Bladeborn Read online

  Against the tide of those waiting to get in, Kadar arrived at the gladiator’s entrance.

  “He don’t have enough meat to feed a starving wart-dog,” one Guard at the gladiator’s entrance told his comrades. Waving Kandar off, he said, “Spectators aren’t allowed down here.”

  Kandar gulped and pulled his entry token from his pocket. “I’m Kandar.”

  “His name’s written right here,” another Guard poked at a slate. “Quit trying to scare him.”

  “Debt?” another Guard asked.

  Kandar’s face flushed.

  “You ain’t the first,” the Guard said. “I hope you made arrangements with your family.”

  The three waved him down the ramp to gladiator’s ready-room beneath the grandstands.

  Kandar glanced around the space trying to find the Armsman who would issue him weapons. Stunned, he recognized many of the gladiators as his heroes. He ran their reputations and victory records through his head as quickly as he ran a column of numbers. He wondered if he had time to speak to some of them, then a blow to his shoulder staggered him.

  Kandar turned and saw his assailant carried a trident and net. Durban Three-Tines! Before Kandar could express his admiration, Durban shouted, “Watch where you’re going, straw-bones, or I’ll snap you in half!”

  “Sorry!” Kandar stammered.

  “Durban! Quit toying with that sapling and drink with us!” The call came from a pack of gladiators across the ready-room.

  Durban Three-Tines jabbed his calloused forefinger at Kandar’s face. “Consider yourself lucky, worm-fish!”

  Durban left Kandar standing there. Kandar took a deep breath, finally spotting the Armsman.

  When Kandar appeared at the window in the bars where the Armsman sat, the man looked at Kandar askance.

  “What is it you want?” the Armsman asked gruffly.

  “Is this where I get a weapon?”

  “You?” The Armsman was surprised almost to laughter. He looked at Kandar expectantly. “Well, then, tell me what you want.”

  “A sword... And, ahh… Armor?” Kandar tentatively asked. He wasn’t sure that it was legal or within the realm of possibility.

  The Armsman looked to his assistant, and said, “Get him that stubby short sword and the leather armor…” The assistant put his hand on a leather breast piece and the Armsman said to him, “NO! The small one!”

  Handing Kandar the weapon and armor, the Armsman gave a wry smile and said, “I hope you like pain! Try not to get too much blood on it.”

  “The sword?” Kandar asked.

  At this, the Armsman nearly laughed again, “Off with you!”

  Slightly embarrassed, Kandar walked away, realizing the Armsman had meant the armor, not the weapon. He thought about his chances and tried to keep thinking about victory, and how it would solve his debt crisis.

  Kandar knew many of the men around him in the ready-room would be dead by dinner time. But Kandar believed things would be different for him. For the first time in his life he had real armor and a weapon. Taking a seat to look at the items received from the Armsman, Kandar was disappointed to find the leather armor was made for a much larger person. It had dark stains, smelled bad, and came with a few holes that looked like thrusts from swords or spears.

  Kandar looked at the short sword. He found it exciting to hold. Heavy, not too sharp, though certainly made of steel, Kandar estimated that he could easily kill another man with it. The prospect of actually killing somebody was now a real thing. Normally not a violent person, Kandar had resolved earlier in the week that he would kill in the Arena to save his family. From his seated position, he tested the sword with a few quick swings, wishing he had more strength in his arm.

  Kandar struggled into the worn-out leather breast piece and tightened its buckles all the way. It still hung slack from his small frame. He considered foregoing the armor all together, but every match fighter he ever saw wore some form of chest protection, so he decided to keep it on.

  Stretching to prepare for his event, Kandar could hear the crowd beyond the gates getting riled up for the coming day.

  Kandar looked about at his fellow competitors, some of whom were twice his size. Due to fear, his hands began to shake and he almost lost all focus. His lower lip quivered and he found himself thinking “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to die!”

  However, he was pulled back from mortal fear by an enthusiastic, booming voice. Angres was in the ready room laughing and testing two swords as he cajoled with the Battlemaster. He could hear them talking, and it seemed the legendary warrior was also going to be in the Grande Finale. Angres would be a fair-minded opponent to face off with in Kandar’s free-for-all event. There were Arena good guys and bad guys, Angres was known widely for only wounded his opponents—unlike many of the others.

  Kandar made the decision to talk to Angres, so he walked up to the big man. Trying to sound casual, Kandar said, “Looks like we’re in the same competition.”

  Looking at Kandar, Angres seemed taken aback.

  “You got to be kiddin’ me…” Angres growled, smile disappearing from his face.

  “No,” Kandar said, with a mote of pride. “I, too, am in the Grande Finale. Merkee the Arranger signed me up last night…”

  Angres swelled up, and it looked to Kandar like he didn’t take the friendly comment well.

  Angres shouted across the ready-room, loudly so all could hear, “Merkee? Where are you, son-of-a-wart-dog?”

  “Of course, it’s Angres!” Merkee stepped out of a bookie’s den to address the legendary gladiator. “What kind of drama are you having today, Angres?”

  Angres said, “You can’t put me in with this slight-looking man, Merkee! He is a complete unknown! I won’t allow it!”

  “What’s done is done, Angres!” Merkee said. “He signed the contract yesterday, completing our roster! He knows the risks! Everyone here knows the risks!”

  Angres retorted, “This man will be a dead within the first minute of the fight, Merkee! Men like Barnabak and Durban will swallow him whole!”

  Shouting louder still, Merkee said, “Durban and Barnabak have the same chance as everyone else here, Angres! When we fight, someone must die! It’s something you don’t understand anymore.”

  Angres fumed for a moment, then sniffed and spat. It appeared to Kandar that the big man was furious beyond words. Angres turned and pushed past Kandar, then sat down on a stone block, away from the others. After a moment, Kandar followed over to where Angres brooded.

  “Thank you, kind sir, for speaking up for me,” Kandar said. “Yet, I think my chances are adequate and I….”

  Angres looked at Kandar and nearly exploded with anger. Kandar looked around sheepishly, feeling embarrassed.

  “You are throwing your life away!” Angres said. “Do you have any idea what you are in for, little fellah? The Grande Finale is always a bloodbath, even for this Arena. What hope do you have to win?”

  Then a look of what Kandar perceived to be pity washed over Angres face. With a decisive look, Angres said, “Wait, you’re the one from yesterday, that little man I almost squashed. That’s you, right?”

  Kandar nodded vigorously in affirmation.

  Sighing heavily, Angres seemed to have come to some sort of decision. “Follow my lead an’ don’t get in my way, or I’ll have to cut your hand off! With such a small wound, you would likely survive the contest.”

  “Cut my hand off?” Kandar declared, horrified. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Do you know nothing?” Angres demanded. “It would be a stroke of mercy!”

  “Chopping off my hand won’t be necessary,” Kandar said, a shiver running down his spine. “I can take care of myself… Over the years, I’ve watched many games.”

  “And still your name is mud, for you’ve never competed,” Angres declared flatly, “I saw you warming up with that short sword a minute ago, and I could tell you’d never held one before. Gods! You might stand
a chance against another novice. But Merkee threw you down a deep hole. You’ll face the most experienced in this year’s games. I’ll help if I can, but no promises.” Angres smacked his lips together expectantly, as though waiting for Kandar to praise him for his kindness.

  Kandar looked Angres in the eye to see if he was joking. It seemed like he was serious. “Why would you help me? Only King Koss can declare a winner. It may come down to you and I.”

  “Don’t be an idiot!” Angres said. “How lucky do you think you are? You’re testing my good nature, now!”

  “Okay,” Kandar agreed. He didn’t wish to lose Angres as his ally. With him on his side, Kadar felt he had a much greater chance.

  “Do you have any expertise?” Angres asked. “Wrestling or running or—”

  “No,” Kandar admitted, interrupting. “I work as a contracted accountant for the Clothier’s Guild.”

  “Really. So, they put you in with twenty of us,” Angres bemoaned. “l’m gonna show Merkee what he does is wrong, someday…”

  Kandar said, “I have watched hundreds of matches over many years. But you are right. I have never seen one from this part of the Arena. Only from high up in the stands.”

  Sternly, Angres intoned, “A death match is a serious thing. Men with long histories in the Arena of Blood will have their lives ended today. If a miracle happens, one of us may survive intact.”

  Kandar nodded again to show he understood.

  Angres said, “if you can survive the first few seconds of the match, I might be able to cover you, but I ain’t gonna put myself at risk. The Mangler will be in there, and a lot of others. If we’re facing one of them, you let me handle it—or die. I didn’t come here ta be yer wet nurse.”

  Kandar nodded again. He looked over his shoulder to where the Mangler, seven feet tall and all muscle, stood testing out a spiked ball and length of chain.

  “There’s others that will mess us up if’n we get separated,” Angres claimed. He began to go over basic survival strategies with Kandar.

  While Angres talked the games began. Kandar wasn’t listening well. His eyes had glazed, as wounded and dead men from other events were carted out of the arena through a side passage connected to the ready room. The events went fast, and there were cheers for the victors. However, too often the cheering was drowned out by the wails of the maimed.

  All the while bookies howled for payment or screamed at their losses at the money exchange. Experiencing this close-up for the first time, Kandar was reminded what a gruesome business he had come to. Never in his life had he heard voices of such men, living and dying, so close by.

  Angres snapped his fingers in front of Kandar’s nose.

  “HEY! ACCOUNTANT! Are you listening to a word that I say?”

  Kandar apologized, “I’m sorry,”

  “Maybe we’ll just sit here till it’s time…”

  “Maybe that’s best,” Kandar said, as yet another dead man was carted through the adjoining passageway. So afraid was Kandar that he said to Angres, “What if I didn’t go in?”

  Angres frowned, “The Armsman and the Battlemaster have a low tolerance for cowards. A lot of betting has been done by now, and it really causes trouble if someone flakes out. The penalty for a no-show gladiator is death.”

  Kandar felt his stomach leap into his throat, “B-but…”

  Angres stretched and said, “On second thought, don’t just sit. Limber up with me, accountant. Once in there, don’t try to take anyone on or you’ll just wind up dead. Even if you see an opening, it’s probably a feint… Be defensive.”

  Kandar and Angres moved together, stretching. Kandar dared to ask what he really wanted to know of Angres, “I’ve heard that you haven’t killed a man in the Arena for six years… Am I right?”

  “That’s about right,” Angres stated. “But I don’t normally talk about it. They call ‘em ‘deathmatches’ but usually its only for dominance, unless the ruling official deems otherwise.”

  “Who is the ruling official today?”

  “Great King Koss himself is. Koss has ruled the city longer than anyone ever, and he still looks like a man of thirty years. I wish I had that kind of longevity! The King and his royal retinue have come down from the eightieth floor to watch this year. First time in my memory, and I’ve seen it all.”

  “I-I didn’t know…”

  “Figures,” Angres sniffed.

  Angres had little more to say, but when the drumroll signaling their event came, he offered, “Are you a religious man, accountant?”

  “Of course,” Kandar said. “I am a firm believer in Saint Morth of the Heavens.”

  “Then, I suggest you pray,” Angres said. “I hear that helps sometimes.”

  Kandar had been praying all afternoon, and now he prayed even harder.

  Kandar heard a quick drum roll in the ready room.

  “That’s us!” Angres said. “Let’s go to the line.”

  The twenty men paired up to enter the Arena. As the gate-door to the stadium opened, Kandar’s brow was covered in sweat from nerves, and his hands quaked, despite best efforts to control them. He was by far the smallest man going in, both in height and weight, when the drum roll ceased, everyone but Kandar shouted “We win or we die!” It was a tradition Kandar hadn’t been aware of.

  Walking out under crowd noise that was way louder than Kandar expected, he saw the ring’s slightly bowl-shaped stone floor had bloody spots on it where contestants in previous events had been injured—or killed. These places had yet to dry, partially covered with sawdust from the soft wood which grew under glow-globes in Fortress City’s garden levels.

  In the center of the ring were twenty X-marks arranged in a circle… He found one and waited, looking about at his opponents, thinking of the thousands that had died in stadium contests. Kandar glanced up at the crowds in the stands, seeing high above him in a special seat of honor a man who could only be King Koss, ruler of Fortress City for the last two-hundred years. Thrilled, Kandar was hardly able to believe where he was. A wave of energy rushed through his body as he and the other combatants saluted the King, holding their weapons at arm’s length.

  With the salute done, the massive gong signaling the start of the event sounded, its brash tone ringing high over the screaming of the crowd.

  From both sides at once, Kandar’s nearest competitors charged at him. One of them, holding a huge axe, screamed a blood-curdling war-cry, while another big man with a spear and shield was a step behind. Kandar dodged and ran toward the wall, momentarily staying clear of the two men. After panicked seconds, only the axe-man continued to chase him. The spearman took the opportunity to jab the axe-wielding fool chasing Kandar in the back. The strike was a killing blow to the kidney, and the axe man whirling around as he fell to the arena floor, taking his last breaths.

  As soon as the axe=man was down, the spearman went after Kandar again. Kandar ran, pursued around the arena, and he knew that soon another gladiator would step in and corner him. He made a snap decision to face the spearman before that happened, and so he suddenly spun around to try to kill the man.

  The spearman stopped short when Kandar turned about, and said, “Now the little man wants to play?”

  After having the bloody spearpoint jabbed at him a few times, Kandar could see no way past the man’s long reach.

  “Now, this is over for you,” the spear man said.

  Backing up several steps, Kandar realized another competitor was right behind him. He was relieved to find it was Angres!

  “Stay close, accountant!” Angres roared, bumping up back-to-back against Kandar. “I’ll keep you alive—if I can!”

  Angres, with his two short swords, turned to face the spear man, knocking the point away from Kandar. Stepping inside the spearman’s guard, Angres made a deep incision in the spear man’s thigh, ensuring the danger from him was over. The spearman dropped his weapon and shield, crying out in pain, holding his bloody wound.

  “Thanks, Angres!”
Kandar shouted over the crowd-noise,

  “Thank me later!” Angres called back, as a new competitor turned to face them.

  The man carried a longsword and a dagger. As Angres crossed weapons with him, Kandar stayed behind, glancing about. Seeing the conflict up close, Kandar realized there never was a possibility of surviving the day without Angres, even with the High Priest’s spell. In seconds Kandar watched several men fall, limbs nearly hacked off. Another man had his jugular cut—a killing stroke. It all took place in a dance of slaughter that Kandar never had awareness of, even though he had watched it so many times from the stands. Despite it all, Angres killed no one, only delivering crippling wounds.

  The gladiator with the longsword and dagger had made the mistake of fencing with Angres. The assured technique of Kandar’s ally proved far superior to that of the man with the longsword. After a brief exchange, Angres was through the swordsman’s guard, stabbing him in the shoulder and making a swift, twisting motion while the weapon was still in the wound. The twist at the end was a revelation to Kandar. As a spectator, he wondered how the injuries inflicted by Angres could be so devastating. The gaping hole delivered to the swordsman pumped out blood. The man had been finished for the day.

  Kandar called to Angres, “That was brilliant!”

  “Get back over here!” Angres shouted.

  Despite Angres’ best efforts, another gladiator had gotten very close to Kandar. The dual-wielding man jumped with a high cut at the accountant’s head before Angres could turn about. But the high cut was a feint, and the real attack came as a raking slice across Kandar’s groin. Kandar should have been wounded or dead after that—but the magic of the cult’s High Priest worked. The attempt to disembowel Kandar inflicted no injury.

  “Watch yerself, accountant, I can only do so much!” Angres shouted. With spinning attack, Angres chopped the fingers and sword from one hand of the gladiator threatening Kandar. Clutching his bloody appendage, the gladiator withdrew, howling in agony.

  Then, the seven-foot-tall, muscle-bound gladiator known as the Mangler came at them wielding his heavy spiked ball on a length of chain. The Mangler swung his weapon around toward Kandar’s head. Kandar didn’t see it coming until warned by Angres