CHAPTER 16 -HOPE

The tournament awakened with hushed voices and barely contained bubbling excitement. It was an undercurrent that reached me, even in my isolation. The guardsman that brought my food rarely stayed, but now I could hear them gossip in the halls and place their bets from now. I ground my teeth as the name Pirveli was mentioned, but I had to stop myself lest I ground them to the gums. I never cared for what anyone else thought, so why bother worrying about it now? But I saw that sword between us and the distance between his back and myself was a thousand miles. I was one of the thirteen who made it into the tournament, and unless he was killed or incapacitated by someone else, we would inevitably fight.

For a week and a half, we were given rest. During that time, shouts and orders shook my cell from above. Construction and innumerable footsteps vibrated throughout the stone foundations of the coliseum. Twice I had visitors. The first time a scribe came and requested that I dictate the circumstances that led to my forced participation in the arena. The second time it was the guards, along with an older woman adorned in a dress so elaborate, I had only ever seen the like of which once before. I feared it would gather dirt at the base, but her face was impassive, and shoulders relaxed. With a cool clear voice, she began to inform me of how the next days would proceed. In two days, the tournament would start, and it would last for seven days. Only half of that was to be fighting, giving everyone a chance to rest in between.

Given my performance during the pre-tournament matches, I would not fight until the third day. By then the preliminary rounds would have been completed. After my fight, there was a rest day. If I won, then I would move on to the semi-finals. If I manage to win again, then after another day of rest I would have a chance to fight in the finals. Simple enough.

Then she moved on to lay out the rules for the tournament.

In her words, “You are to fight, but not to kill unless unavoidable.”

What was that supposed to mean? Obviously, they wanted us for something else afterwards, but how the hell were we expected to fight -using real weapons as amateurs- and not kill? And how would that be entertaining. Aside from that unassuming restriction, we were allowed to do almost anything else short of definite mutilation. I struggled not to scoff as she spoke, the All-mother’s Scripture enjoined in the respect of women. Despite the open-ended rules, everything else was clearly laid out. We were to be given a sword and basic leather armor; a chest plate, greaves, shin guards, and a helmet. They would leave a single shield in the center of the arena, which the fighters would race for, and the tournament would not be decided solely through who was the last man standing. A point system was being employed for ability to win without killing the opponent, as it was “more skillful”.

I stroked the beginnings of a beard that graced my chin, and asked what was needed to win given the new scenario. She replied saying that it would simply be points tallied alongside the regular fighting, and brackets would advance akin to a normal tournament. Once everyone’s score was counted, a second category of winners would emerge alongside the first -giving more people a chance to win. I disagreed, assuming it would more likely be a shuffling of the top three, but I kept it to myself.

She elaborated on the point system, saying that a bloodless win following an intense fight would reward the most points, but when I inquired further, she obliged and provided more information. Four judges would watch from each quadrant of the arena and would score us on different aspects of our fighting. Ruthlessness, Restraint, Efficiency, Style. Points would be deducted for if the crown is disrespected, if an opponent is crippled, and even more if they are killed -however outside the tally, there would be no consequences. A person could kill all his enemies and still be deemed the victor, and that is when she revealed the prize.

Top three in the tournament, be it through points or fighting through the brackets, would travel to Katentin. There they would be trained and given a second chance at life in the Queen’s Coliseum. Accommodations, food, freedom. It sounded a lot like what they had told me about a year back in Orid-narr.

“Is it clean?” I asked.

She smiled then, and I wanted to believe she was mocking me.

“Yes, it’s clean.”

As she rose to leave, I asked if she could tell me what all the noise was about, and she was kind enough to answer. Several basic obstacles were being constructed within the confines of the coliseum walls, which we could fight around. On top of that, a second terrace was being installed into the stands. I thanked her, and before the door closed, she paused and tapped her hand to her forehead.

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“Oh yes, Gintars and Karalina was it?”

My eyes flew back up to her, and I watched her lips, trying to make out what she was going to say before she resumed speaking.

“Your family was invited to come, hopefully they can make it.”

-

I listened to the crowds as they booed, cheered and deafened the city. Even from my room the noise made my head ache, and I clasped my hands to my ears in a vain attempt to drown it out. It was no use. The rumbling vibrated through the stone walls and made my blood boil. Why could they not watch in silence? And why was this so much more entertaining for them than previous events?

At least if I were outside, I would be able to do something about it. I could be the one fighting and let loose. But no, instead I had to sit here. Did they want me to blow up?

ggrrrAAAHH!

I roared at the walls, but the sound vanished as soon as it left my throat, lost in the noise of the crowd. This would be the best time to stage an escape. No one would be able to hear, and I’d get lost in the crowd. If only there was a way to get out. I suppose there is. I just need to win -if the older lady in the dress was to be believed.

I knew I should be resting, but with the burning inside my heart I could not keep still. Instead I got up and moved through stretches. My limbs moved against their own volition and I pushed against the wall, as if trying to knock it down. Anything, just to exert myself. Punching through the air, imagining an opponent faster than myself dodging and weaving around my blows. I reached in past their defenses to grab onto them, or perhaps it would be better to reach for their leg and topple them over. I knocked down my imaginary opponent, but he got back up stronger and faster, throwing lighting fast punches. I ducked under it and came up, shifting my head to the side and he grazed my cheek. Pivoting around him, I jabbed back, once, twice -my fist froze before it reached him. This was not good enough. No, this was not the right thing to be practicing. We were to be given swords. One does not simply use their fists in a swordfight. There were easier ways to commit suicide.

I awkwardly held the sword in my cramped cell and faced off against my invisible opponent. Why the hell did the sword look so damn comfortable in his hand? He was a figment of my imagination, it made no sense! I tightened my grip on the blade, but he stayed relaxed. Was this to be a repeat of my fight with Pirveli? Why is he relaxed? I closed my eyes to see him clearly, and to give myself more space.

I must have looked the fool if anyone walked by and saw me with eyes closed holding an imaginary sword. Everyone else was busy in the arena, I had nothing to worry about.

Standing there, I mimicked the man squared off against me. Breathing in and out slowly, I let the tension out of my arms. The sword immediately felt lighter in my grip, and I began to understand. It was like with punching or wrestling. If I remained tensed up every second, I tired myself out, and made things more difficult. Learning needed to be as easy as possible.

I had never seen anyone fighting with a sword before. They closest I had come to that was almost ten years ago when the guards in the Fair Merchant’s caravan drew their blade, but they had not swung it or faced off against anyone. I was swinging in the dark. Literally. But that did not mean I had nothing to go off. How different was a cane? It just did not have a sharp edge. Hmm, no, there was more of a difference than that. It was missing a point and a hand-guard thing. Then the sword was slightly longer than the cane as well.

Now what could I do with that? Think Gelas…

From my previous match with the practice weapon, I remember that reading the opponent was similar to other styles of fighting, that the blunt impact hurt my own hands, and that even by hitting the enemies sword they can be over powered. My face flushed I recalled the crowd laughing at me when I missed a swing and spun like a top. Tight movements. I cannot make the same mistake.

Unlike with punching, I could swing down from above. Raising my hands above my head, I brought my imaginary sword downwards. Despite not holding anything, it took effort to stop it when I swung faster. What if it rebounded off the enemy sword? I frowned and tried to picture it, to feel the reverberation in my hands. My sword would bounce back then-

Unreserved guffaws interrupted my thoughts and I opened my eyes to see Itchy and Smiley laughing at me. The bastards could not leave me alone. Ever since that first damn day in this godsforsaken hole. I never bothered to commit their names to memory, its not like either of them did anything but scratch their balls or smile like a loon. Of all the rats in Chereba, I would kill these two first if I had a chance.

“Look at the little mouse. Look at him!” Smiley howled as Itchy wiped away his tears. I had no idea how long they had been there watching me. Why did it have to be them?

“Practicing your sword skills?”

No, perhaps it was better that they were the ones who saw me.

“Going for a downwards strike? Oooh, scary.”

They were the two people who mattered the least.

“Watch out, cant you see little mouse gained some weight.” Smiley said seriously.

Itchy agreed, “He has some muscle now.”

“Yeah, they call him Khaisar now.” Smiley continued, and Itchy burst out laughing once more.

Just as suddenly as their howling had started, they stopped and leaned towards the cell. His breath wafted through the bars, as rancid as ever, and Smiley whispered, “You’re going to die, just like your sister.”

They walked away and their giggles faded down the narrow corridor.