Bloodlust: A Gladiator's Tale Page 7

  The Gladiator kneed the Heretic in the groin, driving the wind from him. A short slashing motion of his spear robbed the man of the use of his right leg, spilling blood on the sand. Gavin pushed the traitor to the ground, tossing him roughly toward the centre 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 Heretic 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, mocking the traitor. With a chill, Gavin hoped the man did not have family watching.

  "I won't die like this. I can't let you win," the traitor growled as he fought uselessly against the Gladiator's vice-like grip. "This isn't right. I never hurt anyone."

  The heat of battle was fading. For the first time Gavin became aware of the full frenzy of the cheers and jeers of the gathered crowd.

  The Heretic’s magic was apparently exhausted; the fight was over, despite the man's feeble struggles. Gavin planted his spear in the sand, out of the Heretic'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 the man did not behave as such. 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.

  "Kill the Heretic! Death to the traitor!" Had it been a favoured Gladiator, the crowd would likely have demanded mercy; but any Heretic 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.

  "I just wanted to be free!" The Heretic's voice was hoarse but strong and it did not waver in the least, as Gavin unsheathed his short sword. "I don't blame you for this Gladiator. You are just doing what they trained you to do I suppose."

  Time seemed to stand still. Gavin pulled back the traitor's head and settled his sword under the Heretic's chin. The man felt the cold metal against his throat as if the sword were death's own finger; his struggles finally faded under the blade's unyielding assertion. The Heretic lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, choosing to face the inevitable as bravely as he could.

  A grey robed figure, face lost in a hood, stood to pass 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. Quiet 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. "I will die here, but I lived my life a free man! Will you be able to say the same 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, darkness closing in all around. He rolled onto his back. His eyes met the Gladiator's briefly, holding them for a moment before they turned upwards, seeking the light. He was deaf to the cruel jeers of the crowd now. The sand felt warm against the growing cold in his body. His life flashed before him as he died; he saw clearly how the choices that he made led him inexorably to his death, but he did not regret them now.

  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 Heretic die. 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 as well. The Gladiator's expression was 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. Gavin could understand his desires for freedom; it was one they shared. He wondered if he had made the wrong choices would it have been him in Olek’s place. Was the Heretic really such a dangerous criminal, 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? 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. Yet Gavin had not seen the audience show a single thumb in the man's favour. A chill settled in his gut. Now, the Gift seemed to be more of a curse, having forced them both to make choices that led them into the arena, one as a victim, the other as an instrument of murder. Gavin stood on the fighting grounds staring at the lifeless body, lost in thought, until Ravius made his way down from the spectator's gallery, calling to him from the Gladiator's gate. He left the arena as quickly as he could, forgoing the usual luxury of the baths and a massage, going with Ravius and Omodo to celebrate his victory, putting on a smile in spite of his growing uncertainty, drowning himself in drink and trying to appear cheerful. It did not feel like he had won anything at all.

  Gavin kept his promise to Master Ironwall and returned to train the next day. Outwardly he was calm, but he found it hard to forget Olek Agvarson, the noble Heretic.

  Chapter Five: 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

  Gavin's fifth match, the first ranking match of his professional career, was against the girl of his dreams. Her name was Sadira.

  Deeply troubled after his bloody execution of the pitiable heretic Olek Agvarson, questions of freedom for the Gifted and the role of Gladiators in the Domains weighed heavily on Gavin's mind. His resolve to leave the Campus Martius faded. He spent half a year reading books on law and tomes of philosophy, seeking answers. 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 is 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.

  "You can always continue to mope when we get there, little brother," said Ravius, amused as always. "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."

  The party was held in an ancient ivy-veiled stone building that had once been a mill, built before the Reckoning. It had been serving as a hotel and events centre, having been swallowed by the constantly expanding Campus Martius some centuries ago. Known simply as the Old Mill, it was beautiful and ageless, built in a simple rustic fashion with touches of elegance and grandeur added over the y
ears. 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 had graced its halls. To young men like Gavin and Ravius, its exclusivity spoke of prestige and power, the sort of life they might one day enjoy as Arena 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 smiling Gladiatrix drew him aside to make introductions.

  Gavin, true to his nature, was not really interested in banter. Instead, after catching the scent of food, his thoughts turned to stalking the various servers and their trays laden with interesting and aromatic delicacies. With this in mind he excused himself from the conversational circle as quickly as he could, following the scent of food into the main hall of the building. He looked about him, searching for his tasty quarry. Preoccupied with food, with his subconscious still wrestling with his role in the death of a Heretic, Gavin was caught unawares by the drama that was about to envelop him.

  Sadira Lacivia, a young Gladiatrix of some note, stood on a second floor balcony opposite the entrance to the mill with her two friends, Karmal and Vintia. She 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 revelled in the attention. She was a Shadow Elf; her skin was like white marble under moonlight, and her coral-coloured lips were expressive and voluptuous. Sadira wore a gown of finely woven blood red silk embroidered with bright gold thread. She had chosen the dress because it accentuated her body, emphasizing her generous breasts and curved hips. Slits on either side allowed her to show off her long legs whenever she pleased. She was disappointed when Gavin did not look up at her as he entered.

  Sadira's game this evening was to entice men to look at her, to enjoy the sight of naked lust growing on their faces as they drank in her display until their eyes inevitably made contact with hers. They found nothing soft or yielding in her hawk-like gaze, and no man or woman who had tried had been able to answer her challenging stare, thus far. This suited Sadira, for she was a deadly Gladiatrix, and she loved nothing more than the thrill of conquering any opponent, in any way she could. Her sensual, clinging dress was just another weapon for a different arena. In the back of her mind she had formed the idea to challenge any man or woman who was able to hold her gaze, hoping to find a worthy opponent for her first ranking match.

  For no reason she could fathom she was insulted that Gavin did not look up at her. He was moderately handsome, for a human, but not nearly as impressive as many of the sculpted men and athletic women around him. And yet her gaze was drawn to him, and her eyes followed his progress as he roamed the room, gathering food from the servers. She posed, trying to get his attention, but she could not. Then she willed him to look at her, but he did not. Finally, she grew angry, and threw daggers at him with her eyes, but they bounced off the shield of his obliviousness.

  "Chosen's balls girl, you look angry," drawled tall, flame-haired Karmal, trying to divine the source of her friend's irritation, keen for the drama that usually followed when Sadira lost her temper. "Has some little tart dared to piss you off?"

  "No Karmal," answered small, bright eyed Vintia, pointing at Gavin "She's trying to get the attention of that guy."

  "Who? Him?" said Karmal, trying to divine why Sadira, her friend and rival was interested in the figure below them. "He's Gladiator, but he doesn’t look like your type, babe; he's not even an elf."

  "I think he's cute Karmal, but Sadira's just angry that she can't get his attention," responded Vintia, snatching a small piece of honey-dipped, pickled ginger from a passing tray "He seems more interested in food than anything else. Maybe you could use that to your..."

  "Good idea," interrupted Sadira, snatching a sticky piece of ginger from the same tray and hurling it at Gavin's head with a deft flick of her wrist. For a woman of her skills it was an easy shot and she hit her moving target perfectly, the honeyed ginger sticking to his cheek with a wet smack. Vintia's mouth hung open in shock, while Karmal let out a delighted laugh that could be heard over the background chatter. Sadira waited for the man to turn, a thrill of anticipation quickening her pulse.

  Gavin felt something splatter just below his eye, sticking to his face. A strong smell of ginger and a distinctive smacking sound accompanied this odd sensation. He heard Karmal’s laugh then, which sounded very malicious to him. He raised his hand to his cheek, which remained sticky even after he removed the offending hors-d'oeuvre. He looked around, colour rising to his cheeks, deeply humiliated at being the sudden centre of attention. Some idiot's trying to have fun at my expense, he thought. A lithe girl next to him raised her hand to cover her laughter. He snarled, looking around, and his eyes were drawn inexorably to Sadira. When their eyes met, Gavin, full of anger, ignored her beauty and did not look away. He squared his shoulders cloaking himself with all the dignity he could muster. A long moment passed as the two stared at each other across the crowded room. A shiver ran down Sadira's spine. She felt suddenly childish, embarrassed by her rash and mean-spirited behaviour. It was a rare sensation for her. A rose-glow started to rise to her pale cheeks. She looked down, unable to hold Gavin's accusing gaze. When she looked up, she saw him moving toward a door, his anger apparent in every movement. The impulse to follow him proved irresistible. Leaving her two friends to their respective confusion and amusement, she quickly made her way through the crowd of guests, which parted easily for her, and followed her quarry into the night.

  When he got outside, Gavin took a deep breath as if inhaling the cool air might soothe the heat of his anger. He did not like being mocked. He found himself on a garden pathway winding around the water-wheel pond and the lazy river that fed it. The trickling sounds of the running water worked to sooth him, and after a few minutes, he sat down on an ornate stone bench overlooking a well-tended rosebush, gloriously in bloom. He was unaware that he was being shadowed.

  Sadira had followed the young man into the night. She kept up with him, nimbly avoiding errant party-goers and silencing any propositions with a glance. Once outside she gathered the shadows to her, a trick known to all Shadow Elves, and slowly crept up on Gavin. She had to get close to him without giving him the chance to get away from her. She needed to apologize. She could not say why she felt it was so overwhelmingly important that she do this, but she always trusted her instincts.

  Gavin became aware of her only when she was nearly close enough to touch him. The warmth of her presence alerted him as she moved close and knelt before him, holding up a rose she had picked as an offering. Her scent washed over him as her dark, dramatic eyes with irises of deep purple gazed into his. Those eyes held him captive for a timeless moment despite his ire.

  "I am truly sorry," she said with simple sincerity, showing a humility that was unusual for her. Her tone was contrite, yet compelling, and he found himself believing her in spite of his earlier outrage. His anger dissolved as she smiled and gently invaded his space. His hand closed around the rose she offered, and he bent down toward her ever so slightly as he did so. Sadira, so adept at reading an opponent’s movements in the arena, saw this as an opening. She took the opportunity to kiss him, following some deep desire that blossomed within her, brushing her lips to his quickly, but expertly. It was a short kiss, a test of sorts, but it was sweet with passion and it left her trembling and hungry for more.

  Gavin was quite clearly out of his depth. His hands shook a little as their lips parted, his eyes round with surp
rise. He stared at the strange, beautiful girl-elf, with wonder, half-thinking it was all some strange trick or hallucination.

  "I am Sadira Lacivia," she said, sitting down beside him, body close to his. Her voice was silken and self-assured, leaving Gavin eager for her words. "I was trying to get your attention."

  "You succeeded," he said, smiling. Her shocking manner of introduction had overcome his usual reticence. "I don't think anyone has made this kind of impression on me in a long time. My name is Gavin, Gavin Orphanus."

  "I am very pleased to meet you, Gavin Orphanus," she responded, smiling brightly as his name rolled off her tongue. Gavin was pleased to see that she did not react badly to his surname. "I hope you won't hold my childish behaviour against me. I find myself very attracted to you and I just wanted your attention. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

  The ramifications of this statement left him speechless. He had only known her for a few minutes and yet she beguiled him. She laughed at his bewildered expression, understanding his confusion. She too was captivated; the whole situation would have been unthinkable to her just moments ago. Her world had been turned on its head by her sudden feelings for Gavin. In any other man she would have found his shy awkwardness a deplorable sign of weakness, perhaps even something for her to exploit; but with him she found it sweet and charming. She realized with a surge of happiness that she was in love.

  Sadira was a young woman who trusted her primal instincts; she immediately accepted her profound attraction to Gavin, revelling in the sheer joy she felt at finding him. She trusted her own heart with the confidence of one who has never lost. She could tell by his posture, the look in his eyes, and his rising temperature that he felt the same. She kissed him again, deeply this time, pressing her body close to his. She was elated when he responded with passion.