"Servant of Empire" - Ch 25

The guards who escorted us here paired up with us, taking us each firmly by the arm.

Cannon muscled out of the grip. “Just show me where, you clot,” he growled. “I’m ready.”

I stared at the hand holding me, then glanced up to meet the gaze of the guard.

“Really?” I asked. “I was fighting before your oldest grandfather shit his first pants. Lead the way.”

He let me go, looking a little confused. I expect he was trying to figure out how his grandparents worked into the equation.

From the room radiated several other corridors, and down these we were taken individually. Torches every twenty yards or so provided some slight illumination. Every so often, a side corridor led in the direction of the Stadium.

We reached one side passage, and my guard led me down it. He gestured that I should proceed deeper. I shrugged and proceeded down the hole. It sloped gently as I continued, and after a little distance it widened out into a small room with a level floor.

Mahar was waiting inside.

“Oh, for fucksake,” I muttered, drawing Sybarron. The purple afterimage caught his attention, and his eyes followed it meticulously.

“Hold on, now,” he said with a smile. “I’m not fighting today, unless you have serious plans right now.” He held up his hands, open wide, and turned a full circle. He wore no weapons, and his tail curled around gracefully as he did. The bindings on his horns actually gave off a faint glow in the dimly-lit room.

“May I?” He pointed at his vest slowly.

I hefted the sword and nodded, saying nothing.

“That’s not your original service weapon, now,” He said. He reached into an interior pocket, and withdrew a wooden whistle on a leather thong.

I nodded, “No, this is a little something special I picked up along the way.”

He nodded. “Still got your issued weapon?”

“Yes, back in my rooms. Not about to give up Imperial standard, it’s a fine sword.”

“Might not be anything better these days, you know,” he looked at it contemplatively. “Though I’ve heard the Smith is still at his forge. When this is all over, let’s talk again, I might have something in our armory.”

“That won’t really help me now, will it?”

“Fair point.” Holding the whistle out to me, he said “You might have need of this out there.”

I sheathed the weapon and took the whistle from him.

“Hell’s Gates, but you’re jumpy,” he said.

“Fighting your people today, I’d have thought that’s necessary.”

He nodded. “Yes, they’re tough. But I picked our team to suit our purpose. Not so sure about that troll though, he’s a lot bigger than the fellow I had lined up for you.”

I grimaced. “I hate those damned things.”

He crinkled his nose. “Me too, can’t stand the smell. Come to think of it, you have a bit of the whiff to you. Fought one before while wearing this stuff, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “Can’t seem to get the stink out, but it’s the only armor I have. No one takes Suns these days.”

“You actually have Suns?”

“Discharged with a few, never had a chance to use them.”

He snorted loudly. “It really is you, I still can’t believe it. I thought the only ones of us that could make it this far had to pick the Legion.”

“All things being equal, my road isn’t all fun and games. I still can’t believe everything is gone.”

He eyed me sideways. “Yes, that must still be quite a shock. Our people don’t know how to fight nearly as well as they used to. And you were up there with the best, even if you weren’t as good as me.” He winked as he said this.

I cocked my head slightly, but I left the question unasked.

“Wait a second,” I said. “You had someone picked out for me, but the big troll took his place.”

“Yes?”

“Something changed in your force selection?”

“So very military! I prefer the term ‘lineup’ for occasions like this.”

“But something changed last-minute?”

“I had a new client who hired out two squads from me, something of a rush job and needing some very serious ‘Uncle Bigbad’.”

“So that’s where the big troll stepped in?”

He nodded. “After that little scene upstairs, he insisted on participating. He really doesn’t like your tall friend.”

“Friend might be a bit of a stretch,” I said.

He frowned. “You travel with these people, but they aren’t your friends?”

“I’m still new to all this. I’m friendly with them, but I don’t know if I can use the word ‘friend’ yet. Given the circumstances, I know you better than anyone else I’ve met since I got here, and as I recall we were friends once upon a time, weren’t we?”

He smiled. “We were indeed. Are.”

“So what’s this for?” I held the whistle up.

“Emergencies,” he said, deadpan. “Anyway, good luck today, and no hard feelings.”

“None at all, unless I get killed, in which case I’ll make it a personal mission to curse your days.”

“Fair enough.” He didn’t even wait for me to say thanks before he made his exit, going up the tunnel through which I’d entered.

I saw the other side of the room more clearly now that I wasn’t focused on him, its empty walls carved roughly. The single torch burning steadily on the side.

And the silver portcullis that covered the heavy wooden door on the far wall. Silver, of course, iron and steel were deadly poison to the Fae.

I went to one knee, closing my eyes and reaching out with my inner senses. My old training kicked in, and I felt the armor, felt the sword, and I muttered a short officers’ enchantment, just a thickening of air around me. The air would feel any arrows coming my way and gently push them off, ruining the aim of an assassin or someone trying to decapitate a unit. It drew power from me personally, but only a sip.

I raised my eyes to the gate again, beginning a battlechant to get my heart going.

As soon as my eyes fixed on it, the beaten silver gateway began to clatter upwards into the ceiling. The thick wooden door beyond it swung wide into a dark chamber.

Time to go.

Once I had clearance, I jogged beneath the portcullis and into the corridor beyond, readying my bow and nocking an arrow. I saw ahead another wide double-door slowly opening out onto the sandy floor of the Stadium.

An enormous roar of the crowd in the stands around me filled my ears, the seats lit by regularly-spaced torches and filled by all manner of creature.

I drew my bow and nocked an arrow as I walked out into the open. It looked a lot different up close. The metal walls were ten yards high, and the pits equally wide. I couldn’t even tell what kind of metal it was, it had a bluish tint and a dark lustre. The smoke rising from the flaming pits obscured view, and I could not see any doors other than the two adjacent to my own.

Both were open, and their occupants were standing in front of them, scanning the terrain as I was.

Neither of them was a friend.

To my right, I recognized Natha, her serpent hair calmly writhing around her scalp as she scanned the terrain. To my left, an extremely large Shadrim hefting a broadsword jogged in place. He saw me and grinned, beginning to walk confidently towards me.

I smiled back and started running towards him, drawing back and loosing my first shaft. It went wide, narrowly missing his left shoulder. As it did, I saw an echo of my missile slide past me from behind. Natha’s first shot, foiled by my spell.

My second arrow, in my hand and on the string before the first had even missed, found a good mark. The swordsman, perhaps a bit too proud for his own good, tried to deflect it with his wide blade and failed. The point sailed cleanly past the sword and buried itself in his chest, probably piercing his right lung.

The look of surprise and frustration on his face didn’t really convey the pain he was probably feeling, but they passed quickly as he realized he was at a serious disadvantage, and quite probably would pay for it with his life. He grasped the shaft with his left hand and yanked it roughly from him, I assume hoping that he’d be freer to move once he did. Or perhaps it was just an overdose of bravado.

Mahar was right, they didn’t know how to fight properly. When a medic isn’t available and you have to keep fighting, you either leave the damn thing alone, push it completely through, or you grasp it at the base and snap it off to get it out of the way.

When he pulled it out, he only compounded the damage, dragging the sharp fishhook-tips out and creating all new bleeding.

But he was still big, and still had a very big sword. And he wouldn’t bleed to death for at least a few minutes, which I didn’t have.

I was already close enough to him, and threw my bow at his face. While it crossed the distance, and as he fended it away, I drew Sybarron and my new dagger, its faint silvery tracing and coppery tone glinting in the light of the fires around us.

I came in with a slash at his gut, which he struggled to parry low with his huge broadsword. The arrow injury took its toll on him, and his blade dipped into the sand, dragging a trench across the ground.

Unencumbered by such injury, my feint altered course, riding high over the pommel of his blocking move, and Sybarron’s point rode the bones of his arm from wrist to shoulder. The cut began to bleed almost immediately, and as the realization struck him that he was beaten, I settled the edge of my blade against his neck.

Sybarron’s glassy blade glittered in the firelight, and I could see that its appearance was creating almost as much anxiety as his injuries. I decided to take a short gamble, perhaps save myself a bit of effort in this fight. I slowed my pace to a deliberate march forward, purposeful and furious.

I didn’t really need any acting skills for this.

“I give you one choice now. Throw your weapons into the pit and return to your starting room, or I kill you here and now, my sword will drink your soul. When this fight is done, I own you, or…” I paused for effect. “You. End. Forever.” I emphasized the last three words drawing Sybarron back and into a high poise to strike, fury and rage spitting the words in tiny damp flecks which fell on the sand before me.

At that moment another arrow sailed over my head, spinning around its lengthwise axis and tumbling, to land clumsily in the sand behind him.

His eyes followed the arrow, and then back to Sybarron, and then up to me. I could see the fear, the loyalty, the confusion battling out on his face.

“I’d rather not kill one of my own, son,” I said quietly, just enough that he could hear me. “Trust me, this is better.”

He squinted his eyes shut tightly, and cast his broadsword towards the nearest pit, which flamed brightly. The sword didn’t make it, but his intention was clear. He looked back up at me.

“Go,” I said, never lowering Sybarron. “Get to the room and stay there. Get those looked at,” I gestured to his wounds.

He nodded, shame emanating palpably, and staggered to his feet. He stumbled off towards the door he’d emerged from.

I turned towards the stands and raised my hands victoriously. “VITEZSTVI!” Victory, I screamed in old Vorus, and lowered my dagger to point at the retreating Shadrim.

Some portion of the crowd found this entertaining, if the screaming horde that rose from their seats was any indication.

I then turned to Natha, just in time to see her centering a shot from only twenty feet away at my midriff. She had her helm on, the smoked lenses still closed. As she reached full draw, one of the serpent-hairs on her head lowered to reach the head of the arrow, envenoming it with a kiss that seemed almost loving.

Officer charm or no, from that range a dead-center shot would go through me. I turned my left side to her, going onto guard position and presenting a minimal target area. The point of Sybarron leveled with her eye, and I forced myself to focus my gaze on her fingers.

I saw the faint movement in her hand, and I twisted in the best impression of a snake I could manage, moving to one side. The enchantment kicked in as soon as the arrow whispered close to me, and the missile gently passed to my left. First, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then, the rage in me rose up, the back of my right hand burning me. Was that memory or was something happening beneath my glove? I couldn’t tell.

I moved towards her, Sybarron raised above my left shoulder, point extended directly towards her.

She slung her bow back over her shoulder, and drew a wicked-looking skinny blade in her right hand. She reached with her other hand for the whip she’d had in the town square when we first met.

“Come on, then,” I said. Sybarron left faint purple echoes in the air, and once her whip came out I assumed a strict guard position to reduce the presentation of area on my primary hand for her whip. Point extended, and side-on, I began to approach her. My off-hand, with its Elvish dagger, wavered on my right.

Once we were in range, she started lashing at my face with that whip. I had to dodge fast, and parry occasionally with Sybarron, to keep from being blinded by the tip of it. Even moving steadily, she still opened up a good cut on my forehead. The blood of the cut trickled into my vision, mixed with sweat, which occasionally took my vision to a blur.

Still, I pressed forward.

I could hear the sounds of fighting off to my left, across the arena, but couldn’t spare a second to look. I think I heard a whistle blow a few times, but I was entirely too focused here. If I did anything to pay any less attention, Natha would have a clean shot with that whip and I’d probably lose an eye.

She backed off as I pressed forward, and I pressed the momentum, forcing her back to where the wall met one of the flame-filled trenches.

As soon as her back foot met the wall, she altered her whip’s target. This time, she went for my leading left leg.

I couldn’t react in time and the whip wrapped itself around my calf, tiny spikes digging into the flesh. Worse still, she yanked back as hard as she could, which pulled the leg out from under me. I went down, legs splayed before and behind me almost in a split, both hands keeping me from face-planting.

As soon as I was down, she charged me with that skinny, wicked little blade. She threw the handle of the whip aside and raced at me, blade held forward and high.

The fingers of my right hand went spider, holding me up, while my left gripped Sybarron to twirl a fast disengage followed by a binding parry, driving the point of her weapon down and left of my center mass. She couldn’t halt the force of her own charge in time, and Sybarron drove hard into her right bicep and through the meat of her shoulder, just under the main artery. I felt it halt against the inside of her armor once it exited her back, and I pivoted my grip to guide her landing onto the sand in front of me.

When she hit, I heard the sizzle-crack of thunder, as of a storm bolt ripping the air asunder and striking violently nearby.

She landed hard on her left side, rolling slightly back, and her left hand shot towards her face. I had to assume she was going to try to flip her visor in order to get me to meet her fatal gaze.

I screamed and flung myself clumsily onto her middle, Sybarron still pinioning her like a butterfly pinned to a card, and my right hand grasped her wrist halfway up. I had to yank both our hands back as she lurched and tried to get her snake-hair into biting range.

“Can’t have that, now,” I grunted in a whisper, more to myself than to her. Her hands were trapped, her visor still down. But if I let her go, her vision would be a threat to all of my companions.

As much a monster as she might have been, I still didn’t want to kill her outright. Her right hand was gripping my hand around the hilt of Sybarron, and her feet were scrabbling for purchase.

“Much as I should do, I won’t kill you now,” I said. “But I also can’t leave you as a threat to my own.”

“Fuck you, Shadrim,” she hissed at me. “I’ll burn you!”

“Yeah, okay,” I said. I lurched up, and brought my weight down on my right knee, direcly on her upper left arm. I felt the bone give way with a clean snap, and she shrieked with the pain of it.

“Sorry,” I offered. I understood the rage she felt, the heat of battle being what it is. I then wrenched Sybarron out of her, blue blood slathered on its blade. She screamed again, weaker this time. I moved my knee up to her neck, stepping on the nearest “hair” with my other foot, and held there until I was certain she’d gone unconscious. I was fairly sure her wounds were not immediately fatal, but they were certainly debilitating. I gathered up my dagger, sheathing it and Sybarron, and jogged back to pick up my bow. Once again I raised an arm to the crowd, and was greeted with another round of cheers.

I turned to the rest of the arena.

I couldn’t see anyone else yet, just two great sliding metal walls and the flames of one of the pits blocking any view I had. Something flashed with a distant whomp sound, behind one of the sliding barriers. The crowd in the stands gave a round of applause, which I assumed was directly related.

I sheathed Sybarron, nocked an arrow and half-drew as I continued towards the other side. I carefully slid along one side of the fire, stepping over the defeated Shadrim’s discarded broadsword. Hastily shoving my hair and blood out of my vision again, I took a peek around the corner to see if I could assess the goings-on beyond this flaming pit.

As I did, I caught a glimpse of movement behind me.

Natha. She’d somehow got to her feet, and was charging me, head-on. Her bleeding right arm clutched her broken left to her chest, and the grimace of pain on what I could see of her face told me of the determination she held.

I skipped off to my left, loosing a shaft that sailed over her back, and brought my bow around to strike her feet. The tip of it dug into the sand in front of her, and tripped her off-balance. As she passed, I swiped with the bow against her broken arm, and that sent her to the ground.

But her forward motion was too great to be stopped. She slid into the fire-pit.

I had thought she shrieked loudly when I broke her arm. That was nothing compared to what I heard then. There are some things I wish I could un-see. Un-do. Un-hear. But they will be with me forever. Her writhing, screaming death at the bottom of that pit of oil is one I would just as soon never think of again.

She had attacked me, after quarter was offered. I could not help her further.

I drew a fresh arrow – only eight left – and resumed my approach to the other side.

As I rounded the flames, and the metal wall closest to me began to recede, I caught sight of Rendo, running full-tilt towards me. His bow was in his hand still, and I drew back full to catch whatever was pursuing him.

It didn’t take long before the creature showed itself. What looked like a human followed him, two heavy blades drawn. Heavy leather covered most of his body, even the cap he wore was a studded thick hide. The man’s face had been burned some time ago, the flesh looked like so much melted wax pressed back onto his skull. Beady eyes glinted above two misshapen nostrils and a mouth that probably couldn’t close properly. His ears were misshapen lumps on either side of his head.

Three of Rendo’s arrows had already pierced the man. I could see two had probably not penetrated his leather jack, but the third had sunk halfway into his gut. He also had char-marks on his armor which looked like lightning or invoked flames had seared him very recently.

Behind him, I caught a glimpse of the prone form of Nix on the ground. Dead or unconscious, I could not tell.

I fired my arrow and again tossed my bow at my approaching opponent. This arrow of mine found no mark, biting into the dust behind him. I cursed my luck and wondered why I carried the damned thing, drawing both blades again.

Rendo sailed past me, with an out-of-breath “Help, please,” as he went. He had a gash on his left shoulder, probably from a thrown axe or dagger, and it was soaking into his clothing beneath the armor.

The tall man drew up before reaching me, and looked me up and down. I grinned and extended my arms wide in a broad slashing stance. My dagger was no match in length for the man’s second weapon, but I was already formulating a plan to get in under his attack and stab up into his crotch with the dagger while the open neck of his leather helmet would receive multiple stabs from Sybarron.

He began to approach, slowly, gauging my movements. I kept the Sybarron’s tip pointed at his right eye, weaving figure eights with my hand, and the dagger hung in the relaxed grip of my right hand. For being such a meaty weapon, Sybarron felt like a reedy rapier, its balance was so fine.

We measured each other for a few moments this way before he made his first move, a wide slash from his left hand with a quick stab over from his right. He’d been hoping to preoccupy me with one blade, only to spear my brain with the other. I withdrew a pace to remain out of range of both blades, while drawing Sybarron’s tip just over the heel of his thumb on the passing slash. I was rewarded with a hint of crimson on his glove and a frown.

We began to circle again, each looking for a chink to exploit. It didn’t take long for me to see my opportunity – the man’s armpits were unarmored, the heavy leather he wore being inflexible, the arms needed to be able to lower to his sides. That meant a few square inches of open space, and what looked like heavy duck cloth beneath. I was certain Sybarron could part that with ease.

As the man drew back to begin a new attack, I leaped in while deflecting his blades high on Sybarron, ending up crouching beneath him beside his legs. Sybarron’s tip was pointed in the right direction, and I began to stab furiously at the weak spots I’d seen.

Which is when he fell on me.

I believe I’ve mentioned that I’m not small. Granted, I’m no giant, but I’m not small. This man was considerably larger than I am, and he fell upon me like a sack of so many potatoes. I began to panic, expecting one of those long blades to slide into me from the sides at any moment. I kicked, I spit, I stabbed at him repeatedly. What I couldn’t understand was how he held me down so solidly when I could feel my dagger biting into him. I knew the feel of flesh under a weapon, and this was it. I was wounding him greatly – even fatally – but he remained steadfast on top of me, crushing the breath from my lungs.

I finally let go of both blades and got my hands under him to push him off, and finally rolled him down onto my legs. My torso free, I grabbed my dagger and pushed up, intending to go for his throat.

As I sat up, I saw the lifelessness in his eyes. They stared up into the blackness that covered the ceiling of the cavern, no vision remaining in them.

Rendo, was there, and together we pushed him off of me. After a few seconds, I saw the fletching of one of his arrows protruding from the man’s ear.

“That was a good shot,” I said.

“He killed Nix,” he said. I glanced over at the body I’d seen. Nix remained unmoved. I grimaced and stood. I would let myself feel for her later. Rendo sobbed while looking over at our friend. “He killed her! Cut her right down the middle!”

“I understand.” I said with more finality than I probably needed to. “Where are the others?” I asked.

He motioned towards the other side, where the second fire-pit and wall were.

I thought about it for a moment, then left my bow where it lay. I wasn’t hitting anything with that today.

We approached at a jog, to find Cannon completely engaged with a Shadrim fully equal in size to the one I had fought, blades flashing and clanging. Cannon’s heavy falchion appeared an equal match to the Shadrim’s wicked-looking broadsword.

And Sered battling it out with the enormous troll we’d seen before.

Dorad.

The king of the trolls had an enormous club, set with multiple flint blades all over it. Terribly primitive. Horrifyingly effective. Sered’s own greatsword fluttered with the grace of a butterfly as it evaded the troll’s huge club, but barring a decapitation, any sweep that found its mark began healing immediately. The troll was using its size and strength to bully Sered’s movements, and I could see from where I stood that it wouldn’t be long before it had him pinned to the wall as I’d done with Natha.

“Help Cannon, shoot that Shadrim,” I motioned Rendo over to end the other fight. “Your arrows won’t hurt that thing.”

He nodded and moved out of my sight. I put on some speed to get to Sered’s fight in time, angling to the rear of the troll.

Sered saw me coming and smiled briefly, before dodging another sweep of that club.

I drew up behind Dorad, and as I did he spotted me. His club proceeded from its swing on Sered into a wider round-house in my direction, which I drew up just short enough not to be flayed alive by those flint edges.

Sered saw an opportunity and raised his greatsword high over his head, to deliver a cleaving blow to the troll...

…when Dorad continued his round-house all the way around, to impact Sered’s raised left arm.

Above us, the crowd went wild.

The arm severed at the elbow, sending a fountain of blood into the air as it tumbled away. A look of shocked surprise covered Sered’s face as he lost balance and his remaining arm tipped with the weapon down into the sand before him. He dropped to his knees, the left arm flailing gently out at an angle from his body, dripping into the sand. His right supporting him on the knuckles of his fist while gripping the sword.

Dorad laughed, a throaty, gurgling sound.

I weaved Sybarron around, the purple afterglow catching the troll’s eye. I held him in a standoff like that for a second, looking for him to overextend. While we danced, I drew on my inner power, focusing on a strength-enhancing spell to enhance my next strike.

Dorad broke his concentration on me to glance around him then. I risked a short glance myself, and saw Rendo and Cannon rounding the metal wall to approach us. Rendo raised his bow to target the great troll, and Cannon twirled his bloodied falchion in the air while breaking into a jog to join me.

Dorad’s vision locked back on me, and held there. Its black eyes were impossible to read, but its snarl was clear. The snarl that became the faintest of grins.

The troll turned its eyes to the audience, towards a set of box seats I only noticed now, echoing Dorad’s attention. Following his gaze, to see him looking straight at one of the occupants. I was surprised to find myself staring not at Flay Gaz, as I’d expected.

I was looking straight at Zur Nav.

The misshapen giant was returning the troll’s gaze, and gave a curt nod.

Dorad paused for a moment, then roared as he slowly raised his weapon over his head, lining up a killing blow to finish Sered.

Sered contorted his body, lifting his great-sword tightly in his remaining hand, and drove it deep into Dorad’s gut. I saw the point and a good half-yard of the sword emerge from the troll’s back, coated in greenish bloody slime. The stench wafted out like an explosion.

The troll paused, looking down at the weapon protruding from his torso with his one good eye, and dropped its club. It looked down at Sered’s weapon, buried in its own midriff, and back up at Sered. Slowly, with a pained grimace, the troll pulled the weapon out of itself, dropping the dripping blade onto the sand.

It smiled, then, as the wound slowly began to heal over.

It looked back up to the stands then, gazing calmly at Zur Nav.

It stepped backwards.

And fell into the fire-pit.

It took only a moment for the vicious flames to incinerate the troll, which flailed in the pit with a roar before crisping to oily black ash and sinking beneath the surface of the burning fluid.

The tympani drums stopped. The crowd fell silent. The giants among the crowd stood, raising their hands to the distant roof of the cavern with their faces upturned. The quiet was disturbed only by the roaring of the flames from the pits in the arena.

Into this strange silence, a discordant scream rose.

“NOOOOO! Treachery!” It was Flay Gaz, who was not raising her hands. Instead, she steadied herself with one hand while pointing directly at Zur Nav. “You cheater! LIAR!” She struggled to the edge of the arena from her own box, clutching the hem of her gown in one hand and another leg of meat in a death-grip in the other hand.

Zur Nav was expressionless as he walked calmly towards her. He gestured faintly in dismissal at his attendants, who followed at a cautious distance. I saw the various guards around the stadium paying careful attention to his movements, but none made an aggressive motion towards him.

“You filthy cheater! I call for default on him!” Flay Gaz spat large drops of saliva as she shrieked these words at Zur Nav, swinging her free arm around and gesturing at him. No one moved in response to her raving, though.

Zur Nav stopped and pulled up before her. His expressionless face held like stone, and his eyes for a second glanced at the crowd. The giants had all dropped their arms and were staring at the two siblings now. My knees began to shake, and I scuttled forward to help Sered, still watching the exchange between the two Fomor.

Flay Gaz stuttered to a stop, looking at her brother.

It took only an instant for his face to go from a passionless work of stone to a contorted fusion of rage and hatred. He swung his enormous arm in a backhand, smacking across her face with a thunderous, meaty impact.

Flay Gaz staggered beneath the blow, dropping her meal and the grease-lined hand going up to cradle her face. The other hand raised against another blow. I reached for my bandage kit while steadying Sered in a sitting position. “Hang tight, we’ll get you fixed up,” I muttered.

Zur Nav reached out, grabbing necklaces on his sister’s neck and yanking them fiercely. The ornaments gave way, and he pulled a handful of sparkling jewelry from her.

“MINE!” He shouted. He threw the baubles to the ground at his feet and reached back to grab her by her dress. The sound of ripping fabric was clearly audible across the stadium.

“MINE!”

Another reach, and this time he grabbed her by the hair, pulling fiercely and coming away with an enormous wig.

“MINE!”

Flay Gaz cowered before her brother’s assault. Hak Azuth stood back quietly, as if hoping not to be noticed. Gazul Kil also stood quietly.

Zur Nav drew himself up to his full height, his spine cracking fiercely as he did so. He turned to survey all the stands.

Sered knelt on the sands, and I whispered a quick enchantment to halt the bleeding while I pulled a large cloth bandage from my pack. His usually pale face was white with agony.

Zur Nav called out in a calm, almost lyrical voice. “My brothers revoked their claim to the throne and threw their lots in with Flay Gaz as her subjects. No others remain to compete. Their loyalty I now claim for myself. I am Zur, son of Recks, heir to Bres and King of Ihnbahran.”

The crowd murmured out “Long live the king.”

A group of twelve tall hobgoblins, all heavily armed and armored, detached themselves from the crowd and formed around Zur Nav protectively. I assumed the royal guard.

“Tend to my champions,” the new king said to someone up in the stands, his gaze never leaving his sister.

He eyed the stadium, then King Zur turned back to his sister and met her eye. Disheveled, she clasped her torn dress to her, but still she stood with chin high.

“Thank you,” Sered whispered as I cinched the bandage tight.

“Stay on the ground,” I said with a nod. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. I need to get some carriers to you.”

“I’ve got your sword,” Rendo said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Sered nodded, closing his eyes. “Have I mentioned,” he said, “Your healing spells are really quite painful?”

I frowned. “I’m sorry,” I said. “They were designed that way, I suppose. The Cairn Jale values stoicism, and if the cure costs more than the wound it encourages our people not to get injured in the first place.”

“Perhaps you should consider learning some new forms, now that you’re here with us,” Sered said. “Otherwise I might just ask you to let me die next time.” A faint smile crossed his face when he said that.

“I’ll look into it. Meanwhile, don’t be such a child.” I replied with a similar smile.

In the stands, Zur Nav signaled with one hand dismissively. “Bind her and take her away,” he said. “I will decide what to do with her.” Immediately, a cadre of guards formed around her with various polearms. Enormous shackles of silver were set about her wrists, and they led the giantess from the stadium.

“Gazul Kil!” The new king called. His brother calmly looked at him, but remained silent.

“Gazul Kil, as your brother I said things to goad you before this contest. Now that it is decided, as your king I offer you our apology. I also ask, where do you stand?”

The enormous giant simply shrugged, and said with confidence “Long live the king.”

“I plan to,” said Zur. He turned to face his other brother.

From our various doors, a troop of hobgoblins had emerged, and several approached us. Two began loading Nix’s body onto a makeshift stretcher.

“Hak Azuth.” He said loudly. It was not a question. Hak Azuth winced at the sound of his name.

“Yes, your Highness?” Hak Azuth said.

“Where do you stand?”

The other giant looked around, eyes never settling in one place for long. “Uhh,” he stuttered slightly. “Long live the king?”

“I see,” said Zur.

“Was it not you that had me captured, stripped, and abandoned in the wild, gnome-infested tunnels?”

Hak Azuth went white instantly; sweat breaking out on his massive forehead. “Your Highness?”

“You heard the question. Did you not arrange my capture and abandonment in the wilds?”

The giant looked stricken, casting his eyes to his feet as he muttered, “Yes.” Almost as an afterthought, he added: “I’m sorry.”

Zur’s one good eye narrowed. “Yet I don’t think you were smart enough to come up with that plan alone, were you?”

I could see Gazul Kil smile faintly, as he followed the line of questioning.

“No,” said Hak Azuth. “Flay Gaz told me to do it.”

“Aha,” the king said. “I see now.”

He pondered for a moment. “I was not king at the time, so I cannot accuse you of an attempt at regicide,” he said. “But I cannot wholly forgive you, either, until you prove to me your sincerity.”

He turned to look at us, smiling. For a moment his face lit up and he wiggled his fingers in a tiny wave our way. Then he turned back to his brother.

“Hak Azuth, as proof of your loyalty to your new king, I have a task for you. You are to strip Flay Gaz of her belongings, and take her to the very place you abandoned me in the wilds. Once there, you are to cut off her foot and bring it to me. Leave her there and return to me.”

He paused for a moment. “I don’t care which one.”

Hak Azuth began to shake visibly. I could see he was struggling to speak, to say anything.

“Did you understand me? Am I clear?” King Zur addressed him. In the distance, I could hear Flay Gaz shrieking denials.

The terrified giant nodded. “Yes. Yes, I understand.”

“You will do this thing for me?”

Another nod. “Yes, it will be done.”

King Zur pointed to some of his guards. “See to it that he does. If he fails, kill him.”

He turned back to Hak Azuth. “You understand that too? She cost me an eye. I will have my foot. Hers or yours. Maybe both.” He giggled hysterically for a moment. “That’d be feet!”

Several hobgoblins approached us. “Are you injured?” One asked me. I shook my head and waved him to Sered.

I looked over at Rendo’s shoulder, and grabbed him to hold him steady while I examined his wound.

He raised a hand to stop me. “Sered’s right,” he said. “It really burns when you do your magic. No offense, but I’ll wait for these guys.”

I shrugged it off, but I was a little surprised. Rendo tapped one of the hobgoblins, and before long a medic was dressing his injury.

I saw a couple of them moving towards Cannon, but he just glared at them and hefted his falchion. After a moment of consideration, they decided he was fine and left him alone.

King Zur next turned to the crowd. “People of Ihnbahran! I declare this a day of celebration! As your benefactor, I herewith declare drinks are paid by the royal treasury for all for the next four hours! Go and make merry, for Zur is your new king!”

The crowd cheered with renewed vigor.

One of the hobgoblins approached me again. “If you are uninjured, champion,” he said, “please follow us to the hall of honors.”

“My companions?”

“As we see to their wounds, they will join you there.”

Cannon was strolling over to us with his own escort. “I’m ready for a beer,” he said.

I nodded. “Now that you mention it, that sounds really, really good.” The shakes were coming on pretty hard, now that all the adrenaline was draining out.

“Nix didn’t make it,” I said, pointing over towards where her body was being picked up and loaded onto a stretcher.

Cannon shook his head. “Shit,” he said. “Remind me again, why are we even here?”

“Wynter,” I said quietly. “We chose to do good by him, to finish the job he set out to do.”

We started following the escort, back through the gate and into the tunnels.

Cannon kept looking over at Nix. “Chasing a dead guy’s job gets you killed. That’s not too bright,” he said.

“It was for the town, too. They contracted us to stop Dorad, remember.”

He nodded. “At least they’re paying,” he said. “Something’s gotta kill us all, eventually,” he pondered.

“I’ve never been a mercenary.” I said. “I was always a soldier.”

He looked up at me. “You get used to it after a while,” he said. “Fighting for someone else’s cause is tough, especially when you don’t really agree with it.”

“How do you do that?”

“I find it best to not ask. Less I know, the better.”

“I only ever wanted to get my land, maybe start a distillery. I was done with war.”

“World never really lets you choose for yourself, does it?”

I remained silent.

(All content here, outside of those elements attributed otherwise, is copyright (2025-) Thomas Theobald. With the exception of AI training, personal use with attribution is granted.)