Verris

Verris hated his father with a passion.

A true passion. A heat, boiling and hungry, as seductive in its own way as any lover could possibly be. A hunger to bash the fat old man's head in with a shovel. One of Downwind's awful wooden shovels, sturdy and dirty and just the right length for a good swing. And hey, who would notice someone coming through the servant's entrance with a shovel?

True bastards were uncommon in Angelar. It wasn't unusual for a wealthy man to have twelve wives and just as many concubines, and if even that wasn't enough to satisfy the children of one night stands were often raised up or legitimized some way or another. But Toben Jajess of the Patricians Council believed in blood. And Verris's mother had been a street whore. Every time Verris walked to the servant's entrance of his father's marble mansion his teeth ground. Imagining the life he should have had. That his blood was owed. When instead, he'd had to work in Downwind.

Toben Jajess was grossly fat, reclining in a clamshell chair as Verris was sent in. His chief servant Ballum stood behind him. Like a lot of people in the city he was dark skinned, but there was something foreign about the cast of his eyes that marked him as an outsider even before he spoke in his rumbling accent. His imposing figure was always clad in red leather armor, and there were ritual scars on his cheek. He wore two swords at his hip, one ordinary and one...different. No one had ever seen him draw it but it gave the impression of a vicious beast barely held back by its leash.

Why do you work for my father? Verris thought. A fighter like you could own the arena, become a general, earn a patent of nobility. Can his money and power really buy that much?

“Well boy,” Jajess said, leaning back on his cushions. “It's been a few months. How are you getting along?”

“In Downwind?” Verris said. “Oh you know. Just the same old shit.”

Jajess blinked, and then as the joke sank in he laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. A great many fat men are healthy, happy, and perfectly pleasant to be around but Jajess was not one of them. In place of the legendary “jolly fat man” was some kind of oversized braying pig. His whole body shuddered under his robe as he gripped his belly, as if a minor earthquake were occurring through a mountain of gelatin. It was awful to sit near but Varris struggled through it. His father insisted on these meetings every few months and when he did Varris normally went away with a bag of coins, or some other small gift.

A tiny fraction of what I deserve, Verris thought. But it's all I'm likely to get. If an old joke keeps the fat man happy enough to throw in a little more all to the good.

“Oh yes,” Jajess said, his laughter finally and mercifully subsiding. “Quite humorous. Good to see you're growing up with a sense of humor, boy. Now as for what I called you here for...your birthday is coming in just a few weeks.”

Verris blinked. He'd forgotten about that completely.

“I was thinking it would be best to arrange something for you,” Jajess continued. “A gift. Something...appropriate.”

Appropriate. Again, Verris didn't dare let the sneer reach his face. His polite little way of warning me. Don't go asking for anything silly, like a purchase large enough for someone to notice. Just ask for something small so I can pretend I'm a father, as if I don't literally let you fend for yourself in a massive pile of dung most of the time.

“Something to think on,” Jajess said waved a hand dismissively. “I'm glad to see you're well. Ballum will show you out.”

“Come,” Ballum said as Jajess stood to leave. “Your father has prepared a bag of coins for your comfort.”

“Thank you,” Verris said through clenched teeth.

“The thought was not mine,” Ballum shrugged. “It was your father's.”

“Yes,” was all Verris trusted himself to say.

Ballum stopped in the hall, turning to the lean young man.

“Do you hate your father?” Ballum asked, his eyes deadly serious.

“Yes,” Verris said. He didn't even consider lying.

“Good,” Ballum nodded. “My people believed that hate made us strong. I hated my father as well. If not for the wars I would have cut his throat and mounted his head as a trophy. Instead I watched the soldiers of Zys take the kill which should have been mine.”

“You're from Zys?” Verris's asked. In Angelar the distant city state was the stuff of traveler's tales more than anything. “You've never mentioned your past.”

“And I will not speak of it any more now,” Ballum said, pressing a bag of coins into Verris's hands. “But hate makes us strong, young one. It brings focus and purpose. Hate is power we can channel to great ends. Think on this. I must attend your father.”

Verris shook the bag of coins. Light and small. He'd almost make as much in a day on the piles.

Hate makes us strong, Verris thought bitterly. If that were true I could probably choke one of the imperial brachiosaurs to death with my bare hands by now.

Hallek

As the rest of the city darkened the Arena began to glow like Baulra's own sun.

A collection of arches set in a ring with stepped seats going from the top down to the arena floor. Games were held in the daytime, but it was night games that drew the real crowds. Four huge torches, bonfires set in massive bronze reflectors, lighted the arena so the audience wouldn't miss the action. Each reflector had been cast to look like a different dinosaur. Specifically, to look like one of the Fangs. The four greatest hunters in the world, the direct children of Saurus. Had Shylldra kept listening to the reading from the Book of Origins, she would have heard:

It so came to pass that four fangs fell from Saurus' mouth, landing upon the ground where Baulra found them. He clutched them in his grief, the points piercing his palm, and when he let them go they cracked like eggs and the four greatest hunters burst forth, the four Fangs of Saurus, and their names were Spinosaurus, Characharadontosaurus, Giganotosaurus, and Tyrannosaurus. And they were powerful, born from Saurus's rage and Baulra's grief, the blood of gods still flowing through them.

Hallek stared around at the torches, still feeling the kind of wide eyed amazement he had as a child. The Fangs were part of every adventure worth hearing. No legendary hero was truly worth his salt until he'd fought one. They were the most powerful animals in the world, only the great long necks truly a match for them. And while they were animals, things humans could and did hunt and kill, they still felt just a little but like gods.

The seats were filling up but there was still plenty of choice after Hallek paid his coin and made his way inside. The seats were filled with a small sampling of the world's peoples. Mixed among the caramel skinned Angelarians were pale skinned northerners, chocolate or coal skinned southerners, swarthy westerners and tan skinned men from the lands of the Sky Lords. There were almond eyed warriors from the distant east, and from closer to home the tattooed bodies of the Scarred Men.

“Krawk! Kree-eek!”

“Hey!” Hallek said, ducking as a flash of brightly colored feathers winged past his head. The creature landed on the ground in front of him and regarded him with round, wet eyes.

“Watch it,” Hallek said. “Stupid, uh...” Was it a bird? No, it had a snout and fangs. But it was covered in feathers, bright pinks and yellows and blues all mixed together. And since lizards didn't have feathers it must be a bird. It even had feathery wings...four of them, the back two doubling as legs with the front two waving about like arms. Which ended in clawed fingers. So a dinosaur? “What are you?”

“Keekreek!” the little dinosaur said helpfully, clambering up a nearby column and leaping off, gliding away across the crowd. Apparently even though it flew like a bird it couldn't take off like one. Hallek's eyes naturally followed it over the crowd until it landed in an empty seat next to the girl.

And suddenly Hallek knew where he had to sit.

The robes covered everything but couldn't hide the shape of her body underneath. Her face was beautiful, pale for an Angelarian but not sickly looking, with wide eyes Hallek felt like he could fall into even from this distance. Her hair was glossy black, flowing down her back over her lowered hood. She was sitting alone, with a staff across her knees. A priestess of Maya. But the priesthood of Maia wasn't barred from the company of men, so she just might want to talk...

She was petting the little dinosaur when he walked up, laughing and giggling as its feathers tickled her.

“Is he yours?” Hallek asked, sitting down beside her. “He's cute. What is he?”

“She's a microraptor,” the priestess said. “Males have crests on their heads. And she's not mine. I think she's wild but they're not very common around here.”

“Seems pretty friendly to be wild,” Hallek said.

“I know!” the priestess giggled as the dinosaur nuzzled her again. “She must have been around humans a lot. Maybe she spends a lot of time down at the temple of Iikwii? Microraptors are sacred to her, the priests would probably think she was a good omen.”

“And spoil her rotten,” Hallek smiled, reaching out to pet the dinosaur. She nuzzled his palm with a head as long as his finger. “If I'd bought food I'd give her some. What do they eat?”

“No idea,” the priestess said. “Do you come to the arena a lot? It's my first time.”

“When I have time off,” he shrugged. “I spend a lot of time working. Oh sorry, my name's Hallek.”

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

“Shylldra,” the priestess said. “Acolyte of Maia. Nice to meet you.”

The Microraptor nestled in between them, and somewhere else a woman in a glittering gold and silver dress smiled.

Krazzek

Krazzek collapsed against the wall, gripping the wound at his side. He didn't think he was still bleeding but he couldn't be sure. And weren't infections a thing? Gods, he needed a healer. Normally he dealt with this problem by not getting wounded in the first place. In fact he normally didn't even get seen. That's what his talent was, aided by the necklace of teardrop shaped skulls he wore over his black cloth clothes. He wasn't a fighter or a warrior or even an assassin. He was a thief, invisible, in and out undetected.

Usually.

The door to the room opened and Krazzek got a brief glimpse of the mansion beyond around Ballum's lean, towering frame.

“You have returned alone,” Ballum said. “And empty handed.”

“And wounded. The rest are all dead. I didn't have time to stop, the damn thing nearly chased me all the way back to the city.”

“The Patrician will want to know what happened.”

“Tell Jajess we tried and it killed us all. We tried to catch the infant, but the female was too close so we had to fight them both. And when the infant and the female died, the bull went crazy. He tore us to pieces.”

Ballum's face betrayed no emotion.

“Dammit I did my job! I'm a thief, not a forest ranger. I was there to watch and report. Well I just did.”

“I will inform Lord Jajess. Try not to bleed on anything that will be irreparably harmed by your blood while I'm gone.”

Shylldra

There were several raised platforms around the arena. Most of them were boxes for the wealthy and powerful. The largest, with a bronze tyrannosaurus crest hanging from it, was the Imperial Box. And nearby it was the smallest, where the Arena Master stood. Arena Master H'viss wore red and yellow motley and carried a staff topped with the skull of a crested dinosaur. The runes carved into it allowed his voice to carry out over the crowd. When the arena had filled up enough H'viss stepped onto his platform and raised the staff.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” H'viss's magically altered voice bellowed. “All rise for the coming of his Imperial Majesty, Lekarik nyth Gargarand iil Tyrannosaurus the 4th!”

The crowd explode into applause as the emperor walked into view. Gone were the ceremonial mask and robes. The emperor was young and handsome and he knew it. He greeted the crowd shirtless, his long hair bound in three branches by his jeweled ornaments that matched the gauntlets covering his forearms. He wore a jeweled belt to hold up baggy silk pants. He bowed once to the crowd with a roguishgrin on his handsome face. Women in the crowd actually swooned.

Oh Lekarik, Shylldra sighed. If only they knew you.

“Another one of Lekarik's fans?” Hallek asked.

“What? No! He's handsome, but he's kind of a jerk.”

“That's what I hear anyway,” Hallek laughed, and Shylldra thought he sounded a little relieved. “Have you met him?”

Crap. “Oh, uh, yes. I uh...I grew up in the palace.” Please don't ask about it. It was a long time ago and I don't want to talk about it or have you suddenly get weird because the emperor is my cousin.

But Hallek just shrugged it off, unwittingly raising his Total Attractiveness Score a good hundred points. They had risen for the emperor, but once he took his seat they were free to do the same.

“And now the games begin!” the Arena master called out. Two gladiators in bone armor came out and stared each other down. H'viss announced them, but Shylldra didn't recognize the names.

“Probably new fighters,” Hallek said. “If they had a reputation somewhere else H'viss would have played it up. They're probably looking to put on a good show and get a better opportunity.”

“And they're willing to risk their lives for that?” Shylldra asked.

“It's not a fight to the death, and they knew the risks when they signed up.”

Shylldra watched the two men fighting down in there ring. There was a certain beauty to the way their blades flashed and their bodies moved. Fighting was obviously a skill they'd honed, the way she'd practiced the rituals to Maia or the calling down of Her blessings. Shylldra could appreciate that, polishing yourself until your talent becomes a growing part of you. But even if this wasn't a real fight every one of those sword strokes was an instrument of death. And one slip, one mistake, one hand not pulled back when the arena master shouted stop...

Shylldra cringed. And this, she knew, was only the beginning.

There was a flash of blood and one of the gladiators fell clutching a wounded arm. H'viss declared the other man the winner, and the show continued. Another gladiator was brought out of one side of the arena, and from the other a pair of snarling saber toothed tigers. The gladiator charged with a sword in each hand. Shylldra winced as claws and blades cut flesh.

“Not having fun?”

“I'm not very comfortable with violence.”

“Then why did you come?”

“Because I need to be,” she sighed. “I need to accept all of Maia. Not just the parts I like.”

In the arena the gladiator stood triumphant over the two slain tigers. Blood seeped from gashes in his chest but he raised an arm over his head to salute the cheering crowd. Healers in white robes ran from the sides and caught him just before he collapsed, and the Arena Master stood in his place again.

“Glory in battle!” he shouted. “But now we cheer the cause of justice. Now we take the great work of the gods, the destruction of the unrighteous, and we make of it a Spectacle!”

Cheers again, but Hallek didn't participate.

“This is the part I don't like.”

“Why? What's a spectacle?”

Eight men stumbled into the arena below. They wore rags and carried wooden swords.

“Who are they?” Shylldra asked. Was it going to be some kind of play fight?

“Convicts. When they say Spectacle, they mean an execution.”

“Sweet Maia.” But wasn't this what she'd come here to see? Maia the Avenger. She forced herself to look at the arena.

“And to administer justice in the name of the gods,” H'viss said, “we have brought horror itself. Fear him, curse his name, but never doubt his strength, his dark heart is turned to righteous cause tonight! I give you Akko! The Abomination!”

The noise erupting from the crowd was an ugly roar. Boos, hisses, and curses mixed with the cheers as Akko stepped out, over seven feet of muscular body in a kilt and shoulder armor. He licked his lips as he waved the sword above his head, leering at the audience. It took Shylldra a moment to recognize the name.

“Wait, Akko the cannibal? Who ate his own wife and children? But he's in Balrok!”

“So are most of the men at the spectacle,” Hallek said. “Usually. There's a rumor...” he glanced at her sideways. “There's a rumor...wait, you grew up in the palace right? You said you met Lekarik?”

“Once or twice,” Shylldra said cautiously.

“Was he...I dunno. All this stuff is way beyond me. I just dig my weight and get the job done, you know? But there's a rumor they're not as picky about the spectacles since he took over. That they're putting regular thieves in there with the murderers and rapists.”

She was about to tell him she wouldn't know since she hadn't seen Lekarik since they were both children—hopefully in a way that made him not ask for specifics—but her eyes were suddenly brutalized by the Spectacle below and dragged down to the Arena. Akko the Abomination was a storm of death. Blood trailed from his sword as he lay into the helpless prisoners. One man knelt on the ground, eyes wide and blank, red ichor gushing from a cut in his neck. When there were only two men left, one of the prisoners turned and ran, leaping for the walls of the arena. The audience screamed as his hand caught the edge of the pit, but before he could clamber up a glowing raptor head snapped shut around his neck.

The disembodied head had been thrown from the fingertips of a man in a dark green robe standing beside Lekarik in the Emperor's box. He was tall and handsome, like the emperor, but he had the pale skin and blonde hair of a northerner and though he grew it long he wore no fashionable ornaments. He had shoulder pads made of raptor skulls, but a red glow matching the head he had conjured came from the rings on his fingers. Akko killed his last opponent as the man's lifeless body fell to the arena floor. When he realized they were all down, Akko sat and picked up a severed arm, bringing it to his mouth. The crowd moaned in repulsion.

“AKKO!” The man in the robe bellowed, flicking his fingers. A pack of glowing red raptors appeared around Akko, snarling and hissing. Akko laughed and tossed the arm aside. The raptors disappeared as guards escorted Akko out of the arena. H'viss took up his position again.

“Akko the Abomination!” the arena master bellowed. “And of course, Lord Warden Dryss of Balrok Prison!” He paused for the crowd to whistle and cheer. “And now, for tonight's main event...”

Is this what I needed to see? Shylldra thought. Was this vengeance? Justice? Or was it just brutal? Do I have to come to terms with this to accept the Avenger? They say no one is crueler and more brutal than Maia enraged. Is this your face too?

While she was thinking about that the mammoths stormed into the arena. One of them was the classic Northern mammoth she was used to. She'd slept under a blanket of mammoth fur when she was little. The other was half again as large and hairless, covered in wrinkled gray skin. But the body shape was definitely mammoth, a hulking dome rather than the barrel solidness of the elephants in the south and east. The two mammoths saw each other across the arena and bellowed.

“And now!” the arena master shouted. “A clash between two of Huma's greatest sons! A mammuthus from the north, and a Western Mammoth from across the great western sea! These two...woops there they go!”

The mammoth's charged each other, clashing together so hard the wind from the impact blew over the crowd and tossed Shylldra's hair. They swung their heads, tusks swooping like sides towards each other flanks and crashing against each other with loud cracks. Their lumpy foreheads met and te beasts grunted and groaned as they tried to force each other backwards, their enormous feet leaving deep gouges in the sandy arena floor.

It was exhilarating. And it was...terrible. Hallek was cheering along with the others as the mammoths fought but Shylldra could hardly bring herself to watch. Maia didn't condemn the Arena, and she knew some of Maia's Claws or priestesses dedicated to the Avenger came here frequently. But all Shylldra could think of was how Maia had seen her children fight to the death once before, how could she bear to the see it again?

“You really don't like fighting, do you?” She didn't even realized Hallek had looked her way.

“No,” Shylldra said, turning her eyes away from the battling mammoths. “I don't.”

“Then...and I'm not trying to insult you or anything, in fact you're better company than I was hoping for tonight but...why are you here?”

“Because...” and she told him, about the temple and the ritual and how she couldn't make peace with the acrocanthosaur. To her complete surprise Hallek listened, and without the glaze to his eyes that said he was letting the words wash over him while picturing her naked. Just as she finished her story, there was one last bellow from the arena.

The nearly hairless western mammoth jerked its neck, twisting the wooly one aside and flinging it on its side. A sweep of the neck brought a curved tusk into the wooly mammoth's belly, goring it out in a spray of blood and ichor. The crowd cheered as the western mammoth reared and up brought itsfront legs down on the disemboweled corpse of its enemy, blood dripping from its tusks. Shylldra winced and covered her head in her hands.

“Listen,” Hallek said. “Why don't we go? I'll be honest, I had money on the western mammoth, so if you don't want me to buy you a drink with it I'll understand.”

“No,” Shylldra said. “No a drink sounds good. Very good.”

They left the arena as some acrobats came out to entertain the crowd while the mammoth corpse was cleaned up. Hallek stopped at a desk surrounded by guards to claim his winnings, and they stepped out into the city streets. Most of the city was dark but the arena district was alive with pedestrians and street performers and hawkers behind stalls or at the doors of shops, all looking to rope in customers high on battle and low on drink.

“So what about you?” Shylldra asked. “I mean I talked about wanting to become a higher priestess. What are you hoping for the future? I've heard about people starting in Downwind and getting rich.”

“It happens,” Hallek said. “There's a barkeep on this road who used to be a digger. Save your pay, earn a stake, buy into a business. But I'm happy where I am.”

“Digging dung all day? I'm not trying to insult you, but...”

“No I get it. But hey, it's work that needs to get done. Besides...have you ever had nothing? I mean really nothing?”

I grew up on feather beds in a palace with a hundred servants of my own. And when I joined the temple, I thought cleaning my own room was hardship. But all she said out loud was “No, no I haven't.”

“I have,” Hallek said, absentmindedly rubbing his arm. Looking close it was covered in tiny thin scars, like he'd been scraped all over by a rat or a small dinosaur. “There was an alley, and there were...compies...not important. The point is, I've got a roof, a bed, and steady paying work. And from where I started that's enough.I know other people have climbed higher. And maybe I could. But I'm happy.”

She was suddenly at a loss for what to say. In the palace, with it's hierarchy of titles and position and influence, people literally killed to go one step higher. The thought of not only being content, but being content so far down the social (and economic) ladder was so alien she had trouble holding it in her head. Luckily someone else came up with a response before she did, thoughnot the one she would have chosen.

“Sweet Gods Hallek, but you're a miserable godsforsaken asshole.”