered and bolstering their stamina. It took a tremendous amount of Thaom to keep up, but Sadira willed herself to keep the magic alive for as long as she could, buying second after second. More Thaom flew as Karmal managed a truly spectacular lightning blast that leapt from automaton to automaton, leaving three ruined.

Smoke from wrecked automatons filled Sadira’s nostrils as she darted among them, striking as she moved. Beside her, she saw Ravius throw his trident which took the head off an advancing machine, the skirmisher then quickly drawing his mace.

Two more volleys struck them before the trumpets rang. Then the silver shooters pressed them on all sides, too thick to shoot, bashing them with their fists. Sword and magic rang against metal armor. Blood and oil mixed on the white sand. The Gladiators huddled together, supporting one another and presenting as small a target as possible until the match ended. The automatons stopped moving as the Call to the Ancestors rang out. Sadira stood herself up, as did the rest of the team, bloodied and limping. The audience cheered the enduring Gladiators with gusto, awed by the sheer persistence of the fighters. None of the Reds stayed down. All of were able to stand under their own power even after such a fight.

<That worked brilliantly, Sadira!> Vintia exclaimed excitedly, right as she let out a whooping cheer.

“And that is sixty-eight points for the Red Team!” the announcer shouted once their tally finally came through.

“Ugh, I do not feel well at all,” Ravius muttered through gritted teeth as they slowly began to turn to make their way off the sands. Like the rest of them, he had several metal spikes sticking out of him and numerous cuts that had yet to heal. “Sadira, I think you might need to keep that spell up while I bathe.”

They all laughed, pulling out spikes and limping from the arena.

<>

The Blues, taking the field next, killed more mechanical men through sheer offense, but two of their Gladiators were unable to stand at the end of their turn. Their final score was sixty. Another Red win.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Red Days

1144/06/14 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis, Faction Score: Blues, 1755 points; Reds, 1661 points

“Elemental magic has always been a crowd favorite. The spells are impressive both in appearance and effect. There is also a dramatic aspect to many of the more powerful magics; they take a while to build up and have the capacity to end a fight in one awesome, explosive demonstration of power. Many fans find this kind of pyrotechnic climax very satisfying.” Gaius Gerald White, Announcer and Color Commentator

“Out of every generation of Gladiators, only one or two become one of the Chosen. Sooner or later, this realization tears every friendship among our kind apart. Betrayal is the mother’s milk of Champions.” Chosen Moltar

“What do you think?” Sadira had finally decided she was tired of the wild, spikey hairstyle she had adopted when they fought the manticore at Camp Valorous. The shadow-elf Gladiatrix was slowly, thoughtfully tuning her image to stay fresh, taking her discussions with Amoura Vogue to heart. She had been working on this particular look for several days and was very proud of the results. Holding still in a dramatic warrior’s pose, she waited for Gavin’s assessment. She was sure he would approve, but the anticipation of his gentle sanction never failed to please her.

The thick, luminescent white hair on the top of Sadira’s head was now drawn up into a wide crest, rising a full hand-length above her head like the plumes on an ancient hoplite’s helm. The hair at the sides of her head was swept back, slicked close to her scalp and braided where the sides met with the central crest. At the back, the crest and sides melded into a short, intricate war braid.

“I like this one,” Gavin responded, catching her eye in the mirror and smiling. “I think it does a good job of conveying your style and personality.”

“Oh? Tell me more . . .”

“Ferocious and majestic, a queen among Gladiators,” he answered honestly, despite his bombastic words. “It is eye-catching, beautiful, rebellious, complex, and daring, and I think that it suits you very much.”

“Ah, I am glad to hear that! I’m so excited to show it off.”

“It’s obvious you put a lot of thought into it. Are you going to color it?”

“I might, but only when the mood strikes me.” She turned and smiled at him directly, showing her full approval of his compliment. “I hope my scorpion body-paint goes well with it.”

“Speaking of body paint, why can’t you just glamour it onto yourself?” he asked, his eyes dancing around her delicious curves before coming to rest in the warmth of her gaze.

“Nope, some paints can count as armor under current arena regulations, so it has to be applied on the spot.” She rolled her eyes. “A few dozen years ago, some son of a Scornbound came up with the bright idea they could use an armored lacquer to gain an advantage and ruined it for the rest of us. We’re lucky we are allowed to use any glamours at all with the way people cheat. I’m just dreading the day someone is going to figure out how to turn an oil-skin glamour into some form of contact poison or skin hardening one of these days, and then we’ll have to add hours before each fight just getting ready.”

“What about poisonous lip gloss or armored eye-shadow?” Gavin joked.

“Both legal, actually,” Sadira responded, turning back to the mirror. “You would not believe some of the stuff that has been upheld by the Council of the Chosen.”

“So I could die a horrible, venomous death if some blue vixen kisses me next match?” Gavin took his eyes off Sadira, closing the brass bound volume on magical theory he was reading, and getting out of bed.

“Well, it depends. If you kiss her willingly, you’d likely have to worry about me cutting you before any poison could kill you. Besides, it’s tough to get a truly lethal poison on your lips without endangering yourself . . .” She trailed off, applying a glamour that turned her lips and eyeshadow a dramatic black color before returning to her favorite red make-up. “That’s why it’s legal, I think. If you can pull off a win that way, more power to you. It would be a real crowd pleaser, too. The kiss of death!”

“Should I be worried?” he asked.

“I’m not giving away all my secrets.” Sadira eyes flashed. “Besides, for all you know, you could already be poisoned and the only thing keeping you alive is an antidote you get . . .”

“. . . from a kiss?” He finished her sentence.

“Close enough.” She laughed. “You’d be amazed at what you can and can’t do with glamour in the arena, Gavin. One of these days I’ll persuade you to let me help you with your next look.”

<>

“Sulius wants us to rest.” Sadira addressed her team. “He says we have earned some relaxation time. I think he may be worried about the pace we have set for ourselves. What do you all think? Should we rest, Karmal?”

“We can rest when we’ve crushed the sodding Blues,” Karmal growled.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Sadira said. “Go Reds!”

It was the Blues turn to challenge again. Regina’s Blue Faction had met with their best successes this season in random draw matches like the one that had pitted Gavin against Shield-Splitter. Thus, it was no surprise that the only challenge issued for which Gladiators of Gavin and Sadira’s rank qualified was a blind-draw, mixed pairs versus match. They would each be paired with a random faction-mate and would fight against a similar team from the Blue Faction. The Blues were more practiced in this type of match, but it did not bother Sadira. She approached the situation without fear. After all, why worry about what she could not control?

“I can’t wait for this.” Karmal flushed with excitement. “I hope the ancestors see fit to put us on the fighting grounds together, Sadira. No one could withstand us.”

“I would love that.” Sadira basked in Karmal’s good mood. “Anytime we are in the arena together is a good time, sword-sister.”

She could tell that Gavin was nervous, though. His loss to Shield-Splitter still stung. Gavin was the kind of man who put the team above himself and did not want to let anyone down. And yet he often took risks to prove, perhaps to himself, perhaps to others, that he was worthy. Sadira wanted to talk to him about it, to tell him that everyone knew he was worthy, but she could not see a way to do so that would not injure his pride.

“If we can win some of these fights, we can hold the Blues in reach for our next challenge.”

“I’m glad everyone is settled.” Sadira smiled. “There is a good chance that we will be paired with someone outside our little circle, so make sure to practice with as many of our fellow Reds as you can.”

<>

For her match, Sadira was randomly paired with a recent addition to the Red Faction roster named Cassius the Lash. They drew Azure Dream and a male Gladiator named Twilight Crescent as their opponents. As the match began, both of the Blue Gladiators went for Sadira immediately, but this turned out to be a mistake. Cassius, a skirmisher by training, showed his worth by foiling their attacks with his deftly wielded battle whips. Sadira took advantage of their momentary vulnerability and dealt bloody wounds to both of their opponents. After that, the outcome of the match was never in doubt, even though the Blues fought on with great bravery and managed to last the full-time limit.

Sadira found the audience very receptive to her new look, and she gloried in their cheers after such a grand spectacle. After the fight, she embraced Azure Dream and complimented her while the audience roared their names.

<>

After her match Sadira met Gavin in the arena baths, bidding farewell to Cassius, who was somewhat disappointed not to be joining her. Refreshed and revitalized, they returned to the apartment they shared in the Red Faction residence, where a strange surprise awaited them.

A small, compact human woman dressed in a golden silk gown stood before their door. Her skin was pale, contrasting with her scarlet hair and bright blue eyes. She carried a covered birdcage in one hand and bowed low, gracefully to the pair as they approached. She kept her eyes carefully lowered after an initial glance at them.

“Can I help you?” Sadira asked.

Saying nothing, the attendant bowed again and then handed Sadira a perfumed envelope with a runed seal bearing the heraldry of Volcanus. She looked very young, but Gavin guessed she was a Taskbound. Many high-ranking Gladiators had Gifted servants and companions. He and Sadira had never really felt the need. Sadira read the note and handed it to Gavin with a frown, looking at the strange girl standing before them.

He read the flowing script. The style of writing and calligraphy was, unfortunately, familiar.

Greetings Red Scorpion, Blinding Brilliant Bright Star of Scorpion’s Oasis!

I have followed your destiny since I first saw you fight in Camp Valorous; they say that you are the only other Gladiator who is as skilled as I am. I must concede that this is true. However, a fight is not the type of match with you that interests me, for my heart has belonged to you since that fateful day when I saw you display your unmatched beauty on the fighting grounds.

I have sent you this skilled servant and this treasured bird as tokens of my great esteem and undying affection. The girl is a Taskbound trained as a personal assistant to the exacting standards of my homeland. She is exceptionally adept at massage and perfectly obedient; I could barely resist trying her out myself!

The bird is a Volcanus peacock phoenix, a rare specimen and worth a king’s ransom. I hunted the bird’s mother down in the ash plains near Mount Wreckfire. It reminds me of yourself, beautiful and lively. If neither one suits your fancy, I am sure that a place can be found for them in my lord Moltar’s household.

As you may have guessed, the bird is the true treasure, but the girl is well versed in its care.

In Anticipation, Valaran diVolcanus

Sadira could tell that Gavin was livid by the time she finished reading and stepped in front of him so he did not frighten the girl. He sometimes forgot how terrifying he could be. Valaran often sent Sadira gifts, but this was one she could not ignore. Taskbound were very poorly treated in the Domain of Chosen Moltar, Volcanus, and returning the young woman would be tantamount to a death sentence.

“We can’t send her back.” Gavin echoed her thoughts “They would consider it a failure and punish her.”

Watching the girl’s reaction as Gavin spoke told Sadira all that she needed to know.

The Gladiatrix felt a surge of pity as she examined the scarlet-haired girl. “What is your name?”

“I am called Lina, mistress.” The woman’s eyes flicked up, meeting Sadira’s for the barest instant before darting again to the floor, demure and submissive.

“You need not call me mistress, Lina.” Sadira sighed. “My name is Sadira, and I am always happy to hear it spoken by a friend. This is Gavin, my partner. Why don’t you take your things inside and make yourself comfortable while I speak to him?”

The woman shot Gavin a look of alarm, but obeyed swiftly. He tried to look as harmless as possible.

“Well after what I’ve heard about Volcanus, I agree that we can’t send her back,” Sadira said to Gavin after she was sure Lina was out of earshot. Her voice was quiet but full of iron resolve. “We can make space for her. She can earn her freedom with us away from Moltar’s cruel Domain.”

“Do you think it is possible that she is a spy?”

“The thought had occurred to me, but it seems too subtle a maneuver for Valaran to manage. If she is a spy, we will turn her with kindness and use her against him.”

“Wonderful.” Gavin stated, a thoughtful look coming across his face a moment later. “I suppose…it might be helpful to have a Taskbound with us.”

“We’ll make it work. I’m sure Sulius vetted her if nothing else.”

“Then I won’t say another word.” Gavin put his arm around Sadira’s shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. “In fact, even though she was given to you by a man who is trying to steal you away from me, I think it’s the right decision.”

Sadira laughed gently. “Just don’t tell any of my opponents I’ve gone soft. Let’s go talk to our new friend.”

The gilded bird cage was already uncovered, perched artfully on a table as they entered. The peacock phoenix, its plumage a glory of sparkling sapphire blue, shimmering molten gold and radiant emerald green, regarded them with expressive eyes. Its feathers seemed to sparkle and glow as if lit by an inner fire, bathing the room in a rainbow of warm colors. The bird was equally spectacular to their magical senses, radiating Thunic patterns fed by a steady glow of Thaom. Sadira and Gavin stopped for a moment, enraptured by the dazzling bird. Lina was kneeling in front of the door, waiting for them, like a dog for its master. Sadira regarded her and motioned for her to stand.

“Lina, you are no longer in Volcanus.” Sadira’s voice was quiet but firm. “I am not sure how the laws of that Domain function, but in most of the Domains, Taskbound may choose how they perform their service. The Deliberative safeguards your rights—”

She stopped, confused, as she saw tears forming in the young woman’s eyes; Lina was trembling with fear.

“What’s wrong?” Gavin asked gently.

“My family still lives in Volcanus sir. If I do not please the mistress . . .”

Gavin and Sadira exchanged glances.

This is why I want to become a Chosen, Sadira thought. I want to end such treatment by tyrants like Moltar.

“I do not know what lies have been told to you, Lina, but you may remain in my service as long as you wish.” Sadira smiled gently. “I will write a letter to your former master and tell him how wonderful you are, so that he leaves your family in peace. With us, you will earn your freedom as quickly as it is allowed, and enough money for you and your family to move away from Volcanus. I’ll see if I can get word to your kin as well. We will convert one of our rooms for your use, and tomorrow you and I will go shopping with my two friends, buy you some clothes, and discuss your future with us. Okay?”

“Thank you, mistress.” The tears welling in her eyes spoke volumes.

<>

Gavin’s randomly chosen partner for the faction challenge match was Karmal. Although he was relieved that he had a partner he trained with regularly, he was apprehensive that it was her. She would not take kindly to failure, or any imperfection on his part. While waiting for the Call, they stood in the glowstone-lit marble corridor outside their arming room, idly talking about recent events. It was a rare occurrence to find them together alone. Gavin did not often seek the company of the abrasive and fiery-tempered Gladiatrix, and she did not seek his either.

“So is your little slave any good?” Karmal asked, testing the edge of her blade with a finger.

“Don’t be ignorant, Karmal.” Gavin rolled his eyes. “Lina is a Taskbound, and she is as free as you or me.”

“She gave up her magic. I have no sympathy for geldings.” Karmal stated harshly, her green eyes full of scorn. “She was too weak to face the arena and so she let herself become a victim . . . but that isn’t what I asked, Gavin, and you know it. You and Sadira have quite the love life, and I’m wondering how your new friend fits in.”

“That’s disgusting,” Gavin said coldly. Karmal simply laughed at his discomfort. “Can we focus on the match please?”

“What’s to know? We train together every day.” Karmal shrugged her broad shoulders. “You defend me. I kill them. Easy. Now, back to my original question.”

“No one has touched Lina,” he snapped, hoping the trumpets would sound soon. “Your original comment is beneath you and deeply insulting Karmal. Taskbound deserve more respect and so do I.”

Karmal was a great fighter, but he could not help feel that she did not like him. Her attitude reminded him of the assault that he had suffered at Bella and Cat’s hands in Dreadwood. Karmal had been attacked by Mox there as well, why wasn’t she more sympathetic?

“Really?” Karmal replied, tartly. “I happen to know Sadira just loves young redheads.”

Gavin turned. Eyes wide. He knew that Sadira and Karmal had been lovers once, but he’d never heard the other reference it. The trumpets sounded the Call of the People. Karmal met his gaze, her green eyes penetrating. He saw it then, her resentment, clear as blood on the sand.

What do I even say to that? He wondered.

“Time to do what we do.” Karmal said as she rudely brushed past him on her way into the arena.

The crowd cheered, but not nearly as vigorously as they would have for Sadira. Both of them noticed this, for their own reasons, and it pained them. They lifted their weapons in salute to the merciless audience.

The brass call of the trumpets rang out again, and their opponents entered the fighting grounds. Gavin was secretly relieved when he did not see Shield-Splitter. Instead they had drawn Steel Harmony and Bull Dangerous as their opponents for this match. The tiny quickling woman ran circles around the massive minotaur as he rumbled into the ring, his hefty, two-handed battleaxe resting on his shoulder.

“You mess with the bull, and you get the horns!” shouted the minotaur in a magically amplified voice while pointing at Gavin.

The crowd cheered and jeered in response.

“You really are a credit to minotaurs everywhere, Bull,” Karmal called in a sweet singsong voice. “Maybe you should change your arena name to Steak Tenderflank!”

Gavin shook his head; he did not care for that kind of insult, either.

Bull turned his focus from Gavin to Karmal. The vicious Gladiatrix stood watching him, leaning on her war cleaver. Gavin moved a little closer to her, setting himself so his back foot was perpendicular to the front, shoulder length apart, ready to receive the inevitable charge from the two aggressive Blues.

Bull out-massed him by a few hundred pounds at least, and Steel Harmony was blindingly fast. He would need to focus to keep them off of Karmal.

“I love a man who knows his place.” Karmal chuckled from very close behind him.

He shook his head. She laughed loudly. The trumpets rang again, sounding the Call to Battle. Thaom surged through Gavin. The two Blues sprang forward, Steel Harmony moving in a blur of speed, while the much larger Bull Dangerous sent sprays of sand flying as he powered toward Gavin and Karmal. Gavin shifted forward to intercept them. Steel Harmony would be on them first, but Bull would hit with the force of a steam wagon. He sensed Karmal channeling behind him, ignoring the danger in favor of reaching for as much Thaom as possible. She had decided to let him hold them off while she tried a powerful spell. Lovely. Now I know how Vintia feels.

The quickling tried to move around Gavin, so fast that even his enhanced Gladiator’s senses barely registered her movements. Most of the audience saw her only as a blur. Gavin could not let her get to Karmal. He turned, thrust his deadly, barb-headed war spear at her with Skirmishing Spear technique, forcing her to skip sideways to avoid its bite. At the same time, he placed his shield between his body and the incoming minotaur. He did not, however, have enough time to brace himself against a charge of that magnitude from the side. He would have to roll with it.

Bull slammed into Gavin, metal-capped horns clanging as they glanced off his shield, lifting him into the air with a toss of his head. Gavin, expecting this, did not try to resist but rather moved with the impact as he was tossed up. He flew backwards, righting himself in the air, landing at Karmal’s side and stepping back as the massive minotaur buried his heavy-bladed greataxe in the sand, just missing him. Gavin thrust his spear again at Steel Harmony as she sped by. Bull was left facing fiery Karmal, who now glowed with Thaom.

The massive Gladiator’s eyes widened as he sensed his danger. “Oh, sh—”

Gavin could feel the tremendous Thaom that Karmal drove into her spell, like a sudden, drastic change of pressure before a brutal storm, but the spell’s effect was not immediately apparent.

Bull surged forward, swinging his axe, desperately trying to get to the flame-haired Gladiatrix, but he was too late. Suddenly, the Blue Gladiator stopped midstride, rearing back, screaming, and bellowing flames as fire exploded deep within him. The audience roared its approval. Karmal had cast the dreaded Incinerate spell, which burned a victim to ash from the inside out.

“Roast beef, anyone?” Gavin saw a vicious grin light up Karmal’s face as she spoke. “I think I’ll carve off a slice for myself!”

Steel Harmony ran past Gavin, raining rapid blows onto his shield while shouting an incomprehensible stream of words at Karmal. “IdunoIdratherchopupsomehor!”

Gavin could not quite catch what the quickling said, but Karmal turned away from Bull Dangerous with a rabid snarl, eyes blazing. Behind her, the minotaur raised his head, struggling to throw off the spell before it killed him. Smoke poured from his nose and mouth, and he bellowed in pain, but Gavin was not certain he would fall.

“Out of my way, defender,” Karmal snarled, leaping out and swinging her blade at Steel Harmony, who easily jumped aside, peppering Karmal with a spray of thorns.

“I’ll cut you open from crotch to collar, you little—” Karmal swore, chasing after the quickling and throwing fire.

Gavin cursed. Karmal should have finished Bull Dangerous off instead of responding to the quickling’s taunts. He moved in on the massive minotaur, hoping to put him down before he could recover.

Now Steel Harmony ran toward Karmal, leaping to the side when the bigger woman swung her massive war cleaver. Instead of counterattacking though, the quickling cast a healing spell on the wounded minotaur, helping him overcome his wounds. He parried Gavin’s thrust, knocking it aside just enough that the spear only cut his arm instead of wounding him deeply.

Great, though Gavin, stabbing Bull in the side and then backing off as the big axe arced toward his head.

Behind him, Karmal stopped and hurled Thaom into a spell weave that sent a small shard of flaming rock hurtling through the air at the minotaur. Reinvigorated by Steel Harmony’s healing, however, Bull Dangerous got his axe up in time to slit the meteor in half with surprising precision. The crowd roared again. Gavin moved to intercept, but Bull shoved him aside with a swift strongarm, and then he charged Karmal. Although Gavin sprinted to intercept him, the minotaur was too quick for him to get between them. Kamal blasted Bull with fire, but his momentum carried him through. All Gavin could do was throw his shoulder into his massive opponent, pushing him just a little off course while grazing him with his spear.

Karmal, strong as she was, could not hope to match the charging minotaur, so she rolled to the side. Bull closed and rammed her with his horns, pushing her back with a roar, winding up for a colossal swing of his greataxe, which Karmal barely dodged. Steel Harmony closed in from Karmal’s flank just as Gavin arrived, sending a warning to Karmal.

<Jump back!> he called out.

Gavin leapt high, pushing Karmal back with one hand, giving her the added momentum she needed to back out of the reach of Bull’s powerful follow up swing. He tucked his legs under him as he flew through the air, praying that the axe blade would pass under him and not lop off his feet. Karmal’s green eyes widened with alarm as the weapon kissed her. The crescent blade sparked against her armor but did not cut her flesh.

Steel Harmony, her target suddenly replaced with the incoming axe blade, was forced to duck underneath Bull’s massive swing, sliding flat along the ground. Her eyes met Gavin’s, ever so briefly, as the blade passed between them. The quickling smiled at him as she skidded by and regained her feet with envious speed. The crowd roared, surprised and joyful, as all four Gladiators unexpectedly emerged from the tangle, unscathed.

Gavin landed, rolling, turning to see Bull take another swing at Karmal. The flame-haired Gladiatrix knocked the axe aside, blasting the huge horned Gladiator with a spell of frost and ice. The powerful impact of his axe on her blade rang out, and she staggered back. Gavin was so concerned with his partner’s safety that he lost sight of Steel Harmony. At least until without warning, the tiny Gladiatrix cut the back of his leg with her sickle, leapt and turned in midair, and thrust the slim point of her rapier at his face. He flinched back, turning so that most of the thrust was deflected by his thick shoulder guard. The blade merely cut his scalp instead of taking his eye. He swung his shield, backhand, at his assailant, forcing her back.

“Where are you, Lionfang?” Karmal shouted, sounding angry and desperate. The red-haired Gladiatrix continued to hammer at the minotaur with her spells, while he pushed her back unrelentingly with powerful swings of his axe. He was pressing her hard, using his attacks to keep her from concentrating on faster casting. Karmal was uncomfortable on defense. Steel Harmony, leaving Gavin hobbled by her sickle slash through his hamstring, sped off toward them. Although Gavin could not give chase, he threw his grim war spear, aiming at the broad back of Bull Dangerous, channeling power into a Mind Blast spell aimed at the quickling as he did so. Steel Harmony, caught off guard, staggered mid-charge as the spear arced through the air over her head.

Hit, hit, hit! Gavin prayed fervently as his eyes tracked the weapon’s flight.

The throw was lucky and well timed. The spear point hit the minotaur squarely between his shoulder blades just as he raised his axe for a mighty downward chop.

Karmal, already raising her blade to parry, took advantage of her adversary’s pause and stepped in, raking the jagged edge of her war cleaver down his chest and abdomen. Blood showered from the deep cut. The minotaur staggered backwards, trying to get his blade up to parry her next swing.

Laughing viciously, Karmal broke his guard and slammed her heavy blade into his shoulder and forced him to his knees. Once again, Gavin staggered Steel Harmony with the force of another Mind Blast before she could reach Karmal.

When the trumpets sounded the Call of the Ancestors, signaling an end to the fight, Gavin was surprised, the fight had been so chaotic he had lost track of time.

The Gladiators stopped moving and began to assess the damage. Gavin moved painfully as the muscles on his leg knit back together slowly. Steel Harmony had to support her much-larger teammate even to get him standing, Karmal’s assault having wounded him terribly. Bull was still bleeding profusely as Gavin took his place beside Karmal. Steel Harmony could not heal him now, as their Thaom was leashed, and the spectators needed to see the wounds in order to judge the victor. Both Gavin and Bull stood as tall as they could, putting a brave face on for the crowd. In truth, Gavin was impressed that he could still stand with a wound like that.

They stepped forward as the announcer called out each of their names, in order, raising their weapons to salute the crowd. The patrons of the Scorpion’s Oasis arena, thrilled by such a brutal fight, cheered all of them, but when vicious, beautiful Karmal stepped forward, standing tall and unharmed, her fiery hair lit by the afternoon sun, all doubt as to whom they would proclaim the winner vanished as they surged up in their seats. She raised her massive, gore-stained, war cleaver, a look of fiendish triumph lighting up her face. Sated by victory, Karmal even went as far as to actually help Gavin hobble out of the arena.

<>

Gavin undressed and began to work feeling back into his leg. The healer had mended it with a simple spell, but it still felt tender. It might take him a few days to condition the new muscle. He was surprised when Karmal walked into his dressing room, brazenly naked. Gladiators were not body-shy, and he had seen Karmal without clothes more than a few times after training, but Gavin still felt uncomfortable.

“Is Sadira joining you for the baths?” Karmal asked with a languid smile at odds with her emerald eyes, predatory and piercing. What is she playing at? Gavin wondered. He was fairly sure that Karmal had no interest in men, save to scorn Vintia. Was she doing the same to Sadira now or was she simply still excited from the fight?

“She always does,” he responded, not shying away from her gaze.

Karmal considered him for a moment, and then spoke.

“Well, you did all right out there. Thanks, Gavin.” She turned and walked slowly out of the room, leaving Gavin confused.

Gavin let out a long sigh, shaking his head. He hoped the emerald-eyed Gladiatrix was just being friendly. They did not need this kind of trouble. It was some time before he gathered himself and went to meet his love.

Chapter Thirty Three: Old Friends

1144/07/01 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis, test match for the Fifth Rank

“Corruption in the Deliberative is rare, but to think that it does not exist is foolish; every position of power will attract some who seek to exploit it for their own gain.” Ordo Grevex

“The Keystones are relics of the Age of Wonders before the Reckoning. Their power will preserve the life of any who are attuned to them, so long as they stay within a certain distance. A Gladiator, whose body is conditioned to regenerate, is almost impossible to destroy if attuned properly. The few accidental deaths every year in the arena are mostly due to failure to use the stones properly. Any known magic that can kill an attuned Gladiator outright is too powerful to use in the warded confines of the arena. Rumors always abound of spells that can, but these are likely the product of the confusion of a handful of unsolved deaths over the thousand-year history of the Great Games.” Codex of Arms and the Arena

“Keystones have been used occasionally in warfare, but with questionable results. Several tons of rock are hard to move around, and the benefits are questionable; a horribly injured Warbound is just as useless in a battle as a dead one, and if the enemy really wants to kill her, they only have to drag her body a few hundred measures to render the magic ineffective . . .” Warbound Deirdre Riverschild

“We are now halfway to master level.” Sadira smiled, lying languid on a massage table as Lina rubbed warm jasmine-and-rose-scented oil into her skin. “Just twenty-five more matches to go until we are master ranked. After that, we’re eligible to get invited to the Grand Championships and join the Masters League. Are you excited, Gavin?”

“Well, I haven’t passed mine yet,” he reminded her.

“Don’t defeat yourself so soon, Gavin,” Sadira replied with a shake of her head. “You have always ranked when tested. Even if you don’t, you can always rank again. Remember, Chosen Artuis failed to rank, I think, eight times in his path to becoming a Chosen. Yet look where he stands now.”

Gavin couldn’t help but chuckle at that response. Sadira’s knowledge of the lives of the Chosen was encyclopedic. It was her way to try and build him up when he was anxious; he understood that now. His life would be so different without her.

It seemed like ages since he had first stepped into the Campus Martius, twenty-four fights and almost six years ago. He had visited interesting places, travelled across the breadth of the Domains, learned dangerous magics, proven himself against crazed manticores, monstrous giants, and relentless clockworks. Along the way, he had made some good friends and somehow earned the love of an incomparable woman who could one day become one of the Chosen. He had many reasons to be happy, but confidence still eluded him. What was his purpose? Was it to help Sadira rise to glory or to master his skills and teach like Master Ironwall or Master Sax? What freedom could he find in any of it?

“You’re getting that look again.” Sadira’s eyes narrowed. “If you just sit there and get lost in your thoughts, I will take your turn with Lina.”

Gavin laughed and turned his attention towards the aforementioned woman. “That’s high praise, Lina. Sadira rarely sits still for anything.”

Lina smiled as her hands worked Sadira’s calves, Thaom flowing freely through them. In effect, she was massaging Sadira’s pattern as well.

“I envy your confidence, goddess of the bright sands, but I cannot help but worry about the future.”

Unlike Sadira, Gavin did not expect that he would be invited to any championships after his fiftieth fight, even if he kept fighting for fifty more. Somewhere along the line, he had come to the realization that he lacked some quality possessed by the champions of the Great Games. Life with Sadira in the Oasis was wonderful, but still many of the things the other citizens of the Domains took for granted were impossible for him. He was not free to go where he chose. Officers of the Deliberative tracked his every move. Gavin wanted to travel, to learn, to live his own life as he felt it should be lived. If only he was allowed to visit those mysterious ruins and wondrous landmarks that he passed in his travels, and to be free to use his magic, all of it, without the restrictions placed on him by the Covenant. Could he only achieve this freedom by becoming an outcast, a Scornbound? Such thoughts were dangerous.

Gavin heard Sadira soft laughter as she watched him.

“I am excited in my own way,” he eventually answered. “It is a real milestone. I’ll feel better after I have passed, though.”

He sighed and felt a shiver pass through him. “The Deliberative always seem to want to play some kind of cruel mind game with me on my tests.”

“At least yours are interesting . . .” Sadira sighed. “I had to fight a hound that got stronger the more pain I inflicted on it; the solution was so obvious!”

“Karmal had to fight a swarm of blood bees.” Lina smirked with a hint of amusement. Karmal was not shy about voicing her disdain for Taskbound.

Sadira snorted at the woman’s words. “Yes, that was something, wasn’t it? She practically burned all of the sand in the fighting grounds to glass she was so angry.”

Although she was still timid, Lina had taken charge of their household quickly, organizing their apartment, bringing food to them on the training grounds, running errands, and acting as a personal massage therapist, assistant, and maid. They had come to feel that the Taskbound was indispensable, freeing up more time for training. Gavin wondered how he would feel in Lina’s place, serving others instead of fighting in the arena. Taskbound were often treated poorly during their period of service. He could not imagine falling under the command of Karmal or Valaran.

Gavin was about to ask Sadira what she thought the Deliberative would throw at him today when they heard a polite knock at the front door of their suite. Sadira groaned, turning her head to look at him.

“Beloved, this is too good to interrupt, could you?” she implored, not wanting to end her massage.

Gavin thought he could detect the faintest of smiles curve Lina’s thin lips, pride in her work.

Gavin walked quickly to the sitting room of their apartment. The peacock phoenix lit up as he entered the room, and he could not help but stop to admire the bird for a moment. Lina had begged them to take it out of its cage, and they had built a nest for it in the sitting room. Freedom suited the bird. The phoenix seemed quite intelligent to Gavin, tame and easy to care for. The knock came again, and he opened the door.

A red-liveried page stood at the threshold, looking nervous. He bowed to Gavin. “Sir, a guest has arrived asking to see you.”

“Why didn’t you show him up?”

“Um . . . well . . .” The page seemed uncomfortable. Gavin forced himself to relax and put on a reassuring face. “The guest is a Gladiator and not part of the Red Faction. I was sent to make sure it was all right with you.”

Suddenly, Gavin was besieged by a nightmare vision of the famed Blue Gladiator, Valaran diVolcanus, arriving to challenge him and attempt to take Sadira. He felt his temperature rise and his heart pound as he thought of the smug, self-assured, golden Valaran. He nearly asked the page if the Gladiator in question had asked to see his beloved, but he stopped himself. He trusted his Sadira to handle her own affairs, including Valaran.

“A Gladiator, you say?”

“Yes, a member of the Green Faction. An armodon named Omodo. He says he is a friend of yours, Honored Gladiator,” the page replied. “He asked for Gladiator Ravius first, but he was . . . uh, indisposed. Would you like to come with me and meet him at the entrance? We need you to verify that you know him before we allow him in.”

Omodo. Gavin smiled, all thoughts of Valaran banished utterly by his friend’s appearance. It had been too long since he had seen his old friend, with only a few heavily regulated link-crystal conversations since they had last met. Gavin remembered Ravius saying that the Armodon had switched over to the Greens.

“Wait for me here for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

He went back to the bedroom to tell Sadira and Lina they had company.

<>

“I am deeply saddened that you did not send for me first, little brother,” Ravius cried to Omodo, emphasizing his hurt feelings with a melodramatic gesture.

“I did.” Omodo laughed. He was bigger than the last time that Gavin had seen him, his body having steadily grown through Sui-Thaiune body sculpting. “But you were apparently so engaged that you scared the poor page into running back to the foyer. I wonder what you were doing that was so important.”

Sadira, Gavin, Vintia, Karmal, Ravius, Omodo, and Lina were all seated comfortably in the sitting room of Sadira and Gavin’s apartments. The peacock phoenix watched them from its nest, content having already dazzled them with its radiance. Gavin thought Omodo looked good, more confident than before.

“So. The big question.” Gavin was burning with curiosity. “What made you leave our illustrious faction for the Greens? Ravius said you were rather cryptic about that.”

“A sad tale, and one that was hard for me to relate over long distances with the restrictions on our communications.” Omodo shifted his bulk on the pile of cushions that served as his seat. Gavin made a mental note to get some furniture large and sturdy enough for the Armodon’s next visit. “After finishing up at Camp Valorous, I was sent to an arena in the far north called Bryndon’s Quarry. It is a lovely place, a trade and mining town. Does anyone know the history?”

“I read that the arena there is built at the bottom of an old marble quarry.” Vintia was happy to share her knowledge. “It is famous for being the first place that Jezebelle, Zorgor, Dis, and Butterhoof fought after leaving the Campus Martius. Just think of it! Our Omodo fought in the very same arena where the legendary Band of Four started . . .”

“Oh, yes. It is a very interesting place to fight, with lots of history for a small arena. It is definitely less beautiful than the arena here, but it has a sort of rough charm to it, with big crowds, full of enthusiastic workers and merchants.” The Armodon smiled at the reminiscence, and the others were reminded of his previous nervousness around large groups of people, something he had obviously overcome. “In the end, I chose it because it reminded me of Camp Valorous and all the good times I had there.”

“What are the local monsters like?” Sadira asked eagerly. “We get endless clockworks of every type here because of the artifice shops in Brightsand Halls.”

“These weird crab creatures they called shellies are really popular. Apparently, they are the number one cause of death for miners in the region. Lots of trolls too. Some of them become nearly as popular as Gladiators.” Omodo smiled. “It wasn’t the place that bothered me at all. The problem was the Red Faction’s chief promoter there. Mack Maglion is his name; he is really well connected with the local guilds and unions as one might expect from the Reds. Problem was, old Mack took an avid interest in my training. He insisted that I needed to get bigger, pump myself up with Path of the Colossus training and go for Titan after that. I told him I was comfortable with my size.”

“A man who doesn’t want to get bigger . . .” Karmal replied slowly, lips stained crimson with red bloodgrape wine. “I’ve heard everything now.”

Ravius and Omodo laughed. Everyone else rolled their eyes. Lina hid her frown behind her hand.

“I missed your banter, Karmal.” Omodo earned a smile from the fire-maned Gladiatrix. “However, being ten feet tall, although it does give one advantages in the arena, does not make life on the outside any easier. I was considering that type of schooling at the time, but having a promoter come and order me to train in a particular way really . . . upset me. When I refused, he suspended me. My complaints about him were ignored or dismissed. I did not want to sit around while the Deliberative sorted my appeal out, so I quit and joined the Greens. It turned out to be a good decision for me.”

“What are the Greens like?” asked Sadira.

“Well, they have a strong presence in Bryndon’s Quarry. Butterhoof of the Band of Four actually founded the Greens later on.” Omodo took a deep breath and settled back onto the cushions. “Politically, the Green Faction has never held the High Assembly. They have had some success in domain assemblies, but they are not on the same scale as the Blues and Reds.”

“The Orange Faction held a majority in the High Assembly at one point, very briefly,” Vintia added. “The Blues and Reds like to remind everyone how disastrous those years were, even though it was decades ago.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Omodo smiled. “I didn’t know about the Oranges, actually. I miss your insights, Vintia. I learn something new every time we talk. Regardless of the truth, the Reds and Blues are considered the only viable factions by most people—that’s the politics that we must work to overcome. On the other hand, the minor factions like the Greens and the Oranges are not as caught up in their own stale traditions as the older factions. I like that. The Greens are popular, like the Reds, but I find they are more in line with my views. Every time I win in the arena, it raises people’s awareness of the faction. It is a wonderful feeling.”

“Sure, but that’s not what we want to know about, little brother.” Ravius laughed. “Well, maybe Gavin and Vintia do. Politics is boring. We want to know what it is like to be one of the Greens’ fighters. We don’t see them very often in the south.”

“Ah, of course.” Omodo touched his horn, thinking. “Well, there are a lot of differences really. The Greens don’t field nearly as many Gladiators as the Reds or the Blues, and we have very few permanent residences outside the largest arenas. We actually travel a lot, gaining support at smaller arenas in smaller leagues when we can. Lately, we’ve made use of circus arenas, taking the Great Games to people who have never seen them before. We also have a big presence in the Free Leagues up north, which is where I will be headed soon.”

The discussion went on, but Gavin’s mind remained fixed on the idea of travelling, wandering the Domains as a Gladiator for a minor faction or joining the Free Leagues. It sounded good to him, closer to the freedom he desired.

<>

When Gavin and Sadira returned home, Lina had a package for them. “For you, and its heavy.”

Sadira turned it over in her hands.

“It’s my shield, returned from Mistress Olga.” Gavin reached for it. “I told you it would make it back in time.”

“So you did.” Sadira smirked. “I am impressed.”

Gavin ran his fingers along the edge of the shield. It was as sharp as a blade. He attuned to the rune, weaving a little Thune into it and then allowing a tiny amount of Thaom to flow through the connection. This time, when he ran his finger along the edge, it felt much sharper.

“A rune of sharpness on a shield?” asked Sadira.

“Anything with an edge.” Gavin smiled. “My shield is as much as weapon to me as your left-hand sword. This rune will make it a bigger threat.”

“Nicely said.”

<>

The evening before his next fight, Gavin and Sadira went on a long, luxurious, late-night carriage ride around the Oasis. It was a rare indulgence, but with the unrelenting pace of their training and matches, it felt like a blessing. They were both pleased with being able to reclaim a few hours a week for leisure, now that they had Lina’s help.

Gavin was still feeling refreshed from his romantic desert sojourn with Sadira the next day and had almost forgotten that this was a ranking match. It had been some time since the two of them had enjoyed an evening alone together like that, and he realized that it was something he coveted, especially now that Sadira was becoming famous enough that he had to share her with the rest of the Domains.

We need to do that more often. It is too easy to lose sight if what is truly important in our quest for the Grand Championships.

He was still thinking about this as an arena attendant approached with a Grey-Robe, leading him into Gavin’s arming room. The Gladiator raised an enquiring eyebrow, this was a rank testing match set by the Deliberative, and he was on guard against trickery in the arena, but this surprised him.

“Gladiator, the Keystone does not carry any signs of your vital essence. Did you forget to attune?”

The Grey-Robe was a severe looking dwarven man; Gavin had not seen him as he passed through his pre-fight inspections. There was something about him that set the Gladiator on edge.

“No. I attuned to it in the presence of the inspector, as is required.” Gavin was alarmed.

It was nigh-impossible to pass the Keystone without attuning. He wondered if this was some devious part of the test. There were many possibilities . . .

“There must be some mistake, Gladiator.” The hood of his robe hid much of his face in shadows, but Gavin could see the cold glint of the man’s eyes.

The officer motioned for Gavin to follow and then led him through the winding stone bowels of the arena back to the Keystone. Gavin could sense the rune-covered stone tugging at his life force as he neared, signaling that he was indeed attuned to it. Surely, the Grey-Robe could see that. What was going on? He tightened his grip on his spear, a thousand grim scenarios playing through his mind. It was like a story from an arena murder mystery book that he had read.

Four additional Grey-Robes awaited them in the room, arrayed around the rough, runed bulk of the Keystone, their faces hidden in the depths of their hoods. Gavin could not tell if the Grey-Robe who had supervised his inspection and attunement when he first passed through this checkpoint was among their number. His neck hairs tingled. He could feel the Thaomic attunement between himself and the Keystone, but that was not all. The Grey-Robes all had spell weaves settled near them and held Thaom ready to cast those spells.  They were expecting him to resist. A cold chill settled on him.

The severe-looking Grey-Robe who had escorted him to the chamber turned abruptly and motioned toward the stone.

Gavin took a deep, measured breath. “Officer, there must be some mistake. I can feel the attunement between myself and the stone. Can’t you sense it?”

“I will not argue, Gladiator. This is for your own safety. Attune to the stone.” He motioned again to the Keystone, grimacing.

Gavin took a step forward, his mind racing. The Grey-Robes could cut him off from his magic and render him helpless with a thought. They could kill him here, and he would be unable to even fight back. And yet . . .

“I can feel the link, officer.” He spoke firmly, but with respect, looking into the other’s inscrutable eyes. Was this part of the test, or something else? “I think you are mistaken.”

“Will you resist, Gladiator?” The Grey-Robe’s voice hardened. “As officers of the Deliberative, we are authorized to use whatever force is necessary to make you obey us. I ask you again, attune to this Keystone.”

Chills ran down Gavin’s spine. It might be very well be part of the test, but they could also be using his ranking match as a veil for mischief. Instead of re-attuning, he stood up a little straighter, his eyes shifting back to the dwarven Grey-Robe who was doing the talking. It was better to face the consequences here and now than act the coward and give in to this plot, whatever it might be.

“I will not fight you, officer.” He was pleased that his voice did not betray any of his inner turmoil. It almost seemed to be coming from another man, calm and powerful. He slowly, deliberately put his spear and shield down on the ground. Afterwards, he took a deep breath, exhaled, and continued. “But I will not re-attune to this stone. I can feel the attunement link within me, and you should be able sense it clearly. I will not resist, but you cannot force me to re-attune. If you wish to fail me, or give me a forfeiture, I accept that. I feel strongly about this.”

The Grey-Robe looked around at his companions. He snorted. “Are you sure? Are you truly prepared to face the consequences of your disobedience, Gladiator?”

The air was thick with power waiting to be unleashed, cut with an undercurrent of menace. Gavin took a deep breath.

“I am,” he intoned.

“Very well.” The dwarf stepped forward, slowly reaching into his robes. Gavin tensed, knowing he could do little now. He would have to pay the price for his defiance. He took a deep breath. The dwarf took out a sheaf of papers. “Sign this, please.”

Gavin looked at the form. Surely this was a joke, part of the test, or could it be some sort of elaborate plot like those he’d read about in the histories of the Domains . . . he shook his head, exhaled, and took the paper from the dwarf. It was a simple form that absolved them from responsibility if the Keystone failed to protect him. Startlingly similar to the papers a Gladiator had to sign stating they understood a Deathmatch. He did not have time to read it through, not under pressure. What was going on here?

He handed the papers back to the Dwarf. “I will not sign these. I am attuned to the keystone. I expect it to work properly.”

“Gladiator, you are being very difficult.” The dwarf sounded angry.

“Grey-Robe. I tire of this dance,” Gavin snapped, shocking himself. The dwarf’s eyes widened, just a little. “I have stated my position. I know my rights. I will not re-attune. I will not sign this form. If you are worried that I will die in the arena because I am improperly attuned to this keystone, your comrades here can act as witnesses to clear you at any official inquiry, I am sure. If you wish to stop the match and call for an investigation, do so.”

“And what if they were to say to an inquiry that you attempted to kill me, Gladiator, and that I was forced to slay you in self-defence?” A small smile played across the Grey-Robe’s face. Gavin did not give in to fear, though.

“Then I would trust justice to take its proper course . . . officer.” Gavin felt relaxed, sure of himself now that he was committed. “I wonder though, is the inspector who checked me upon entry part of your little cabal? I will not use my magic to defend myself against you, and my weapon is out of reach. There will be an inquiry, and as we both know, the Deliberative is very thorough and has seen nearly every trick imaginable in its long history of investigation. Could you get away with it?”

The dour Grey-Robe frowned.

Gavin met his gaze, unflinching, blue eyes firm and cold.

The Grey-Robe looked away. “Very well, Gladiator. You may go.”

He turned away, his comrades following, leaving Gavin to wonder as he hurried back to his arming room.

<>

Gavin’s mind was still troubled as his match began. The event seemed surreal, almost fantastical, like a part of a fanciful conspiracy. He decided it must be a mistake or part of the test. He was not important enough to be the target of any great malfeasance.

The Call of the People roused him from his thoughts. Although he received little applause when he raised his spear to salute the crowd, he did not worry. It was not a faction challenge, and the arena crowd was small, lethargic, and disinterested. There were some whoops and cheers from Sadira, which brought a smile to his face.

The trumpets sounded the Call to Battle. Gavin’s opponent stalked into the ring, a towering figure whose features were obscured by massive, iron-colored armored plates. Was it a clockwork automaton? Gavin could not see any of the telltale steam escaping as it moved, nor could he hear the sound of gears grinding. There were more advanced types of artifice-based automaton, but those were rare in the arena. It could be a troll—the armor was the right size and width—but it moved with mechanical precision. An elemental or some other form of golem, perhaps. Strong magic surrounded it, but he could not make sense of the patterns.

I hate surprise opponents, he thought. Just once, I would love to have an easy, straightforward ranking match.

The trumpets sounded again, forcing Gavin to shelve his thoughts as the figure moved toward him, brandishing an immense two-handed hammer, the head of which likely outweighed the Gladiator’s entire kit. He shivered at the thought of what a hit from that hammer could do to him. What if the Grey-Robes were right and he had failed to attune to the life-protecting Keystone? The thought was chilling, and he reached out to feel the attunement to the Keystone. It was still there.

Ugh, this test is awful, he thought. They have me second guessing myself all over. I need to concentrate on the fight.

As they circled, Gavin sought the figure’s mind and felt . . . nothing. He contemplated this as he ducked under a powerful, precise swipe of his opponent’s heavy-headed hammer. He felt the wind of the swing pass over him, and he stepped back as the enemy followed up with a perfect backswing. He stepped in and thrust, feeling his spear glance off its armor three times, doing little more than gouging the metal a little. Normally, every opponent that he faced had a mind that he could reach with his magic. Even a mindless construct animated by magic would have some sort of residual echo of the spell weave used to give it a semblance of life and command it.

Carefully assessing the enemy, Gavin sidestepped a downward overhand swing, feeling the ground shake as sand sprayed as the blade cleaved into the sands. Seeing an opportunity, he lunged while the black armored figure hefted its weapon again. Though this strike had more power behind it, his war spear glanced away from the thick armor of the figure, leaving only a deep score on the metal. He could sense no give underneath. Most clockworks merely wore an armored shell over their gears. This one felt much more solid. Was it a true golem made entirely of metal?

Gavin deflected the next attack with Liquid Deflection technique, which forced the figure to show its flank. Seeing another golden opportunity, Gavin thrust his spear at the figure’s face with perfect accuracy. The tip of his spear thrust into the eye slit. The figure did not flinch like any living opponent would, not even when his spear tip pushed an inch into the eye socket of its helm. Even if it were being controlled remotely, the controlling person would flinch.

By the ancestors! It’s a true iron golem, he realized. I don’t have the magic to beat something like this!

A surprisingly fast swing of the armored figure’s massive hammer forced Gavin to block squarely, and the force of blow sent him flying backwards. He felt the wind knocked out of him as he hit the ground hard but kept himself from panicking as the figure moved in with fearsome alacrity for something so large. At the last second, he rolled to his feet and dove away from the creature as it buried its weapon in the sand once more.

Could he beat this thing? If he had elemental magic like Karmal or Vintia, he could blast it to slag with a powerful enough spell or mire it down in the sands. Sadira could enhance her strength to the point where her blades could cut through that thick metal. What could he do with Cogimancy?

Gavin rolled to his feet, mind racing. The massive construct turned, sweeping its huge hammer in a broad arc. Rather than give ground, Gavin ducked the attack and drove his spear into his opponent’s knee. It was like stabbing a metal slab, but he felt some give.

Perhaps I can wear it down? he thought.

Paranoia crept through Gavin’s mind. He was up against an impossible foe, and with the strange Grey-Robe behavior with the Keystone he could not help but think someone was trying to kill him and make it look accidental. He could still feel the link to the Keystone, but it was not reassuring. The construct recovered and swung at him again, and he stepped out of the way of a swift thrust. Fear will not help me now, he thought. He pushed his thoughts away as he dodged the creature’s powerful follow up swings. He couldn’t do anything about the Keystone now. He needed to focus on defeating the armored figure.

Gavin set his mind to work, probing the magics around the figure. Even a true golem had some kind of Thunic thought center. If he could not detect a mind or magical control, something must be obscuring it from his magic. Backing away from another powerful swing, Gavin countered with another thrust into an armored knee-joint. He felt a little give again before the construct stormed forward and swung. He jumped out of the way. This creature was a puzzle.

If the patterns are obscured, it must be for a reason, Gavin thought. Perhaps it is part of the test.

Taking a deep breath, Gavin emptied his mind of all stray thoughts, concentrating on defense as he examined the layers of Thune that obscured the golem’s patterns. He could see no threads to pull on, yet there had to be a core. He thought about the invisible stalker in his last ranking match and how he had defeated it not by overcoming its resistance to detection, but by outsmarting it. Perhaps he could employ a similar technique here. The construct has no eyes, he thought, yet it can still swing at me. Fully defensive now, he stepped around the golem, focusing his magical senses on it to see if he could read some activity when it swung at him.

Gavin stood in front of it, baiting the attack. The golem swung again and then again as he deflected its attacks with his shield. The third time it attacked, the Gladiator sensed a glimmer in the layers obscuring the pattern. I see you! he thought with a surge of triumph. Dodging out of the way of the massive hammer, he bent his will toward that ripple. He found the hidden spot and began peeling back the layers of obscuring magic, raising his shield to block an attack as he did so. He got to the final layer just as the giant figure loomed above him, raising its monstrous, bone-crushing hammer over its head. There was no fear in him, though. He knew what he had to do, chasing that thread, unravelling it the end in the blink of an eye. He was good with Thune. He understood pattern.

I know how Cogimancy can end you, he thought as he pulled back that last layer and found what he wanted.

Smiling, Gavin severed the surprisingly weak link animating the golem. It froze, stopping with its heavy hammer back behind its grim-helmed head, and then toppled backwards, landing heavily in the sand.

Gavin laughed with pleasure. He had enjoyed unravelling this puzzle without being flattened himself. Hearing Sadira’s cheers as he walked out of the ring, he wondered what she would make of it the scene at the Keystone. Even now, he wondered if it was just part of the test, something a bored Grey-Robe had dreamt up to throw him off. Perhaps he was just being paranoid.

Perhaps not.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Sadira’s Loss

1144/07/17 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis, Faction Score: Reds, 1986 points. Blues, 1972 points

“Broken bones can heal; broken wills cannot.” Chosen Moltar

“Lina, I can’t believe you betrayed me like this!” Sadira glared at her crimson-haired Taskbound. The implacable gaze that had unnerved so many foes in the arena rooted the young woman to the spot, her eyes wide like some unfortunate animal caught out in the open when the Hawk’s dread hunting cry sounded. The girl said nothing, too fearful to speak.

“She didn’t tell me anything. I found out on my own.” Gavin stepped between them before Sadira could continue.

“Don’t protect her,” Sadira responded, keeping her eyes on Lina, who remained paralyzed, unable to look away from her wrathful mistress. “I don’t want someone who betrays my confidence serving me.”

“Stop changing the subject, Sadira,” Gavin thundered, angry now. “Don’t you think I’m smart enough to figure your secret out on my own? Give me that much credit at least.”

Sadira stiffened and pivoted, eyes blazing now. Gavin locked eyes with her while motioning for Lina to leave. This argument was none of the little Taskbound’s concern, and fighting before an audience always aggravated an argument as far as he was concerned.

Sadira took a more forceful stance, arms crossed, and feet shoulder width apart. She let her anger show, gathering shadows around her to give her a more wrathful appearance. It would have been funny in other circumstances. Gavin paused for a moment, resisting the desire to drop the confrontation and pretend he hadn’t seen what he had witnessed. He marshaled his arguments and summoned his resolve for the fight.

“Did I do something wrong, beloved?” Her tone was sweetly edged, her eyes shining with molten passion.

“Did you?” he countered, trying to muster the teachings of all the great orators and sage lovers whom he had read about, wondering how they would handle this difficult situation. “If you weren’t trying to conceal this, why pretend to get so angry at Lina?”

“As I said, I have no use for a Taskbound who might betray my confidence.” She deflected his argument, shrugging. “After all, think of who gave her to me . . .”

Sensing that he could not mince words with her without getting lost, his riposte went straight to the heart of the matter. “Don’t dodge the question, Sadira. Why did you hide this from me?”

“I did not really think it was important, my love. After all, I already said that I was staying until the end of the season.”

“An invitation to Brightsand Halls Arena isn’t important?” he asked, incredulous tone cutting deep. “And from Chosen Giselle herself. To her personal stable of Gladiators. How can a letter to you from the Chosen in whose Domain we reside not be noteworthy at the very least? An invitation to move up to the next league is what you’ve been working for your entire career. Why would you hide it from me, from your team?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She glowered. “It is my business, Gavin.”

He moved in for the kill. “You accepted it, right? One does not simply ignore the Chosen.”

“No. Not yet. I’m going to finish the season here, at Scorpion’s Oasis. I promised Sulius I would leave here a champion.”

“Sadira, you can’t ignore a summons from the Chosen.” He spoke softly. He had won the argument, but it was a hollow victory. “It’s reckless.”

“She doesn’t own me,” Sadira responded, but none of her words had the earlier vigor.

“She can make your life miserable, though.” Gavin sighed. “She could ruin everything you’ve worked for . . . you can’t just ignore someone like that.”

“I promised I’d help the Reds with the season here. I mean to do it, Gavin,” she responded, just a little sulkily.

“You’ve already won here, Sadira. Sulius will be grateful to you for the rest of his days. The other Reds are surging. The fans love you. The Blues are in disarray. Faction League Champion’s laurels would be merely cosmetic at this point. Would you give up the greater prize of the patronage of Chosen Giselle for something so small?” He shook his head, knowing the answer already, hoping it wasn’t true. “Would you risk her wrath? The real reason you are staying is because of me. I don’t want to hold you back, Sadira. You have a brilliant destiny.”

Sadira sighed and leaned her head against him softly. “I will apologize to Lina. I don’t know what to do about Chosen Giselle. I . . . want to stay with you. And yet I feel like the world is trying to tear us apart.”

“It is,” Gavin replied, holding her close “Even on the cusp of victory, our destinies are not our own.”

“No!” Sadira stiffened, fists clenched. “Bugger Chosen Giselle’s invitation! We can join the Greens, earn our master ranks on the road. We’ll figure something out. We can run away together.”

Gavin smiled. Sadira would throw away everything for him, it seemed. But he had seen what the Domains did to Scornbound.

“It’s too late for that, beloved. You have already been marked for greatness, and it would be a waste to work against that.” He felt the weight of every word, knowing he would carry them for the rest of his life. “I cannot let you throw away your chance at greatness for us.”

“I don’t want to win if it means I lose you!” She was still defiant.

Gavin paused, careful now. He realized they were on the edge of a precipice. If he turned his back on her, ending their relationship, he would break her heart. He could never bring himself to do that, even though he thought it might be the best thing for Sadira.

On the other hand, he understood now that she would give up everything if he just asked, but he could not bring himself to drag her away from her destiny either. One wrong word from him could bring ruin to them both. He needed to give her hope. Hope would always give someone as willful as Sadira the strength to continue, even if he faltered.

“You won’t lose me, Sadira.” Gavin surprised himself with the conviction he put into every word. “The world can’t keep us apart forever. Omodo walks a different path than we, and yet we will always be his friends. I will never stop loving you, no matter what lies between us. After all, when you are a Chosen, who will be able to stop you if you call me to your side?”

“You’re right, my love.” She smiled, tension ebbing. “I’m sorry that I hid this from you. I was . . . afraid, I think. I will see if I can make amends with Chosen Giselle and buy us a few more months together. I really do want to walk out of here with victory laurels, you know. I won’t refuse Giselle outright, though, and I will go if she presses. Can you forgive me for keeping this from you?”

He laughed. “Yes. It’s pointless to be angry at you when I know that you did this out of love.”

She clung to him. “I don’t want to lose you, Gavin. You are a better man than you know. You deserve to fight at my side, and I want you with me always. I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“We are Gladiators. This is what we do, my love.” And he drew her to him with that perfect tender passion that blossoms only in the shadow of sorrow, sealing her defeat with a kiss.

<>

Omodo said his goodbyes. The troupe of Greens he was travelling with was heading north. The armodon was happy to be moving again and rejoining his new comrades, but they were all sad to see him go. The few weeks he had been with them reminded them all of old times.

“Well, I wish I could stay longer, friends,” Omodo said when he could no longer put off leaving. His Grey-Robe escort looked down from the waiting steam wagon impatiently, but the Armodon did not seem to notice. “I’d love to see your next challenge, but my time with you has run out once more. It has been a great joy to see you all.”

“Good luck with the Greens, Omodo.” Sadira said with a wave. “I’m glad they found you and you them.”

“Take care, little brother.” Ravius stretched up to put his hand on Omodo’s shoulder. “We will meet again.”

“We will, Ravius, in this life or the next,” he responded solemnly. After this, the armodon hugged bright-eyed Vintia and clasped hands with Karmal before climbing into the steam wagon, which shifted and groaned under his weight. “Ezuis’s blessing on you all!”

They waved to each other as the steam wagon moved away, picking up speed rapidly. Omodo was the first to turn away. Gavin and Ravius watched the spot where the wagon disappeared for a long time before re-entering the gates of Scorpion’s Oasis. He would miss the giant armodon’s calm, steadfast presence.

With a sigh, he put his arm around Ravius’s shoulder when he saw that for the first time in living memory, he was not smiling.

<>

“I will miss him.” Ravius sighed mournfully as they all huddled together near the Gladiators’ entrance, waiting to be called into the arena. “But it is good to see that he is doing well. I was worried, but no longer.”

“I will as well.” Vintia’s bright eyes were dimmed by melancholy. “At least we still have each other, little brother.”

Ravius chuckled and put his arms around Vintia’s armored shoulders. Gavin and Sadira exchanged sad smiles. Karmal said nothing, appearing to be lost in thought.

The trumpets sounded the Call of the People. It was their turn to challenge, and they had opted for a simple trial match, fighting against monsters without any Blue Gladiators present. The five of them trotted out into the arena, glittering, smiling, and moving perfectly in step for the crowd. Sadira vaulted onto Gavin’s shoulders, her twin blades gleaming in the setting sun. The audience shouted her name. This was what they wanted to see.

“SADIRA! SADIRA! WE’RE REDS FOR SADIRA!” they roared.

The trumpets sounded again. The big door opened, and their opponent rolled into the fighting grounds, wheels and gears making a tremendous racket. It was immense, like a steam wagon made for giants. It moved on thick crushing wheels taller than Gavin, cruel scythes jutting out of the sides. A sharp-toothed saw blade, colossal and bright, buzzed and whirred at its front edge, just below an oversized, grinning metal face. Thick brass armor plates sprouting vicious-looking steel spikes covered every inch of the construct. Two long clockwork arms waved from its sides, each ending in a thick spiked ball. It smelled of steam and oil and made a sound like rumbling thunder as it rolled into view.

“Chosen’s sweaty balls!” Ravius swore as the massive, wheeled automaton rumbled onto the fighting grounds. “It’s a juggernaut!”

The juggernaut stopped in the middle of the arena, rolling in a tight circle to give the audience a chance to get a good look. The crowd surged, cheering the Gladiators and the gargantuan, gleaming war machine in equal measure.

“This is bad,” Gavin said as they all backed away from the steam-belching monstrosity. “We will need to do some serious damage to bring this thing down.”

“I guess that leaves you and me to distract it.” Sadira’s eyes searched for a weak spot. “We need to keep it off Karmal and Vintia while they channel something that can bring it down.”

“And to think . . . I could have chosen the life of a peaceful craftsman!” Ravius shook his head as the juggernaut rolled around them, blades whirring and arms flailing

“You’d make a terrible Taskbound, Ravius,” Gavin replied. “You’d have to wake up before noon every day. You’re far too lazy for that.”

“Stop making jokes, little brother.” Ravius answered back, Gavin’s words earning him a grin. “I’m having a sad enough day as it is.”

The Call to Battle sounded, and the metal monstrosity started moving toward them. Sadira surged forward, sprinting toward the rumbling, wheeled engine of war. Gavin and Ravius followed in her wake. She leapt into the air, clearing the massive saw blade and slashing her swords at the huge face. Much to Gavin’s surprise, the juggernaut’s mouth moved, pursing as if about to blow Sadira a kiss. Her twin obsidian blades raked the creature’s metal forehead just as it spat a great gout of fire at her.

Gavin’s heart lurched as the flames scorched Sadira’s legs. It was not enough to overcome her, but she slammed into the construct and fell to one side, smoking and rolling on the ground. The juggernaut altered its course, rounding on her eagerly, seeking to run over her with its crushing wheels. Gavin threw himself toward her, dropping his spear and scooping her up in one arm. He felt the heat of fire splashing off his shield as he sprinted away, the metal monstrosity rolling after him, moving ever faster.

Just as Gavin thought it would run him down, cunning Ravius jumped onto the side of the bulky war machine, thrusting his trident into the gears driving one of the beast’s wheels, then letting go. The screech of metal reverberated throughout the arena.

Brass and steel were no match for a nigh-unbreakable enchanted weapon, and the wheel ground to a halt, slowing the juggernaut down and giving Gavin some breathing space.

The mechanical arm nearest Ravius swung down to smash him, but the skirmisher leaped away, laughing manically.

Gavin felt a surge of Thaom as Sadira healed herself. He stopped and turned around. Lightning streaked from Karmal and Vintia, scoring the sides of the juggernaut. It began to move again, slowly gaining momentum, dragging its broken wheel, limping forward. It spit fire at Karmal and Vintia, but the smaller Gladiatrix sheltered them both with her towering shield.

“You can put me down now, beloved.” Sadira smiled up at him.

“I don’t know, we could just leave it to the others. I think Karmal and Vintia can blast it apart safely now that Ravius has slowed it,” he responded.

She laughed and shook her head. “What would be the fun in that? Let’s wreck this thing so fast that the Blues will never beat our time. I need to get my swords back anyway.”

Gavin put Sadira down on the sand. She drew her greatsword Bellasdoom. The crowd cheered. Lightning flew past them, blasting into the machine’s sides. Ravius smashed at a wheel with his mace, rolling out of the way of a heavy spiked ball as it pounded into the ground where he had been standing. The juggernaut spasmed and surged, trying to run over the smiling skirmisher as he danced around it. The crowd cheered and laughed at his antics.

“Try and get me, brass bucket!” Ravius yelled, diving aside as the juggernaut spat fire.

Sadira charged back into the melee, her war scream echoing across the sands. Gavin ran beside her, pushing himself to keep up. They charged at the limping juggernaut as it spat another ball of flame at Karmal and Vintia, splitting up as they came within striking distance. Gavin ran left, scoring the metal of the clockwork war engine’s sides with precise thrusts of his short sword and slashes from his razor-edged shield.

Sadira darted right, her whirling greatsword cutting deeply into the brass armor on the sides, as she flowed through the steps of the Razorwing’s Flight war dance. The other Gladiators followed her lead and leapt upon it. The arena was filled with fire and smoke, sparks from whirring blades and broken metal, the bright flash of lightning and the wild shouts of spectators.

The juggernaut floundered under their all-out assault, hissing fire at Gavin and Sadira.

Karmal and Vintia redoubled their barrage, throwing lightning and fire. A geyser of flame erupted from the ground, lifting the massive war engine briefly into the air. It caught fire then, smoke pouring from its mouth.

The Gladiators pounced. Swords rose and fell, digging mercilessly through plates of metal. Vintia and Karmal ran forward to join the rest of the team. Oil blackened the sand, and the sound of tortured metal filled the air. The audience cheered, screaming for the kill.

There was a sound from deep within as the juggernaut tried to exhale fire at its assailants through broken tubes. From within the creature, booms echoed.

The Gladiators scattered, leaping away from the wounded automaton. The juggernaut exploded from the inside out, its massive bulk lifting into the air, higher this time, and slamming down again with a resounding crash.

Shrapnel flew, but all the Gladiators survived intact, protected by quick shields and the eye of fortune. For a moment, the fighting grounds were obscured by a cloud of thick black smoke, which cleared as the Call of the Ancestors ran out.

The crowd, awed by the sudden demise of the metal giant and the pyrotechnic aftermath, cheered long and loud as the Gladiators became visible once again. The Blue Team following them was not able to match the speed with which they had dispatched the giant war engine.

Chapter Thirty-Five: Double-Edged Debutante

1144/08/23 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis, Faction Score: Reds, 2274 points; Blues, 2231 points

“Those who study necromancy learn to separate the spirit from the body; among other things this lore makes it easy for them to ignore pain.” Excerpt from the Gladiator’s Gazette, a popular link dedicated to the Great Games.

The Reds, led by Sadira and her team, enjoyed an exceptional run and surged ahead of the Blues once again. A festive, giddy, mood took hold of the Red Faction of Scorpion’s Oasis as the possibility of triumph sunk in. The high spirits of their fellows helped take the edge off Gavin and Sadira’s earlier dramas and the bitter knowledge that they would be forced to part ways soon. Sadira was given much of the credit for their strong showing, and she was now the toast of the town, the target of endless speculation, and of great admiration.

“Have you read this article in the Arena Post?” Gavin asked as he and Sadira dressed for training.

Arena newsmongers from around the Domains started to frequent Scorpion’s Oasis, writing about Sadira and the possibility of a Red Faction win. The strict privacy policy of the spa town, prevented them from becoming too much of a nuisance.

“The Post?” Sadira asked, nose wrinkling. “It’s not another article about me being seen with Chosen Silvius, is it?”

“No,” Gavin said with a grin, full well recalling that particular story and the drama that it had caused. “Just that you are about to switch sides and go Blue.”

Sadira let out a sharp snort followed by a laugh. “Magical thinking. I can’t wait for the party.”

Rumors of a great social event started circulating early in the month, rapidly reaching even the secluded part of town inhabited by the Gladiators. Some anonymous person had rented the entire Shato diOre, the most expensive of the resorts in Scorpion’s Oasis, for a grand celebration. Amoura Vogue, famed beauty and image magnate, was said to be under contract to plan and oversee the affair.

Sadira had kept in contact, as best a Gladiatrix could, with Amoura after their first meeting. The image consultant’s insight into style and beauty was of great use to Sadira in crafting her own image, a task that she took very seriously as a performer.

The recipe of anonymous wealth and famous beauty mixed to create excitement that reached to Krass and the far corners of the Domains. It was soon decided that this would be the great party of the season. All of the resorts in Scorpion’s Oasis found all their rooms booked, even after tripling their already extortionate rates, as socialites of every description made reservations as quickly as they could. Given the sums involved, most people assumed it could only be one of the Chosen who was behind the event, but although the names of several of the rulers of the Domains were included in the illustrious guest list, the person responsible for the event remained a mystery.

Normally this would be of little concern to Gladiators, who, because of their required Grey-Robe escorts, made troublesome party fodder and were seldom invited to such events. But soon enough, word filtered down that the most exciting and dynamic Gladiators were being invited. Once this was known, it was without question that Sadira would attend. After all, she was the one who had made Scorpion’s Oasis competitive again.

<>

Eventually, the invitation arrived in a gilded, perfumed envelope delivered to their door by a handsome page dressed in a gold tunic. The Gladiators were training, but Lina answered for them, smiling at the nervous page. Soon after, the crimson-haired Taskbound, her eyes wide with excitement, brought the package to Sadira, rushing out to the training grounds the moment she understood the significance of what she held in her hand. Lina’s appearance on the grounds was hardly unusual, but to see her running to her mistress, envelope in hand, caused more than one curious Gladiator to pause.

Sadira raised her hand, gesturing for the team to take a break. Lina was trembling with impatience by the time they gathered around her. Sadira smiled. She’d become quite fond of the young human girl, quickly finding that allowing Lina her freedom and showing her compassion earned her the young woman’s loyalty and affection. She was glad that her Taskbound had forgiven her for last month’s argument. She looked forward to the day when they could regard each other as friends, maybe even sisters, the way she felt about Karmal and Vintia.

“Can you read it, Lina?” She smiled, breaking the special runed seal on the envelope and handing it back to the Taskbound. “My hands are too dirty.”

Lina took the shining invitation into her hands, as if she were receiving some kind of blessing, and began reading eagerly in a clear, sweet voice.

Sadira Lacivia, the honor of your presence has been requested for a festive gathering of friends at Shato diOre on the twenty-sixth day of the eighth month of this year. The doors to the resort will open promptly at noon. At this time, ladies are invited to join our hostess Amoura Vogue and a few special guests for an afternoon in the legendary Shato diOre Spa in preparation for the festivities to follow. Men are to arrive at four in the afternoon and are required to wear formal attire appropriate to their station, unless otherwise noted. Food and drink will be served throughout the event, which is to last until the following morning.

Your hostess and friend, Amoura Vogue

Lina paused in her reading to show them the sumptuous, glistening imprint of a woman’s lips on the gilded paper and then read on.

PS: Sadira, I will be so happy to see you again! Bring your entire team if you can; fans of the Great Games are dying to meet all of you.

“Ah, little sister, I knew letting you beat the life out of me every day on the training grounds would prove worthwhile someday.” Ravius grinned, putting his arm around Sadira’s shoulder.

Lina looked somewhat crestfallen. Sadira felt her disappointment, being excluded from an event like this at her age, while everyone else she knew at Scorpion’s Oasis would be attending was unthinkable.

Perhaps there would be some way to get her into the festivity.

<>

“And I will be your escort, darling!” Cleothera beamed.

She had arrived from Camp Valorous a week after Sadira received her invitation to the party, a pleasant surprise for all of them. The energetic Grey-Robe was also taking great pains to get into the party. She had correctly anticipated Sadira’s invitation and volunteered to be one of the Deliberative escorts needed for the Gladiators as soon as she had received word of the party, calling in several favors to get assigned to Scorpion’s Oasis for the event.

“This will be amazing.” She was practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

“You’ll look so drab in your Greys, though.” Karmal sighed.

“All eyes will be on the tall, red-haired beauty escorting me.” Cleothera batted her eye-lashes at Karmal, who reddened instantly.

“I’ve already put your name in with Sulius and the arena master.” Sadira said. “They had no objections.”

“I expect not!” Cleothera answered with an eager smile. “Most Grey-Robes see escorting Gladiators to a party as a chore. It works out well for me. Now let me tell you all of the news from the rest of the realm . . .”

Cleothera immediately set about regaling them with all of the latest gossip that she had gathered about the event they were to attend, mainly who would be there and the conjecture about who was throwing the party. Gladiators, with the exception of the more well-connected Blues, were often very ill informed about the goings on of high society, and so they listened to their friend raptly as she listed the names of the important people, Gladiators, Chosen, the aristocracy, the wealthy, and the famous who would attend the party with the salient points about each one.

Even Gavin was excited to be going, more so when he heard that whoever planned the event had snubbed Valaran diVolcanus and his patron, Chosen Moltar.

<>

In the midst of all the excitement, the Blues finally decided on a challenge. A blind draw singles versus match in which a random Blue would fight against a Red Gladiator of the same rank. It was the third time during the current season that the Blues had chosen this type of challenge. It seemed to be the only way for them to hold off the surging Reds and regain the points lead. And so, Gavin found himself facing Desert Star, a Blue Gladiatrix he had only fought against once in a team match and rarely glimpsed on the training grounds.

Colorful silk ribbons streamed from her elegant armor, and she wielded two heavy scimitars that looked over-large in her graceful hands. Desert Star had the cold, distant demeanor of one who oft communed with the dead.

She did not try to banter, but attacked immediately.

Like Sadira, Desert Star was trained as a war dancer, and she whirled around Gavin with inhuman grace as they fought, but being a skirmisher, she preferred hit-and-run fighting over Sadira’s more direct approach.

They mostly traded spells as she stayed out of reach. Gavin was struck with a necromantic curse of Lethargy, but he managed to hit back with a pair of Mind Blasts, before Desert Star returned with a Life Drain that he struggled to throw off.

After the first minute of fighting, Gavin gave silent thanks that he trained with a war dancer on a regular basis and knew how to compensate for the graceful, relentless techniques of the school. After their initial successes, both fighters shrugged off each other’s spells with relative ease. Desert Star then moved in attacking with a barrage of complex sword slashes, thrusts, and kicks all the while trying to find an angle at which she could penetrate Gavin’s guard. He was forced onto the defensive.

Gavin tried to take back control with a feint and thrust, using a mirage spell to further obfuscate his movements. His precisely timed effort was rewarded with a bloody cut along his opponent’s ribs, but before he could get back into position, she darted around him. He could not pivot fast enough, and she slashed his upper arm, answering the wound he’d given her with one of her own. Desert Star did not laugh or taunt him like most skirmishers would. Her vicious smile was all she needed.

She is effective even without speaking, Gavin realized. If only Ravius knew . . .

Their next exchange brought forth the brutality in both of them. Desert Star moved closer, launching a flurry of slashing attacks, which prompted Gavin to try to slam his shield into her face, hoping to take advantage of his superior size and strength and the power pent up in his trollodestone enchantment. Although medium weight in armor, Desert Star was exceptionally agile, surprising Gavin with a quick, whirling sidestep maneuver, raking one of her heavy blades across his exposed back.

He felt the pain of the deep cut but reacted on instinct, moving as he had learned to respond when Sadira performed the same move, pivoting the other way to block Desert Star’s second sword before she could cut him even deeper with her second sword. At the same time, he jabbed out with his spear, catching her in the shoulder, despite the awkward angle of attack.

She danced back, looking a little surprised before her face set, blood spreading on the bright silks of her leg armor. Gavin readied himself for another clash, setting his feet in a wide stance that would allow him to defend against any angle of attack.

Gavin took the initiative as Desert Star closed, channeling Thaom through the pattern of his mental blast spell. With a savage effort of will he overcame her resistance. Blood gushed from his opponent’s nose and ears, slowing her charge and forcing her to dart away from his follow-up spear thrust. His triumph faded as he felt the cold touch of her magic a moment later, pulling life energy from him and using it to heal her own wounds with her Life Drain spell. It took him a moment to muster enough will to shake off her spell. She smiled at his distress, dancing back toward him, brandishing her cruel scimitars. The two Gladiators fought on in silence under the bright night stars, each struggling in vain to gain the upper hand with spells and skill at arms. The arena seats were less than half full, but the small audience were all true patrons of the arena, enthusiasts to whom a match between two lesser-known Gladiators with unusual styles had great appeal. They cheered as the match intensified.

She’s good, Gavin thought, but she’s no Sadira. I can gain the upper hand.

Desert Star tumbled past Gavin, leaving a deep cut gushing on his leg from a skillful slash. He paid little heed to this wound, staggering her with a brutal Mind Blast that made her cry out in pain. He rushed in as she staggered, impaling her with his spear just below her ribs. The Gladiatrix gritted her teeth against her wounds, showing impressive endurance as she twisted and brought her scimitars cleaving down with surprising force, cutting through his shoulder armor. Blood dripped onto the sand. He twisted the spear in her wound. Her eyes glazed as she summoned power, and a dire spell flowed back down to him through his weapon. A wave of nausea crept over him, and then his wounds began to weep pus as Desert Star’s spell caused them to instantly fester and rot. The audience shivered in horror, various magics allowing them to see every grisly detail of the vile spell as it wracked him.

The Gladiatrix swung her blades again. Gavin fought through the pain and caught them with his shield. He twisted his spear, still impaled in her vitals, and pushed against her, using his greater size and strength to force her back toward the wall. Every movement was agony as his festering wounds erupted and toxins raced through him.

Rather than allow Gavin to overpower her, Desert Star ripped herself off the barbed weapon, leaving bloody chunks of her own flesh behind on the barbs. It had taken tremendous effort, but her grave face barely betrayed the pain that it caused her.

Slowly, surely, she pulled away from him, stealing his life force with her spells, healing her own wounds while his continued to fester. He staggered, his regenerative magics failing. Only pride and will kept him upright. Their eyes met, and neither saw any give in the other.

Twice more, they clashed, and although she gifted him with fresh wounds each time, he attacked her with fever-fueled Mind Blast on the final pass, knocking her off her feet as she danced away. This elicited loud cheers from the audience.

In the end, when the trumpets sounded the Call of the Ancestors, they were both still standing, bloody and brutalized. The small crowd cheered, praising them both for their endurance, but in the end, they decided in Gavin’s favor, by a small margin. He was surprised by this but hid his elation out of respect for his opponent. Both Gladiators retired to the praises of the late-night crowd, saluting each other grimly before leaving to seek healing for their terrible wounds.

<>

Sadira, Vintia, Karmal, and Cleothera went to the much-anticipated party early, taking advantage of the chance to enjoy a day in the extravagant spa and baths of Shato diOre. Sadira regretted leaving Lina behind, but her arrangement to get the young Taskbound into the event precluded the spa. Lina did not seem to mind, haughtily proclaiming she doubted any of the various attendants working at the Shato diOre were as talented as she was in the arts of massage and body magics.

The Shato diOre lobby was decorated with roses for the occasion, taken directly from the famed gardens of Chosen Giselle and the people’s conservatory in Krass. Each rose was a perfect specimen of its kind, flawless in form and scent. Those garnishing the lobby were a sumptuous cream color.

“Sadira!” a familiar, cheerful voice called out from behind them, as they climbed the broad white marble steps into the main lobby.

She turned to see the Azure Dream, who had long since become a friend, heading toward them with a small group of athletic women. She recognized most of them as Blue Gladiators. Karmal bristled beside her, always ready for a quarrel with the opposing faction.

“Calm down. We aren’t here to fight.” Sadira looked at Karmal, who rolled her eyes in annoyance but relaxed when Cleothera took her hand.

Azure Dream—Minerva to her friends—read Karmal’s animosity easily enough. “Truce today, ladies?” She nodded respectfully as she approached. She smiled, holding up her hands to show she meant no threat.

“Absolutely!” Sadira took in the opposing fighters with a smile. The women made quick introductions as they passed through the entrance columns. Azure Dream raised an eyebrow when Sadira introduced Cleothera as an officer of the Deliberative. The Blues did not name their own Grey-Robe escorts.

The initial tension melted as Sadira and Azure Dream fell in next to each other and started conversing. After showing their invitations to the greeters and admiring the sea of roses, the Gladiatrices walked slowly through the spacious lobby of the Shato diOre. The cavernous front foyer was filled with women, the beautiful and the influential, talking in small groups. They all turned to stare at the fighters. Even without their weapons, they were unmistakable in their size, power, and confidence. Energy filled the room despite the relaxed atmosphere.

A young woman, her skin covered in a substance that glistened like molten gold, approached them as they moved further into the building. “Welcome to the Shato diOre, ladies. All of our facilities are yours to enjoy today, but first let me escort you to the grand baths where our hostess, Amoura Vogue, will want to greet you herself.” The attendant somehow managed to say all this without disturbing the bright, broad smile on her face. “You may use any of the baths, and don’t worry about modesty. The men will not be joining us for some time.”

She winked at them before turning around to lead them further in.

Sadira frowned a little as she followed the golden-skinned woman, wondering what they would find. Azure Dream fell in beside her.

“Just keep your head, my friend,” the Blue Gladiatrix replied in a low voice, smiling widely. “We are swimming with the sharks today. The Blue Faction teaches us to view this type of engagement as just another arena, one where whispers take the place of battle shouts, rumors are like swords, and a caress can be deadlier than an axe wound. A little melodramatic, but true enough, I think. Everyone here has an agenda beneath that smile.”

“Even you?” Sadira responded.

Minerva laughed joyously, tossing her head back. She really did remind Sadira of Ravius in some ways. “Especially me. I’m still trying to recruit you for the Blues, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Sadira smiled. “I wonder what I’m doing here, truth be told.”

One of the other Blues tittered nervously, and Minerva shot a warning glare at the offender. Sadira did not even bother looking back. They passed through a room filled with fragrant pink roses and little semi-private alcoves filled with women.

Sadira continued. “This just isn’t my field.”

“Well, there are a few ways to answer that.” Minerva turned back to Sadira. “In the end, you are here because you are the best, and everyone loves a winner. Don’t even try to be modest about it. Regina, our chief promoter, says you are the best light charger she has seen in twenty years. Most of our fighters don’t want to go up against you at all now. I’m actually surprised Blue Calamity challenged you directly this month. He was refusing to risk another loss a few months ago. Having his face mulched by those clockwork serpents must have scrambled his brain. He seems off now. Watch yourself with him, my friend.”

“Thanks, but I still think he’ll win if he has a good match.” Sadira breathed in the heady, sweet smell of incense. She noticed with some satisfaction that Vintia and Karmal were talking with the Blue Gladiatrix behind them now, whispering excitedly at the delights they saw. “I’m not invincible.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so,” Minerva said with a friendly smile. “But the reality is, is that you are undefeated, highly skilled, and beautiful enough to have caught the eye of the crowd. By the ancestors, I’d fight you just for the publicity. A hard-fought loss against you on my record would be better than a win against any lesser Gladiatrix. Face it. Until you falter or become a Grand Champion, you will only get more and more attention and invitations like this.”

“And what if she refuses them?” Vintia interjected as they passed through a corridor filled with red roses and steam tubs.

“That would be foolish, I think.” Minerva’s voice turned abruptly somber. “Refusing to come to an event like this makes you enemies, especially when you have appeared at events sponsored by other powerful groups. Some people see refusing to engage socially as a sign of cowardice or weakness, like refusing a challenge in the arena. No one wants to support an antisocial champion these days. We have more than enough Chosen like that already. Besides, you can take advantage of the festivities, make useful contacts, and have fun. Better to learn how to move in these circles. There are more opportunities here than there are pitfalls, especially once you know what you are doing.”

“It is what we do, after all.” Sadira said as she invoked her determination.

The group of Gladiatrices continued to follow the voluptuous, golden-dipped attendant, pausing briefly to undress and store their clothing when they reached the threshold of the Grand Baths, a cavernous room filled with marble columns and three huge pools of hot water flanked by many smaller baths and adjoining steam rooms. The air was heavy with steam and the scent of incense.

“I’ve gotten my best arena placements through contacts I made at some party or other,” Minerva continued at they moved through the room, attracting the languid eyes of nearby bathers. “We Blues don’t have the system of recruiters that the Reds enjoy. We prefer to leave it up to individual initiative. I’ve also met a few patrons who have been very helpful—they may not be able to gift me with things I can use in the arena, but I have a ten-room apartment full of beautiful possessions, three fully trained Taskbound who attend to my every need, and a date card that almost any woman would envy.”

Sadira couldn’t help but chuckle at that candor, even if luxuries of that sort meant little to her. She hadn’t even considered getting a Taskbound before Lina had been thrust upon her.

The Gladiatrices moved through the room like wolves in the woods, leaving murmurs in their wake. They were certainly not the most powerful women in the many halls, but their destinies were not yet set, which made them exciting to those who were. While their broad shoulders and warlike eyes made some tremble and turn away, many looked on in admiration. In the Domains, a Gladiatrix was a symbol of power and victory. The rest measured them, calculating what opportunities they heralded, and of course, a few women looked upon them and smiled, seeing a chance for new conquests.

Amoura Vogue, attired in a breathtaking dress made of living roses, was sitting in an ornate greeting room made of pink marble the end of the room with a circle of her favorites. A long line of women were presenting themselves to her, like supplicants to some great queen of old. The Gladiatrices joined the line while their Grey-Robe escorts did their best to fade into the background, all except Cleothera, who stayed with them, whispering excitedly to Karmal, Vintia, and one of the Blues. Sadira smiled when she saw Karmal’s hand on Cleothera’s back.

Ancestors know that woman needs to relax a bit, she thought.

A shock ran through Sadira as she looked away from Amoura and met the bright eyes of the small, lithe woman sitting next to their hostess. The other’s forceful gaze took her by surprise, making her feel as if she was being weighed and, perhaps, found wanting. There was something very familiar about her, and Sadira’s jaw dropped as she realized that she was staring at one of her childhood idols. Sadira head spun, and she looked away.

“Is that . . .” She trailed off, nerves overtaking her.

“Chosen Giselle . . . in the flesh.” Minerva grinned at her friend. “Wow. I’d heard she might be here, but I was not expecting her to take center stage like this. She seems interested in you, Sadira. I hope all goes well.”

“It will,” Cleothera said from behind them, silver brows furrowing. “Please be careful though, Sadira. Chosen Giselle’s reputation for being one of the most ruthless players in the Great Game is well deserved. Remember that she conquered the lands we now live in after winning her place among the Chosen and that she prides herself on the ability to pick out Grand Champions.”

Minerva moved close to Sadira, her voice low. “Among the Blues, they say that she is just as good at ruining potential Grand Champions of our faction as promoting those in the Reds. A little humility will help you.”

Does everyone know my business? Sadira wondered. She didn’t like the idea of being forced to abase herself, even if it was before someone she admired as much as Chosen Giselle.

Sadira had sent a letter of apology to the Chosen Giselle, after waiting overly long to reply to her invitation of promotion to a higher league. Now she was coming face to face with the woman that she might have spurned. However good Sadira’s intentions had been, now she was going to face the consequences. The desires of a Chosen were not to be taken lightly.

I would gladly pay the price for love, she thought, and with that, she took heart because it was not a feeling that she had ever expected to have in the violent life she had chosen.

The pack of Gladiatrices, enraptured now, watched as the Chosen and Amoura greeted each guest. Amoura was both theatrical and gracious, taking the lead with each greeting while Giselle stood by her side, saying few words but radiating power and authority in the way that only the Chosen could.

Sadira was struck by her Thaomic aura, even at a distance, like a bright light even though she was not channeling. The Chosen used only a hint of smile or a few words to bestow her favor, as if the full force of her personality might break those around her.

The pair reminded her of a perfectly honed masterwork blade next to an opulent, gem-encrusted scepter. As they came close, Giselle looked at her again, piercing eyes cool, and Sadira felt as if every woman there was suddenly watching them. The energy in the room changed, like the pressure before a tornado strikes.

Then they were there. Amoura, welcoming as ever, greeted each one of them by name, even Cleothera, rising to embrace them with a kiss on each cheek. She saved Sadira for last. “Sadira, it is so good of you to come. Gladiatrices, I have the honor of presenting you to Chosen Giselle, in whose Domain we stand, who has decided to grace my little gathering with her divine presence.”

The Chosen nodded to Amoura, and she moved forward and looked them over, her hard eyes measuring. Giselle greeted the others, her voice quiet but overflowing with power, such that every ear in the room seemed to strain to hear it.

“Brightshield, daughter of one of our greatest generals. I greet you, valiant defender.”

Vintia bowed.

“Crimson Dragon, as fierce and fiery as her namesake.”

Karmal knelt.

“Azure Dream . . . a rival to my Reds, who will steal the laurels that should have been yours this season, yet you have the heart to mingle with them and hold your head high.” Giselle actually smiled at Minerva. “If only the Chosen could set aside their differences as you do.”

Minerva bowed.

Karmal, Vintia, and the Blues felt empowered and thrilled by the sound of their own names spoken by the Chosen’s voice, but Giselle stopped when it came time to acknowledge Sadira. The huge room went still.

Giselle looked at her, eyes hard and unreadable. Sadira looked down for a moment, withering with guilt before a woman who had shown her favor, thinking about how she had put off the Chosen’s summons. But defiance was rooted deep in her character.

I will not be intimidated by this woman. Sadira thought as she rallied herself. I did what I did for good reason.

She looked up, enjoying the sudden breathlessness of the room, and steeled herself against the Chosen’s gaze. She felt a tingling sensation as the other woman raised a brow and looked her over. At this distance Sadira stood inside of Giselle’s Thaomic aura and could feel the temperature actually drop as the woman started to become angry, but she did not falter this time. She noticed Amoura’s worried look, felt as if every person in the room wanted her to give in to the Chosen’s will. But she held the Giselle’s gaze, inclining her head respectfully after a moment. The room around them grew still. She could not even hear her companions breathe even though she could see their exhalations in the sudden cold.

The Chosen broke the silence. The full force of her voice washed over Sadira, and it was like standing against a powerful wave.

“You are every bit as exquisite as I have heard, Red Scorpion.” The Chosen’s words were smooth and musical, every syllable perfectly measured.

It took an effort of will for Sadira not to look down or bow upon hearing those tones. To compare the Chosen’s voice to any other sound that Sadira had ever heard would be an insult, like saying rough cloth could be correlated to the finest silk. Sadira gave herself an inward shake, gathering her will, refusing to give in to the other woman’s overwhelming presence. To be complimented by someone like Giselle was a challenge, one she must answer. She took a deep breath, remembering Gavin and the beautiful, poetic things he sometimes said to her.

“And yet, I should be angry with you.”

And here we are, at the moment that will either make me or break me, Sadira thought, though again she felt no fear, but rather excitement akin to facing a dread enemy in the arena in front of a roaring crowd.

“You made me wait, Sadira,” Giselle continued.

It was a statement of fact, a judgement, an accusation, and a test all at once. The words hung like an executioner’s axe over Sadira’s head. For a mere Gladiator to go against the will of a Chosen was utter madness. Sadira had risked everything by remaining in Scorpion’s Oasis this long, when Giselle had called for her to come to Brightsand Halls. Yet a spark of defiance flared in her when she thought of Gavin and her promise to Sulius, and that gave her strength enough to stand tall where so many others would have withered.

“Chosen, to be complimented by you is worth more than any victory I have ever won.” She bowed, deeply and gracefully. “To be called exquisite by the Lady of Brightsand Halls is like the shining sun complimenting the shadowed moon on its brightness. Your offer of promotion to your personal stable is more than I deserve, and I thank you, but . . . I cannot accept it, Chosen.”

Even Giselle seemed surprised by this, the tension in the room was petrifying. In the corner of the room, someone dropped a cup, and it sounded like thunder. The Chosen’s Thaomic aura shifted, and the iciness disappeared in an instant as the temperature shot upwards. The only movement that Giselle betrayed was a slight widening of her eyes, a sign as sure as flashing thunderheads. But Sadira continued, brazen now.

“It is true that I wanted to stay with my lover.” Sadira’s voice was loud now. “It is also true that I wanted to keep a promise to my fans and friends to bring them victory. I cannot deny these, Chosen.”

“Not even to spare me from embarrassment?” Giselle asked, one graceful hand clenching into a fist.

“I have always sought your company, Chosen.” Sadira faced the woman squarely. She noticed that everyone except for Vintia had stepped away from her. “I have admired you since I was a little girl learning about her Gift; to gain your patronage is a dream come true for me. But I want to earn it. When my band came here, the Oasis was a stronghold for the Blues. Now we are on the verge of taking it. I chose this place because I wanted your attention. I knew that if I helped take it, you would notice me. But I have not done that yet.”

To Sadira’s relief, Giselle’s aura settled as she spoke.

“And so I beg you, Chosen, let me earn your patronage with a great victory. Let me come to you bearing the laurels so that none may question my worthiness. Let me paint this town Red in your name, Chosen Giselle. I want to come to you as a victor and a supplicant, a suitor and a servant, wearing the crown of victory which alone can make me worthy of what you offer me. I want everyone to see how I win your respect. I want to earn my place with blood and victory, like you once did.”

Sadira knelt as she said the last part, like a man proposing to his beloved.

“Mmmm.” The Chosen’s demeanor softened as she purred like a cat, her expression now one of pure contentment. Then she smiled, moving to address Sadira directly, her irresistible voice carrying to every corner in the otherwise silent room. “Very nice, Sadira. You surprise me, but it is a pleasant surprise. While your skill has been proven on the fighting grounds, and your beauty is evident to me at the merest glance, I must confess that I did not expect such eloquence, honored Gladiatrix. I will allow you to remain here for the rest of the season before I claim you for my own. Consider this moment to be one of your many victories.”

There was a collective sigh as everyone in the room exhaled in relief. Even the Chosen seemed to relax. The cavernous room returned to normal as Sadira bowed to the Chosen again, deeply this time, and then to a beaming Amoura, who winked at her. Chosen Giselle waved them away, her icy expression now one of contented amusement. Sadira left the room feeling triumphant, flush with victory, like after fighting Bella in Dreadwood Junction.

As soon as they were away from prying eyes, she turned to Minerva and put her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. It took her a moment to gather herself before speaking.

“Thank you, my friend.” Sadira looked deep into the other’s eyes. “If it hadn’t been for you, I would not have been ready for that. I am indebted to you.”

“What did I do?” Minerva asked, looking more than a little surprised at the statement.

“You came with us, and by seeing how the Chosen reacted to a rival Gladiatrix paying homage to her, I was struck with inspiration.”

The Blue Gladiatrix favored Sadira with a smile. “I meant to do that, of course. It pays to have the favor of a woman who might one day be a Chosen. Truthfully, though, I can’t believe you looked Giselle in the eye like that. That was bloody dangerous, girl. For a moment I wasn’t sure I wanted to be seen in your company.”

“Very funny.” Sadira replied with a shake of her head. “I’ll repay my debt regardless of my status in life. Enough politics, though. We came here to relax.”

“I know of a nice secluded spot nearby.” Vintia said, motioning her arm in one direction of the room. “I wandered into it last time we were here. I am very curious to hear all about this offer you were given.”

And so they left, enjoying the soothing waters and deft-handed attendants who brought them true relaxation, at least until later in the day when Amoura came to join them.

Chapter Thirty Six: Silk and Steel

1144/08/23 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis

“From the arena to the assembly, there are many fields of conflict. Ignore one and you risk ceding an advantage to your opponent in the others.” Muzashi diKrass

Gavin and Ravius spent the afternoon of the great party training with Master Sax. By the time they left to get ready, it was late in the day, and both Gavin and Ravius were rather bruised. Sax was powerful and precise, with a long reach, and his every strike reminded them that however far they had may have come as Gladiators, they still had much to learn. Meanwhile, the laconic ogre weathered Ravius’s taunts and Gavin’s deadly spear with great skill and good humor.

“Why do you think we’ve never heard of Sax before meeting him here?” Gavin asked Ravius as they walked along the colorfully cobbled streets to the marble and gold buildings of the Shato diOre. “He seems like he could be of champion quality.”

“I’ve looked him up. He has a good record for a master, but most of his matches are from before we were born,” Ravius noted. Gilded steam wagons and ornate carriages drawn by augmented horses passed by them, a stately procession headed to the party. “He has fought in Master Leagues all over the Domains, but he rarely stays for more than a match or two. If I were to guess, it would be that he is too understated. He doesn’t seem interested in playing to the crowds. They say it requires a lot of showmanship to get noticed in the Master Leagues and that most of them just participate to earn victory coins for other endeavors. Maybe you should ask him?”

“Yeah, right.” Gavin replied with a shrug. “He strikes me as type who will tell me in his own time, if at all.”

“Yup.” Ravius’s voice was a surprisingly accurate imitation of Master Sax. “I think you maybe right.”

One of their grey-robed escorts cleared his throat. After they turned their attention to him, he spoke. “Not all Arenabound crave a place among the Chosen. Years ago, I was escorting a young Gladiator to visit the tribe he had been taken from in the Frostfoot Mountains. As we approached, the whole village sang their song of welcome. I will carry that beautiful sound in my heart until I am lost. When that Gladiator reached master rank, he returned there to add his voice to the song, even though he could have had a chance at much greater power.”

Their other Grey-Robe escort spoke up as her comrade finished. “There is a school of swordsmanship called the Faultless Blade. No doubt you have heard of it. The founder of that school has not lost a fight since crossing blades with Chosen Mazurin hundreds of years ago and has even defeated two Chosen in duels and one in a Deathmatch. Yet he does not seek to become a Grand Champion.”

“You mean Zenith Silverblade?” Gavin asked, barely holding back a gasp. “I had no idea he still lived.”

“Oh, he does.” The Grey-Robe answered with a smile. “Arenabound and Warbound do not age, just like Chosen. The Silverblade still lives, and Master Sax has studied under him. He might even know his real name.”

They continued their walk, both Gladiators thoughtful now. It was rare for Grey-Robes, especially strangers, to interject. The words of the two Grey-Robes etched themselves in Gavin’s memory.

<>

“Oh, I like that.” Minerva admired Sadira, Karmal, and Vintia as they met again after dressing in their proper party attire. The three women had found a peerless tailor in nearby Brightsand Halls to create almost-formal dresses that could be worn comfortably with their arena armor. They would not be mistaken for regular debutantes in their armored gowns.

“I was originally going to go with red, but it seemed too flamboyant.” Sadira was wearing a simple, sleeveless dress made of a rich black silk, edged in gold. The whole ensemble fit rather nicely underneath her regular armor. The dress cunningly blended with her armored shoulders and arms with side slits through which her half-armored legs could be seen. A red scorpion silhouette decorated the back of the fabric.

“I hope you don’t mind if we steal the idea next event?” Clarice, the youngest of the Blues, smiled. “Your war dresses look so good. I’m particularly envious myself.”

“We actually got the idea from Cleo.” Karmal pointed to the light-elf in a gown cunningly made from various shades of grey lace. “My girl really knows how to work with wardrobe restrictions.”

The flame-haired Gladiatrix wore emerald green silk with her dark green and gold armor. The most eye-catching part of her ensemble was a pair of emerald earrings, set in radiant gold teardrop, nestled in her lavishly curled hair. Sadira was surprised that Karmal owned such finery, no doubt a gift from a patron.

“She has to wear grey and her symbol of office, but our Cleo can’t resist the need to mingle,” Vintia added. The small Gladiatrix wore a long, dark blue skirt falling from her heavy, silver-blue-plated chain armor and a tight collar of exquisite blue lace rising from her metal gorget.  “So we decided to do something similar.”

“But I have to admit, you ladies win in the hair and perfume department.” Sadira wore her hair in a plain formal style, albeit pinned in place with tiny jeweled scorpions instead of simple glamour. “You’ll have to tell us how you came up with those wonderful styles.”

They advanced into the lobby, a phalanx of silk and metal, ready for a battle of a different sort.

<>

There was no single place or time appointed to eat at the great party, but there were many rooms that one could enter and sit down in if one wanted to eat a meal. If one had the desire to eat while mingling there were many gold-covered attendants with trays of food or even pages who could bring a quick snack or drink for those who just needed to revitalize themselves.

After Gavin and Ravius arrived, the Gladiators mingled.

Sadira, in spite of her warlike attire, was the constant center of attention in every room she entered, surrounded by admirers, well-wishers, and sycophants. Everyone was polite and smiling, laughing on cue, and ever-so-curious about her, leaving Gavin to wonder what plots they hid beneath their smiles.

Gavin followed Sadira dutifully at first but often found himself on the outside of the little groups that surrounded her, too polite to claim a place at her side, too unimportant to those who sought his love’s favor to be included in the mob. Sadira offered him apologetic glances when this happened, and he understood she liked it no better than he. Gradually, all of the other Gladiators in their group peeled away, save for Minerva, who seemed to be in her element.

As night fell over the Oasis, Sadira claimed Gavin for a long, slow dance in one of the many ballrooms in the expansive Shato diOre.

Afterwards, she released him from his lover’s duties. “Go mingle, my love. Enjoy yourself, and I will find you when all of this clears. Don’t worry—Amoura and Minerva will have my back.”

“I’m having fun.”

Gavin protested, of course, but Sadira merely kissed him and whispered, “Dear one, these people bore me. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you to watch from the sidelines. I hate the way they are treating you. Please go and have fun, for my sake.”

“I can see how that would be distracting.” Gavin mustered a smile. “All right. Send for me if you need me.”

<>

Gavin, who much preferred a good book to a party like this, sought out each of his friends in turn. Ravius was entertaining a gaggle of giggling golden-dipped attendants, plying them with jokes, lulling them with stories, all the while steering them slowly to a more secluded area. The smiling skirmisher threw him a wink. Gavin just nodded at his friend and moved on, smiling and shaking his head.

Ah, Ravius. Always the center of his own party, Gavin thought with a mental laugh.

Sulius Nof’Cyrus had arrived at the grand event with a young, scarlet-haired Taskbound dressed in a magnificent gown sewn with clear blue gemstones that set off her eyes and wearing a formal masque to conceal her identity. Gavin had to hide a laugh when he heard murmurs that she had no doubt she had been attracted to his recent successes.

The mysterious young woman became the subject of more than a few whispers as the night went on, not only because of her artfully mysterious identity but also because of the alacrity with which the striking young woman detached herself from the chief promoter, who, for his part, did not seem to miss her. It was one of the many delightful mysteries that the partygoers would write about and discuss for weeks afterwards.

Pale Cleothera and flame-haired Karmal had somehow managed to consume enough alcohol to make even both of them tipsy, no small feat. They put a drink in Gavin’s hand and led him to the center of the rose-filled marble ballroom where he danced with both of them, earning jealous glances from several young men and women, until they decided they wanted to dine, and he made his excuses and moved on.

Karmal is like a different woman when she’s with Cleo, Gavin thought as he departed. I hope she recognizes what she has and it cools her spirit.

Gavin caught a glimpse of Vintia talking to a woman whose gaze seemed striking even from across the room, but he lost sight of her in the crowd and when it cleared, she was gone.

Sulius was eating and entertaining a small group of well-wishers. Lina was not with him, or anywhere in sight. Gavin wondered where she was but decided not to go looking for her. He greeted Sulius and stayed with him for some time, enjoying the big Taskbound’s company. They owed Sulius much, yet he had been happy to add Lina to his invitation.

A better man than most realize.

Some time after leaving Sulius Gavin spotted a familiar looking Grey-Robe, whose sour face leapt out of the crowds. Gavin froze for a moment, reliving that confrontation in the bowels of the arena over his attunement to the lifestone, surrounded by threatening greys. He had never forgotten that moment, and seeing the dwarven mad again set him on edge. There were still suspicions in his mind about that event.

What is he doing here? Gavin wondered.

The sour looking grey did not appear to be escorting a Gladiator or overseeing an event, but as Gavin followed him, he moved from room to room, observing. Gavin could not fathom what the man was doing. His behavior was odd, but after he disappeared in a crowded ballroom, Gavin decided that perhaps he was taking too much of a risk following the strange grey. It would be better to keep him in mind and see if his paranoia was justified.

And so, long after midnight, Gavin found his way to an ornate wooden gazebo on the sands. Something about the spot called to him, and he wished very much that he could separate Sadira from the crowds that followed her and bring her here to enjoy her company in peace. He sat down on a cushioned seat, closing his eyes, enjoying the sound of gentle waves made by the waters of the oasis. Perhaps one day he would hear the rhythms of the ocean again. He drifted on that thought.

Abruptly, he became aware of a presence nearby. The sense of profound serenity, however, prevented him from feeling any real alarm as he opened his eyes to find a man standing at the threshold of the structure looking at him. The man had the ageless look of the Gifted but did not have a discernable Thaomic aura.

“Mind if I join you?” The stranger asked as he stepped into the light, looking familiar to Gavin’s eye but not in a way he could place. Perhaps it was because the man had features similar to his own.

“I guess not,” Gavin said. He was a little put off that his privacy had been disturbed but didn’t feel like giving up his spot. Perhaps he could out-wait the stranger.

Gavin motioned to the newcomer to take a seat. The man was dressed in a simple tunic, well-cut and made of fine, but plain, material. Like Gavin, he was dark-haired and blue eyed with Krassian features. His worn face seemed to indicate that he was in his forties, in spite of his athletic, almost Gladiator-like, build. A soldier perhaps, maybe a general, grown wealthy but still accustomed to a less opulent lifestyle. The stranger looked out into the night at first, saying nothing, and paying no heed to Gavin’s examinations.

“I enjoy parties,” the man said after some time had passed, turning to Gavin. There was something odd about his eyes. “Most people who know me find that surprising, yet I can’t get enough of them. I am drawn to them, and yet I much prefer to watch them from the outside. I find it truly enthralling to listen to the sounds of people enjoying themselves, to soak up the contentment of others, and to watch as a thousand little dramas unfold like theatre right before my eyes without feeling the need to interfere. I think you might be the same, my friend?”

“Yes.” Gavin cocked his brow. It was strange that the man had not introduced himself yet.

Who is he? Gavin wondered. Is this some sort of trick?

“The duty of a good host is to ensure that all of his guests enjoy themselves. I fear I may have failed on your account, Gavin.”

Gavin’s heart skipped a beat as he heard his own name. Then the rest of the sentence fell into place in his mind. And finally, at that moment, staring into the stranger’s eyes, recognition hit him like a giant’s hammer blow. A face seen in a hundred pictures, a statue on the streets of Krass, an engraving in the back of a favorite book. Gavin blinked, wondering if he was dreaming.

How could I not have recognized this man? He could have kicked himself. He is one of the Elder Chosen, and I’ve read dozens of his books and journals.

He stood, face red. “Chosen Marius!” he stammered, scrambling to his feet and offering a low bow. “I did not recognize you! I apologize for this mistake, Chosen.”

“Please, friend, this is not a formal occasion. Do not be embarrassed. There is no need for protocol.” The Chosen chuckled, honest amusement showing on his face. Oddly, instead of feeling like the Chosen was laughing at him, Gavin felt as if he were in on some private joke shared between two old friends. “Few people recognize me unless I clothe myself like a statesman, and I prefer to keep it that way. My aura is masked, and few expect a Chosen to hide their power. I’ve found that people are more honest with Marius the Farmer or Marius the Soldier than Chosen Marius. Don’t worry yourself; I am not here to play games like Chosen Giselle or lead you to your doom like Chosen Moltar. Surprising people with my true identity is game enough for me.”

Gavin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then released it, clearing the tumult in his mind. The Chosen watched him. Gavin realized that a Grey-Robe now watched them as well, respectful in distance but always present.

“Chosen, you honor me,” Gavin said at last. “I have studied your works. I have admired you since I was a young man—”

“So I’ve seen, Gavin.” The Chosen settled back and smiled. “I had the good timing to catch you performing one of my moves in a match while I was passing through the Campus Martius, years ago. It is a good feeling to see others benefiting from my writings. I’ve been thinking about making some revisions to those works, bringing them up to date. Perhaps you could offer me some of your own insights while we enjoy the ambience?”

“I would love to.” Gavin smiled now, genuinely pleased to have the chance to talk to one of his boyhood heroes. “Although I don’t know how I could contribute . . .”

“Ha! You are too humble, young Gladiator!” The Chosen laughed. “I have seen you fight. I know you are a thoughtful man. Let’s invite that Grey-Robe to come over as well. She must be rather bored watching over us . . . we might as well make her duties a little more interesting.”

They talked until dawn, the Chosen, the thoughtful Gladiator, and the officer of the Deliberative in a little gazebo. Their conversation drifted from historical works to the role of the factions in the politics of the Domains. As they conversed, their voices mingled with the sounds of the water and those of the party in the background, a subtler, softer but no less vital rhythm amidst the merrymaking.

<>

As the evening wore on, the party took on a dreamlike quality for Sadira. She was separated from Amoura and lost track of Vintia, Karmal, and eventually even Minerva. She was continuously surrounded by new groups of people who all wanted to discuss her future in the arena, her fashion sense, her encounter with Chosen Giselle, or simply wanted to wish her well or be seen with her. Some seemed to want to talk to her just to satisfy their own curiosity; others desired to enmesh her in their circle of contacts.

Everyone wants something from me, she thought. I can see why Chosen Giselle held court as she did. This is trying.

For a Gladiatrix who had little contact that was not watched, regulated, and ritualized, the idea of people whose lives were based entirely around who they knew was new to her. Sadira had heard of such things and understood the theory, but seeing all the social spiders weaving their webs up close was still a learning experience. She wished she could observe it from afar instead of being caught in the middle, like just another spider or perhaps a juicy bit of prey. She slipped away, seeking moments of privacy whenever she could.

It was during one of these brief respites, while she was in a little private room—made up for amorous couples trysting, she guessed—that Valaran di Volcanus found her. She was nearly calm and ready for the next long round of high society party chatter when he entered the room. Instantly, the tenor of the crowd changed as people turned. He was not on the guest list, and everyone knew it. Sadira felt his presence even before she heard his movements and turned, smiling, thinking he was one of the Chosen who had sought her out. Her smile froze on her face as he towered over her.

She recognized him immediately. His fame had only grown since Gavin first described him to her. Despite his inhuman size, Valaran was handsome, beautiful even, his every chiseled feature speaking of power, ambition, and arrogance. He was dressed plainly, having come to the event without an invitation, but still seemed more princely than those who had worn their most opulent finery. Once, she might have found herself attracted to such a man, a rising star like herself. But now she could read the ugly, oppressive nature that lurked beneath the perfect features of this peerless warrior. As if to emphasize the point, she noticed Lina at his side, pale and trembling in his monstrous shadow. Valaran’s hand rested on the girl’s shoulder, close to her throat. Sadira felt anger beginning to rise, burning away her fatigue.

“I caught your little—” he started.

“Take your hands off of her!” Sadira cut him off, voice conveying her rising ire, scouring him like a blast of desert air. “Lina is at this event with a proper invitation, Valaran. Can you say the same?”

Valaran was taken aback by her ire. He thinks he is doing me a favor, Sadira though, quickly getting her anger under control. What kind of person does he think I am?

The golden giant’s hand fell from Lina’s shoulder, and the Taskbound girl quickly moved away from him. Sadira put her arm around Lina’s shoulder.

“Your safe now.” She said reassuredly to Lina. “I will handle this brute. You go back to the party. Sulius is two rooms down the hall.”

“Thank you,” Lina whispered.

Sadira was proud to note that her assistant tried to walk slowly and worked hard not to show her fear. Lina rarely spoke of her time training as a Taskbound in Volcanus, but the young woman’s attitude and history spoke of harsh, systematic abuse. She was plainly terrified of her former master.

I will kill him one day for that, she thought.

“Explain yourself,” Sadira said as she locked eyes with Valaran.

It took the princely, imposing Valaran a few moments to compose himself. He did not like being the focus of that withering gaze.

“Now that I stand close, your beauty is even greater than I had imagined, Sadira,” Valaran crooned. “You are like a bright red rose amidst the desert wasteland. Your glory makes everything around you seem desolate by comparison. I have desired you since I first saw you in Camp Valorous. I have thought of little else. At first, I was just content giving you gifts, but it is no longer enough. I must have you.”

“I am not a thing that you can ‘have,’ Valaran.” Her tone was hard and angry, but he did not seem to notice. “Really, that’s a beastly way to think, even for a Gladiator. I have chosen the man I want to be with. I love Gavin and will not give that up, no matter what life throws in our way.”

“But . . .” Valaran seemed genuinely confused at her words. “I am better than him.”

“You are bigger than him and prettier than Gavin, perhaps even a better Gladiator in most people’s eyes.” Sadira’s tone was that of a judge weighing a crime. “You offer me a place at your side, but only as an adornment, because my glory and beauty would enhance your own. I see you, Valaran. You cannot think of others as anything but pieces in a game that you control. We have our own voices our own loves and desires. You will never understand me like Gavin does. You will never understand anyone.”

“It is true that I want you for the glory you would bring me!” His voice broke with hungry desire, eyes alight. “As my glory would reflect on you. We are the best, Sadira, the greatest Arenabound of our time. It is only proper that we unite. A man should choose the woman who best reflects his own desires and accomplishments in life. I am the best and I want the best.”

“I do not agree,” she responded. “People should choose the partner that best completes them, the person who will help her become better than she is. Gavin works with me. We are a good team. He supports me and challenges me. He has helped me to become a better fighter, to control my anger, and to expand my mind. You have nothing to offer me, Valaran. Your love is like a highly polished mirror. You look at me but you only see yourself. You could never be my other half.”

“You diminish yourself, woman!” Valaran snarled, looming over Sadira before reining himself in with an effort of will. Sadira stepped in to meet him, facing down the giant. “You are like a queen rutting with a farmboy!”

“Enough, Valaran,” Sadira commanded. “My words are wasted on your ears. I have made my choice. If you want to talk to me again, then face me on the white sands. I will show you what I mean with steel!”

The giant’s face darkened, his noble features becoming ugly as rage consumed him. Sadira met his burning gaze without fear. He turned and stalked toward the door, putting his hand upon it.

“So be it.” Valaran’s eyes met hers across the room. “But first, I will kill your Gavin while the crowd cheers for his death. You could have been my ally, Sadira, but now I will take everything from you before the end.”

A pair of surly looking Grey-Robes fell in step behind Valaran as he left. They looked more like servants than escorts.

Later on, when she discussed the encounter with Gavin, they realized that one of Valaran’s escorts was the sour looking dwarven Grey-Robe that Gavin remembered.

<>

Her surprise encounter with Valaran left Sadira angry and flustered, but she was no longer mobbed by hangers-on. She tried to find Gavin or Cleothera but immediately became entangled in the conversational webs of the grand event, losing track of time until she saw the tip of the sun spilling over the clear blue waters of the Oasis through a window.

Enough of this worrying. I was always going to have to face Valaran one day.

Sadira felt drained as she stared at the unflinching desert sun rising into the sky. She just wanted to find Gavin and rest.

“Sadira, my dear, there you are.” Amoura put an arm around her. “I heard about your little chat with Valaran from Lina. Are you all right?”

“No.” Sadira said with a sigh. “But Valaran is a problem I know how to solve. I’m glad you’re here, though.”

“Your loyal Gavin is still here as well. Let me take you to him so he can escort you home for some much-needed rest.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, darling. I can’t tell you how angry I am that he made it into the event.”

“Amoura, how in Ezuis’s name do you still seem fresh and energetic after all this?” Sadira asked, desperately changing the subject. “I feel like a vampire’s blood-pet; my head is straining trying to remember all these people. How do you do it?”

“I often wonder how you can train for twelve hours a day, every day, and decapitate giants in the arena,” Amoura answered back. “The truth is I live for days like this. You dream of winning the Grand Championship in front of a roaring crowd in the Grand Arena of Krass—I dream of stealing the scene at the glorious afterparty I throw in your honor.”

“Consider yourself hired.” Sadira said with much needed laugh. “And given full reign over whatever you may need.”

They stepped outside, and the morning air, still crisp with a hint of desert night, washed over them. It felt glorious to Sadira. Rejuvenated her. Amoura led her onto the beach, weaving through small groups of tired partygoers, amorous couples, and the human debris of over-consumption.

“There are some benefits to being a Taskbound,” Amoura added. “I don’t have a Grey-Robe escort following me around everywhere I go. Imagine all the mischief you could get up to with a little more privacy.”

“Ha!” Sadira exclaimed. “I made that choice long ago. I suppose we both did.”

“True enough.” Amoura with a knowing smile. “And regretting choices made long ago is a dark path. Let us not travel it today my dear. Our menfolk are just up ahead in that little wooden gazebo, waiting for us to brighten their dawn. I admire the way you handled Giselle, you know.”

“Thank you.” Sadira was still enjoying the afterglow of that moment herself. “I’m just glad that I could buy some extra time with Gavin and my team without making an enemy of her. If you’d told me as a young Gladiatrix that I would lock horns with one of my childhood idols over a man, I’d have laughed.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

Sadira caught sight of Gavin, his face animated and expressive, engaged in deep discussion with an oddly familiar-looking man. She felt a pang in her heart, wishing she could have spent the night here with him.

Beside her, Amoura was gazing at the proverbial stranger with an expression of unguarded tenderness, signaling to Sadira that they should pause a moment and listen. The two men did not notice them, being deep in conversation with a Grey-Robe, who eyed Sadira and Amoura but said nothing.

“So the factions arose naturally?” she heard Gavin ask the stranger.

“To a certain extent, yes,” the stranger agreed. “People of like mind will always group together to promote their ideas and agendas. The people’s assemblies made this even more beneficial, and permanent alliances were drawn even though we sought to avoid them. These eventually became the first factions.”

“And then Chosen joined them?”

“As the factions became more organized, it became easier to influence them through their leadership. But the factions really came into their own when politics began to mix with people’s love of the Great Games.”

“And that was compounded when new Chosen emerged with ties to the factions.”

“Quite correct, Gavin.” The man nodded. “Even worse, as the factions grew older, they started to become more based in identity than issues of state. The Blues and the Reds, for example, often oppose each other because they see the other faction as an enemy more than for any actual difference of opinion.”

“And the Faction Games also give the factions the ability to influence the Assembly of the Chosen, since the new Chosen will feel obligation to those who helped them become champions.”

“Yes, though that sense of obligation dims over the centuries. Most of the new Chosen are very involved with the factions.” The stranger nodded approvingly. “This can be a positive as well, as it keeps the new Chosen closer to the common people and involves them in the political process.”

“What about factions among the Chosen?” Gavin asked eagerly.

“I hate to interrupt such a deep conversation, gentlemen,”Amoura walked to the trio and embraced the stranger possessively, “But Sadira and I have had enough of politics for one evening and too little of our men.”

“It appears that we will have to take up our discussion later, Gladiator.” The man chuckled; there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he looked at Sadira, whose tired brain was beginning to understand the scene. “Well met, Sadira. I am Chosen Marius.”

Sadira bowed, suddenly remembering the golden-dipped man massaging Amoura on their first meeting. “Hail, Chosen Marius.”

“Yes, you have seen me before, here and elsewhere. Please forgive me for any deception on my part. I prefer to travel among the people as just another man in the crowd, when it is possible. A silly little game in many ways. As a friend of my beloved, you may now feel free to dispense with any formality required by my position, honored Gladiatrix.”

Gavin smiled, moving close to Sadira as she gracefully resumed her normal bearing, looking the Chosen in the eye.

“Looks like you are the only Chosen she was unprepared for, love.” Amoura leaned against Marius. “You should have seen how she handled Giselle! I have rarely felt a greater pride at watching someone I have helped teach. Speaking of which, Sadira and I are tired from our mingling. I could use a massage.”

“Consider it part of your birthday gifts, Amoura.” The Chosen kissed his beloved before turning back to Gavin and Sadira. “I wish I could stay longer, my friends. I had hoped to converse with you, Sadira. Amoura speaks highly of you. But duty calls, even for the Chosen, and a proper introduction will have to wait. I will see you both again, fate willing.”

The Chosen picked up the smiling, radiant Amoura in his arms, and carried her up the beach. She waved at them both over his shoulder. They heard her musical laughter as the pair disappeared from sight. Sadira watched them go, shaking her head, while Gavin smiled after them.

“I really expected him to be . . . taller . . . or something.” All the other Chosen she had met today had overwhelmed her with the strength of their Thaomic aura. It was odd that Marius, who was older and more powerful than most, chose to mask his. “They make an interesting couple.”

“I bet some people feel the same way about us.”

Sadira looked at him for a long moment, eyes smiling. She decided to wait to tell him about Valaran until after they rested.

“Well, shall I carry you back to our bedroom, my love?” she asked, mock-serious. He rolled his eyes and offered his arm as they left the party and the last of the revelers to seek more amiable company.

<>

“I told you that I would make my career off fighting you.” Azure Dream posed dramatically with her graceful halberd planted next to her feet. “You look lovely today, by the way.”

Sadira laughed. This match, when originally scheduled, had been against Blue Hornet. She had readily agreed to a last-minute substitution. Azure Dream was a deadly Gladiatrix and well-loved by the crowd, a perfect opponent. Judging by the enthusiasm of the audience, she had made the right decision.

“Are we just going to stand here complimenting each other?” Sadira asked. “I think these people want a fight.”

“They should be happy with whatever we give them,” Azure Dream quipped. “I just love the new edging on your armor. Gold really suits you.”

This is part of her strategy, Sadira realized with a start. She intends to distract me with flattery instead of the usual banter I could expect from a skirmisher.

It was a novel approach, she had to admit, and one that suited the affable Azure Dream perfectly.

“Why don’t you come over here and get a closer look?” Sadira smiled sweetly. “Leave your halberd over there. It looks heavy.”

“Ha, nice. But perhaps another time.” Azure replied with a short laugh. “Shall we get on with our dance?”

Sadira answered by stepping toward her, breaking their banter. The Call to Battle rang out, and the two Gladiatrices began to circle. As her Thaom rose, Sadira cast a Primal Surge enchantment, filling her frame with verdant strength. She knew that Azure Dream was an elementalist and that she could expect powerful attack spells with a few spells from other schools as well. The halberd was a versatile weapon, but in the arena, it excelled at keeping enemies at bay.

With a whisper of Thaom, lightning leapt the gap between them. Sadira recognized the simple lightning snap spell as it jolted her. Snap spells were weak but required very little weaving and almost no Thaom.

“Was that supposed to hurt?” Sadira asked with a growl.

“Not at all.” Azure Dream answered with a sly grin. “I just wanted to show the people how tough you are.”

As she spoke, Azure cast a stoneskin enchantment on herself. The spell usually hardened the skin, covering it with rocky nodules, but instead of the usual earthy tones that Sadira was familiar with, the protrusions on Azure made her seem like she was covered in elegant cut sapphires that flashed in the sun and complemented the gemlike quality of her armor.

“Nice technique,” Sadira complimented her genuinely. “It suits you.”

“Thank you,” Azure responded with the same openness.

Sadira stepped toward her and then shifted into the Panther’s Hunt dance, closing the distance between them with a single bound. Azure Dream skittered back, still smiling, and planted the butt of her halberd, aiming the point at Sadira’s chest.

Rather than try to bat the lethal point out of her path, Sadira twisted in the air and slid past as Azure tried to compensate. Azure leapt back to avoid the sweep of her blades, swinging her halberd in a broad flat arc.

Sadira caught the haft with her blade and deflected the attack over head while she dropped into a long lunge. Azure twisted and the blade glanced off an armored hip-plate.

“Time for first blood.” Azure cast a spell that filled the air between them with ripples. Razorwind.

Sadira cartwheeled back, but the blades of compressed air were too swift, and she felt their sting as she landed. The crowd roared as blood dripped down her leg and arm. Sadira did not bother casting a healing spell.

“Looks like I got first blood.” Azure called out with a pout written across her face. “Sorry . . . I think.”

The odd part is that I actually believe her. Rather than raise my ire, she’s empathizing me to distraction.

Sadira charged, feet carrying her across the sand with lightning speed. As she ran, she cast Heart of the Beast. This enchantment, layered with Primal Surge, compounded her strength significantly while also enhancing her speed and endurance. Her senses sharpened significantly too. Enough that she could hear Azure’s feet shifting in the sand as she closed.

She did not leap when she was within striking distance, wary of the halberd’s ability to receive a charge. Instead, she closed the distance, forcing Azure to fend her off. Azure slashed diagonally at her.

Sadira leapt up, over the slash, flipping. She hit the ground, blade biting into Azure’s side. The stoneskin enchantment deadened the blow, but she drew blood.

Before Sadira could land the follow up, Azure lashed out with a swift kick to her midsection, knocking her back, then bringing the halberd down in a swift, lethal Thaomic technique. Sadira leapt to the side, barely evading the supernaturally swift strike.

“Oh—”Azure exclaimed, surprised, a moment before Sadira brought her blades down, cutting her shoulder and denting the pauldron near her neck.

Azure was driven to the ground, blood spurting from her wounds. Sadira raised her weapons to strike again, but Azure deflected the attacks with the haft of her weapon and rolled back over her shoulder. Sadira followed, kicking the Gladiatrix in the chest as she tried to stand.

As Azure fell back, Sadira swung, but there was a surge of Thaom, and a gust of wind picked her opponent up and blew her out of reach.

“That . . . that was a good dodge,” Azure Dream said, panting heavily from the exertion.

“Thanks,” Sadira replied, feeling just as breathless. “I thought I had you there.”

“Breath of the Hurricane—it’s not just for your opponents.” Azure said with a wince as she touched her shoulder.

She was gathering Thaom as they spoke, and Sadira decided not to give her a chance to strike. She sprinted toward Azure, ground-eating strides turning to bounds, and swept in to attack. The halberd leapt up, and Sadira jumped over it, bringing one of her blades down. Rather than parry, Azure Dream unleashed her Thaom.

As her blade struck Azure, something huge hit Sadira from below, smashing into her legs and hurling her into the air.

Sadira fell hard on the sands of the fighting ground. She pushed herself up, wary of putting weight on her legs. Across the sand, she saw Azure Dream, next to a spike of earth that jutted out of the sands.

Ah, that’s what hit me, Sadira thought. Packs a punch and could be used for area denial. Vintia should learn that one.

Azure was holding one hand to her face, blood running from between her fingers.

Casting a healing spell to make sure that she could stand, Sadira rolled to her feet and charged. Azure pushed herself up and dropped into a fighting stance. She readied a spell weave but waited to cast. Undaunted, Sadira bounded right, then left, then in. A lightning bolt burned through her as she struck, halting her attack.

Smoking, she crashed to her knees and only barely got her blades up in time to deflect a halberd thrust.

Sadira cast a little spell of her own, and green shoots erupted from the sand, grasping Azure Dream’s feet as she tried to follow up. The Blue Gladiatrix managed to pull free but stumbled.

That was all Sadira needed. She darted in, ramming a blade right through Azure Dream’s unarmored abdomen. Azure Dream sank to the ground with Sadira’s sword still in her. Thaom still cracked through her as Sadira came in for the kill.

Just then, the Call to the Ancestors sounded. Thaom drained away from the two Gladiators before the appeal to the crowd could even be made.

Sadira reached out a hand to her friend. “Well fought.”

“You as well.” Azure grunted in pain as Sadira helped her up. “I can’t believe you dodged my executioner’s cleave.”

“I have my ways.” Sadira said with a smile. “Now, are you going to be able to stand?”

“Yes, I think so.” Azure replied as she leaned on her halberd. “Thank you though.”

Sadira nodded back and saluted her opponent. The crowd cheered them both, but they awarded Sadira the victory. The two warriors left the fighting grounds together, a budding friendship born of mutual respect hard won on the hot sands.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Machine Man Massacre

Scorpion’s Oasis 1144/09/09 AR; Faction Score: Blues, 2507 points; Reds, 2449 points

“The artifice revolution has changed life in the Domains more than any series of events since the Reckoning. Steamships, steam wagons, and artifice-powered factories have increased production and sped up trade. Link crystals have greatly simplified communications, making scrying pools seem quaint and archaic by comparison. Even basic infrastructure has improved with artifice mechanisms in our sewage systems, water supplies, and bridges.” An Introduction to Artifice: The Magic of Machines.

“Does it really matter if they are just automatons?” Sadira asked.

“I don’t like slaughter matches.” Gavin said as his last objections fell away. “But I have less of an objection if we’re just fighting machines.”

“You are getting to be too sensitive for a Gladiator, Gavin,” Karmal responded with a hint of censure. “Killing is part of the profession. Maybe you should consider service as Taskbound.”

“Maybe you should mind your own career, Gladiatrix,” Sadira snapped hotly, a surge of annoying welling up inside her.

The two women locked eyes for a moment before Gavin interjected. “I would like to think that we are more than just killers, Karmal.”

“Bloodshed is what the people pay to see.” Karmal rejoined, her emerald eyes flashing.

“Some, perhaps. Others want to see skilled, heroic warriors striving against difficult odds. Slaughter matches are not designed to be challenging. After all, if blood and death were the be all and end all of the arena, then Deathmatches would be a surer path to the Grand Championships than they are.”

“I don’t know, I like to think the skill in a slaughter match is not in how challenging the opposition is but in how creative you are in dispatching them. We are entertainers and performers in that respect, I’ll say—”

Sadira shot Karmal another warning glance and cut her off before she could continue; she did not want her team to start bickering over trivial matters. Karmal was trying to get a rise out of Gavin. The two often clashed, more and more lately. The two of them saw the world in very different ways. Sadira was becoming aware that Karmal was jealous of her own popularity, but also bitter that Gavin had taken her place. If only we knew the seeds we sow when we act. She smiled at her old friend, watching the flame-haired warrior’s challenging gaze soften, just a little.

I wish Cleothera were here. She thought plaintively, Karmal was always easier to deal with when her love life was positive.

“Sorry, I’m just tired of fighting these boring clockworks all the time. I need a little more variety, I think.” Karmal said, having realized that everyone was looking at her.

“No apology needed, Karmal.” Gavin said, ever the peacemaker. “I know my views are unconventional for a Gladiator, and I respect that you are willing to challenge me on them. I don’t want to seem like I am forcing them on the rest of the team.”

“That and Karmal just likes to argue, Gavin,” Vintia added with smile.

Karmal only rolled her eyes in response.

“And also that automatons are the only monster we can specify for this type of match at this arena.” Sadira said with a shrug.

“The Blues are more likely to actually go for a slaughter match,” Ravius chimed in. “The main strategy is to kill lots as fast as possible, which appeals to most of them. They are being very cautious lately, trying to hold onto their lead.”

“I’ve noticed the same.” Sadira agreed with a hungry smile. “You’ve all heard that they’ve even gone so far as to replace Regina diCouture, yes? Apparently, the Reds of Scorpion’s Oasis are now so intimidating that few Blues want to step in and take a risk coming up against us. They know they have to answer a challenge eventually, though. We may as well entice them with something they think they can win.”

“And a match that Arena Master Bloodsmith sees as eminently fair will be harder to delay,” Vintia added.

“My thoughts exactly.” Sadira stated as she drew herself up to her full height. “I want you to know how proud I am of all of you. We turned things around here. Us. The other Reds may have rallied and given it their all, but we woke them up. The crowd may cheer my name more often, but without you four backing me up, I would never have gotten a tenth as far. We trained harder, we fought in more matches, and we risked more than anyone else in the faction. And because of the sacrifices we made, we will beat the Blues and leave this place wearing the victory laurels that we all have earned, every one of us.”

She looked to each of them in turn as she spoke, drinking in the pride that her words kindled. She realized that she reveled in their trust in her as the team leader—and the confidence that this made her feel. Her eyes were on Gavin’s as she finished. She had told him many times how much his support and love meant to her.

She hoped he knew it.

<>

“How did you arrange for this tour, Ravius?” Gavin asked as the steam wagon that he, Ravius, and Vintia were riding came to a hissing halt.

They had just arrived in front of a massive sandstone building studded with shining copper domes and smokestacks belching flames into the desert sky. The heat was oppressive, and the air was heavy with smoke, but the Gladiators paid it little heed.

“Ah, little brother, you wound me,” professed Ravius, shaking his unruly hair and placing his hand over his heart emphatically. “I do not spend all of my time carousing, you know. I am resourceful and tactically minded by training. I figured seeing exactly how our metallic victims are built might give us some advantage over them. Think of how much easier knowing where the heart and major arteries are makes killing a living foe. Besides, I know how much you and Vintia enjoy educational outings.”

“I’m just sad none of us thought of this earlier.” Vintia said with a shake of her head. “I’ve fought a lot of brass men in Scorpion’s Oasis. It should have been an easy thought”

“To be fair, we’ve been rather busy.” Gavin said, pointing out the obvious. “Let’s not beat ourselves up over missed opportunities now. This is a great idea, Ravius. Seeing how the clockworks are built should give us a real advantage in fighting them.”

“Thank you.” Ravius replied with a wink. “Just remember to thank me again for all of your successes later on. As publicly as possible too.”

Artifice, the magic of building Thaom-powered mechanical devices, was one of the few major magical forms with no representation among Gladiators or the Chosen. Building clockworks, steam-powered contraptions, and engineering fabulous devices was a powerful magical skill but rarely directly useful in combat, much like runesmithing. As far as Gavin could recall, all artificers were Taskbound, the only contact they had with the arena being as patrons, fans, or in creating clockwork monsters for their more violent Gifted brethren to fight. Their lack of representation among the Chosen was a growing source of discontent for artificers, he had heard.

After spending long minutes in a well-appointed office, they were met by a Quickling man wearing green-glass goggles with intricate brass dials and gears on the side who introduced himself as their guide without giving his name. He gave the distinct impression that he felt he had better things to do than conduct tours.

The guide ushered the three Gladiators and their three grey-robed escorts out of the comfortable, carpeted office and into a massive workshop and factory filled with noise. The floors were made of unyielding concrete; the building was a maze of copper pipes, compressed air hoses, assembly-line belts, and row upon row of workbenches where solitary artificers worked on parts that were then conveyed by belts and tubes to the main production line to be assembled. Gavin watched them as they worked, weaving spells into the pattern of the machinery. It was distinct from runesmithing or enchantment in that the function of the machine seemed to help guide or determine part of the spell. Like it was a part of the pattern.

The whole place was humid, and the air was filled with the smell of metal and oil and the choir of a thousand mechanical rhythms. As they moved through the massive, open floor space, their quickling guide pointed out various features of the shop, including the special automatons whose sole purpose was to aid in production and the cavernous open space where the monstrous juggernauts were assembled. He moved at a pace that was difficult to match and left little time for questions. His enthusiasm for the machines was quite obvious.

“Do you make steam wagons here?” Gavin asked the guide when they finally paused.

“No, this facility is dedicated to weapons-grade artifice for the legions and the retinues of select Chosen.” There was a note of pride in the engineer’s voice as he spoke, shaking his head. “Brightsand Halls has a long history of clockwork magic. Chosen Giselle has been an avid supporter of our craft since her first southern campaign. She was one of the first Chosen to make use of mechanical automaton soldiers and steam weaponry for her retinue and even now fields two hundred juggernauts to keep them mobile. When others saw her success with our craft, most were quick to adopt it. Proper use of artifice weaponry has given the fighting forces of the Domains a tremendous advantage in recent conflicts. You Gladiators fight in a rather . . . anachronistic fashion.”

“Who needs a steam-powered spike thrower when you can throw lightning at your foes?” Vintia asked, her breath frosting the air as she spoke.

“Ah . . . an elementalist.” The guide pronounced the hated word as if might contaminate him. “Haven’t the elemental theories of the composite universe been refuted by modern observations?”

Vintia bristled, bright eyes shining with anger. “Our magic seems to work well enough on your machines. I’ve sent armies of these clockworks to the scrap heap with my spells.”

“Oh, please. The arena is where we test new models and work out the kinks—we don’t send our best work off to be destroyed for the amusement of the bloodthirsty masses,” the little man said more than a little hotly. It was enough to prompt one of the Grey-Robes to clear his throat, a polite warning, but the guide kept on, voice dripping with superiority. “Our field models are much better armed and much better armored than anything you’ve ever faced in the arena. Their vitals, engines, motors and, most importantly, their power sources are far better protected. From our tests, we have determined that the majority of our fighting automatons are rendered non-functional by power source failure. I dare say your little lightning blasts would do nothing against a Mark Fifteen with triple-shielded redundant power cores.”

The engineer gestured to a looming juggernaut being assembled in the background.

“These power cores sound like a true marvel of your exceptional craft,” Ravius said in a wonderstruck tone, stepping between their guide and the now red-faced Vintia. “Perhaps if we were to get a look at one, my friends here would gain a greater appreciation of the greatness of your art.”

“Science, actually,” the engineer corrected automatically, but he seemed pleased by the skirmisher’s flattery, smiling now as he gestured for them to continue.

Gavin looked to Vintia, who relaxed now that the engineer’s attention was elsewhere. The green-goggled quickling led them to the heart of the factory, a series of pristine, sterile workshops filled with workbenches. The Grey-Robes conferred briefly with two uniformed guards before they were allowed to progress further. The air within this sealed area was cool and dry, free of the smells of oil and alive with Thaom.

Thaomic batteries, like those power cores, are one of the greatest inventions of the Domains, Gavin thought as he glanced around. And to think that they discovered it by studying the ancient Oathstone of Krass.

“This is where we assemble our power cores. We have twelve Taskbound and seven free artificers working on this line, and we are expanding rapidly as demand from the Border Domains increases. Assembling the core is a time-consuming and delicate task that requires a lot of channeling and spell forging. I won’t bore you with technical details; you would need years of training to understand. You can look around for a minute, just don’t interrupt the craftspeople, please.” Their guide spoke with the self-satisfied tones that reminded Gavin of a holy man showing off a great temple.

The three Gladiators split up and moved around the workshop, trailed by their grey-robed escorts. Gavin moved to examine the power core shielding structures, chatting with a few of the friendlier artificers while they worked. As he suspected, they were more amiable than the guide, but it was evident that some disliked Gladiators—no doubt they had watched many of their creations dispatched by “anachronistic” brutes like himself.

Using a simple cogimantic technique, a spell so inoffensive that he could use it even when leashed, Gavin was able to memorize the schematics of several power cores and dozens of clockworks in a matter of minutes. His Grey-Robe escort noticed but made no effort to interfere. Ravius kept questioning the guide while Vintia took a look at the design diagrams for the various types of automatons produced in the factory. When they returned to Red Faction residence at Scorpion’s Oasis, he would reproduce these for further study.

Gavin looked again at the Grey-Robe nearest him, a lean man who was chatting with one of the younger engineers, who simply shrugged; apparently there was nothing in the rules against Gladiators learning about automaton anatomy. Gladiators were already under too many restrictions to be deemed as a threat for industrial espionage or military sabotage, he supposed.

Grey-Robes make better spies, he thought, picturing Valaran’s dour shadow, the intimidating dwarven Grey-Robe that Gavin had first met in an argument over a Lifestone.

“What are you shielding the cores against?” Ravius asked as they rejoined the guide. “Surely our enemies don’t all use bolts of lightning.”

“Of course not.” Their guide spoke as if he were addressing a child. “Our core designs have long since been made more resistant to electrical bursts. You Gladiators still persist in using that form of attack out of ignorance, mostly. They don’t let you out much. Any attack that causes sufficient damage to the core will destroy it. The necromancer Scornbound of the Grey Mountains and the Boneyards have actually been using power drain spells, which can rob the core of the energy it needs to function, but we will overcome that design flaw in time. Feel free to tell your friends—being able to test our creations in the arena only helps us make our designs better.”

Ravius managed to keep a straight face until the steam wagon drew away from the copper-roofed building. Gavin and Vintia, looking out on the white sands as they rolled away from the city, laughed as well.

“Funny how he never referred to artifice as a form of magic,” noted Ravius. “It’s like he did not want his precious discipline to be lumped in with the older forms of spellcasting.”

“The other forms of magic are not as amenable to metrics and such.” Vintia said before pinching her lip in thought. “I think the idea that his own precious paradigm was anything less than perfectly rational and absolutely true would be offensive to him.”

<>

A dozen metallic swordsmen stood in the middle of the fighting grounds, their brass and steel skins gleaming in the afternoon sun. They were of a different make than those the Gladiators had faced in other matches, evidenced by the broad-bladed greatswords they carried and the better quality of their armored chassis. No chain restrained them, and none was needed. If they saw the five Gladiators enter the fighting grounds, they gave no notice.

Sadira, Gavin, Vintia, Karmal, and Ravius formed up shoulder to shoulder as they left the Gladiators entrance. They marched with mocking, mechanical precision toward the clockwork soldiers, fanning out to surround their gleaming prey as they came to the center of the white sands and pivoting to face the audience. They stood motionless for a heartbeat, both Gladiator and machine frozen while the crowd waited, and then they raised their weapons in unison to salute the people watching them from comfortable, shaded seats.

“Zveyhander, mark three, I think.” Gavin said, recalling the relevant schematic with a simple spell. “The power core is ten inches above the waist, closer to the back side. Decapitation also works on this model, but the oil system is better protected against most fires.”

“Good to know,” Sadira answered. “These metal swordsmen are a pale imitation of a real warrior. Let’s show the good people who rules in this arena, Reds!”

“Yes!” Karmal roared, grinning fiercely beside her. The Call to Battle rippled through the arena. The automatons clanked to life, hefting their heavy greatswords and marching toward the Gladiators.

Sadira sprang forward as soon as the echo of the trumpets died, urging her team on with a loud war scream. She moved fluidly into the graceful bounding steps of the Panther’s Hunt war dance as she approached the enemy lines, enhancing her strength and speed with enchantments spells as she went. Wisps of darkness chased her as she moved, mostly for flair. Gavin doubted that the automatons would be distracted by her shadow glamour.

Sadira ducked under a pair of heavy metal swords, sliding forward into an extended lunge that brought her blade up under her target’s arms and into what she thought might be a weak spot in its brass armor. She felt a savage surge of satisfaction as the point of her sword punched through gleaming metal.

Using the forward momentum of her leap, she switched her war dance to the Scorpion’s Gambit, kick-flipping into the air, her still-embedded sword ripping off chest plates and exposing the power core to a quick cut from her other blade. The resulting explosion let off a bright light that drew a cheer from the crowd, The clockwork swordsman toppled, and Sadira was already moving to the next, a whirling bladed form among her foes.

Chortling and clowning, Ravius drew a brass bladesman a few steps away from its brethren, baiting it with a feint. As it lifted its arms to swing the heavy blade at him in a counterstroke, he lunged low, snagging its foot with his folded net, like a whip, and sending it crashing to the ground. He then put all his weight behind a downward thrust of his trident, hitting the power core buried in its vitals. The clockwork wilted mid-struggle, its limbs sagging on the ground.

Two down without trouble, Gavin noted, observing that the movements of these clockworks were more fluid than many other types they had fought before. The Zveyhanders were a more specialized model, created to fight against elite enemy units.

Gavin stayed close to Sadira, watching her back, remembering the schematics they had drawn up after their visit to the clockwork factory. While they did not exactly map the pipe and gear innards of this particular model, they certainly gave him a good idea where to strike.

Three paces away, Sadira was in the thick of the fighting, slashing through a metal limb with a spray of black on the white sands. Gavin moved in, saving his spear for the right moment, blocking two heavy blades with his shield as he bulled through his foes. The moment came as one of his attackers shifted awkwardly when Gavin deflected its blade away from him. Guided by instinct, he struck. His deadly war spear dented the brass man’s armor twice and plunged in deeply on the third short thrust, his movements so quick that many saw only a single strike. A quick twist of the blade sent it to the ground, oil gushing from the wound. Gavin felt elated as he moved to join Sadira, who flashed him a brief smile, her eyes shining with triumph.

Karmal blasted an enemy with a cataclysmic flash of magical lightning that shook the arena and then cut another in half with a contemptuous backhanded swing of her brutal war cleaver. The crowd leapt to their feet, screaming. She then moved forward, trying to outpace Sadira.

It is odd how so many fear our magic yet flock to the arena to watch us use it. Gavin thought as he blocked a swift cut from a brass swordsman.

Vintia, fearing that Karmal’s reckless aggression might get her into trouble, moved back a step, braced, and leapt straight into the brass men, shield first. Her leap was powered by supernatural strength and carried her ten paces, knocking several down.

It was always visually striking to see a small fighter topple a bigger warrior, even when that small woman was, in reality, a Gladiatrix and strong enough to rip the automaton limb from limb, so the crowd cheered all the louder. Vintia’s jump had carried her to the center of the action, and several heavy blade swings crashed into her shield moments after she landed, but she was an adept defender and did not even stagger under the mechanical onslaught.

Gavin felt Sadira call on the Heart of the Beast as she leapt forward again. She started to move ever more swiftly, bounding from place to place, striking with blinding speed. Closing in on the three clockworks attacking Vintia, Sadira unleashed her swords. The blades blurred, tearing into metal backs like the vicious claws of a great hunting cat felling its prey. Despite the ferocity, her strikes were precise, and two automatons fell to the ground as she cut cleanly into their power cores.

Gavin powered into the automatons in her wake, scattering them and stabbing one with his spear. The Gladiators were in the moment now. Whirling blades, gleaming armor, black oil on the white sand, the smell of scorched metal, and the glorious roar of the crowd. They moved like a great engine of destruction, every one of them in harmony, each part function exactly as it should. The crowd recognized greatness in their teamwork and surged to their feet, shouting praise.

Now the Gladiators outnumbered their prey. Blades rose and fell, filling the air with the tortured screech of metal. Deadly sharp spears and swords forced their way through metal skins and into delicate gears and oil-laden piping. Spells blasted power cores and melted vital systems to slag. The fight ended very quickly, the sudden stillness shocking the spectators.  The sands were soaked in oil. Such was the display of skill and teamwork that the crowd did not even notice how quickly the Gladiators had finished their foes.

<>

As it was reported to them later, the Blue Team recklessly tried to beat the Red’s time through sheer ferocity. Their brute force was no match for the discipline and knowledge of Sadira’s team, however, costing them vital seconds and much needed points.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: In Formation

1144/10/28 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis, Faction Score:  Reds, 2865 points; Blues, 2807 points

“The Chosen are the rulers of the Domains. Their power, both magical and political, rivals the mage-lords of old. In theory, their power is held in check by the Deliberative and the People’s Assemblies. In reality, the real reason our immortal lords do not dominate the Domains more thoroughly is that their ranks are divided. The hundred or so Chosen rarely agree on anything, and the Council of the Chosen is as riven by factionalism as the popular assemblies. It is for this simple reason that they often take an avid interest in tipping the balance of the Great Games; a Gladiator who is beholden to them and becomes a Chosen can shift the balance of power in their favor.” Ordo Grevex

“I wish this could last forever.” Sadira sighed.

Gavin and Sadira sat on the ramparts of the thick outer wall that surrounded Scorpion’s Oasis, enjoying a quiet evening together. They found themselves stealing away more often as the faction season reached its apex, hoarding their precious time together. In front of them, the green of the Oasis rapidly gave way to the golden sands of the desert, majestically rising into dunes in the distance. Behind them, the glittering town slumbered, torpid from the day’s overdose of food, wine, and carnality. Above them, the desert stars hung in a clear sky, and further off on the horizon they could see the lights of the city of Brightsand Halls, a constellation of a different kind.

“Me too.” Gavin said as he drew her in close. “Although I would like to see what ruins lie beyond those dunes.”

“With me at your side, of course,” Sadira said.

“Always.” Gavin agreed as he turned to look her deep in the eyes.

Sadira gazed up at him, bright-eyed, and then looked away. He knew very well what she wanted to say. She would give it all up and risk the wrath of a Chosen to be with him.

Am I worthy of that kind of love? Gavin wondered, putting his arm around Sadira and kissing her on the forehead to lighten the mood. She looked up once more and he smiled.

“Every now and then, you give me the best smile,” Sadira said. “I treasure it like a victory laurel.”

“We’ll see about that.” Gavin replied, smiling even wider. “If we manage to keep hold of our lead, this will be a victory that people talk about, even in Krass. You deserve the hero’s share of the glory for that.”

“We all do.” Sadira said with a sigh. “And we both know that I get far more than my fair share of attention from the crowd. I could not have done this without you, Gavin, yet you don’t get the credit you are due. I wanted to lift everyone to Brightsand Halls. I tried so hard to keep us all together, but it is beyond me. I hate it. I wish I could defy the Chosen. It seems so wrong to force us apart like this. Together we are unbeatable!”

“You’ve defied Chosen Giselle once already and gotten away with it. Everyone is in awe of your meeting with her. Vintia said it was the bravest thing she’s ever seen. Even Karmal said you showed ‘balls worthy of Chosen.’”

“Well, she has reason to be happy.” Sadira replied with a sight frown. “Not only is she also coming to Brightsand Halls, but Cleo showed up and surprised her for her birthday.”

“Still, it is a high compliment. Few people are brave enough to face down a Chosen in her own Domain, Sadira. You won as much as anyone could from her—don’t let anyone take that from you. Don’t let losing me drag you down.”

“I am not losing you, Gavin,” she answered with iron in her voice. “Don’t even say it. I don’t lose. If I have to win the Grand Championship and become a Chosen myself just to be with you, I will. I would brave the depths of Mount Wreckfire for you! I will not give up on you, and you have promised that you will try to find a way back to me.”

“I am just saying I’ll understand if—”

She put a finger on his lips, silencing him.

“This is not a time to be reasonable, beloved. I could drown myself in lust and sate my every pleasure in Giselle’s palace. I might even find others to love, but it will not change my feelings for you, Gavin. I know what I want. I feel as if you are my other half, Gavin. Losing you would be losing a piece of me.”

“I wonder if anyone but me realizes that the bloodthirsty Gladiatrix Red Scorpion is a true romantic at heart. So be it, then. I swear I will do everything in my power to make my way back to you, Sadira. Master Sax and I have talked about going north; perhaps I can make a name for myself in the Free Leagues. Maybe I can even sort a few things out on the way.”

“I used to think you were a little crazy.” Sadira said with a shake of her head. “Chafing against reality, always questioning why we Gifted are treated the way we are. Now I think I can understand your view. It offends me that they won’t let us live our lives the way we want. But we are strong and will write our own destiny, in the end.”

Gavin nodded. They moved deeper into each other’s embrace, as if they might resist the inevitable with love alone.

<>

“Sulius, my friend, you look like you just ran into a dune crawler.” Sadira said, greeting him a warm wave they entered his office. “What ails you, chief?”

“The challenge.” Sulius replied with a theatrical groan.

“Usually they wait longer to challenge,” Ravius said. “So soon already?”

“What is it, Sulius?” Sadira asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “What has you worried so?”

“It is a grand melee challenge. Each team chooses sixty ranks worth of Gladiators, with ten fighters per team. Points are scored for eliminating other Gladiators. Bonus points will be awarded for certain types of elimination, like creative use of terrain. There’s an entire list. Only one match will be fought.”

“A grand melee. Really?” Sadira said, suddenly rocked back on her heels in genuine surprise. “Even in big arenas, those are rare. Exceptionally so.”

“It would favor us. Our teamwork is far better than the Blues.” Gavin said, clearly weighing the challenge carefully. “Even if they are better at Gladiator versus Gladiator matches.”

“That’s just a stereotype, Gavin.” Karmal countered, content to needle him. “Some of us are good at beating other Gladiators.”

“What I mean is that our advantage negates their advantage, so there must be something else.” Gavin said, clarifying himself and not rising to Karmal’s bait. “Right, Sulius?”

“Yes, of course” the chief promoter said, resignation clear in his voice. “With a grand melee in a small arena like ours there are provisions that allow them to call on other Gladiators from their faction. I fear they may be calling in specialists.”

<>

“Sulius has given us a list of Gladiators to pick from.” Sadira said as she addressed them. “Our team will form the core of the Reds, which leaves us thirty-five ranks worth of Gladiators to choose. We are pretty versatile ourselves, so I think we have a lot of options to build on.”

“Who are the master ranks that we can get?” Ravius asked, the skirmisher sitting with his back straight and attention focused forward.

“We have two to choose from,” Sadira replied as she glanced at a paper in her hand. “Kilbo is a heavy defender with druidic magic and a lot of Sui-Thaiune in size increase with Juggernaut, Colossus, and Titan schools. Big shield, big hammer. Slow but unkillable, and he augments both our defensive strength and healing abilities.”

“I like the sounds of that,” Vintia said immediately.

“Of course, you would.” Karmal rolled her eyes. “You always like other defenders.”

“They can’t win if they can’t eliminate any of us.” Vintia said, repeating a common phrase of hers.

“True words,” Sadira stated with a nod. “The other master rank available to us is Master Sax. Light charger with an elemental focus. Sax is a great swordsman, and he can augment our offensive spellcasting significantly.”

“Which makes the more firepower the obvious choice,” Karmal said eagerly as if the answer was clear.

“Both are the obvious choice,” Gavin said, picking the moment to intercede. “Having an offensive master and a defensive master keeps our team balanced. The final fifteen ranks gives us the option of three other Gladiators of our rank.”

“I agree with that.” Sadira said with another nod towards Gavin. “Sulius went to great length to secure Master Kilbo for us, and we all know firsthand that Master Sax is good. Does anyone object to their adding?”

No one did.

“We’ll need another skirmisher then,” Ravius said as they moved on. “As wonderful as I am. I can’t manage everything myself.”

“Or perhaps maybe we don’t even need the one we have?” Karmal countered, moving to elbow the skirmisher in the ribs.

“I recall Cassius being good,” Sadira said, ignoring the other woman in favor of looking at her paper again.

“He was the guy with the two whips?” Karmal asked, pouting slightly when no one rose to her jibe.

“He’s an elementalist and has a lot of area control with those battle whips,” Sadira answered with a nod. Cassius was handsome and had a stunning physique, even for a shadow-elf. He wore his hair in bright, blood-red furrows which matched the color of his leather war harness. The light-armored skirmisher used a pair of long war whips in the arena, with a sword for backup. “I worked well with him before. He’s great, Karmal don’t you worry.”

“Sounds good for me then.” Ravius said, the decision made. “Now who else?”

Picking the remaining two Gladiators proved to be tough. In the end, they settled on two relative newcomers to Scorpion’s Oasis, Dragonfire and Bloodfrost.

The wildly energetic and enthusiastic Dragonfire used a mix of druidic and elemental forms. She was toned and athletic, energetic even by the high standards of a Gladiatrix. She wore a black and gold breastplate, bracers, and greaves with a dragon motif, as well as a daring war skirt that showed off her powerful legs. Dragonfire was a defender by training but did not carry a shield, instead using matched, basket-hilted broadswords and guards designed to catch an opponent’s weapon. She seemed more like a skirmisher to Sadira, very loud and more aggressive than most defenders.

Her partner was the light-elf Bloodfrost, a quiet, almost sullen light charger. She wore armor of a similar design to Dragonfire’s but with a longer skirt and white and gold coloring to accentuate her pale skin. Her arched shoulder guards were studded with pale emeralds to match her eyes. Her attitude shifted in battle, where she attacked with relentless aggression. She was versed in necromancy, with additional training in the Berserker and Deathknight schools.

<>

“I haven’t trained like this since I was a freshie,” Kilbo groaned loudly as the ten Gladiators sat down to eat.

Gavin had suggested they eat together during training and spend their free time getting to know each other. After a week, even the biggest egos on the team were getting along well. Sadira gave silent thanks that Karmal was under control and that Ravius and Cassius got along. Bloodfrost’s icy demeanor had melted enough for her to talk and smile freely in their company without Dragonfire prompting her.

“And that’s maybe that’s why Brightloch beat you in the Grand Championships.” Sax said while nudging his old friend.

“Bah,” Kilbo grumbled. “The crowd favored him because they found him handsome and rarely get to see luminescence on the fighting grounds.”

“Wait, you fought against Chosen Brightloch?” Karmal asked, her eyes widening.

“Yeah, I did.” Kilbo said with a sigh. “He knocked me out in the second round, and I am still a little sore about it. No one remembers a hopeful if they are taken out that early.”

“That’s still amazing though!” Dragonfire exclaimed.

“Thank you.” Kilbo said, the frown that had made its way onto his face melting into a smile. “Perhaps one day you will have your own tale of the Grand Championships.”

“I certainly hope so with how hard I’m working on it.” Dragonfire said eagerly before pausing to take a bite of puffy blue fruit. “Mmmm. Sulius outdid himself again.”

Their practice sessions were grueling. After the usual three hours of running and exercise, the Gladiators began a lengthy regimen of formation and movement drills designed to accustom them to working as a team, moving smoothly and without hesitation. These drills included simple formations like the shield wall and star fortress as well as much more complex team maneuvers like the wolf-pack tactic and double feint blindside. The two masters, Sax and Kilbo, were actually the last to acclimate themselves to the rest of the team, being more set in their ways. Sadira overcame this by appealing to their pride, challenging them to set an example for their junior peers.

“After lunch, I want each master to draft a team, and we will fight five versus five,” Sadira told them. “Later on, the rest of the Reds will be joining us to try their luck against us in ten versus ten.”

In drill, Gladiators were unlike legionnaires, and both would resent any comparison. A soldier was trained to fight as part of a unit, while a Gladiator was trained to fight as an individual above all. The weapon choice, weight class, basic training, and magic type as well as physical characteristics varied greatly, meaning that Gladiators had to train hard to understand the idiosyncrasies of their partner’s styles.

“Is that a good idea?” Karmal asked. “The rest of the faction is not happy about sitting out.”

“Means they won’t go easy on us.” Sax said with a gentle smile. “Good. The Blues won’t either.”

“That and it this will make them feel like they are part of our team.” Sadira said. “They will want to show they are better than us, and it will be a worthy challenge for us to work through. I want us as ready as we can be for the grand melee.”

<>

The day before the grand melee match, Lina brought Sadira a strange warning. One of Azure Dream’s Taskbound had sought Sadira’s assistant out, telling her that her mistress had overheard that one of the Blue Gladiators was planning to cheat. While the Blues skirted the rules and turned them to their advantage, real cheating risked dire consequences.

“Did she have any specifics?” Sadira asked.

“No, Sadira.” Lina shook her head.

“The Deliberative are very vigilant about cheating.” Sadira said with a sigh as she ran a hand through her hair. “But after your encounter in your ranking test, I cannot help but worry, Gavin. We will have to be on guard.”

“Should we tell the others?”

“No, they have enough to worry about,” Sadira answered with a shake of her head. “Even though she is a Blue, I trust Azure to the hilt. I will speak to Sulius and Arena Master Bloodsmith. I doubt anything will come of it, especially if it seems they are taking extra precautions.”

Gavin nodded. He had his misgivings, but what else could they do?

<>

“A pit? I guess we know what they mean by extra points for terrain kills now.” Vintia said while shaking her head.

The ten Gladiators of the Red Team were crammed into the corridor outside their arming rooms. Vintia could not see into the arena because the rest of the team obscured the doorway, but news travelled fast. The corridor was made to accommodate Gladiators even larger than Sax and Kilbo but rarely saw so many fighters at one time. Grand Melee matches like this were exceedingly rare outside of the very largest arenas, and with the season on the line, the stakes were high. This challenge had drawn an eager crowd. The arena was packed to capacity and then some.

“Filled with spikes, I’d wager,” Sax drawled. “The arena master also put it there to break up charges and large formations. Works in our favor, I think. The Blues won’t be able to charge in directly.”

“True, Master Sax, but I, for one, intend to make good use of that pit,” Cassius added with a sly grin. “I find it quite amusing when an enemy takes a tumble into one of those, and I know the audience will back me up on that.”

“I’ve seen the bottom of one pit too many, myself,” Gavin said with a shudder.

“And don’t look now, but I also see some rather nasty-looking protrusions on the wall,” Ravius said, raising a hand to point. “I’d rather pet a spike hound with my bare hands than get slammed up against the sides of the arena this match!”

“We can use the pits and the spikes to our advantage,” Sadira announced as she glanced around the group. “But remember, they are the opposition’s best bet at taking out some of our tougher members too, so we must be wary.”

They all glanced at Kilbo, who shrugged his massive, armored shoulders and grinned. “I will be pleased if I can run to the pit without the rest of you getting too far ahead.”

“No fear of that, big man.” Karmal said while leaned against the wall. “I intend to soften them up from a distance as we advance. That pit will slow them down a bit, and I intent to take advantage of it.”

“Not a bad idea. I imagine the opening moments of this match could be very spell heavy,” Cassius said thoughtfully. “Do we have any idea who we are facing?”

“We are not entirely sure,” Ravius replied with a shake of his head, “although I did hear that the Blues brought in a couple of defenders for this match. Stonehand or something like that.”

“Stonehammer?” Sax asked while glancing over at Kilbo.

“That’s the rumor. I am not sure which brother it is, though,” the gigantic dwarf answered.

“Someone we should know?” Cassius queried, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“Three brothers, all master-ranked defenders,” Sax explained. “Their mother was unlucky enough to have three Gifted sons who all chose to become Gladiators.”

“I thought that was an arena myth,” Bloodfrost said quietly. “Is it true she died from grief?”

“I would have!” The normally cheerful Dragonfire exclaimed while frowned at the thought.

“I can’t say.” Sax said with a shrug. “The Stonehammer brothers hire themselves out to Blue Faction teams for difficult occasions such as this. They command a ridiculous price in gold and favors. But don’t let their less-than-stellar win-loss records fool you—they only get sent out to the nastiest of matches.”

The trumpets roared, ringing out the notes of the Call of the People. All of the Gladiators from both teams filed into the arena. The raucous crowd had spilled over the stands and into the stairways and aisles behind the seats. Restless conversation erupted into thunderous cheers even before their sandals hit the sand.

“Yes! Now that is what I want to hear!” Sadira exclaimed as she cupped a hand to her ear. “This is beginning to sound like my kind of crowd!”

The first thing that Gavin saw was the titanic form of Shield-Splitter looming in the enemy ranks. Standing alongside him were the now-familiar forms of Steel Harmony, Desert Star, Bull Dangerous, Blue Hornet, Sapphire Lotus, Blue Calamity, and Azure Dream. The latter blew him a kiss and waved to Sadira, who raised her blades in salute. Gavin smiled back, wishing he had that kind of composure, as Azure’s teammates looked at her aghast.

I think I will actually miss Azure when we all part ways, Gavin thought idly, having come to like their opponent over the last few weeks and months.

The first Gladiator that they did not recognize was a muscular, clean-shaven dwarf in heavy-plated armor decorated with an inlaid, hammer-shaped grey stone. He carried a plain razor shield and a short, brutal-looking axe, both of which were laden with runes.

“Yeah, that’s a Stonehammer for sure.” Sax said with a nod towards the gladiator. “Not sure which one though . . . never learned to tell them apart.”

“He’s the one with the axe,” Dragonfire quipped and promptly laughed at his own joke.

“I hope you have better banter for the sands than that,” Sax said with a grunt and roll of his eyes.

The second unfamiliar Gladiator was a new fifth ranker, a large orcish man in thick, spiked heavy armor, armed with a broad-bladed war axe carved to look like a wild boar. His thick hair was done up in an intricate top-knot. Warsong was his arena name.

Entering last, the final fighter that was unknown to them drew a collective cheer from the crowd when her name was announced: “Countess Paragon!”

Gavin saw both Sax and Kilbo stiffen as a tall, dark-haired human female with alert blue eyes entered, clad in shining silver plate armor decorated with a wolf motif and armed with an ornate greatsword similar to Sax’s. The woman’s dignified and commanding presence reminded Gavin of Sadira. Both women had the piercing gaze and bearing of predators on the hunt. The familiarity of the name ran in Gavin’s memories, but he could not quite place it. Gladiators knew all of their relevant competition well, but the ranks of masters shifted constantly. A master might retire for a century and suddenly appear in the arena again.

“Countess Orsina of Marsh-haven.” Sax’s voice was uncharacteristically lyrical. “She is a most dangerous swordswoman. I trained with her in the Faultless Blade school years ago. Nice gal, one of those classy Blues that are all about the old-time aristocratic virtues.”

He raised his blade to salute the countess across the field. Her severe expression softened for a moment as she returned the honor.

Karmal bristled, ready to protest this gesture of respect, but Sadira put her hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“Save it for the Blues, Karmal,” she said softly.

Karmal always sees alliances so starkly, Gavin thought with a vague sense of frustration. She could never be friends with someone from an opposing faction, like Azure or Sadira.

The announcer finished the lengthy process of introducing all twenty Gladiators to the crowd and treading through the salient rules for the match. Normally, the languid Scorpion’s Oasis audience would have given them a tepid response after such a long introduction, but not tonight. The fans roared, and Gavin felt their noise down to his bones.

The Gladiators raised their weapons in acknowledgement to the cheering crowd as trumpet-song erupted yet again, signaling the Call to Battle.

Before the echo of the horns had even passed, Thaom blazed.

A blinding barrage of attack spells blasted forth from both teams. Fire and fury ruled the next few heartbeats. Kilbo, Gavin, and Vintia were raked by lightning as they shielded their team, while the Blues were scorched by a well-placed fireball spell from Karmal. Gavin felt the elemental protection runes on his shield and armor activate, drawing Thaom from him through their attunement. He was grateful of the added protection as flames licked him.

No Gladiator fell to this initial barrage, but the impressive display of magic had spectators leaping from their seats, shouting encouragement.

The Blue Team rushed forward as the bombardment ended, splitting up to avoid the yawning spike-toothed pit in the middle of the arena. The Reds jogged forward too but moved in close formation, waiting for Sadira to give them the signal to charge. One of the plans that they had discussed was the “denied flank” strategy, to concentrate most of their force on one half of the enemy lines while avoiding the other half as long as possible. The pit presented a perfect opportunity for this, as the Blues were now divided.

“All, left!” Sadira ordered.

The Reds surged forward, picking up speed suddenly. The Blues realized their mistake but could do nothing about it. The crowd roared. Gavin’s heart thudded as he powered ahead, trying to keep up with Sax, Sadira, and Dragonfire. Massive Kilbo thundered on behind them, ready to turn and face the other Blue group when they closed. A knot formed in Gavin’s stomach as he heard Sadira’s war shriek and saw her leap forward, throwing herself into the Blue lines, the first to make contact with the enemy. She battered Blue Calamity and Desert Star before darting away as the rest of the Reds smashed into them.

The Reds hit the outnumbered Blue flank with an audible clash. War cries mixed with the sounds of metal grinding.

The Blues gave ground before the sheer weight of their enemies, falling back under a hail of blows until Stonehammer set himself, giving Shield-Splitter time to clear some space with his enormous blade.

Blue Hornet and Azure Dream bled from brutal wounds as they were driven toward the spiked walls. Charring flames washed over Gavin as the Blues desperately tried to reverse their momentum with a well-timed volley of spells. Although his eyes watered, and he breathed in a lungful of acrid smoke, he kept pushing forward into the fray. Steel Harmony darted in, striking him with her rapier. Gavin shifted as she struck, ensuring that most the volley of attacks hit his armor. He felt pinpricks on his skin as her sword drew blood, but he forced her back with a sweep of his spear.

Not enough damage to call for healing, by his judgement.

The Red plan almost won them the match that quickly, as the sheer mass of their charge concentrated against such a small number of opponents proved overwhelming. Despite the valiant efforts of Stonehammer and the massive strength of Shield-Splitter, the Reds steadily forced most of their foes back toward the spiked wall. One of the Blues cast a wall of ice that protected them briefly until Kilbo smashed it apart.

In turn, Kilbo was forced back when another Blue sprayed him in the face with a Thorns spell.

Gavin moved up to shield the big man, taking a massive cleaver strike on his shield from Shield-Splitter. The ogre shouted something, but it was lost in the sizzle and boom of spells all around them.

I’m not missing much, Gavin thought, jabbing his spear into the big Blue’s leg.

Kilbo cleared his vision, and they all pushed.

But when the Blues were less than a yard away from the spiked wall, the plan was foiled. Gavin heard a shout from his right, the direction of the pit, and looked up to see Countess Paragon leaping the massive pit to land in their midst, knocking Ravius off his feet and slashing Dragonfire. Spells now streaked in from the second group of Blues with increased fury, staggering the Reds as the Blues rallied. Instantly, their clean formation dissolved into a chaotic melee. Forward progress stopped as Vintia and Sax tried to contain Countess.

<Turn!> Sadira called through their link.

The remaining Blue fighters were now bearing down on them, having sprinted from the other side of the pit. Kilbo turned to face them, and Gavin watched as Vintia tried to move to them, but a swift leg-hook from Countess, done while parrying a sword stroke from Sax, sent the shield maiden sprawling. A massive shard of ice smashed into Vintia as she tried to stand, exploding on her shield.

Gavin turned back to the main fight. He was the last defender standing here. Shield-Splitter and Bull Dangerous loomed over him, pushing past Stonehammer, who was struggling with green plant tendrils grasping at his feet. The ogre shouted something as Gavin deflected his blade, but it was lost as Gavin pummeled him with a mental blast.

Then the lines clashed again with a thunderous clamor. Gavin was forced to give way.

Losing his balance, he was sent flying backwards as Bull Dangerous rammed him. Landing hard, he rolled awkwardly to his feet, bringing up his spear to ward off Stonehammer’s cleaving axe only to be knocked to the ground again by a quick hit from the dwarf’s shield. Gavin scrambled to his feet, smashing back and unloading his trollodestone into Stonehammer’s face.

To his shock the dwarf barely staggered, employing some kind of spell or technique that allowed him to keep his feet.

Gavin was left wide open for a counter, but a bolt of lightning hit Stonehammer before he could strike, momentarily staggering him and giving Gavin a short reprieve. In the chaos of battle, he could not be sure who had saved him. Gavin locked shields with Stonehammer, only to be pushed back again, nearly tripping as the master defender hooked his leg with a foot. Steel Harmony streaked past him, too fast to intercept, stabbing him in the side as she passed. Luckily his armor held and he was able to stave off the Master’s next attack.

This is bad, he’s way out of my league, Gavin thought, trying to hold against Stonehammer as the stout defender bulled him toward the wall. Is Vintia up yet?

Everything was chaos and blood.

Kilbo was now grappling with Shield-Splitter and Bull Dangerous at the edge of the pit. Blue Hornet slipped past Karmal and Bloodfrost, running forward to stab at Kilbo’s back, plunging his spiked gauntlets into the giant again and again as Shield-Splitter and Bull Dangerous wrestled him toward the edge. Ravius and Sadira raced to get to the master defender’s side, but Gavin felt a sudden release of Thaom, and a Pillar of Flame erupted between them.

Gavin also tried to go to Master Kilbo’s aid, but there was no way for him to get past Stonehammer to assist, and he watched his teammate teeter on the edge of the pit helplessly. A Mind Blast staggered Blue Hornet, but it was not enough, and then, suddenly, they all toppled. Rather than vainly struggling to avoid the fall, Kilbo had yielded, catching both Shield-Splitter and Bull off guard and dragging them over the edge with him. They seemed to dance on the horizon of the pit for an endless moment, roles suddenly reversed, and then all three tumbled in together. The crowd cheered explosively as the Gladiators were viciously impaled on the spikes below.

Gavin, still giving ground before Stonehammer’s relentless assault, felt a chill, remembering his own experiences with pits in the arena.

<>

As Gavin struggled to hold his own against Master Stonehammer, Sadira returned to the melee. She locked blades with Desert Star, feeling the cold touch of a necromantic curse as she pushed the smaller woman back with a flurry of sword strokes, fueled by enchantments that increased her strength.

They moved together for a moment, two students of the war dance schools locked in step, impressing the crowd with their intricate athleticism, until Desert Star attacked Sadira with a malicious hex. Heaving nausea overcame Sadira for a moment, allowing her opponent to escape. She heard a warning sound from Vintia, and she dropped down instinctively, avoiding the bright blade of Sapphire Lotus’s glaive. It sliced through the air and took a lock of hair out of her war crest.

Sadira vaulted to her feet, parrying another strike, locking blades and heaving Desert Star back with a surge of pure strength.

To her left, Sax had locked blades with the countess in the middle of the fight. The two fought each other to a standstill, swords blurring and weaving back and forth, a storm of steel that that whirled around them, blending with the spells that they tossed back and forth.

Better not to interfere with them, Sadira thought after parrying a low swipe from one of Desert Star’s blades. She swung before the swift Blue could follow up, forcing her onto the defensive.

Across the sands, Karmal cleared a space around herself with a swing of her heavy cleaver, and then unleashed a series of fire blasts, scorching the Blues, until Steel Harmony streaked in and forced her to defend against a flurry of rapid rapier jabs. Even across the din, Sadira could hear Karmal cursing.

Sadira heard the sound of someone landing and a weapon hitting a shield behind her, but she could not risk a glance. She pushed toward Desert Star, her long legs tearing through grasping plant tendrils that suddenly erupted from the sands underneath her.

Grasping Roots? Sadira thought with a mental laugh, as if that would work on me!

The Blue’s eyes widened in surprise as Sadira surged forward, incredible strength easily snapping the roots, and brought her curved obsidian blades down in lethal arcs. Desert Star was fast and caught the attack, but Sadira bore down with all of her enchantment-fueled might.

Her strength proved too much, and both blades dug into her opponent’s shoulder guards, forcing Desert Star to the ground but failing to draw much blood. She kicked Desert Star in the ribs with her armored boots, but a blur of motion warned her of an incoming foe.

Sadira darted back from Desert Star as Blue Calamity came to his teammate’s rescue, flinging fire at her face. Dragonfire moved between them, shouting as his whip and spear met her blades. It allowed Sadira to turn her attention back to Desert Star, who was slow to get to her feet, blood dribbling from her mouth.

“I have you.” Sadira hissed with a wide grin as she advanced.

A glimpse of Gavin struggling with Stonehammer, who seemed intent on pushing him into the spiked wall, spurred Sadira to swifter action. She struck with a flurry of blades. Desert Star met them with defiance in her eyes, but when she parried, Sadira kicked her in the chest, sending her flying.

As Sadira turned, she caught sight of Karmal, glowing with Thaom and bleeding from a hundred cuts, locked in battle with Steel Harmony.

As Sadira moved to help, Karmal cast. The spell she wove was a fell one indeed, and Steel Harmony screamed, belching fire and smoke as she dropped. In the blink of an eye, the little Gladiatrix burned from the inside out, her blackened form curling into a fetal position.

<Did you see that?> Karmal crowed triumphantly through the link.

<I did, but focus!> Sadira answered back, annoyed at the interruption.

The spectators roared, surging to their feet. Roused by this brutality, Karmal’s triumphant laughter was, however, cut short as Blue Hornet appeared from behind her, slamming his fist spikes into her back. The flame-haired Gladiatrix sank to the ground, struggling to rise as her opponent plunged his spikes into her back again, finishing her off. Sadira howled her war shriek and ran toward Karmal, ducking under Sapphire Lotus’s swinging glaive. Lotus lunged forward, this time swinging her glaive low to the ground at Sadira. Although the blade caught her on the leg, tripping her, Sadira rolled nimbly to her feet and sprinted to her friend.

Blue Hornet twisted his blades out of Karmal and turned to meet Sadira’s charge, his lithe form mocking. She whirled into him, blades flashing and war scream echoing above the din.

Surprisingly swift, he hit her with a quick jab in the shoulder while parrying one her blades with one of the broad bucklers attached to each of his gauntlets. Slippery as an eel, he slid around her and jabbed her unarmed sides with his fist spikes. Rather than try to dodge, Sadira let the attack hit so that he would be vulnerable to his counter. She judged well, and while his blade pierced her, it was not fatal. She snarled against the pain, bearing down on him and bringing her armored knee up into his groin, channeling power into a Giant’s Strength spell. Her armored knee collided with a satisfying crunch, breaking the Blue Hornet’s pelvis and leaving him momentarily stunned. She flourished her blades and cut down, filling the air with her vengeful war scream as his head tumbled to the ground next to Karmal’s prone form in a splash of blood. The audience roared its approval of her display, and she felt the power of their approval fill her with Thaom as it never had before.

She used that strength to heal her wounds as she took stock of the melee. Blue Calamity was advancing to meet her, whip whirling.

All around them, friends and foes were falling. As she dodged a spear thrust, Sadira glimpsed Vintia going down under a combined assault from Warsong, Desert Star, and Sapphire Lotus. She cast a swift healing spell for her friend but had to duck under a snapping war whip as Calamity kept on her.

Angry, she whirled back into him, slashing, but he merely scoffed and jumped back, jabbing her in the shoulder. She snarled and kept at him.

The battle was even now, perhaps turning against the Reds, as luck and the skills of Masters Paragon and Stonehammer had bought the Blues a brief moment of opportunity. Sadira could feel Vintia fighting the three valiantly as she cast another heal, holding them back for a long moment. Sadira turned to run for her aid, but Blue Calamity made her pay for turning her back on him with a jab that hit her in the back before knocking her to the ground with his whip. As she tumbled, Sadira watched as an expert spell combination left Vintia stumbling. The three Blues were on her in an instant, overpowering her and slamming her into the cruel wall-spikes. Ravius arrived too late to save her, but not too late to trip Sapphire Lotus with his net and send her crashing face first into the brutal wall beside Vintia as he backpedaled away from the other two.

Sadira got back to her feet, rage blazing through her veins. She blocked Blue Calamity’s killing thrust and slashed at his face. Driven by fury, she flew at him, swords moving so fast that he could do little but give ground before her.

Cassius, Bloodfrost, and Dragonfire engaged Countess Paragon in the middle of the arena. The elegant Gladiatrix did not give way before the storm of blades, greeting each attack with a well-timed parry or simply allowing it to glance off her heavy armor.

Sadira recognized her use of mountain stance from the Champion school, meant to turn an opponent’s attacks and return them in kind. Although Cassius tried to trip her up with his whips while blasting her with lighting and fire, her footing was too sure. Blades flashed, whips cracked, and spells flew, but the three lower-ranked Gladiators could not overcome the more experienced master’s perfect guard. Try as they might, they could not get past her.

Sax had moved in to help Ravius against Azure Dream and Desert Star, quickly forcing them onto the defensive with broad strokes of his great sword while the skirmisher tried to work his way onto the flank. Warsong moved in to help the Blues, swinging his massive axe and forcing Ravius to duck and backpedal. Now, Stonehammer snarled and started backing toward the main melee, harried as he went by Gavin.

Dragonfire threw herself at Countess Paragon in a desperate gambit to overcome her defense. The countess sidestepped, tripping her and slamming her greatsword through Dragonfire’s back with perfect precision. Bloodfrost shrieked with anger as she and Cassius sprang forward to take advantage of their teammate’s sacrifice. Frost formed on the Countess Paragon as Bloodfrost landed spells amidst her assault, heedless of the wounds she received in return. Cassius joined his magic as well, freezing the deadly swordswoman.

The countess, finally undone, elected to surge forward and thrust the long blade of her greatsword into Cassius’s throat instead of focusing on a defense that would fail. Her armor did not save her as the wrathful Bloodfrost stabbed her in the lower back with one sword and then punched her brutal gauntlet spike into the countess’s snarling face. And oh, the crowd, they did cheer as the blonde Gladiatrix, drenched in blood, screamed her rage and triumph over the limp bodies of friend and foe alike. Bloodfrost remained standing through sheer ferocity, bleeding from a dozen wounds that would have downed a lesser Gladiatrix.

Sadira danced around Blue Calamity, testing him with her blades. More than half of the Gladiators were down, and the crowd was wild with bloodlust. Calamity was grinning as if he was privy to some private joke as he lured her back from the main melee.

He’s only prolonging his demise, she thought as she fought. No one can help him out here. Still, he eluded her, his spear darting in and out, attacking from all angles, while he sought to trip her up with his whip. He was fast, but she was relentless. Sadira pressed him hard, slashing at him, eager for blood and victory.

“You should have learned your lesson the last time we fought, Calamity!” she mocked as she landed a slicing cut below his shoulder, just missing a small but important artery in his arm.

She heard a grunt from behind the mask. “Maybe I have.”

Sadira was not sure if the words were actually spoken or she just heard them in her head. His damned mask kept her from seeing his face. She felt him channeling power and stepped forward to attack. A shiver passed through her, and she paused. Her attack faltered. She suddenly felt weak and disoriented, the world around her becoming somehow less focused, losing definition. It took her a moment to realize that she had been severed from her Thaom.

No, not severed, but restrained, held down by an external force. Sadira had felt this before. It was like the spell the Grey-Robes and the Chosen used to control the destructive powers of the Gladiators, formally known as the Chain of Ezuis but casually called the leash.

Every Gladiator dreaded that feeling. It was the leash that kept them obedient, the weapon they had no answer to.

Confused, the strength draining from her enchantments, Sadira backed away, eyes wide, heart hammering. Lina’s warning rang out in her head once more.

She raised her weapons to defend herself as Calamity came in, grinning.

She could die, here and now. She did not understand what was happening but knew it was dire. This magic might even affect her bond with the life-sustaining Keystone, or her ability to heal. She felt fear twisting inside her, cold and sharp, robbing her of strength.

Blue Calamity lazily cracked his whip. “You’ve made some powerful enemies, bitch.”

He launched a Mind Blast that left her reeling, feeling like her head was being pressed by a vice. Sadira’s vision blurred. She gritted her teeth against the agony, but his forbidden power had left her defenseless against his magical attacks. Anger swept through her fear. This man was cheating! Someone had to notice. She barely managed to knock a spear thrust aimed at her chest to the side. The world reeled.

<Gavin!> she tried to call through their link, but found it severed from her reach.

The whip cracked, lightning quick, snaking around her throat. The metal coils tightened, cutting into her neck, choking her, pulling her toward her haughty assailant. She heard him chuckling and snarled pulling backwards with all her might.

“Time to learn your place,” he hissed.

He raised his spear, its hungry tip gleaming in the sun.

Sadira might have lost her magic, but she was still a Gladiatrix.

She reversed course suddenly, throwing herself forward with the added momentum of his pull, ramming into him with her armored shoulder. The grim spear bit into her chest, but the whip loosened, and she rolled away, free, running, shouting to her team and to the arena master.

Gavin, Sax, Tenisha, and Ravius were fighting side by side against Warsong, Stonehammer, Desert Star, and Azure Dream. They heard her shout of alarm and could sense something wrong in the weave of magic around her. Unfortunately, the Blues were between Sadira and the rest of her team. The Reds pushed hard but could not break through quickly enough.

Sadira heard Blue Calamity move in behind her, his Thaom forming a Mind Blast that slammed into her like a sledgehammer to the skull. She turned to face him, focusing in spite of the agony from the mental assault. She could feel the warm trickle of blood dripping from her nose and ears. She caught his spear with a deft parry, but the whip ripped up her side.

Stonehammer turned at the sound of Sadira’s distress, ignoring a trident thrust from Ravius that glanced off his thick armor. The dwarf channeled power and leapt toward Sadira, covering ten paces with a spell. Sax reacted by slamming a massive shoulder into the orc, Warsong, which opened just enough space for Gavin to flow through the enemy line. Sadira could see her lover running toward her as she desperately backed away from Blue Calamity, but Stonehammer leapt again, landing far out of Gavin’s reach and a short distance behind Sadira, axe at the ready.

“Can’t beat me fairly?” Sadira mocked Blue Calamity, raising her weapons.

She was trapped. From behind her, she heard Gavin shout a warning. Chosen’s Oath, she would not let this be the last time she heard that voice!

“Everything is fair on the fighting grounds.” He said with a sneer.

Behind her, Stonehammer seemed to be waiting, even though he had a perfect opportunity to strike. Blue Calamity darted forward. Sadira heard the dwarf move behind her, the crowd cheering, felt the bright sun on her face. Anger shot through her, a righteous molten flow, burning away fear and doubt. She danced forward to meet Calamity, blades held high, screaming her defiance.

“HOLD!” The sound of the arena master’s voice thundered.

Most of the Gladiators skidded to a halt, long training and magical command forcing them to freeze in place. They all felt the leash of power in his voice. Sadira felt relief as it took hold of her. They had noticed her plight at last! But to her horror, Blue Calamity kept moving, driving his spear at her chest.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even scream.

Not like this! She thought as the lethal point flashed toward her.

And then, suddenly, Master Sax was there his blade sweeping up, severing Blue Calamity’s spear arm. As Sadira stood, frozen to the spot, the spear and arm flew up into the air while the ogre’s hand closed around Blue Calamity’s face. Using his momentum, Master Sax slammed the smaller Gladiator into the wall spikes, head first. So powerful was his push that a spike pushed through the Blue Gladiator’s head and Master Sax’s hand.

How is Sax moving? Sadira wondered incredulously.

Leaving Blue Calamity twitching on the wall, Sax pulled his hand free and turned to her. She could see the relief in his eyes as he checked her wounds.

“You’re fine, Sadira,” he said. “You’re safe now.”

“A foul has been called! The Blues forfeit the match!” the arena master shouted a second later, his every syllable dripping with anger and disdain. “The match goes to the Reds with full points and an investigation will be pending!”

The crowd was muttering excitedly now, as five thousand spectators began to speculate on what exactly had occurred to bring the exciting match to such an unusual end. The grey-robed arena master, Hork Bloodsmith, ignored the audience and the confused Gladiators, stern eyes focusing instead on Blue Calamity’s writhing form.

<>

“Blue Hornet told me that he was executed.”

Azure Dream was gathered with Sadira, Gavin. Karmal, Vintia, and Ravius at a private restaurant overlooking the waters of the Oasis. “I don’t think anyone will hear from him again. The day after the match, the Greys made a big show of hauling diRivergate, our new chief promoter, off as well.”

“I heard about that,” Ravius exclaimed excitedly. “Was he in on it?”

“Very likely,” Sadira said with a shake of her head. “Blue Calamity had some sort of medallion that allowed him to act when leashed. It is a Deliberative artifact of some sort. Sax had one as well. I guess they gave him one after I warned them about cheating. I owe you my life for that warning, Minerva.”

“I am always happy to collect another favor-owed, sword-sister,” Azure Dream answered with a grin. “Now let’s talk about something else. I’m sure that episode was traumatic, even for someone as tough as you, Sadira.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Revelation

1144/11/11 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis, Faction Score:  Reds, 3116 points; Blues, 3002 points

“Even now, the Domains are constantly threatened by outside forces. Soldiers die every day to keep the chaos of the tainted lands from spilling over into civilized lands. The monsters we see in the arena are meant to remind those who live in safety of this fact.” Warbound Victor diTavalon

“I’m just saying that I’d rather have won without a forfeit.” Karmal said with a pronounced pout. “The spectators were so distracted that I only earned base victory coins, which means I won’t be able to afford to enchant this fire ruby for my sword until after my next match.”

Gavin rolled his eyes at Karmal’s remarks. They were walking one of the broad, cobbled streets of the Gladiators Quarter in the city of Brightsand Halls, perusing the runesmiths, enchanters, and other services, taking a break from their hectic schedule in Scorpion’s Oasis. Karmal’s constant bemoaning of her lack of funds to buy the weapon enhancement she currently desired had worn thin days ago. He wished he could transfer some of his victory coins to her, just to make her quiet, but that was not allowed. The tokens were closely regulated to prevent cheating.

“Karmal, my dearest friend.” Sadira said as she looked back over her shoulder, sounding exasperated despite the softness of her tone. “Please try to show a little concern, at least, over the possibility that I could have been killed when Blue Calamity sundered me from my Thaom and nearly shoved his spear through my face.”

Karmal colored slightly and bristled at this rebuke.

Sadira stopped, flashing a smile at her temperamental friend. “Besides, haven’t I told you that the whole fire motif is a bit cliché for a redhead?”

“This, coming from someone who dresses like a harlot on the fighting grounds and took the arena name Red Scorpion!” Karmal said, rising to the challenge.

Gavin felt a small pang, realizing that soon, she too, would be gone from his life. Despite their clashing personalities, he still regarded Karmal as a friend. He wondered if he would ever get to hear her version of what had happened when she killed Meady Mox in Dreadwood Junction. He pushed the thought away, while she continued speaking.

“With my skill in fire magic, a ruby fire-burst enchantment is simply a must!”

“I prefer runes to lapidomantic enhancements,” Sadira replied. “Runes are more reliable, in my mind. I’d rather have a constant effect than an enchantment that I have to feed energy into for a short burst of power. I noticed that my Thunic runework worked even after that goat-rutting man-harlot Blue Calamity severed my magic last match. Also, I find it interesting that you always bring up my attire and never criticize Ravius or Cassius on theirs, which are plenty revealing.”

Vintia laughed at this observation. “She likes that little thong that Cassius wears.”

“Hey, what about mine?” Ravius asked, mock indignant.

“Who cares what men wear?” Karmal responded angrily, causing Sadira to raise an eyebrow.

“Who cares what I wear?”

“Let’s change the subject, shall we?” Vintia said with another shake of her head. Gavin realized then how vital the little defender must have been in keeping the peace between her two passionate friends when they were younger. “I want to enjoy the day. Besides the joyful, crazed look you get when you talk about fire gems, Karmal, it makes our Grey-Robe escorts uncomfortable, especially with us being out in public near all the flammable stuff.”

Karmal rolled her eyes, but Gavin couldn’t help but laugh. The others joined him, including Karmal after a moment. He even saw one of their Grey-Robe escorts hide a smile.

It was a slow, easy day for them thus far. They were taking a break from their grueling schedule in order to enjoy some time together in Brightsand Halls, where Sadira and Karmal would soon be stationed. Gavin was relaxed in spite of his upcoming ranking match later in the day. In his match, he would be fighting alongside Sadira, which filled him with confidence.

Sadira is going to love it here, he thought, gazing at the sights of the city as they passed. Brightsands was not as big or as busy as Krass, but it was new and beautiful.

Since they had brought a full Deliberative escort with them, they were able to go anywhere they wished, even leaving the Gladiators Quarter near the monumental Brightsand Halls arena. Gavin had only visited the outskirts of the city before, visiting the artificer’s workshop.

Brightsand Halls, founded by the Chosen Giselle, was certainly not as wickedly opulent as Scorpion’s Oasis, but it was full of the sort of energy and life that one would never find in an indulgent resort town catering only to the elite. The wide streets were packed with people, merchants selling wares from quaint wooden carts on every corner, even in the tightly controlled Gladiators Quarter.

He overheard Mageborn Monks on pilgrimage from the Brighthoof Plains debating the finer points of natural philosophy with a gaunt light-elf sword-priest from the Sylvanwood. He saw bored looking caravan guards escorting a column of hissing steam wagons laden with raw materials from the rich Red Hill mines, heard the sounds of a dozen languages mingling with the chimes of the little bells that decorated the white lace of a beautiful palanquin carried by four brass men, smelled the scents of exotic spices, fresh-cut spice melon, horse sweat, the sharp metallic tang of a nearby foundry, and the heady aroma of the layered hanging flower gardens surrounding Chosen Giselle’s great palace.

He encountered Gladiators and Grey-Robes, workers and rich men, children and the elderly. The city was so alive, so full of promise, he wished he could slip away from his escort and just wander the streets, going wherever whim and chance led him.

How glorious it must be to have the freedom to see the world, he thought idly for what had to be the thousandth time.

“I’m surprised you didn’t stay behind with Master Sax while we went shopping.” Vintia said, needing to nudge him in the arm to dislodge him from his thoughts. “You know we are going to meet up with Dragonfire, Bloodfrost, and some of the Blues to go to the bazaar and shop for clothes and jewelry, right?”

“I don’t mind the walk and company,” Gavin said. “I simply want to spend some time with Sadira. And also yours too, Vintia.”

She looked away, eyes misty for a moment. Neither of them mentioned that they would soon part company, perhaps forever. These friends represented the only family he had ever known. He hoped that they knew how much he cared for them.

“Besides,” he added after a long maudlin moment, “Sadira likes to have my opinion on the dresses and jewelry she wants. It makes more sense for me to be able to say what I think before she buys it. I’ve also found that it’s a great time to score points in the flattery department.”

“And how I wish I could find someone to follow me around like that.” Vintia said with a clearly envious sigh.

“I’m sure you’ll find a worthy partner.” Gavin assured with a gentle smile. “You’re smart, beautiful, and really good with a shield.”

“Maybe so.” She said, but then motioned around them. “But it is hard to feel wanted when people look at us like we are coiled vipers.”

Gavin’s reflex was to start to protest but cut himself short. He saw many of the passers-by looking at them with curiosity and almost worship, and yet, as always, he could not help but notice that many others looked at them with an ill-concealed fear, hurrying curious children away, or moving to the side of the street. The street crowds split more readily for Sadira and Karmal than they did for a grinding steam wagon. Even massive ogres, armodons, and minotaurs moved hastily out of the way of the two athletic Gladiatrices. Their armor marked them as Arenabound, living weapons of the Domains.

Many people still carried fear of the Reckoning in them, Gavin knew. After what he had seen and done in his career, he could not blame them. He had himself killed a Scornbound man in order to satiate that hatred, and he still carried the guilt. Others, no doubt, hated Gladiators for the savagery they represented, as if he would not rather give up the fame and glory of the arena for the freedom and family that normal people enjoyed. Gavin could not help that he had born with the Gift.

If only we could change it all, he said to himself. We will only be whole when we put away our fears of The Reckoning and embrace the potential of the Gift.

Brightsand Halls was a relatively new city, just over three centuries old, built after Chosen Giselle conquered this area. The city was not built over any pre-Reckoning ruins, or even on the grounds of an existing city that had sprung up outside the Domains afterwards. There were many resources within a day’s travel or two, but the urban landscape was not built with those in mind either. The Chosen could have built Brightsand Halls on the place where the ancient pre-Reckoning roads met the wide expanse of the River Brightwater, but she had not. Instead, it was built on an imposing set of jagged hills, columns of rock, overlooking all of these features. The city nestled in the center of the network of little towns that had appeared beside each point of interest, like a spider in the center of its web, controlling all parts of its silken Domain.

This is the kind of ambition that Sadira seeks to emulate, Gavin thought as took in the scenery around him. Will I be able to temper the bloodier aspects of her ambition? Better yet, should I?

The top of each rocky hill had been flattened with a combination of magic and tremendous human effort. Excess stone had been sculpted into walls, bridges, walkways, and towers, all built to repel outside invasion. Brightsand Halls had been on the borders of the Domains once, and it had been a stronghold when it was built. The lowest of the towering rocky fingers on which it was built thrust over three hundred feet out of the desert sands, crowned with imposing ramparts.

Each of the nine original rises could be cut off from the others in case of invasion, and to this day, the elegant, arched bridges of fitted stone were the only means of travel from hill to hill above ground level. Gavin had heard a rumor that the Chosen could collapse any of the bridges with a single command word.

“You all right back there, beloved?” Sadira asked, flashing a smile back at him.

“Just admiring the view.” Gavin replied, earning a laugh and a wink as if he had been complimenting her.

Clockwork lifts had been recently added to each hill, bringing goods and passengers to the heights above, but traffic was so heavy that the original chain-and-weight lifts were still in use as well. The metal of each link on these was thicker than a man’s chest, holding weights and counterweights that were each the size of a small house. Gavin felt a strange desire to ride on one of those old relics, to feel the shaking platform beneath his feet jolted by the slow rolling of the great metal links, but he did not want to invite laughter from his friends by expressing this unreasonable desire.

“This is where I will be staying,” Sadira said. “A modest little place in the city.”

“Only the best for champions.” Karmal grinned.

The central hill was not the largest, but it was the tallest, and it housed the palace of the Chosen. The famed hanging gardens, attended by skilled Taskbound and an army of workers, decorated the sides of the rocky cliff like vast, opulent window planters for Chosen Giselle’s glittering, copper-roofed palace. The gardens were said to house every flower known to the Domains, attended by experts of great renown. Legends, some bawdy, some bloody, had arisen about what lengths the Chosen Giselle was willing to go to get hold of rare specimens.

And these are the walls that I must overcome to see Sadira again, Gavin noted with a bit of a forlorn thought.

The palace itself was built in the style of classical pre-Reckoning Krass architecture. Huge columns of pink-veined white marble, imported from distant quarries far to the north, fronted every serenely built structure. The Chosen did not like rough edges; each section of her expansive palace was dominated by a large, rounded structure topped with an impressive copper dome. He had seen many of those domes in the south—perhaps they were a remnant of some local custom that caught the Chosen’s eye during her campaigns.

A series of smaller buildings, each a mansion in its own right, provided housing for the Chosen’s Taskbound, servants, and her favorite Gladiators. Gavin’s heart fell. Sadira would soon be staying here, called away from him by the irresistible will of the Chosen. He consoled himself with the thought that it was what she had always wanted.

Will she even remember me after soaking in such luxury? he wondered. It was an unworthy thought, but he could not help himself.

<>

After touring, they met with Azure Dream and a trio of Blue Gladiatrices at the entrance to the bazaar. If people were flowing in and out of the vast market like a river, then the haughty Blues and their retinue were a jagged islet in the stream. Some people bowed, others smiled, some showed signs of fear, but none dared approach them without deliberation. The people seemed to pay less attention to their grey-robed escorts, Gavin noticed. The burly minotaur, Bull Dangerous, was the only male among the Blues.

“Sadira!” Azure Dream called out as she spotted them.

The two women kissed each other’s cheeks. The other girls followed suit. Gavin looked up at the massive minotaur.

“I won’t be offended if you pass, but few mortals can resist all of this.” Bull Dangerous winked.

Gavin chuckled and offered his hand in the Krassian manner of greeting. “Save it for the fighting grounds, big guy,”

“I can agree with that.” Bull said before glancing around. “Please call me Julius.”

“Gavin.”

“Weird.” Julius twisted his mouth thoughtfully. Like many Gladiators, he was very different outside of the arena, where he wasn’t performing for the crowd. “I expected a different name for the fearless Lionfang.”

Gavin shrugged. He rarely used his arena name; it was just an affectation for the crowd, chosen to reflect his armor. At least that is what he had thought at the time.

“So . . . Bull. Do tell me why you chose such an . . . interesting arena name,” Vintia asked.

She came alongside them as they followed Sadira and Minerva, who walked arm in arm into the Bazaar talking excitedly, heedless of the crowd which parted before them in equal parts adulation and fear—or of Karmal stalking behind them angrily.

Julius chuckled. “I lost a bet in my last day at the Campus Gladius. The price was that I had to use the name Bull Dangerous for my first fight. I’ve grown used to it. I like it, actually. I’ve heard every stupid taunt the skirmishers can come up with by now.”

“I wish I could take that attitude.” Gavin said with a chuckle. “Well, Bull, Vintia and I are going to search out the book stands here. Want to join us?”

“Beats looking at dresses,” the minotaur responded, “At least until the ladies start trying them on, of course.”

“Of course,” Gavin answered with a laugh.

“Ugh, boys,” Vintia grunted despite smirking in response. “Anyway, I also want to check out the weapons. Brightsands has some fine steel. We may not be able to buy here, but we can still look.”

“I like the way you think, little sister.” Bull smiled.

“Oh, not you too!” Vintia suddenly wailed.

Gavin laughed at Bull’s puzzled expression as Vintia pivoted and walked off furiously. They followed in her wake as Gavin explained.

The great bazaar, so full of people selling wares of every kind, was in the shadow of the palace by the time they left to return to Scorpion’s Oasis. Gavin had briefly forgotten all about his troubles, enjoying the day and dreams of freedom.

<>

“The Chosen’s own rune-works.” Gavin looked around in awe.

The shop shared the same marbled opulence that was common to Giselle’s palace and arena but lacked the glorious tesserae or statues. Instead, it had a large, warded practice room, workrooms for up to three runesmiths and their apprentices, an assembly line for spell forging, and a bewildering array of tools. The air seemed heavy with the presence of Thaom, of course, but Gavin could also detect Thunic patterns underlaying almost every device.

“Even I don’t need this many tools.” The familiar voice of rune mistress Olga echoed out. “But they do have some things here that I needed for Sadira’s request.”

Gavin turned in the direction of the voice and smiled when he saw her appear. “Rune-mistress, it is good to see you again.”

The woman laughed and returned the gesture as she walked across the room. “Chosen Giselle is paying me well for this visit, Gavin, but I would not have come all this way for anyone else.”

“We’re delighted to see you.” Sadira said, looking almost ready to hug the woman.

“You’ll be even more delighted to see my handiwork, I wager.” Olga said as she motioned to Sadira’s blades. “I went over the runes you got at the Oasis. Good work, actually. They will harmonize better now that I have added my touch. I have a cloth-of-steel for you to test when you are ready, Sadira.”

“My friends, how I’ve missed you.” Sadira crooned as she stroked her blades before attuning herself to them.

Gavin picked up his spear. He had spent twenty victory coins on a Rune of Viciousness, not knowing that Olga was the smith. As he attuned, the barbs on the spearhead seemed to grow and flex in a most gruesome manner. The viciousness rune would make the wounds they caused bleed more and be harder to heal, even with magic.

“I’m ready.” Sadira said with a broad grin as she held up Bellasdoom.

Gavin could sense the intricate Thunic pattern working on the blade’s edge. Vorpal was an enhancement of the sharpness rune. It cost Sadira fifty of her hard-won victory coins.

Mistress Olga took the cloth-of-steel, a very fine cloth of tiny steel links that was as durable as mail and nearly as light as a silk cloth and carefully draped it over the blade. So sharp was the blade that the weight of the cloth was enough to sever the steel links. The cloth sheared cleanly in half and then floated gently to the ground.

“Ancestors be praised!” Sadira exclaimed as her eyes lit up. “It is even better than I dreamed. Thank you!”

“Anytime my dear,” Olga replied graciously. “Just be careful with the blade. I would dim the rune when not wielding it, just to avoid any innocent accidents.”

Sadira carefully set the sword down and gathered the rune mistress into a hug as Gavin tried to memorize every detail of the scene.

<>

As darkness wrapped the desert in stars, Gavin and Sadira found themselves looking out on the arena of Scorpion’s Oasis. This was a ranking match, and Gavin was unsure what to expect. He was still relaxed from their outing, and having Sadira by his side filled him with confidence. The white sands of the fighting ground glistened under the stars and night lighting like a carpet of diamonds. After a moment, he realized there was something strange about it.

“You’re wearing that thoughtful look again, beloved.” Sadira’s eyes were on him.

“I think they’ve gone and turned the sand into a swamp.” He replied, there being something about the smell reminded him of the marshes around Dreadwood Junction.

“Well great, there goes my mobility.” Sadira replied, her voice instantly sounding exasperated.

“And neither of us have airdance, either,” Gavin groused, trying to think what he’d do if his guess was right.

Typically, Gladiators like him sank halfway to their knees into the thick swampy mud after a single step and the muck always seemed to suck at their feet, resisting their movement. Sadira immediately made a rude gesture at the watching Arena Master Hork Bloodsmith, who smiled at her in return. The late-night crowd cheered her display of spirit. Gavin had no illusions about which of them the fans were here to see.

Sadira stood for a moment with a frown on her face, watching Gavin move slowly through the thick muck. She had to be even more annoyed than he was; fighting in quicksand robbed her of her biggest advantage in mobility.

Gavin heard Sadira whoop, and the sounds of her feet splashing as she ran forward. Mud, not unexpected, splattered against his back as she flew past, pushing through the thick muck with powerful strides. She picked up enough speed to leap into a forward flip, drawing her twin obsidian blades and landing with a tremendous muddy splash, saluting the crowd as she did.

Gavin, now covered in mud from her antics, laughed. Sadira favored the arena master with yet another obscene gesture. The orc shook his head. The crowd laughed and cheered, calling out loving obscenities in response.

The trumpets called again, calling their opponents to the fighting grounds. Gavin’s heart hammered. What strange foe would they be up against?

Two sets of gates opened, and tall, lithe figures glided out. Their feet touched the muck as they elegantly stepped into the starlight, but they did not sink in at all. Gavin’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized them. Everyone in the Domains knew them by reputation, even though few had ever seen one and lived.

Wirn! Mortal enemies of the Domains.

The trio of figures were lean and graceful, with faces like feral elves with catlike eyes. Their foreheads were sharply ridged, and they had hairless skulls, covered in bony protrusions and sporting curled horns. Each was clad in fell-runed armor colored like the full moon on a clear desert night. Their weapons were elegant and terrible, each serrated edge or wicked barb an artfully crafted instrument of pain and destruction.

A collective shudder rippled through audience as they beheld these creatures, familiar and alien, living representations of the Reckoning’s twisted magic.

“Wirn!” Sadira spat, her body shaking with sudden hatred and disgust. “Despoilers of my kin, I will bring you pain and death!”

The wirn were rulers of a powerful empire west of the Domains. They claimed to be the true descendants of the elves of old, changed by the tainted magics of the Reckoning. There was a long history of warfare between the Chosen and the wirn, but neither had managed to overcome the other, and their clashes were beyond costly to both in terms of blood and treasure.

The elven races, both varieties, had a special hatred for the wirn. Early in the history of the Domains, the wirn infiltrated and betrayed the Domain of Avenholt, slaying Chosen Sonarion and Chosen Vilonia and claiming the ancient elven homelands as their own. The resulting war had been won by the Domains, but the Avenholt remained in wirn hands. The story was constantly retold in the “Death of Vilonia,” one the Domain’s greatest tragic poem, or its greatest work of propaganda. The two Chosen had united the elves of the Domains in joy, as apparently the wirn now conjoined them in hate.

“Beloved?” Gavin asked, more than little uneasy at her emotion he saw.

“Today is a good day, Gavin.” Sadira said, her face contorted in fury. “My aunt was killed by the wirn when they betrayed us. I will bathe in their blood as I find my vengeance!”

Sadira’s righteous wrath was a tangible thing. Gavin could feel the bloodlust emanating from her as the lively twinkle in her eyes turned to molten fury.

These wirn were captured criminals who had chosen to fight in the arena rather than languish in prison.

As the Call to Battle sounded, Sadira’s banshee war scream split the air. The shadow-elf sprang forward, abandoning grace for power as she plowed through the muck. Gavin slogged after her, keeping pace as best he could.

The three wirn fanned out, moving gracefully across the surface of the mud as if it were solid ground. He wondered if they were elementalists of a sort. He knew Vintia could perform a similar trick with her spells. He knew nothing about the powers of the wirn, save that they could foil spells.

Curious, Gavin tried to probe the creatures, to read their minds with a simple spell. He picked up a strange pattern with his cogimantic magic, elusive, yet disturbingly alien. The pattern connected all the wirn like some form of communication spell. He examined it for a moment but then decided focus fully on defending Sadira. To his surprise, his sense of the wirn’s tainted pattern did not abate as he broke contact, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Drawing near to the closest wirn, a tall, angular, eerily beautiful female, Sadira snarled. Leaping, she brought her obsidian sabers down in a deadly arc toward her hated foe. The wirn flitted backwards, moving out of reach with lightning grace, leaving the barest of prints in the muck.

Sadira landed with a splash. Gavin knew from his reading that the wirn were precise and supernaturally coordinated.

“So clumsy, cousin,” the wirn’s singsong voice mocked. “Too bad you were not brave enough to risk your life on this match. We would have gladly ended your warped existence. You and your kind are a blight upon this world, Lost One.”

Sadira answered with a harsh war scream. She splashed forward, swinging her swords at the smirking wirn, who parried her attacks with effortless ease. Gavin could see that the mud hampered her efforts, making it all but impossible to use her war dances or acrobatic grace to gain an advantage over the target. It was no doubt part of the test.

The Gladiatrix snarled. “Laugh while you can, betrayer! Your tricks will not save you this day. You will not see your homeland again!”

“At least we have seen the Avenholt,” the wirn taunted, driving Sadira to attack recklessly.

Gavin slowed, turning to guard Sadira’s back against the two wirn who had silently moved in on their flanks while she was distracted. They closed in with lazy grace, moving in perfect harmony. The haunting sensation in his head, distant and strange, became more insistent as they drew close. He knew it was some kind of warped magical pattern, quite likely a thought link, but he did not want to expose himself to it again. He braced himself. These wirn did not have the Gift, but they were not without magic of their own. They were fast and deadly.

Suddenly, the wirn on his right flitted forward, slashing at his face. Its partner waited for him to commit his shield to block the first attack before lunging at him, cruel barbs of its long-bladed polearm seeking his flesh.

Anticipating this tactic, Gavin twisted to avoid the attack, nearly stumbling against the resistance put up by the thick muck. The glaive passed him by, and he righted himself in time to parry the blindingly swift follow up.

“So ungainly he is, sister,” one of his attackers hissed. A male, judging by the size of its horns and breadth of shoulder. “These Krassians are fat and slow.”

“Show no pity, brother. He is a Lost One. I can feel his Thaom even in this blighted realm,” the other replied. “It beckons me. I will feast on his strength and pass it on to the Maw.”

Gavin attacked, but his lunge caught only air. The wirn countered; he parried. The other thrust, metal ringing off his shield.

Gavin struggled, trying to gain the upper hand, but the graceful, deadly movements of the wirn and the muck sucking at his feet frustrated him.

His opponents danced around him, cruel blades never at rest, and soon he felt blood running from his side.

How did it get there? he wondered.

The unwanted, intruding sensation of their magic grew as they fought. He was reminded of the tainted images of the manticore. Were the two related?

“Weak,” the wirn mocked.

Gavin was tempted to cast, but he knew better. The wirn were said to be able to turn magic against the caster. He waited as they circled him, patiently observing their tactics.

To his dismay, Sadira, well out of his reach, wove her Grasping Roots spell as she chased the wirn. Gavin saw the wirn react, reaching out to disrupt Sadira’s spell with a kind of twisted Thune that he had never seen before, but it was too slow. Green plant tendrils erupted out of the sandy marsh under her opponent, grasping at the feet of the wirn.

Sadira powered forward, thrusting an obsidian blade before her, hoping to take advantage. The wirn knocked her first blade aside with a deft motion, but Sadira twisted sideways, bringing the other blade up in a savage underhand cut.

Her opponent tried to counter, but the roots binding her legs held firm. The sword rent the wirn’s armor. Blood, an unnaturally bright red, arced behind her sword as it whirled back to the attack. She aimed her third cut at the creature’s neck, but the wirn managed to catch her blade with a parry, stumbling out of reach, reeling from the strength of her assault.

Gavin’s opponents closed on him again, striking from opposing sides. This time he anticipated their attack and caught both weapons, throwing them back and thrusting his spear at one, almost scoring a blow on it.

Across the fighting grounds Gavin could see that the sticky mud was hampering Sadira as she tried to chase her foe, preventing her from closing quickly while the wirn was still off balance.

The creature motioned with its hand, spoke in a language that grated on Sadira’s ears, and the grasping roots that still clung to it warped and burst, falling away.

The wirn looked at Sadira.

“Lost One, touch me not with your aberrant weaving!” the wirn spat. “In my land, your Thaom would feed the Holy Maw and be put to good use healing the world that your kind broke. It is a shame you walk free while I die.”

It sprung forward, ignoring the ragged, bleeding wound in its side. Sadira drew Thaom and wove a Spray of Thorns spell, hoping to catch it off guard. But as she released the spell, the wirn reached out with a strand of Thune and twisted her pattern. A ripple of her own warped Thaom engulfed Sadira as she cast. Gavin saw her skin blister before she stopped trying to cast the warped spell. She was left trembling and weak as the wirn attacked, forcing her to parry and give ground.

Gavin could not get to her, as he was desperately defending. His every effort now turned toward keeping his two darting, deadly assailants at bay. If he could hold them off long enough for Sadira to finish her opponent, they would make short work of these two. But the wirn moved quickly, purposefully, in perfect harmony with each other. They were wearing him down, cut by cut. He blocked a rapid series of swift thrusts and graceful slashes but took a spear point in his leg just above the knee. Blood dribbled into the muck as he batted the spear away.

“Weak,” the wirn spat again, black eyes glittering.

Thune had always been Gavin’s strength, so he risked a spell, hoping to repel the wirn twisting with haste. He wove a Mind Blast and cast.

The wirn tried to twist his power, but Gavin rewove the simple spell before they could turn it against him.

As he cast, they tried again, and it did not work as either side intended. Instead, he was drawn in by the strange, warped pattern he had sensed earlier. As the creature’s shocking mind-scape engulfed him, he struggled against nausea. The alien taint of their magic felt as if he was immersing himself in rot and offal.

Young Gifted were warned repeatedly of the dangers of exposing themselves to tainted magic. This was beyond a dangerous maneuver; it put his very magic at risk of corruption. Yet the wirn seemed confused by his attack, as if they could feel his intrusion as well. He blocked their blades with ease now.

Meanwhile, Sadira and her opponent struggled nearby, blades ringing. The wirn was fast and graceful, unhindered by the sandy marsh, but it was still bleeding.

<They don’t heal like we do,> Sadira told him through their link. Gavin heard it distantly, almost drowned out by the wirn thought stream.

Then Sadira threw herself forward with reckless abandon, attacking like a berserker. She whirled her blades into furious wild strokes, ignoring the wirn’s counterattacks.

The creature’s wicked lance ripped into her unarmored torso, but the Gladiatrix expected this and welcomed the pain, screaming as she brought her twin swords down hard, cleaving through steel and bone and cutting deep into the wirn’s shoulders before it realized its mistake. Glorious scarlet spattered in the muck, and Sadira screamed again triumphantly, sensing victory.

Her opponent desperately turned to flee, arms now hanging useless. Sadira ripped the lance from her own belly and threw it into the creature’s back. The wirn fell to its knees, splashing into the muck. Then Sadira leapt like a great hunting cat bringing down a doomed herd animal, bearing the wirn down into the muck. The audience shouted with glee.

Gavin’s mind reeled, as he and the other wirn were locked in some kind Thunic struggle, fighting pattern to pattern. He was fighting on two different planes, desperately defending himself from the physical attacks of his foes while struggling to avoid being engulfed by the Wirn’s tainted power. Their coordination was disrupted by his presence in their link, and he kept their bodies at bay, but their magic was hard for him to grasp, like blindly groping for slippery fish in dark waters, yet he stubbornly kept on. The more he sensed it, the more it reminded him of the mad manticore he had fought against in Camp Valorous, which had assaulted his mind with abhorrent images and corrupt impulses, turning his thoughts against him. He remembered sensing something behind the manticore’s madness and wondered what he would find at the heart of it all.

Mustering his will, he pushed further into the weave. He was guided by instinct more than anything rational, but the wirn became frantic as he wove against them.

“NOOO!” the wirn shrieked, becoming more frenzied in the physical world.

They drove Gavin to his knees with a storm of desperate, powerful blows. And then, quite suddenly, he had a moment of insight, pure and clear, into the nature of their magic. He saw the pattern in their strange weaves and somehow understood it and took hold.

And then, all of a sudden, he was swimming in strange waters. A great tide of Thaom flowed past him. The wirn were using a form of enchantment that linked their minds, allowing them to fight with perfect coordination. It also linked them to every other wirn, after a fashion. They reeled at his presence in their space, staggering back physically. Alarm rang out in distant places as he intruded upon their thought-stream. Before he could explore further, Gavin sensed another presence on the link, something vast and primal. In it, he sensed an overwhelming hunger that could never be satisfied, but its Thaom was beyond anything he had seen and it was like staring into the sun. He knew what he had to do.

I must sever the link, he realized, a part of him already gathering his will to do so before he even finished forming the thought.

It was easy enough. As exiles outside of the tainted lands, his opponents’ connection to the source of their power was made tenuous by distance. With his own Thune, he unraveled the strands of the spell weave that connected them to their power. His magic twisted theirs as they had twisted his. From Gavin’s perspective, all that he did was remove the taint of wild magic, purifying the pattern. The hungry presence faded as he did so. He had sundered the wirn from their dark communion. The wirn, shocked, cut off from the voice of their “god,” which they had carried all their lives even in exile, dropped their weapons and began to scream and claw at their faces. The presence of the thought-stream, which they had felt all their lives, was now gone, and they were alone in the lands of the Chosen. Gavin could feel their sorrow.

He looked over to Sadira and saw that she had drowned her wirn in the mud. As he watched, she stood and turned to the screaming wirn, eyes blazing. “What did you do to them?”

“I took away the voice of their people.” Gavin’s voice sounded strange in his own ears.

“Good, I approve of their screaming.” Sadira noticed it too. “Are you all right?”

“No.” Gavin shook. “I saw something.”

“They must have cursed you. Wait here while I end them.”

Gavin watched as Sadira stalked the screaming wirn. He needed time to process what he had sensed. The wirn devoured magic like a vampire drank blood, warping it and twisting it to their own purposes as they did so. But some of the power they absorbed went elsewhere through the thought-stream that he broke them away from. Images and alien sights fluttered through his mind. He heard the twin shrieks of his opponents, louder and louder, and felt the grim pain of his own wounds, an anchor to reality. He could barely lift his shield, but the wirn were frozen in place.

“Abomination, what have you done?” the female of the pair sobbed before despair, absolute and overwhelming, ate away the last of her reason.

He thought he saw tears in those alien eyes. Her weapon, so recently poised to taste his flesh, was now sagging, limp in her grasp.

Neither of them moved as Sadira closed. They whimpered, cried, and shrieked, held captive by their own private horror. Gavin just stared at them, aware of the profound suffering on their alien faces. He pitied them then, briefly, for he realized that he had severed them from something that was as beautiful to them as it was aberrant to him.

Sadira pushed them down roughly and took their heads with the crowd roaring cruel approval, but Gavin could not help but think that it was a mercy compared to what he had done to them.

Chapter Forty: Laurels and Thorns

1144/11/24 AR, Scorpion’s Oasis. Faction Score:  Reds, 3348 points; Blues, 3262 points

“All the glory in the world couldn’t fill a cup.” Chosen Marius

As their final match in Scorpion’s Oasis approached, Gavin felt numb with sorrow. He and Sadira would soon be parted. She was joining the Faction Games in Brightsand Halls as one of Chosen Giselle’s handpicked fighters. It was a great honor, and he was happy for Sadira and proud of her accomplishments. This had been her life’s desire. But being separated from her was going to be painful for him, and he knew she felt the same. This is what they had to do though. Nothing could change that.

I could rail against the wheels of the empire until the end of my time, but they would grind me to dust just the same. Yet others who have had far worse luck than I still hold out hope.

The encounter with the wirn had left a lasting impression on Gavin. Diving into their collective unconscious and encountering the Maw, their “god”, had given him a fresh perspective on the horrors that the Gifted and other magical beings were capable of perpetrating. He had always seen magic as a tool, not inherently good or evil, but the powers of the wirn left him shaken. They fed off the Thaom of the spells that they twisted, passing that energy through their thought-stream. They would hunt him down and feed him to the Maw if they could. This revelation had shaken Gavin to the core. There were worse powers in this world than the Domains.

Perhaps the strange magic of the unfortunate Scornbound that Gavin had executed, Olek Agvarson, could have given birth to a second Reckoning. Perhaps he would have ended up as a slave to the wirn or even a willing accomplice. Maybe his brutal execution at Gavin’s hands truly was for the greater good. Who knew what poor Olek could have become? The thought of this made Gavin uneasy.

Sadira was not the only person he was parting ways with. Gavin’s friends, the only family he had ever had, were splitting up. He had hoped, vainly, that they would all be invited to join Sadira at Brightsand Halls, if not as a one of the Chosen’s personal fighters, then as members of the lesser Red Faction that fought in the city’s arena. This hope had been dashed on the rocks of reality. Despite the team’s superb performance at the Oasis, only Sadira and Karmal had been invited to Brightsand Halls. The powerful had seen what they wanted and taken it, leaving the rest of them behind.

I hope Vintia and Ravius don’t feel as bitter about this as I do.

Vintia had decided to stay at the Oasis and defend the laurels that they had won. Ravius was being coy about his plans. He joked that he was thinking about joining the skin leagues.

Gavin was as unsure of his own future now as he had been when he stepped onto the sands in the Campus Martius arena, long ago. Perhaps he would take Sax up on his offer and venture into the north. He could seek his fortune in the Free Leagues and meet with the reclusive smith who had created his spear.

My goal was freedom—what is it now?

In truth, Gavin was no longer even sure he wanted to be a Gladiator. He had chosen this path because of his love for magic and his desire to live free, rebelling at the idea of becoming a Taskbound, being cut off from some part of his powers and forced into service. He was uncertain if he had ever really believed he could become a Chosen, or now, even if he wanted to become one. It was the ultimate freedom, but after seeing inside the minds of some of the enemies of the Domains, both within and without, he was no longer sure he was up to the challenge.

There is a wide world out there that I want to see, but I want Sadira with me.

The best part of his life, his time with Sadira, was being taken away. The Chosen had summoned his lover, called her to a lofty position, and the two of them were powerless to resist.

In reality, Gavin really did not wish to interfere. He had come to realize that he could ruin Sadira’s beautiful future, using her love to thwart her destiny. Part of this was self-indulgent melancholy, but he also realized that others would seek to use him against her. He was not ready for that yet.

I must go my own way and prepare, he realized. I have a goal, and that goal is to be with Sadira. I have felt her love, and it is true. If I must win my way back to her through the arena, then I will fight for her instead of fame and glory.

<>

I hate this feeling. Sadira thought, her stomach turning again and again inside her. Victory in Scorpion’s Oasis is my greatest triumph so far, yet I feel like I have failed. I could not keep us all together. I could not carry the whole team with me.

Chosen Giselle had come to Scorpion’s Oasis just after her match with the wirn. Her arrival was first heralded by whispered rumors, which quickly set everyone in the town to speculation. An advance party had come to prepare for her arrival. Next, the Chosen herself travelled to the city in a stately procession that had taken an entire day to cover the short distance between Brightsand Halls and the Oasis.

She had entered the city in a golden war chariot, dressed in her fighting gear from her time as a Gladiatrix. Eager crowds had strewn rose petals along the path for Giselle, a breathtaking extravagance in a desert land where such flowers had to be grown with magic. Sadira had decided not to watch, preferring to train with her team instead. She would have plenty of time for Giselle in the months ahead but only a precious few days left with her friends.

That time slips though my fingers like sand. I hope that I have done enough to help my friends. They all deserve more.

Chosen Giselle sent a request upon arriving, asking that Sadira attend her at her palace, along with Karmal. It was pleasantly worded, sent in a magically sealed, perfumed envelope, but even the most flippant of requests from a Chosen were like a general’s command. Sadira could no longer afford to act defiantly, much as she wished to. Karmal was ecstatic; she knew she was going to Brightsand Halls already, but an invitation from the Chosen was a sign that she would join Sadira as one of the Chosen’s favored fighters.

Karmal has what she wants. What she has always wanted. Is she the wiser one for keeping her eyes on the prize or have I grown while she has not?

<>

“This is our last challenge,” Sadira told her team. “Sulius has given me leave to do any kind of challenge that we wish.

It was the Red Faction’s turn to issue challenges this month. Sadira and her team were given the privilege of determining the final match of the season.

After the forfeit of the Blue team in the mass melee Challenge, caused by Blue Calamity’s use of forbidden magic on Sadira, the Red Faction had a comfortable, perhaps insurmountable, lead in the standings. The Reds held on to that lead throughout the month, despite a great showing from a handful of Blues, particularly Sadira’s friend, Azure Dream and deadly Shield-Splitter. Although they still needed to have a match, anything other than a catastrophic loss would clinch the season for them. So they designed their challenge to fulfil other desires.

“I want to take to fighting grounds together.” Gavin said as he glanced at the group. “We will all part ways after this. Let’s go out with a grand victory, side by side.”

“Yes!” Ravius exclaimed as he clapped his hands together. “All together, one last time!”

“Just us, though,” Vintia added. “I don’t want to have to chase Steel Harmony and Blue Hornet around the arena.”

“At least we won’t have to deal with Blue Calamity, right?” Karmal said with a wicked grin. “Unless they reanimate his body. Do any of you know if they do headless stitched?”

“If only,” Sadira replied, both her and Ravius joining in on a dark laugh.

“You know, the match I enjoyed the most was the one at the end of last season,” Gavin said, attempting to shift the topic onto lighter matters. “Our second fight here, the first challenge that Sulius let us design.”

“Not a bad choice of all the ones we’ve fought.” Karmal agreed with a nod. Out of all of them, she was the only one who seemed joyous, but at least she had the sense to avoid gloating about her rise. “It was a glorious fight!”

“A single-team trial survival match with standard additions from Marius and Southshire, then.” Sadira said, surprised at how easily the words came to her now. “Chosen’s Oath, I remember when that sort of rules babble bothered me—now I have it memorized. Let’s write it up, together.”

The reminiscence drew smiles from them all. They drew up the match. The Blues haggled a little, mostly out of habit; this season was a loss for them, and the backstabbing among the fighters of their own camp was of far more interest to most of them at this point.

<>

“REDS, REDS, REDS! TAKE THEIR HEADS! REDS, REDS, REDS! KILL EM’ DEAD,” thundered the packed arena as the Gladiators strode onto the white sands of the fighting grounds.

The crowd’s loud enthusiasm was a marked difference from when they had first taken to the field in Scorpion’s Oasis thirteen matches ago. Instead of a torpid, bored audience clapping half-heartedly, they were greeted with an outpouring of shouted praise and adoration. Many of them waved Red Faction flags.

We are their champions now.

The anticipation built as Gavin and Vintia, then Ravius followed by Karmal, took their place on the fighting grounds. And when Sadira the Red Scorpion entered behind them, there was an eruption of sound not unlike the rowdy audience of Camp Valorous, a visceral and satisfying roar that all Gladiators lived for.

Sadira walked slowly out onto the sands, basking in the cheers of her fans. She did not engage in her customary acrobatics, nor did she run. Instead, she made it clear to the crowd that she heard them, gazing out at the seats and waving. She let them see her happiness, radiant and glorious, pausing only when she reached the center of the arena. Then she leapt up onto Gavin’s raised shield, a light and graceful movement that had become her trademark. Gavin held the pose easily. Several banners with red scorpions unfurled in the audience as she stood on her perch. The spectators chanted her name.

“SADIRA, SADIRA! WE’RE ALL HEAR-A FOR SADIRA, SADIRA!”

“I told you I would make you scream for me.” Sadira said as she surveyed the audience.

Gavin could see Karmal watching Sadira with envy and admiration. Ravius was smiling and saluting the crowd, but he looked tired. Vintia was keeping a stoic face, as she always did, but Gavin knew well that she did not like being parted from her friends any more than he did.

Even after the Gladiators saluted the crowd, the Call to Battle did not sound. Gavin began to feel uneasy.

What new drama is this? he wondered.

A ripple ran through the crowd as an armored woman, unmistakable and irresistible, appeared in the stands. The Chosen usually stayed in luxurious private boxes where they could relax away from the eyes of the fans. Chosen Giselle, dressed in her arena garb of old, weapons in hand, walked slowly down through the awed spectators, radiant and glorious. All eyes turned to her, and a hush fell. The very air seemed pregnant with expectation. Giselle moved among the people, crowned with authority and cloaked in majesty. After making a small circuit, she took a seat next to the arena master, speaking a few words to him and then to the wide-eyed announcer, who nodded after a moment and spoke, his amplified voice thundering across the arena.

“Good people, your chosen wishes to celebrate the end of the arena season in grand fashion. at great personal expense, she has furnished us with a fight for the ages. Gloriously gilded automatons from her own stock have replaced the brass men. The challenge is otherwise unchanged.” The announcer looked at the arena master Hork Bloodsmith who nodded, sanctioning this small change in rules. No doubt Giselle had brought it up with him beforehand, as even the Chosen had to show some respect for the Deliberative. The audience roared, shouting praises for their Chosen, thirsting for the fight.

The Gladiators looked at each other. While the change was a very small addendum to their match in terms of rules, the fact that they would be a new type of foe was disconcerting.

“Relax, Gladiators, the Blues will have to fight the same thing we do. Don’t let the change throw you off.”

Finally, the trumpets sounded the Call to Battle. The spectators, hungry for action, howled. The Gladiators formed up in the middle of the fighting grounds, backs together, facing outwards. Doors opened all around the arena. A tide of hissing, clanking automaton soldiers, each embossed with gold leaf and lifelike face masks, moved out onto the white sands of the fighting grounds. Aside from being more attractive, these were also larger and better armed than the regular clockwork soldiers that they had faced throughout the season. They looked positively spectacular, like worthy foes.

“A hundred of these is a grand expense,” Sadira said, her voice filled with awe. “The Chosen honors us.”

As Thaom began to flow, Gavin felt some relief that none of their foes appeared to be armed with ranged weaponry. Vintia channeled her magic into the pattern of a stoneskin spell, gifting lightly armored Sadira and Ravius with additional protection.

<Wait for them,> Sadira called through their link.

When they were less than ten paces away, Sadira let loose an ear-splitting war shriek, darting forward, shifting her curved, graceful swords in her hands.

Lightning quick and deadly graceful, her sprint turned into a lethal pirouette as she came upon her foes.

As she struck, Karmal and Vintia let loose with lightning and fire, disrupting the ranks. Sadira’s blades severed a gilded head from the clockwork’s shoulders with a screech of metal and a glistening gout of black oil. The crowd roared.

A second golden machine fell as Ravius cast a spell that disrupted its control pattern, severing the link between the machine and the magic animating it. It was a new spell, difficult and potent. The gilded soldier froze mid-step, sinking to the ground. A flourish that Ravius added to the spell for show made it appear as if steam burst from the clockwork’s ears, gaining him some audience appreciation. The skirmisher smiled, moving forward to screen their flank.

Karmal followed in Sadira’s wake, heaving her massive war cleaver into the nearest clockwork man, crushing its armored chest plate and bearing it to the ground, where it twitched and lay still. She moved forward, recklessly, relentlessly, building up Thaom for a powerful spell.

Gavin followed Sadira, forcing the gilded soldiers away with his shield, parrying and blocking their attacks and killing the fourth clockwork soldier with a quick, precise thrust of his grim war spear that punctured its armor and carried through right into its power core. The gilded soldier jerked, crackled, and dropped.

Vintia positioned herself carefully, guarding the backs of her friends as they pushed into the horde. The fifth gilded soldier to fall went down to two quick sword slashes to open the armor followed by a lightning snap that struck the power core. The smell of scorched metal filled the air, sharp and unpleasant as the mechanical soldier’s innards overloaded and erupted. The crowd cheered this, enjoying the explosion.

The gilded soldiers pushed forward relentlessly, hacking at the Gladiators with their bladed arms. Gavin met them with shield raised, pushing back as Sadira cut her way into the ranks.

Sadira moved through the steps of the Razorwing’s Flight dance, whirling amidst her foes. Gavin could see a smile on her face as she sent a sixth metal soldier to the ground with a sudden, precise thrust through a weak point on its armor, and a seventh with a wide, powerful double sword stroke that sent her blades through its shoulders and deep into its chest. She parried a trio of counterstrikes before tumbling away. He stepped in, pushing the gilded soldiers away as they sought to follow her.

On the flank, Ravius tripped a clockwork soldier with a long, low swipe of his barbed net. He timed his attack such that the heavy body tumbled backwards, playing havoc with the advancing ranks, causing several soldiers to falter. As they struggled, his Thaom surged, and he shut down the eighth opponent with a spell, exactly as he had slain the second, and it too fell to the ground inert as he chortled gleefully.

Karmal powered forward, moving past Gavin, clearing space in front of her with massive sweeps of her heavy war cleaver. She screamed in fury, bringing down a bright bolt of lightning on the enemy ranks. Such was the power of the spell that it reduced two automatons to smoldering ruin. One of them exploded with a pyrotechnic flash.

Thunder from her spell rolled over the audience, and they cheered her display, thundering in turn. A blade skittered off her armor, drawing blood and cutting short her triumph.

<Defense!> Karmal sent through their link, her anger apparent even through the mental connection.

Gavin, seeing this, lunged forward and threw himself into the clockwork soldiers near Karmal, plowing into them with his lion-headed shield held in front of him. He pushed two of the gilded figures down, parrying attacks as they slashed at him. A stray blade sliced his side. He answered with a quick thrust of his broad-bladed war spear, killing their eleventh enemy.

At the back, Vintia was hard pressed now. The disciplined ranks of Chosen Giselle’s gilded soldiers were piling up against her shield and trying to get around her and flank the rest of the team. A quickly cast Primal Surge from Sadira endowed her with strength and energy enough to stop her from toppling over under the sheer weight of her assailants.

She continued to batter at her opponents with a small spell burst of fire, ice, and lightning, felling another gilded soldier when its oil caught fire and it cooked from the inside out in a series of small explosions reminiscent of fireworks.

The ornate blades of the gilded soldier automatons rose and fell. All of the Gladiators were bruised and bleeding now, unable to avoid the overwhelming number of swinging blades as the enemy crowded in. The clanking clockwork hordes closed in around them, a golden flood on the white sands. The crowd cheered them on, encouraging their champions to stand firm.

Sadira whirled and danced. “TO ME” she roared, unleashing a raging torrent of Thaom while weaving the pattern for the powerful Font of Life spell. Her swords scissored through a hapless gilded soldier as she ducked under the arms of its comrades.

The flailing torso fell to the ground, while its legs took a few steps before toppling. She kicked another as it approached her, sending it crashing back into the ranks, buying her some space to move before she cast.

Ravius flipped over a wall of gilded figures, dismantling the fourteenth brass man with three quick trident thrusts into its body, the last hit judged perfectly to push the body to the ground in such a way that it became an immediate obstacle to the others as they turned to come at him. He scampered backwards to Sadira, heeding her call.

Karmal’s heavy war cleaver caved in the gilded faceplate of another clockwork with contemptuous ease, but the others closed in around and forced her back before she could attack again. She stumbled behind Gavin, cursing and wild-eyed, summoning her Thaom. Blood and oil dripped off her armor, and she was covered in cuts.

Guarding the others, Gavin and Vintia were now forced to put every effort into holding the tide of gilded soldiers back. Gavin’s muscles rippled and strained with the effort of pitting flesh and magic against relentless metal.

His sandals dug into the sand, and he had to brace himself with his spear as the gilded soldiers pushed and rained down blows upon his shield. Gavin lost himself in the effort for a while, forgetting his troubles in the pain and satisfaction of pure physical exertion.

<Hurry,> Vintia called out to them.

Deadly steel blades and gilded fists rose and fell as the gold-ornamented clockworks closed around the Gladiators like a glittering noose. Even Gavin and Vintia could not contain them now and had to give way. The five Gladiators barely had room to fight, and in the press of metal bodies and the storm of randomly swinging weapons, dodging was impossible. Red blood mixed with glistening oil, fouling the pure white sands of the fighting grounds. The audience shouted excitedly, seeing that the situation had become desperate.

As blades bit her flesh, straining with Thaom, Sadira at last unleashed her spell. Gavin felt relief as he and the others were bathed in a tide of verdant magic which washed away their fatigue and set their wounds to closing with incredible swiftness. The Gladiators, renewed by the Font of Life, pushed back into the ranks of their foes once more.

Karmal, eyes wide and flashing fury, shouldered into the gilded soldiers, pushing them back and bringing her heavy war cleaver down upon them. Heedless of the blades that cut her, she slammed two into the ground with one pendulous swing, splitting one in half, which was the sixteenth to fall. She let Thaom build up within her, readying for a tremendous spell of her own.

<We need to keep tight and push together.> Gavin said as he heaved into the ranks of automaton and unloaded his trollodestone. The resulting wave of force knocked several of the enemy onto their backs.

<He means you, Karmal!> Vintia called out. <Get in closer to us!>

Ravius, ever mindful of the tides of battle, saw an opportunity and darted in, finishing a brass soldier still struggling to rise after Karmal’s swing with a swift thrust of his trident. He allowed his momentum to carry him forward, pushing the impaled brass man ahead of him for a few feet, creating a path. His tremendous effort caused the crowd to croon with excitement as he pushed back the ranks of the gilded soldiers.

<Enough, we have this,> Sadira announced, excitement coloring her mental voice.

Gavin surged into the space created by Ravius’s crafty move, using his shield to cover his teammate. Blows rang off the metal as he pushed them back. Then he lunged into the opening before they could reform, his spear blade tearing into the chest of a gilded soldier, producing a bloom of blue-white light as the weapon’s enchantments reacted with the automaton’s power core. There was muffled explosion and it fell.

“Nice fireworks!” Ravius shouted, laughing and waving to the crowd as he moved back into position behind Gavin. Gavin grinned, rolling his eyes at his friend’s antics.

Vintia, ignoring the heavy blows that glanced off her armored body, moved back and turned, setting herself to guard the rear of the group. Her straight-bladed longsword swept out from behind her massive shield, slashing into the leg of an automaton. It faltered, gears grinding, and she toppled it with a powerful shove of her shield. She stepped onto it, her shield held out to ward off a rain of blades, and sank her blade through its chest and into its metal innards, finishing it in a spray of oil, the nineteenth to fall.

The gilded metal soldiers, now a clockwork scrum around the Gladiators, pushed forward relentlessly. Every Gladiator bled, lacerated and punctured, unable to avoid the sheer number of blades that pressed in on them. Gavin felt a terrible pain as a sharp edge rent his back; only the healing power of Sadira’s Font of Life kept him from falling before Ravius closed in and tripped his assailant.

He gritted his teeth and pushed into the automatons again, scattering several with his shield.

At the back, swift-footed Sadira leapt over Vintia’s shield, kicking into the Scorpion’s Gambit war dance.

As she came down, she drove her black blades into the shoulders of a hapless clockwork soldier like the fangs of some gargantuan predator. The metal skin of her foe screeched in protest as it staggered and fell. As she wrenched her blades free, Sadira gave a savage scream of exultation and then danced forward to behead another of the gilded clockworks before the sheer number of her foes forced her back.

Ravius threw his net, binding the legs of two gilded soldiers. They crashed to the ground, thrashing amidst their brethren. He hopped forward and moved smoothly into a powerful two-handed lunge that sent the points of his trident deep into an opponent. Its entire front armor plate ripped off as he pulled back his trident, spilling gears, oil, and coils onto the ground as it fell. The crowd roared.

“Twenty-two!” he yelled, laughing.

Gavin, ignoring his wounds, stepped up to Ravius, dispatching the two struggling brass men tangled in the skirmisher’s net with quick, efficient thrusts of his spear to their power cores. As he moved, his shield was never still, moving to block each threat to himself or his friend. He felt Karmal start to cast a spell behind him, the enormity of her Thaom raising the hairs on his neck even before she unleashed the spell.

Karmal, sweating and bloody, holding back the tide with her broad cleaver blade, howled in triumph as she let loose her mighty spell. For a moment, nothing happened, then one of the brass men stopped moving. Light began to pour out from every nook and cranny in its metal body. It exploded, powerful magic detonating the automaton with immense force. All of the nearby clockwork men were engulfed by the explosion, and the spell spread to them like a contagion, causing several more to blow apart in turn, showering the Gladiators with drops of hot oil and bits of jagged metal. Karmal wiped the sweat and oil from her brow, smiling triumphantly as the crowd leapt from their seats to praise the grim pyrotechnics. With this, the Gladiators had felled twenty-nine.

Vintia took another, carving through its chest with three rapid, disciplined strokes of her blade. She then pushed into the ranks with her shield, trying to capture and hold the territory that the Gladiators had cleared.

Gavin sensed this and followed her lead, heaving into the line of gilded figures pushing on him. He felt his muscles strain, and they slowly gave way before his supernatural strength.

The wreckage of broken golden bodies was now an impediment to Gladiator and clockwork alike. Oil-covered metal debris made for difficult footing. The gilded horde pushed in, heedless of their losses. Karmal, reckless in her triumph, was caught away from the group and received a brutal wound as a blade plunged into her back. She swore, throwing herself backwards to toss the assailant away, then stumbled and fell over a gilded soldier’s broken corpse. She hit the ground hard. The merciless automatons moved in, gilded faces seeming to smile vacantly as they raised their blades to finish her.

<Ah, I need help!> Karmal abruptly shouted in a panic,

Gavin shifted, but he was holding back too many of the automatons to respond. Nearby, Sadira, hearing her friend’s cry of pain, leapt gracefully onto the shoulders of a gilded woman and then jumped off before it could react.

Quickly clearing the space between them, she flipped in the air, her swords cleaving into one of the automatons assailing Karmal. Sadira pivoted and lunged as she landed to take another.

A blade glanced off the redheaded Gladiator’s shoulder armor, and another cut into her bare back, leaving a vivid red trail on her moonlight-white skin. The crowd cried out in fear and anticipation. Sadira did not falter, though. Her blades battered the automatons back, clearing space.

Karmal stumbled to her feet, her massive blade heavy in her hand, blood pulsing from her wounds. Gavin could see that she was having difficulty. She cast a lightning bolt with great effort, sending a brass form falling back into the ranks, smoking and sputtering. She staggered again but remained upright and moved back toward the group, snarling and cursing all the way. Sadira followed behind, giving ground as best she could.

Gavin and Ravius moved in, reforming the group around their bloodied comrade. Ravius tripped a clockwork soldier with a swift sweeping motion of his long trident, making it easy prey for Gavin, who thrust his spear deep into its pelvic gears, finishing it with a savage twist of the blade. It was the thirty-third to fall. Gavin moved up to give some shelter to Sadira, slamming his shield into the enemy as Ravius thrust his trident into them. <Too bad Omodo isn’t here. This is his kind of fight!>

Gavin nodded his agreement.

Vintia, sharp-eyed as ever, saw the gilded men starting to close on Sadira and Karmal from the other side and renewed her stoneskin spell as she moved to a position where she could better protect her comrades.

The gilded clockworks pushed in relentlessly, eager to get to the Gladiators. Despite their packed formation the gilded soldiers were not hampered. They rained blows on Vintia and Gavin, gifting them both with deep cuts and forcing them back. They could not touch swift-footed Sadira though, for she had enough space now to evade them and mocked their clumsy attempts to corner her, punishing them with her deadly blades.

Gavin could sense Sadira began to weave the Font of Life spell again, gathering Thaom and weaving the pattern as she danced among her foes. She ducked low, narrowly avoiding a precise thrust from one of her clockwork opponents, bringing her blades up between its legs with a great war scream and sending it cartwheeling backwards, cut open from groin to power core. The crowd howled with approval and Gavin saw a surge in the Thaom flowing into his beloved.

She draws on the power of the crowd! He admired her mastery of a difficult source.

Ravius followed Sadira closely, navigating the broken bodies with nimble ease. Seeing a pair closing in on Sadira, threatening to flank her, he moved in on them. He thrust his trident into the neck of the first, twisting its head off with a savage wrenching. Then, howling with laughter, he dropped low and tripped another then jumped into the air, coming down on his struggling opponent with all his weight behind his trident. Gears and oil spilled as it sputtered and went still, the thirty-sixth to fall. The brass men were having trouble moving in unison now; such were the heaps of broken mechanical bodies leaking oil onto the sands of the fighting grounds and round the spot where the Gladiators made their stand.

<We are defended by a wall of the fallen!> Ravius announced as they saw their opponents struggle to advance.

Karmal, still badly wounded, steadied herself with her sword and blasted another automaton to pieces with a lightning bolt spell. She shook her head, trying to clear her vision as she struggled with pain and blood loss. Gavin watched as the flame-haired Gladiatrix channeled Thaom; the river of magic picked her up from the ground as she drew more and more, preparing another powerful spell weave.

Gavin, heaving and sweating, pushed the brass tide away from Karmal as Vintia joined them. He unloaded his trollodestone again, sending several gilded soldiers flying back. Thus freed, he surveyed the battle for a heartbeat, breathing heavily, choosing his target wisely and then severing the animating pattern of one of their gilded foes with a cogimantic spell. It sank to the ground, robbed of any semblance of life. Then they were on him again, trying to hack past him to get to Karmal. Hard pressed and bloody, he struggled to fend off attacks with his sword and shield.

Vintia cast a lightning bolt of her own, a blue-white streak of electricity claiming two unlucky victims. She had no time to pause as the gilded tide surged forward, driving their blade arms against her shield with relentless fury.

She pushed back, but the clockworks surged against her with sudden strength, catching her by surprise. She toppled backwards, tripping over a broken brass body. Instantly, she was buried by a swarm of mask-faced gilded soldiers whose swords rose and fell, clanging off her armor and shield and finally reaching her flesh. Gavin turned and pushed toward her, taking a slash on his own back as he struck at her attackers with his spear.

<On me!> Sadira cast her Font of Life spell again, pushing forward with desperate fury as it blossomed from her, invigorating her team with new life. She skewered one of the gilded automatons attacking Vintia, tossing it back into the nearest enemies with a surge of savage strength that nearly overbalanced her. It was the fortieth to fall.

Ravius now moved in swiftly, taking advantage of the gilded men as they stabbed down at Vintia. Catching them unawares, he used the Phalanx of One technique of the Seeking Spear school. His trident seemed to appear in dozens of places at once, taking down three of the enemy by spearing them in their vulnerable power cores and shoving several more off of Vintia.

As Ravius and Sadira cleared a space around Vintia, Gavin returned to Karmal’s side. The red-haired warrior was still unsteady and vulnerable as she channeled. He cleared space around them, taking the head off one gilded soldier with a swipe of his razor-edged shield, enhanced by the rune of sharpness. Watching the masked face fly off filled him with a savage sense of triumph.

As he blocked another push, he felt Karmal weave behind him. The hairs on his neck stood up as a raging torrent of Thaom flowed into her spell. Pillar of Flame.

Heat washed over her as a towering column of bright orange fire slammed into the gilded soldiers, throwing melted metal bodies into the air with the sheer ferocity of the spell. Several clockworks standing too close to the pillar were sucked into the inferno before it abated. Gavin could hear Karmal laugh behind him, an echo of his own feelings.

“Fifty!” the crowd roared with such thundering enthusiasm that Gavin was sure that their noise must have startled some of the patrons of the nearby spas.

<Halfway there!> Karmal grinned, blood staining her teeth.

<Clear!> Vintia linked a moment later as she cast a spell.

She was battered and pierced but protected by her shield and heavy armor. Fire washed over the gilded soldiers all around her as she cast down a fireball at her own feet.

The remaining gilded soldiers were blown off of her, and two were blasted apart. Gavin’s heart surged as he saw the Sadira’s magic wash over Vintia, and she surged upright, blackened and bloody, gulping greedily for fresh air as the crowd shouted its approval.

Although the ranks of the gilded soldiers were thinning now, they still had the advantage of numbers, and they pressed the weary and wounded Gladiators tirelessly, threatening to overwhelm them.

Movement was hazardous, as the ground was littered with severed clockwork limbs and broken clockwork corpses. The crowd reveled in the destruction, screaming for more.

As Gavin hammered an automaton with his shield, Sadira launched herself forward, tumbling and rolling under the swinging blades of her foes. Her every movement was sure and confident, even the flourishes that served only to entertain the crowd. He could not help but admire her.

Swift and sure-footed, Sadira attacked, her twin obsidian blades flashing in the bright desert sun. She moved fluidly from the leaping steps of Panther’s Hunt war dance to the whirling, circular cuts of the Razorwing’s Flight. Shadows curled around her form, obscuring a wicked slash that cut a gilded soldier in half. Fifty-three.

She hopped forward, flowing back into the Panther’s Hunt, bounding away from slashing blades and lunging as she landed. Her blade found its mark with pure precision, impaling a power core. Fifty-four.

She backflipped out of reach of the counterattack, twisting in the air and bringing her twin swords down, cleaving the arms from the clockwork closest to her and then decapitating in with a spectacular spinning backhand slash. Fifty-five.

Standing atop a pile of broken brass bodies, Ravius mocked the clockwork soldiers with laughter, taunting them. Gavin doubted they cared about his words, but the skirmisher made himself an obvious target, and they began to clamber up the slippery slope of oil-slicked metal to get him. The treacherous, shifting pile was much more of an impediment to the heavy-footed clockworks than to a nimble, light-armored Gladiator, and Ravius sent them tumbling down with swift kicks or thrusts of his trusty trident.

The distraction he caused kept the clockworks from gathering into disciplined ranks, easing the pressure on the rest of the team.

Despite Sadira’s magic and their own powerful regeneration, both Karmal and Vintia still suffered from their wounds, but now, as Gavin defended them, fending off brass men with his shield and spear, holding back the mob with all his might, the pair fought back to back, lashing out with fire and lightning. Two of their assailants fell, smoking and sparking. One of these began to burn, sending up a billowing cloud of foul black smoke.

<Take heart, we’re almost there!> Sadira called out to them all.

The gilded soldiers fought on, divided on three fronts. They climbed to assail Ravius, but he sent them tumbling. They moved in on Sadira, but she danced away, leaping over their fallen brethren. Now that she had space to move, they could not catch her. The main column pressed hardest on Gavin, Karmal, and Vintia, meeting stiff resistance from the shield-wielding defenders. Gavin cursed as a precise thrust cut past his shield, drawing fresh blood from his side.

After drawing them away from the group, Sadira sped away from the dozen gilded automatons chasing her and ran back to the main column. She sheathed her elegant twin blades, drawing her greatsword Bellasdoom with a fluid motion. None of the clockworks turned to face her, and she smiled at her good fortune. Gavin caught her eye as she drew close, readying himself. She sprinted forward, keeping low and quiet, thanking the Chosen that the gilded soldiers could not understand the cheering crowds shouting her name.

Directing Thaom into a Primal Surge spell that turned her veins green, she barreled into the enemy from behind, using the momentum of her charge and her enhanced strength to send her heavy blade shearing through their backs.

Four of them fell, two of them cut in half at the waist. One pair of legs stood upright for a moment, quivering, oil spurting into the air, before toppling over.

Ravius, cackling and shouting his defiance, drew some of the soldiers pursuing Sadira away, leaping to a different pile of mechanical debris. He hoped to keep them away from his friends until they dispatched the rest of the mechanical men assailing them. He was playing a dangerous game on deadly terrain; a single misstep would lead to his death.

Gavin killed the sixty-second gilded automaton with a quick thrust from his spear. It fell backwards, twisting, his barbed spear blade caught in its metal innards, torn from his grasp. Pushing the others back with his lion-headed shield, he drew his short sword with a quick motion, and measured the situation, placing himself to best protect the wounded Vintia and Karmal while Sadira wreaked havoc.

<Kill them all!> Karmal shouted as she and Vintia roused to the attack and pushed up to help Gavin. They screamed defiantly at their foes as they unleashed spells of fire and lightning to destroy the glittering bronze ranks. Back to back to back, the three of them fought, heedless of their cruel injuries and the red blood running from their wounds.

Flame-haired Karmal, hot with fury, blasted one of her foes with a jet of fire, causing it to burst apart, leaking smoke and bubbling oil. Shrieking, eyes wide with rage, she stepped over it, swinging her massive war cleaver into the enemy ranks. The blade plunged into the oncoming tide, shattering the head of one clockwork soldier and causing gears and glass to burst out of the eye sockets of its gilded faceplate. The power of her attack knocked several more to the ground; the sixty-fifth and sixty-sixth clockworks were not ended by blade or spell but rather trampled by their teammates.

Vintia, careful to stay clear of Karmal’s wildly swinging blade, shot another burst of lightning into her foes, one of whom pitched forward, sparks shooting from the gaps in its brass skin. She bulled into a group of her assailants with her shield, and Gavin could see every muscle on her wounded body straining.

They gave way a little, and she lanced her long blade over her heavy shield and into their ranks.

The gilded men began to push back, and Gavin knew that he and the two wounded Gladiatrices could not last against such odds.

Sadira, returning to their side as Karmal and Vintia charged forward, threw herself at the enemy with renewed vigor. She drew ferocious, graceful arcs in the air with her elegant greatsword as she danced into the flank of the gilded soldiers attacking them. She brought Bellasdoom down, the runed obsidian blade cleaving cleanly through the shoulder plates of her hapless brass victim, the sixty-eighth to fall.

Before the body could sink to the ground she danced away, pivoting to face a clockwork soldier creeping in behind her. Her blade swept close to the ground, and she twirled, arcing upwards in a flash. The vorpal edge sliced into the metal soldier’s hip, shearing through metal as its runes glowed, writing the pattern of sharpness into the magic of the blade. The crowd roared as her sword cut all the way through it in a single stroke, and the gild-faced clockwork’s torso fell backwards as its legs fell forward.

“SIXTY-NINE!” The crowd filled the arena with their raucous cheers.

Ravius had engaged another large group of brass men, keeping them away from the main group, daring them to chase him. It was a good strategy, and as he led some of them away, Gavin felt some relief. The skirmisher led them on a merry chase, laughing with glee, baiting them with his flesh and always staying one step away from their brutal brass blades. Picking up speed, gaining distance, he then turned and broke the pattern animating one of the clockwork men, causing it to freeze in mid-stride and fall to the ground amidst the others.

Karmal, heedless of the blades that cut her, summoned Thaom while swinging her massive cleaver into the foes that assailed her. She put everything into her attack, throwing herself forward recklessly to add to the momentum. The heavy cleaver blade smashed into the ranks like a tidal wave, splitting two brass men in half and knocking over others.

One of the falling bodies pulled on the end of the blade, and Karmal, unbalanced from her mighty exertion, fell down among the thrashing, broken brass men, and the ranks behind descended upon her, hacking and stabbing.

Gavin shouted and pushed toward her, throwing them away from him. Karmal struggled as they stabbed her, defiant to the end, and as Gavin closed, he felt her weave and cast, Thaom blazing.

She called the Pillar of Flame spell down upon herself.

The heat of it washed over Gavin, driving him back. The mound of clockwork dead became her funeral pyre, and the spectators roared as four more of gilded soldiers were sucked in, adding fuel to the inferno.

<Karmal!> Sadira cried through their connection.

Gavin turned away. He had been unable to make it to the reckless Gladiatrix in time; her attacks had carried her deep into the enemy ranks. He felt a moment of apprehension.

He would never trust the Keystone enough to call down a spell of that magnitude on his own head. Then the gilded soldiers closed around him again, and he went back to the grim business of the fight, moving to rejoin Vintia.

He slammed his shield into the nearest enemy, stepping forward as it fell, slashing the razor edge into its head, shattering the gilded face plate. He followed with a powerful sword lunge that missed the power core of his next target, but he hit some other vital system, and it sank to the ground just as well, gushing oil. It was the seventy-eighth to fall.

Vintia stumbled as he moved to her. A battered, gilded hand grabbed onto her shield. She found herself too weak to keep her grip on the massive rectangle, and it was ripped away. Snarling, she brought her longsword down two-handed on the clockwork soldier, smashing its brass chest plate. But her wounds had worn her down. They swarmed her.

Gavin roared and pushed through the melee towards her. There was a shocking pool of crimson blood at Vintia’s feet. She staggered again as they hit her and fell to her knees. Gavin saw the blades coming down and pushed, but the automatons grappled him, hauling him away. Their eyes met, and he saw Vintia’s resolve as she wove. With a final effort of will, she sent a stoneskin spell flying to Gavin, her last gift wrapping him in protective magic as she parried the slashing blade arms of two clockwork soldiers. A third came up behind her, mercilessly shoving its blade through her unarmored back. Vintia arched her back in agony and fell as Gavin roared and pushed toward her. Sadira joined him then and they fought on.

The few brass men left near Gavin and Sadira pressed on tirelessly, but they could not overcome the enraged, nimble Gladiatrix or the shield-warded Gladiator.

Ravius’s luck ran out before he could rejoin them. A brass hand shot out from under a pile of bodies, catching his ankle as he hurled insults at the mob that followed him. He frantically stabbed at the grasping arm with his trident, but his captor was shielded by the brass bodies of the fallen. By the time the skirmisher destroyed his assailant with a mental blast, the rest were upon him. Gavin and Sadira could not make it to him. With nowhere to run, no shield, and little armor to protect him, he fell quickly, his laughter silenced by more than a dozen bloody steel swords. The crowd gasped and cheered, enthralled by the drama.

<It is just us,> Sadira called out. <Let’s finish it, for them!>

Sadira danced among her enemies, blade never pausing, moving around the stalwart Gavin like a steel tornado. Gavin stood his ground, pushing the automatons away with his shield, keeping them from Vintia’s broken body, unwilling to part from his friends even after they had fallen.

Sadira moved to guard his back, lashing out with Bellasdoom, cleaving the skull of one gilded figure, sliding forward and bringing her sword down again to crush the head of its brother. Her magic was of little direct use against metal armor and clockwork innards, but she filled herself with Primal Strength and leapt over them to land at Gavin’s side.

She hacked another to the ground, shattering its chest plate as she landed catlike beside him.

<They’re thinning.> Gavin punched his shield into a clockwork that was lunging for Sadira.

It stumbled, and she sidestepped, bringing her greatsword down onto the back of its neck. As it fell, Gavin finished the last gilded man near them with a quick trust of his sword, ramming the blade into the power core. His eyes roamed the field, and his heart sank when he saw Ravius’s fate on the bloody swords of their remaining foes, fifteen clockwork soldiers shambling toward them across a fighting grounds choked with brass bodies. The skirmisher’s body lay broken atop a heap of automatons behind them.

“Let them come to us,” Gavin called out before the vengeful Sadira could charge forward. “Gather your strength before the final storm.”

Sadira turned, nodding She looked so warlike and so beautiful, her eyes full of life and unclouded by doubt. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment, and he stepped in and kissed her. The crowd roared in approval.

“Bold move, Gladiator.” She laughed as Gavin reddened.

The automatons were still pushing through the debris to get to them. The crowd surged to their feet, filling the arena with shouts.

Gavin wondered what Chosen Giselle would have to say after the fight. The crowd shouted as Sadira pulled him into another kiss, raucous and wild.

Then the relentless clockwork soldiers drew close, and the fighting began anew.

Sadira sprung forward, trusting Gavin to shield her. Her leap carried her high into the air, and she brought Bellasdoom down in a glittering obsidian arc. The dying afternoon light caught the sword, making it shine as the sun-washed, rune-etched, lovingly made blade cut her hapless foe into two equal halves.

Sadira stepped between the halves of the bisected body before it could fall, war scream savage and exultant. She cut another down with a brutal upswing. As Gavin closed to help her, Sadira parried blades contemptuously and whirled away.

Gavin surveyed the fight as Sadira backed off. He saw that his best effort would be to stop them from flanking her as she attacked. As long as they did not close around her, Sadira would not fall. As he ran, he scooped up a motionless metal body, lifting it despite the fact that it weighed as much as a man of flesh and blood. He tossed it into the golden ranks as he drew close, sending them staggering away from Sadira as she moved in to attack. He charged forward and lunged, piercing one of his foes. His sword did not hit the core, but he smashed its gilded face with his razor-edged shield, ending it just the same. It was the eighty-eighth.

Only a dozen brass men remained now. They tried to stab at Sadira, but she twirled away using the graceful steps of the Shadow of the Red Moon, a more advanced war dance, to obfuscate her movements. They tried to close around her, but Gavin charged in and bowled several over with a shield ram.

I will not fail.

The fighting grounds were littered, not only with mounds of the clockwork dead, but also with the bloody ruin of Ravius, the pool of red in which Vintia slept, and the smoking remnants of Karmal’s pyre.

Taken in by the final drama of the fight, the audience stood, shouting words of encouragement to the two remaining gladiators.

Sadira floated, her every movement artful, her whirling, graceful blade drawing wide, gleaming arcs around her. Two quick slashes downed another brass soldier, and she kicked the next in line back into the others. Flowing forward into the gap created by the flying body, she brought her greatsword up, sliding gracefully into a long lunge that plunged the blade through the armor plating of her next foe, deep into its innards of gears and tubes and oil, sending it sprawling.

She knocked a few thrusts aside and danced backwards to Gavin’s side as he pushed through them to join her.

Finally, Gavin channeled his Thaom into the Break Bond, which disrupted the magic animating their foes, freezing a gilded figure mid-stride. He powered forward with his shield as he cast, sending the remaining soldiers stumbling back with a pulse of force as he unloaded his trollodestone. Sadira flowed past him again, ready to take advantage of their disarray.

“NINETY!” the crowd shouted, full of fury and joy, as if it they were on the field with them.

Sadira hopped over a pile of broken gilded bodies, bringing Bellasdoom down on one of the clockworks as it struggled to rise from Gavin’s attack. As he watched, her elegant blade sheared through its gilded faceplate and gilded head, ending its mechanical motions. Oil from the blow splattered against Sadira’s skin but quickly dripped off, repelled by the same glamour magic that kept her hair in place and her skin shining.

Sadira leapt up into a pile of oil-slicked automaton corpses to his left. She kept her balance easily, despite the treacherous terrain, and struck the next enemy with a flurry of quick, powerful cuts as it tried to climb to her. It fell into pieces, and she rose exultant, flourishing her blade for the crowd.

“SADIRA, SADIRA!” they roared.

Gavin pushed into their ranks again, toppling two with a powerful shield slam, but a stray blade grazed his leg just below the groin as he moved. Vintia’s stoneskin enchantment deadened the blow, preventing it from piercing a vital artery, but blood still dripped from the wound. Angry, he stabbed savagely downwards with his sturdy short sword, plunging the blade into the chest of the offending clockwork and twisting it into the power core. The metal man seized instantly, limbs curling. Hot oil dripped off the Gladiator’s blade as he withdrew, bashing another automaton to the ground before it could strike.

Sadira darted past him, quick and agile. The lethal Gladiatrix plunged her blade into the fallen metal man, ducked under a thrust from another and came up swinging her sword in a downward cut which sheared through her next assailant’s metal waist, cutting it in half. With a motion too quick to follow, she kicked the upper half, sending the clockwork torso cannoning back into the other brass men.

“NINETY-FIVE!” the crowd roared.

Gavin could see that even Chosen Giselle was on her feet now, shouting with her people like any other Red supporter.

Sadira stopped moving. She channeled power. Gavin stepped forward to join her, shield at the ready. The last handful of gilded men righted themselves and marched grimly toward them. She looked over to Gavin, and their eyes met.

“Lend me your strength, beloved,” she whispered, stepping toward the gilded men slowly and gracefully, taunting them with her suddenly slow, delicate movements. “One last time, for love and glory!”

Gavin nodded, and Sadira danced slowly into the midst of the gilded soldiers, ducking their blades and striking a pose as they turned to follow her. She did not move but waited, letting her foes close in around her. She wove the Heart of the Beast spell, lazily parrying an attack as she cast it.

Gavin, breathed in slowly, calming himself as he too wove his spell and cast. As his magic touched Sadira, he could feel her focus sharpen. Once again, he could almost see through her eyes as their spells flowed together. Gavin could feel it as verdant strength of Sadira’s own enhancement spells mingled with this sharp, new clarity. It was not like anything that he had ever heard of. He knew Sadira could feel it too. For a moment, it was like they touched the very pattern of creation. She smiled, and he smiled through her.

The gilded soldiers readied themselves to strike, all five around her now. Sadira paused, unhurried, able to judge their movements perfectly. She stilled, daring them to strike. To the audience, it appeared that the five golden men lunged at her in perfect unison, mechanical and precise. They gasped. Some shouted in fear or confusion. Others among them had seen this move before, and they roared in anticipation.

To Gavin and Sadira, possessed with both enhanced vigor and perfect focus, the attack of the gilded automatons seemed slow and uncoordinated. She sidestepped the first clockwork, bringing her blade down into the attacker with a sweeping motion, cleaving its head off with ease. She pivoted and struck again, and again, and again, and again, each simple, balanced stroke flowing perfectly into the next. As the last of her enemies fell, five heads striking the ground in near perfect unison, she turned slowly and then saluted the audience.

In the crowd’s eye, the five bodies had hit the ground almost simultaneously. Followed by their heads a moment after. The automatons toppled outward from her, like sections of an orange peeling away to reveal the glorious Gladiatrix within. The sun gleamed off her glamoured skin and shimmered on the surface of her elegant, curved, obsidian greatsword as she held it up to them. The sudden stillness as the last head rolled to a stop was profound. Sadira held the pose, holding Bellasdoom aloft, with her chin high and eyes defiant. The two enchantments slipped away from her then, leaving Gavin feeling languid and content in the afterglow of their magic mingling.

Slowly Gavin knelt amidst the blood and wreckage, holding his shield up. Sadira looked at him and smiled, walking over to him and stepping up into the shield. In spite of his fatigue, he lifted her high above him.

And the crowd roared.

<>

The Blues took the field afterwards. They did not see the match, but Gavin and Sadira could hear the reactions of the crowd from the arena infirmary, where they waited for news of their injured friends. Vintia was the first to emerge, quiet and shy, curious about the match but too embarrassed about tapping out to ask the outcome. Sadira embraced her, smiling, and related the last minutes of the match to her. Halfway through the retelling, Lina entered, smiling.

“You won!” She was flushed and smiling with excitement. “Azure Dream and Blue Hornet also survived their fight, but the Blue team took longer to finish.”

“I’m surprised they managed it at all.” Sadira said with a shake of her head. “The Blues here are not usually team players. Minerva must have been pushing her team hard to whip them into shape . . . I’m actually kind of proud of her.”

“Sounds familiar.” Gavin said, thinking back to their first few matches in the Oasis. “I remember another team trying to scrape a little bit of glory out of a lost season not so long ago.”

“It feels like years have passed since then.” Sadira replied with a half-smile.

She opened her mouth to say more but closed her lips as flame-haired Karmal emerged from the infirmary, looking surprisingly hale after her gruesome finish. Lina seemed to shrink into the background as Karmal arrived.

Gavin gasped at her appearance. “I did not expect to see you for a few days at least, Karmal. Chosen’s Oath, I was worried that not even Keystone magic could bring you back whole from that kind of fire.”

“A pyromancer’s trick.” The red-haired Gladiatrix said as she winked at him. “Fire does not affect us the way it does the rest of you. The healers said Ravius will be a few hours at least. Both lungs and his heart need to be repaired. Vintia and I can wait for him here. Why don’t you two wander off and . . . celebrate . . . before we all get called to the victory party?”

“We don’t mind waiting here with you two.” Gavin said. “I can think of no better way to celebrate.”

Sadira almost laughed at the shocked expression on Karmal’s face. For once, the fiery Gladiatrix just smiled and accepted the compliment.

<>

“Citizens, here are the victors of this year’s Scorpion’s Oasis Faction League: the Reds!”

Gavin entered the fighting grounds in the middle of the group, after most of the newer Gladiators but well before Sadira, Master Sax, or even Karmal and Ravius. When the announcer said Sadira’s, name the crowd erupted.

“I think the crowd is already half-drunk.” Vintia said from beside him as they settled into a line to receive their Faction Laurel badge. Everyone who had won a match with the Reds this season would have the right to wear one.

“I’m sure they are.” Gavin said with a chuckle. “Sulius told Sadira that the only way they could fill the stands for this event in this town was to offer free wine and food.”

Vintia laughed. Gavin could see Sadira talking to Sax, Kilbo, and the other Red masters at the end of the line. He wished that they were all there with her.

Soon enough, Sulius and Arena Master Bloodsmith had worked their way up the line to Gavin. Sulius shook his hand.

“Thank you for proving me wrong, my boy.” He said with a jubilant grin. “You deserve these honors more than most.”

“Thank you, Sulius.”

The arena master congratulated him and then asked where Gavin wanted to place the badge on his armor. Gavin pointed to a spot on his right pauldron. Arena Master Bloodsmith raised the badge, a piece of reddish metal with a pair of ribbons streaming from it. He put it against Gavin’s armor and took a small stamp and pushed it into the metal, which gave way like soft wax as he pressed it in. Gavin sensed a small burst of Thaom, and the arena master stepped back. The metal badge was affixed to his armor, the laurels of victory pressed into it like a wax seal.

“Glory to the victor, Gladiator.” The arena master gave him a nod of approval.

<>

“My friends, I will miss you all.” Ravius finally gave voice to the looming issue that none of them had wanted to broach when they met after the victory ceremony. “This has been the most frantic year I can imagine. When the reality of it all, of what we have gone through together this season and what we have accomplished here, finally catches up to me, I know I shall look back on this time with pride. Let us not spoil our last night together as a team with these long faces. Say your goodbyes and then let us move on to merriment.”

Ravius spoke the truth, and it washed over them, but sad as this was, it still brought them relief. Their destinies were known to them now. The five Gladiators had been putting on a brave face for each other and for the other Reds, but they had all come to realize this was the end of their partnership. They had been together, friends and teammates, since leaving the Campus Martius over than five years ago. In many ways they were like brothers and sisters, their bonds forged in endless training and honed through shared pain and glorious triumph.

Sadira shook her head sadly. “When I came here, I expected that we would all be able to go on together. The only thing that matters more to me than winning is the people I love. I had hoped we would all be able to go to Brightsand Halls together in a season or two.” Her sharp, elegant jaw clenched and her brow furrowed as she struggled with the next words. “. . . I tried to keep us together.”

“Put your guilt aside, Sadira.” Vintia said as she put her hand on the taller woman’s shoulder. “None of us would ever accuse you of doing less than your best for us.”

“Truth, little sister.” Ravius declared as he nudged Vintia aside. “You led us to a great victory, Sadira. I may even come to miss your banshee screaming at morning drills, in time.”

“I’ll miss the support you’ve given me, Ravius,” Sadira replied, ignoring his jokes. “All of you. I would not have risen so far and so fast without my friends. I won’t forget that.”

“It is a shame we must part ways,” Gavin replied carefully. “But we can remember the victory and camaraderie we shared here and look forward to future time together.”

“Actually, not all of us will be separating.” Karmal said with a grin.

Gavin looked at her sharply. Did he detect a note of triumph in her voice?

“So you keep telling us.” Vintia said, smiling back as best she could. “You deserve it, Karmal.”

“Cheers to you both!” Ravius added with his characteristic grin, putting his arm around Vintia.

It was all that Gavin could do but to nod as well, wondering if he was a bad friend for being jealous of Karmal. Sadira herself looked uncharacteristically worn and so he put his arm around her, drawing out a little smile.

“What about you, little sister?” Ravius asked, looking at Vintia.

Gavin admired the way he kept the conversation moving purposefully, like a master helmsman in dangerous waters, knowing that many things needed to be said before they could all relax.

“I think I’m going to stay here like I planned,” Vintia spoke slowly. “I did not get any better offers. The Oasis is going to be Red territory next season. Someone needs to stay behind to defend it with all of you moving on. Staying here means I can visit Sadira and Karmal in Brightsand Halls as often as I’m allowed, too.”

She paused. “I have to say I do feel a little left out, but even so, I’m proud of you both.”

Her voice was on the verge of breaking as she finished her words, and so she stopped there.

“I understand.” Sadira said as put her arms around her childhood friend. “Karmal and I have been given the greater glory, but I know that you were instrumental in my success. Your shield kept me safe, as it always has, on the fighting grounds and off. You have always been there when I needed you. I still remember you, Vintia, throwing your body in front of Shield-Splitter in our second match here, stopping him from getting the big kill. That was greatness, in my eyes. I will visit you as much as I am allowed, dear friend.”

“Maybe it will be easier for me to stand out with you two gone. The Oasis isn’t Brightsand Halls, but it will have a lot of eyes on it next year.” Vintia said hopefully as she smiled sadly up at Sadira from under Ravius’s arm. “I’ll still miss you though. We’ve been together so long. I remember the secret pacts we made as girls. It seemed so much easier then. Now my dreams have been stripped away. It is so unfair that we should have to part ways now, after all we’ve accomplished together.”

“It is what it is,” Gavin said. “We can’t all be Chosen.”

They looked at him in shock, all save Ravius. Like all young Gladiators, every one of them had dreamt of joining the ranks of the Chosen when they first started down the path. Now they were wise enough to know that for most of their kind, this was just a fantasy.

“Let’s not be harsh, beloved.” Sadira said with a frown.

“I cannot follow the woman I love.” Gavin replied as he looked into his lover’s eyes. “It makes me angry. I didn’t ask to be born with the Gift, and I would not have chosen to be a Gladiator if I had known that it would cost me what I love most in the world.”

Silence descended as his words died away and Sadira simply sighed. A tear rolled down Vintia’s cheek. Even Karmal looked away. Fortunately, Ravius was there to cut through it all, merciless and purposeful, prodding Gavin to speak his heart. “And so, what will you do, little brother?”

“I’m tired of the Faction Leagues, Ravius. We’ve worked hard, too hard, for a badge of honor.” Gavin answered struggling with the words and wrestling his conflicting desires. “I am going to work my way north, fight in the Free Leagues, maybe with a faction, maybe on my own. I want to see more of the Domains, and I need to figure some things out . . . to find my place in the world.”

He left the rest unsaid. He did not want to trouble them with his aching desire for freedom, his growing discomfort with many aspects of the bloody life of a Gladiator.

“I can understand that sentiment.” Ravius said, his tone unusually somber. “Omodo seemed so happy last time we saw him. We have all trained hard and sacrificed much to win here. I have heard of very few Gladiators who have taken the kind of risks we did or answered so many challenges in a single season. I’m amazed that we did not fall apart before now. I feel exhausted. I’m in need of a bit of a vacation myself. I’ll follow you, I think, old friend.”

He saw Sadira smile at the words and Gavin opened his mouth to say no, but he thought back to his first days on the Campus Martius. He could do worse than having joyful, cunning Ravius at his side.

I will not make that mistake again.

“I would be honored, Ravius,” he replied at last.

Sadira raised her glass. “Ravius is right. We should not let an uncertain future spoil our present glory. I am proud of you all. I pushed you hard each and every day. None of you complained or shirked your duties. None of you gave up or worked against the team. We fought in more matches this season than most Gladiators do in five. None of you broke. We joined a demoralized roster and inspired them to victory. I have said it before, no one can take this accomplishment from us. It has been a great honor to take to the field with all of you. You have been the best team anyone could ask for. We did this together, fighting for each other. Whatever comes, let us carry this shining moment in our hearts. Here’s to the team!”

“To us!” they echoed, the bright clinking of their glasses momentarily banishing sadness.

<>

The next day, Gavin walked with Sadira to the gates of Scorpion’s Oasis where the grand procession of the Chosen was winding out of the town.

Hand in hand, clad in their armor, weapons on their backs, they walked slowly through the streets. They seemed so out of place. Two Gladiators, faces full of love and sorrow, walking through the streets of a town where everyone else was thinking only of pleasure and relaxation. Those who recognized them shouted their names or smiled at them as they passed. Two Grey-Robes followed silently behind at a respectful distance.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way, Gavin.” Sadira said, breaking the long silence.

“I would follow you if you asked it.” He spoke softly. “No matter what the cost.”

“I know you would, beloved.” She smiled, but her eyes were wet with heartbreak. “But I know now that making that demand of you would diminish us both. You cannot compete with Giselle and win, and I cannot defy her for you any longer.”

“I bet you would try if I asked.”

He had surprised her. She turned to him, eyes so bright in the desert sun, shockingly purple.

“I would.” Sadira said it fiercely. The thought of such a grand, pyrrhic gesture in the name of love excited her, in truth. “I would throw it all away just for you. What good is all the glory in the world to me without you at my side?”

They stood in silence, paused on the razor’s edge of rebellion, until the moment passed. Gavin smiled; Sadira laughed. She kissed him deeply.

They walked on, hand in hand, until they came to the great gilded gates of the Oasis where the Chosen awaited, hidden away in a magnificent steam carriage, surrounded by an honor guard of armored horsemen shining in the sun. Sadira turned to Gavin one last time.

“We will be together again,” she whispered. “I swear it.”

Gavin took her hand and kissed it, hiding his doubt.

Then they parted.

<>

Gavin left the day after Sadira; he could not bear to be in Scorpion’s Oasis any longer. All the opulence and hedonistic joy of the place were meaningless to him. Even the congratulations and warm greetings of his fellow Reds seemed hollow without Sadira. Their apartment, once the locus of all his happiness, was now a dagger in his heart, reminding him of his other half, separated from him now by cruel machinations of an empire.

As he left the apartment for the last time, he gathered Lina into an affectionate hug. The Taskbound was packing the apartment before moving to Brightsand Halls with Sadira. He was pleased that she returned his affection openly and without fear. She had come a long way in the few months that he had known her. Somehow Gavin felt better knowing that she would be with Sadira in the days ahead.

“Take care of her, Lina,” he said into her crimson hair. “And yourself.”

The green-eyed girl nodded seriously. As Gavin turned to leave, she grabbed his wrist and hugged him again, tears in her eyes.

“Thank you for everything, Gavin,” she said, voice clear as she intoned her blessing. “You are a kind man and better than you know. Ezuis be with you on the road ahead.”

Gavin smiled. “And with you as well, Lina diVolcanus. I am glad to have shared this little part my life with you. I hope we meet again one day, as friends, when we are both free.”

<>

After saying goodbye and giving thanks to Sulius Nof’Cyrus, Gavin found Vintia on the practice grounds. It was morning, and the little, bright-eyed Gladiatrix was engaged in drill.

The desert sun glinted off her silver-white armor as she moved, effortless and graceful in spite of her massive tower shield and the heavy plates on her body. He realized then that something about her had changed. She seemed more confident, full of purpose, yet smaller. Sorrow tempers us all, he thought. He recognized the energetic Dragonfire and silent Bloodfrost training alongside her. Perhaps the makings of a new team?

“I’m off,” Gavin said simply as he approached her.

“I’ll be sad to see you go, my friend.” Vintia said, her smile bright but brittle with sorrow.

He wondered suddenly what had passed between her and Karmal, or her and Ravius. Other stories had unfolded all around him while he was here, some that he might never hear.

“If you come by this way again, visit me. Please.”

“I will, I swear,” Gavin said. “When my time is my own, I will gladly spend some with you, my friend.”

“I will hold you to that,” Vintia answered as she looked up at him. “Ravius is waiting for you with Sax at the north gate, and I can see you want to get out of here. You will always be in my thoughts, Gavin Orphanus. Ancestors watch over you and bring you victory, Lionfang.”

“And you as well, Brightshield.” He lifted her off the ground, armor and all, in a lasting bear hug. Dragonfire laughed nearby, a pure sound, as Vintia squirmed in his embrace.

Vintia shook her head as he put her down, joy in her bright eyes. “Do that again, and I’ll thump you!”

They both laughed, one last time, and he clasped hands with the other Reds before walking off the bright training grounds beside the clear, crystal waters of Scorpion’s Oasis and going to the north gate.

Much to his surprise, he realized he would miss something of this place, in the end. Not the unmatched opulence and glorious beauty of the town, but the people who he had come to know here and the experiences they had shared together.

<>

Ravius was indeed awaiting him at the gate, wearing a crown of laurels on his head. Beside the smiling skirmisher, the tall, lean form of Sax lounged against the marble wall. A single, small officer of the Deliberative stood nearby, face hidden in the folds of her grey hood. Gavin, not trusting himself to speak, nodded to them. He felt warmth in his heart, despite his sorrow. It was good to have friends to share the road. He walked through the gate, wanting to be free of Scorpion’s Oasis and the weight of the emotion that it now carried.

They had come here a year ago, putting forth an effort that few could match, fighting challenge after challenge and inspiring their fellow Reds. They had won a great triumph in the arena, something that would be talked about by fans of the Great Games for years to come. Gavin was leaving with the victory badge of a faction champion, but unlike Ravius, Gavin did not want to draw attention to that. He should be proud, but all he could think of was the cost. Their fellowship was broken now, cruel reality having driven them apart. Victory and glory were ashes in his mouth without Sadira, Vintia, Karmal, and Omodo to share them.

“Time to get moving, Gavin.” Cleothera’s familiar voice jolted him out of his sorrows and brought a smile to his face. “The road to the north is a long one, and since you won’t let me stay and hit up the Shato diOre, I’d like to get to a serviceable inn before nightfall at least.”

Epilogue

Irongrim, the foreboding tower of Chosen Moltar was perched upon the upper reaches of the vast fortress built into the crown of Mount Wreckfire, the largest active volcano in the Domains. Despite the fiery surroundings, the ancient stone halls that housed the ruler of Volcanus were always cold.

Valaran diVolcanus, the most feared Gladiator of his day, shivered in spite of himself. As a Gladiator, the cold should not have made him uncomfortable, but today it did. He knew that this meant that his Lord and Master, Chosen Moltar, was displeased.

Very few men survived Chosen Moltar’s displeasure.

Valaran entered the Chosen’s throne room, a vast hall that could swallow most of the arenas in which he had fought. The room was black. Obsidian, ebony, and polished blackstone with golden trim and rich red carpet that ran down the middle like a river of blood. It was empty save for a golden throne. On that throne sat the most feared man in the Domains.

Chosen Moltar wore his famed black and gold armor, ornate and terrifying. His helmet was off, revealing his perfect, expressionless face. Few people other than Valaran knew what the Chosen looked like without his helmet on. Most of the people of the Domains assumed Chosen Moltar was as nightmarish to look on in the flesh as his daemonic helmet would suggest.

The Chosen’s presence filled the room, making the cavernous space seem too small. Valaran, arrogant as he was, prostrated himself unhesitatingly before his master. Moltar said nothing for some time, and Valaran remained on the ground. He began to wonder if the Chosen has forgotten him.

“Valaran . . .” The Chosen’s voice was powerful, as if his words carried the weight of the mountain underneath them. “My little experiment is nearing its end. You may rise.”

“Yes, my lord,” Valaran replied, relieved to be allowed to stand. “Soon I will take my place among the Chosen.”

“Will you?” The Chosen’s eyes focused on Valaran. The Gladiator nearly fell to his knees under that weighty gaze.

“Have I displeased you, my lord?” Valaran fought to keep a tremor from his voice.

“I created you, Valaran. You can hide nothing from me.”

Valaran waited in uncertainty. He couldn’t think of anything he had done to upset his master. He had always been very careful to stay in the Chosen’s favor.

The Chosen tilted his head, regarding Valaran as a man might regard a disobedient pet. Valaran knew that the Chosen could annihilate him with a thought. The Deliberative could not protect him here. The Grey-Robes of Volcanus were Moltar’s now.

“You have jeopardized my plans with your desire for a woman.” Moltar’s voice was grim and somber, like that of a judge repeating the most repulsive of crimes. “Thoughts of love make you weak.”

“It is not love,” Valaran answered. “She is the only one worthy of my affection and her own love is misplaced.”

“Ah yes, your petty rivalry with this Lionfang,” Moltar said with a sneer. “One would think him beneath you and yet you persist in tormenting him. Some would say that is an unforgivable weakness.”

Valaran closed his eyes, realizing his mistake. Moltar would not look upon his rivalry with Gavin as anything but a waste of time and resources. He should have known this. The Golden Giant considered begging for his life but decided against it. He waited for his doom to fall.

“You do not deny this?” the Chosen asked after some time had passed.

“No, Master, I do not. I desire Gavin’s end above all things, I cannot explain why.”

To his surprise Moltar laughed.

“I am not an indulgent lord, Valaran. The servant does not place his desires above the master’s. I have killed many like you for less.”

It was a cardinal sin in the eyes of Moltar, so Valaran bowed his head, desperate to hide his fear, wondering if the Chosen was indeed showing mercy or merely toying with him.

Moltar was smiling when Valaran dared to look up. “Happily, for you, I have received information that has shed a positive light upon your little obsession. I will allow you to pursue your little rivalry and even seek union with Sadira.”

Valaran wanted to know why, but he knew better than to question the Chosen. Instead, he asked, “How shall I do so, Master? She has already rejected my advances.”

Moltar’s voice came so thick with malice that Valaran shivered for the second time that day.

“Destroy Gavin Valcoeur. . . to get what you want is the only true measure of power.”

Thank You All! Please Read!

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for taking the time to read Immortal’s Ascent: Death and Glory! We both hope that you all had a blast and are excited to see what happens to Gavin and the others in the next book! It's only because of all of your support and excitement that we're able to work on these stories and continue to improve.

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Glossary

Ancestors: The people of the Domains engage in ancestor worship. In addition to their own family, there are famed figures from history and legend who provide a common set of religious icons for the empire as a whole. Some see the ancestors as divine, others see them as merely a focus for spirituality.

Appeal to the crowd: The symbolic appeal to the crowd has several uses in the arena and is regarded as a sacred tradition among fans of the Great Games. The spectators vote for each side, often by showing their thumbs. A single spectator can vote for all sides if they wish. Ties and Deathmatch executions are almost always resolved in this manner. The Appeal to the Crowd is one of the reasons that popularity is very important to a Gladiator.

AR: [After Reckoning]. In the Domains time is measured from the end of the Reckoning.

Arenabound: The Covenant name for Gladiators.

Armodon: Armodons are a humanoid species with some Rhinoceros features. They are much larger than humans and have thick, tough skin and a single prominent horn. Some Armodons have, bristly hair on their heads, although this is not the case with Omodo. Armodons, like Minotaurs, are a Mageborn species created during the Reckoning and frequently suffer from prejudice because of their origins (see Nullifiers).

Armor and objectification: Gladiator armor exposes a great deal more flesh than would be purely practical. With the fabrication techniques available in the Domains even light armor class Gladiators could cover their entire bodies in strong, light metal alloys and enduring fabrics. Yet even the strongest heavy class Gladiators must expose at least a third of their body surface in the arena.

Part of this is to make the fight more exciting, the crowds do not want to see nigh invulnerable steel-clad behemoths bashing each other around to little effect; they want to see blood, and having exposed flesh is a near guarantee of red on the sand.

In many of the ancient cultures that existed before the Domains, one on one combat was emphasized over mass melee, and wearing less armor was considered a sign of courage. Finally, and most importantly Gladiator armor is about individual style, and some fighters opt for armor that shows more skin for various reasons, including increasing their popularity with the arena-going crowds. Both male and female Gladiators are heavily objectified in the Domains.

Armor Class/Weight Class: [Light, Medium, Heavy] During their early training Gladiators choose an armor class in which to specialize. This is occasionally referred to as weight class. The term is somewhat misleading because it refers to the weight and coverage of the armor, not that of the Gladiator. It is therefore possible to have a Quickling heavy armor class and an Ogre light armor class.

Artifice: A form of magic developed after the Reckoning. Artifice deals with machines and other devices. The “artifice revolution” has greatly increased quality of life in the Domains through technological advancement. Artificers are never Gladiators, since their form of magic is not directly useful in the arena. Artifice is seen as a more modern, measurable, and rational approach to magic by most people in the Domains.

Attuning/Attunement: A Person must attune to a rune, Lapidomantic gem, or enchanted item to make full use of the magic within. This is a relatively quick process for the Gifted.

Basic Training: [Training] A Gladiator’s basic training consists of conditioning, selecting an armor class, magic class, and training class. Training also includes live weapons and fully powered spells and is considered brutal by some citizens of the Domains.

Battle Magic: [Remedial Magic] Some Gladiators take to conditioning too well and develop weaker Thune, or simply invest too much of their magic in Sui-Thaiune enhancements. These Gladiators are taught a broad array of simple spells known as the Battle Magic form. It is not a true form, but rather draws on other forms.

Charger: [Aggressor, sub of Training Class] Young Gladiators with offensively oriented mindsets are trained as Chargers. Chargers take the fight to the enemy and win by attacking, pure and simple.

Channel/Channelling: Channelling is the description for how Gifted will stop to draw upon additional Thaom to energize their magic. More experienced Gifted can draw upon power faster and have a higher maximum capacity. Gladiators are trained to do draw Thaom unconsciously so that they can still fight while casting spells, but stopping to Channel allows them to accumulate it faster. Gladiators are more vulnerable while channelling and the additional Thaom can have visual effects.

Chosen: The Chosen are the rulers of the Domains. They are immensely powerful Gifted who have full use of their magic and can draw on additional power from the Oathstone of Krass. Some of them, referred to as the Elder Chosen, have been around since before the Reckoning. Every Chosen that has been added since the Reckoning has been a Champion of the Arena. All of the Chosen have sworn the Oath of the Covenant. Originally the Chosen were limited in number to 100 and new Chosen were only added when the old ones died. Because the Domains are expanding, and Gladiators become rebellious if regular championships are not held, new Chosen have been added every 50 years starting in AR 1000.

Clockwork: Any mechanical automaton in the Domains is called a clockwork, often erroneously.

Cogimancy: Cogimancy is the discipline of magic that deals with thought processes and the brain. Gladiators use Cogimancy for quick mental communication and coordination between team-mates. Cogimancy spells can be used to enhance personal focus, cause headaches and confusion, create hallucinations, read emotions and thoughts, and attack with potent mental blasts. Presumably Cogimancy can be used therapeutically to cure all sorts of mental illnesses, but that does not really fall under the purview of a Gladiator.

Conditioning: [part of Basic Training] Gifted who choose the path of the Gladiator are subject to harsh physical and mental conditioning. They take up a regimen of athletic exercise that would destroy a normal person, forcing them to use Sui-Thaiune to enhance their physique to supernatural levels. They are injured in every way possible, to teach their bodies to heal and their minds to overcome pain. They are even killed and brought back to life with the Keystone, so that they do not flinch from death. Some feel this training is monstrous, especially since it begins during childhood, while others feel it is the only ordeal that can make responsible Chosen.

Covenant, the: The basic set of laws that governs magic, the Chosen, and the Gifted in the Domains. The Covenant was drawn up by the people of Krass, led by Ezuis, during the Reckoning. The Chosen are forced to swear a magical oath to uphold and abide by the Covenant.

Deathmatch: A Deathmatch is an arena match where one or more of the fighters faces death.  In a Deathmatch the Gifted who accepts the Deathmatch condition does not attune to the Keystone. Deathmatches must be sanctioned by the Deliberative, which ensures that they are as fair as possible, and the Gladiators must agree to the fight publicly, in front of the crowd before the fight begins. Deathmatches are often used to execute Scornbound and some criminals. Two things are important to note in Deathmatches: The risk is not always equal, in some Deathmatches only one side or participant risks death. Most Deathmatches end in an appeal to the crowd in which mercy is shown to the loser if they fought well.

Defender: [sub of Training Class] Young Gladiators who are oriented toward protecting others or lacking in direct aggression are trained as defenders. Defenders concentrate on outlasting their enemies and protecting their friends. Defenders frequently use shields. They are the least popular of with arena crowds.

Deliberative, the: The Deliberative is the body that oversees magic and the Gifted in the Domains. Many of the officers of the Deliberative are Gifted, even former gladiators. The Deliberative is not under the control of the Chosen, but rather upholds the Covenant. It takes a unified act of the People’s Assembly and the Council of the Chosen to overrule the Deliberative. The Deliberative has a strained relationship with some of the Chosen, who see it as intrusive.

Wearing the color grey is reserved for officers of the Deliberative.

Dirty Fighting: [Schools] This school of fighting codifies every mean, nasty dirty trick imaginable that can be used in the arena. It is popular among Skirmishers.

Domain: A Domain is the personal territory of a Chosen. It is analogous in many ways to a province or state. Quite a few Domains have their own people’s assemblies and act relatively democratically while a small minority are rather despotic. At least one Domain is more akin to a nature preserve.

Domainbound: The Covenant name for the Chosen. It is rarely used since reminding a Chosen than they are bound by anything takes some moxie.

Domains of The Chosen: [The Domains] The Domains of the Chosen refers to the collective of all of the Domains, the free holds, captured territories, and Krass.

Druidic Magic/Druidism: Magic dealing with nature, instinct, and life-force. Druidic spells can be used for physical enhancement, healing and growth. Plant magics often fall under this discipline, but Scholars often debate that they should be considered an aligned category rather than a sub-category.

Dwarf: The dwarf species is shorter, broader and stouter than other peoples of the Domains with remarkably dense bones.

Elementalism: A school of magic based on the idea that the four elements (air, earth, fire, water) are the building blocks of reality. Elementalism has a wide variety of spells and numerous sub-disciplines, like Pyromancy. In the arena Elementalism is a crowd favourite due to its spectacular spells.

Execution: Most Deathmatches are supposed to end in execution. The Gladiator subdues their opponent and then makes an appeal to the crowd. The winning Gladiator can encourage the audience to vote one way or another, if they wish. The Gladiator can always refuse to execute, although they risk losing popularity defying the will of the crowd.

Ezuis: [The Founder, Blessed Ezuis, The First Champion of the People] Ezuis was the man who suggested that the surviving Gifted be allowed to enter Krass if they swore to follow the Covenant. He is the prophet and father figure of the Domains, and many people pray to him for guidance and regard him in a spiritual manner. He was ungifted, but profoundly knowledgeable, old and wise by the time the Reckoning ended. There is some evidence that he was the one who ordered the walls of Krass reinforced in preparation for the great storms at the end of the Reckoning. The official story is that he retired to the Isles of the Dawn and lived a monastic life before dying of natural causes.

Factions: [The Blues/Ambrosians, The Reds/Blood of the Covenant, The Greens/Gaianites, The Orange/Guilders United] The popular factions are basically political parties that arose naturally out of the interaction of the Great Games and the popular assemblies. The are generally referred to by their faction colours rather than their proper names. They are somewhat more pervasive than modern political parties. Imagine if politics, entertainment, and sports intermingled more than they do in present day. The Factions are loosely based off Byzantine groups as well as modern politics.

- The Blues/Ambrosians: The faction of individualism and personal excellence. Favoured by the powerful, the Ambrosians arose to give wealthy citizens a chance to promote their interests in the games. Initially they mostly opposed the Chosen.

- The Reds/Blood of the Covenant/Covenantists: The populist faction. The proper name of the faction, Blood of the Covenant, was outlawed in 697 AR after a lengthy debate about allowing one group to claim to be the descendants of the original Krassians.

- The Oranges/Guilders United: A breakaway faction from the Reds. At the time the Red Faction ignored smaller cities and guilds and so the Oranges broke away in 851 AR. It is a very strong union faction.

- The Greens/Gaianites: The peace, healing, and unity faction. Founded in 958 AR, the Gaianites seek an end to imperialistic expansion.

Faultless Blade, the: [School] This complex school teaches that self-mastery, understanding, and discipline are the true path of a gladiator.

Form: A form is a school of magic, or a type of magic. The Domains are home to several forms of magic, but Gifted outside the Domains have their own forms as well.

Gifted: Those who develop the full “gift” of magic are called the Gifted. The Gifted can actively draw on Thaom and perceive and manipulate magical patterns with Thune. The Gifted can perform great feats of magic, and can improve their skills over time, with some of them approaching godlike power. Their magic also makes them far more resilient and long lived than the ungifted. The Gift is not hereditary and cannot be detected until after early childhood.

Girded: [Magic] Girding prevents a gifted from weaving spells deemed too destructive by the Deliberative. Taskbound and Watchbound exchange their freedom for service and having their Gift girded. Gladiators, especially novices, often look down on any Gifted who has been girded, possibly because they fear it.

Gladiator: Gladiators in the Domains are Gifted who have chosen to try to win their freedom in the arena. A Gladiator can choose to retire at any time to undergo the sundering and become Taskbound. Gladiators who achieve Master Rank can become champions, join a Chosen as Lifebound, retire to teach, or retire to service as a Warbound. Other options exist but are not widely known.

Gladiatrix: A female Gladiator is called a Gladiatrix. I just like the way it sounds.

Gladiatiss: As one would expect; there are a fair number of non-binary Arenabound. Those who wish to, use the term Gladiatiss to convey this to their fans.

Glamour: Glamour is a very low Thaom magic that is used to create cosmetic alterations. Most glamours are the equivalent of dusting or putting on makeup, simple tasks that are done very swiftly via magic. Glamour can only be used on one's own pattern or inanimate objects. A high Thune Glamour could be use for something as complex as sharpening a weapon or polishing leather, and Glamours are very frequently used to speed up the tasks of Taskbound.

Grey-Robe: Common slang term for officers of the Deliberative. They are called Grey-Robes because they always wear grey, and their dress uniform is a robe.

Heavy: [sub of Armor Class] A Heavy Gladiator wears armor that covers 40-66% percent of their body surface and weighs between 33-75% of their body weight. Heavy Gladiators are trained to take advantage of the additional protection of their armor by positioning the armored parts of their bodies to take an impact. They are also trained to use the additional weight the armor gives them to great advantage when charging or holding position.

Scornbound: Any Gifted who breaks the Covenant is called Scornbound.

Honoured Gladiator/Honoured Gladiatrix: Gladiator is an official title in the Domains but when more respect needs to be shown people use an ancient honorific which is designated as “Honoured Gladiator” in the book.

Enduring Bulwark School: [Iron Bulwark, School] The Enduring Bulwark School teaches advanced shield use and defensive positioning.

Keystone: A Keystone is a powerful device that can essentially preserve the life-force and recreate the bodies of anyone attuned to it. It allows Gladiators to survive injuries in the arena, including those which would normally be fatal. Keystones have many limitations, such as size, massive power requirements, and limited effective distance. In a Deathmatch the Gladiator does not attune to the Keystone.

Lapidomancy: Gem based crafting magic.

Lifebound: A gifted who swears an oath to serve and guard one of the Chosen is called a Lifebound.

Light: [sub of Armor Class] Light Gladiators wear armor that covers 10-33% of their body surface and weighs up to 17% (one sixth to be exact) of their body weight. Light Gladiators rely on mobility and speed above all. Where their lack of armor hurts them most is in situations where mobility is limited.

Light-Elf: The ancient elves warred amongst each other long before the Reckoning, but have set their animosity aside. Light Elves seem to glow with a soft inner light. All Light-Elves can see through illusions to a certain extent.

Link Crystal: The link crystal is what artificers did with magic mirrors and scrying pools. It is a device that is analogous to a modern smart-phone in many ways. Gladiators are not allowed full use of Link Crystals, for fear of them organizing a rebellion.

Lost One: What the Wirn call the Gifted of the Domains. The term implies that there is some other type of Gifted than the Wirn do not think are lost, which most people assume is a reference to the rare Wirn who have the gift themselves. The Wirn go out of their way to capture gifted alive.

Luminescence: A form of magic based around the manipulation and creation of light. Invisibility, blindness flashing, and beam attacks are popular spells in this form.

Master: A Master is any gladiator who has passed their Ranking Match for the 10th rank. Masters are eligible to become war-bound or teach. To be invited to a championship, one must be a Master Ranked Gladiator.

Match type: There are many different rules variations, and challenges in the Great Games. Slaughter matches pit the Gladiators against a number of creatures, which they must kill as quickly and spectacularly as possible. Survival matches require the Gladiators to hold out against an increasing number of foes until a time limit is reached. Some match types resemble games or local pastimes, like bull baiting. As always, the Deliberative must approve of a match before it is allowed.

Maw, the: The Maw is the “god” of the Wirn.

Medium: [sub of Armor Class] Medium Gladiators wear armor that covers 33% to 50% of their body surface and weighs 25%-33% of their body weight. They are more versatile than lights or heavies.

Minotaur: [Tauran] Minotaurs are a species that have bovine features. They are larger than humans and have horns and hooves. They are “Mageborn” created during the Reckoning and are treated with prejudice in many areas of the Domains because of their connection to magic.

Necromancy: Necromancy is a form of magic that deals with death, decay, and the after-life. Once considered a “dark art” necromancy in the Domains is surprisingly commonplace, although still subject to prejudice. Hazardous tasks are often performed by animated corpses. Necromantic curses are greatly feared in the arena, as are spells that steal life or power from the victim. Animated corpses and undead constructs are a favoured arena foe all over the Domains.

Oathstone of Krass: An ancient stone that has been used to swear oaths since before Krass was even a city. It is a tremendous repository of Thaom. The Chosen swear their oath to uphold the Covenant on this stone and can draw upon some of the magic within.

Oath, Magical: Oaths can be bound with magic. These Oaths are hard to break and can also impose consequences on Oath-breakers.

Orc: Orcs are a common sight in the Domains. As a species they have small tusks and skin in various shades of green. Orcs tend to be bigger that humans and are known to have better senses of smell and taste.

Ogre: Ogres are a massive, muscular species that look like oversized humans with heads just a little on the small side for their bodies. Ogres build muscle more easily than most peoples of the Domains and are also known for their tremendously loud voices.

Path of the Colossus: [School] This school teaches larger Gladiators how to use their size and weight to greater defensive advantage. Part of the training is additional conditioning, a special diet and Sui-Thaiune regimen that increases the Gladiator’s size and muscle mass. This school was once taught only to students of Chosen Moltar, before School reforms.

Path of the Brutal Executioner: [School] A favoured school for those who use heavy two-handed weapons. The school teaches Gladiators how to channel all of their power, both physical and magical into blows of terrific force. The School also teaches a few special ways to execute opponents in Deathmatches.

Path of the Juggernaut: [School] This school teaches the Gladiator how to use their size and weight to overpower lesser foes. Part of the training is additional conditioning and a special diet that increases the Gladiator’s size and muscle mass.

Pattern: [Spell-Weave, Spell-Pattern] The pattern is best thought of as the “set of instructions” that translates channelled power into a spell. Most objects have a natural pattern which allows objects to be directly manipulated by magic. The patterns of an object can be altered in a number of permanent, interesting ways.

Pyromancy: [School] A school of Elementalism dealing with powerful fire and concussive spells. Very popular in the Southern deserts, and with crowds who love more destructive magic.

Quickling: A small species that resemble miniature elves or humans with large eyes. Quicklings are extremely fast, with incredible reflexes and movement speed. They also tend to talk very quickly, which leads to communications problems and prejudice.

Rank: Rank is a measure of how experienced a Gladiator is. After every five matches a Gladiator qualifies for a Ranking Match. The Ranking Match is supervised by the Deliberative and often involves unusual elements. Failure requires that the Gladiator repeat the test before moving on in Rank. It is possible to win the match and yet still fail to earn the Rank since the test may involve a hidden objective that the Gladiator is not aware of. One can also lose a match and still pass the test. There is a great deal of mystique surrounding Ranking Matches. Some Chosen want to see them done away with.

Racism: Racism does exist in the Domains, but takes a different form than in traditional fantasies where each species tends to have its own separate cultures and space. The Reckoning forced all of the surviving peoples to work together. In most Domains, the peoples live in a fairly cosmopolitan arrangement. They are forced to tolerate each other by law and most enjoy interacting with each other; some still cling to prejudices old and new. However, the species in Bloodlust are not conscious allegories for any particular real-world groups.

Reckoning, the: The Reckoning is the pivotal event in the history of the Domains, and the world as it is known. It started as an apocalyptic series of battles, wars, and duels between various Gifted of tremendous power. As more and more magic was released into the world, including spells of mass-destruction and experimental magics of last resort, unpredictable wild magic and tainted magic began to wreak havoc. This culminated in a massive storm of wild magic that swept even the Gifted away. Only Krass is known to have survived intact; those caught without shelter were destroyed or tainted. The effects of the Reckoning were so dire that they still linger over a thousand years later.

Runes: Runes are an ancient magical alphabet used to enchant items in the Domains.

Seeking Spear School: [School] A school of spear fighting that emphasizes the versatility of the weapon. The special grip techniques are particularly impressive, allowing the Gladiator to take full advantage of the weapon’s reach with only one hand.

Shadow-Elf: Shadow elves are an offshoot of Light Elves created by a magical cataclysm long ago. They are better adapted to darkness and the underground. They tend to be either dark-skinned with white or silver hair or pale-skinned with dark hair but their colouration is not hereditary, rather it seems to be linked to their innate ability to manipulate shadows.

Spell-Weave/Spell-Pattern: All things have a magical pattern, made up of strands of Thune. The more stable the thing the stronger the weave. A spell is made up of Thaom energy pushed through a spell-weave that the caster makes from their own Thune. A caster who has strong Thune can keep a pattern stable even after casting a spell, reusing that pattern by directing more Thaom through it.

Disruption: A Gifted who is strong in Thune can disrupt patterns. This can destroy spells or interfere with their casting. The stronger a pattern is, the harder it is to disrupt. Enchantments are harder than spells, with body-sculpting and natural patterns being extremely difficult.

School: [Discipline, Path] Gladiators spend much of their time learning new ways of fighting and new magical theories as they train and advance in rank. The most complex of these are akin to martial arts with complete underlying philosophies and multiple ranks of advancement, but even the simplest teach an entirely new set of moves or spells and represents a major undertaking for a Gladiator. Schools are presided over by Master Gladiators.

Skirmisher: [clown, sub of Training Class] Skirmishers are the class clowns and socialites of basic training. They are not as straightforwardly aggressive or defensive as their peers, and rely on their ability to uncover and exploit their opponent’s weaknesses to win. Skirmishers often come out of basic training with a better understanding of how to play to the crowd and tactics than their peers.

Sun and Moon School: [School] A simple school that teaches a variety of two weapon fighting techniques, with a balance of offence and defence. The school is noted for its flowing, circular style.

Tauran: see Minotaur

Tap out: When a Gladiator is killed or incapacitated in a regular match it is called tapping out.

Tainted: Magic that has been altered in an uncontrollable and undesirable fashion is called tainted. Tainted is also used to describe lands or creatures that were altered by such magic in the reckoning.

Thaom: Thaom is a rating of how swiftly a Gifted can call on magical power. Most spells require a set amount of Thaom to cast. Thaom is rated by a Gifted’s average time to cast the prime spells of the mystic form. All Gifted can sense Thaom and channel it to use magic. Thaom is channelled.

- Ur-Thaom: The maximum amount of magical power that a Gladiator can channel at once. This is highly subjective and theoretical for each Gifted since it can be pushed to the point where it can harm or kill the wielder.

- Benefits of High Thaom: healing factor, senses, and physical prowess increase slowly as Thaom increases. Even the least physically capable Gladiator is much stronger than a normal person and can regenerate from near fatal wounds while a Chosen or a Master Gladiator are super-heroic. Other benefits can accrue based on the forms the Gifted relies on.

- Progression

- Gavin is quite proud of his initial Thaom measure of 7, but is shocked to learn that Sadira’s is 11. The average for a novice Gladiator is 5.

- A Master Ranked Gladiator averages five times more Thaom than an average Novice Gladiator. They can keep up a steady flow of powerful spells.

- A Chosen can have more than twenty times more Thaom than a starting Gladiator. At this level even people without the Gift can sense their power and they wield can immensely powerful magics.

Thoughtstream: The Wirn have a common mind link which they call the Thoughtstream. It is not perfect information sharing of all thoughts and sensory input, but it is powerful. The Maw prowls the thoughtstream as well.

Thune: Thune is the term for a Gifted’s ability to weave spell patterns. Thune applies to all forms taught in the Domains of the Chosen and most pre-reckoning forms of magic. Gifted with high Thune can weave complex spells faster. Some spells are simply impossible for those without a developed Thune. Thune is woven. Thune is more difficult to rate than Thaom, especially since some Gladiators show special aptitude for certain spell patterns that lets them cast at a much higher Thune, but there are certain benchmarks.

- Multiple Weaves: High Thune Gifted can maintain multiple spell-weaves.

- Spell Shifts: Adding additional Thune into a spell-weave to change certain characteristics is called a shift. Gladiators with higher Thune can add multiple shifts to a spell.

- Progression

- Thune varies considerably more than Thaom. Even the Chosen are often more interested in brute power (Thaom) than swiftly casting complex spells.

- Gavin has pretty strong Thaom and learns to create multiple spell weaves before most Gladiators.

Time Limits: Most matches have time limits, which are set when the match is drawn up. Time limits are intended to prevent a match from stagnating and boring the crowd. The winner of a match that reaches the time limit is determined by appeal to the crowd if need be. If a match is especially exciting the time limit can be increased. If a Deathmatch reaches the time limit the Gladiators still appeal to the crowd for victory, but the loser is not killed. Interestingly, since the introduction of time limits, there have been almost no fatalities in Deathmatch duels between the Chosen.

Transportation: Horses and sea vessels remain the main method of transportation in the Domains. Magical roads remain free of obstacles even during winter months and some can even enhance the speed of living creatures that use them. Specially bred and enchanted horses provide those who can afford with mobility that would rival a modern sports car. Steam-wagons are becoming more common, especially for mass-transport of heavy goods and in areas where climate makes horses less effective. Airships and rail transportation do exist, but Gladiators are rarely allowed to use them due to their role in past rebellions. Exotic mounts exist as well, but mostly in the hands of the Chosen and the Legions. It is known that prior to the reckoning, gate travel, teleportation between two huge magical devices, was possible.

Trolls: Trolls flourished during the Reckoning. They can survive nearly any injury, regenerating much like a Gladiator. They are also highly resistant to magic. The common variety of troll is a big, bulky humanoid with thick, craggy skin. Trolls are the only known intelligent race that does not have the Gift.

Twisting, the: The twisting is a form of Thune disruption common to the Wirn. Even Ungifted Wirn are skilled in the Twisting, as long as they are linked to the Thoughtstream and The Maw.

Ungifted: The Ungifted are those who do not have the ability to sense magic.

Taskbound: Taskbound are Gifted who undergo the sundering instead of becoming a Gladiator. Taskbound are far more common than any other form of Gifted.

Victory Coins: [VC] Victory Coins are a special form of currency used by Gladiators. They were created to prevent a Gladiator with wealthy backers from buying their way to a Championship by purchasing magical weapons and enchantments that would give them a tremendous advantage. Gladiators gain a certain amount of VC every match and can gain bonuses based on performance and the crowd’s reactions as well. Gladiators can only use items purchased with VC from Deliberative approved shops in the arena. Gladiators can also receive cash for popular matches and gifts from fans, but these cannot be used in the same way as VC. The VC system does favour popular Gladiators, like Sadira or Valaran, and is held up as a sign of democracy in action in the arena.

Warbound: A Gifted who swears to serve the Legions in battle is called Warbound. Warbound must be at least Rank 8 as a Gladiator before joining. Many Gladiators retire to join the Legions.

War-Dance: [Battle-dance, School] A complex school that teaches Gladiators a series of moves that flow together like a dance. Tribal battle-dances feature movements that mimic animals while Formal battle-dance follows traditional dancing. Both are difficult to master and only appeal to agile Gladiators with a strong sense of showmanship. Crowds love War-dancers.

Watchbound: The Covenant name for Grey-robes.

Wirn: The Wirn are a tainted race that once made war on the Domains. Wirn feed off magical power and can taint spell patterns. When a Wirn feeds it sends some of the power to an external source.