Vylder opened his eyes, finding himself in unfamiliar surroundings. The bed he was in, although rustic, was not entirely awful.
Although considered a slave, his being a fighting slave had its advantages. The space he shared with Mswali, while far from luxurious, had adequate comfort. However, the thick reinforced door, locked nightly, left no illusions as to his circumstances. He looked toward the tall, dark-skinned man with whom he had formed a friendship. Thanks to circumstances resulting in them becoming a team, they had ample time to train and teach each other the basics of their respective languages. Now that he could speak a little Nevan, he had learned his former opponent, now team mate, was called Mswali and that he was from a land far to the south.
Vylder, having shown his acceptance of his current circumstances, now had his cell door unlocked for most of the day. There were times for meals and an area where pit fighters would sit together to eat, and they would spend at least half the day training. The trainers and guards treated them well, as they needed to be in peak health. But not from any altruism or kindness, it was a calculated tactic. Healthy fighters had better chances for victory and better chances of putting on a good show to entertain the punters. Although their routine was quite regimented, there was some time to rest and recuperate. These times Vylder spent with his new companion, learning Nevan while he taught him Halder.
He felt glad to have someone with whom he could at least have a basic conversation. It also made them much more coordinated in the pit. Though their risk of being killed still existed, this improvement in their communication reduced that likelihood. He was becoming more proficient in the Nevan language. He and Mswali had an agreement that he would still ‘translate’ for Vylder, because he didn’t want his captors to know he understood them.
“Mswali, psst…hey. Wake up.”
“What is it? Is door unlock?”
“No. I thought we might talk for a bit before they came and got us.”
Mswali opened one slightly red eye to regard Vylder for a moment, and threw his pillow at him, which Vylder caught. Mswali then said, “Sleep is precious. You should cherish,” rolled over and pulled his blanket over his head.
Vylder had a quiet chuckle to himself as he walked to the window, dropping the pillow near Mswali’s head. Mswali snatched it, pulling it under the blanket. Vylder looked out through the opening, his blue eyes staring wistfully at the dim glow on the horizon. A sign that the sun would soon breach its surface. It was these times he thought about his family. He wondered what they were doing, worrying about what they must be enduring since that night. How having their peaceful life shattered would affect his children. He had hoped through their service, his sons could gradually learn about man’s capacity for brutality and barbarism. But contrary to his and Venna’s hope, the raid on their village thrust them headlong into that life lesson.
The sun had half risen. The clinking of keys and clacking of the door lock pulled him from his musing. He turned toward the door, as Mswali sat up blinking, some straw from the mattress comically sticking out from the tight curls of his hair.
“Time to eat,” said Vylder.
“Hm. So it is.”
With that, they both headed to the mess hall. They each grabbed a bowl of porridge and some honey and found a seat. As they started eating, a Nevan slave came up to them, and intending to intimidate Vylder, stared at him. Were Vylder to stand, the other fighter would have stood chest-high against Vylder. However, he had a muscular physique from training and fighting in the pits.
He said to Vylder, “So you think you something, huh? Too good to fight against another fighter like me? I think you are afraid to die. I think you are a coward.”
Although Vylder understood the gist, Mswali translated it. Vylder continued eating, nonplussed. He had almost finished when the man slapped his bowl out of his hand, and Vylder remained as though the bowl was still there. The pit guards looked over but showed little interest. Then the man slapped Vylder across the head once and tried a second time when Vylder snatched him by the wrist and stood up. He lifted the man off his feet, holding him by the wrist. The man’s eyes were bulging out of his head as he began screaming in pain.
There was an audible crack, and Vylder released him, where he fell into a foetal position, cradling his now broken wrist and moaning in pain. This had the guards scrambling over with their spears pointed at Vylder, who had retrieved his bowl and calmly walked over to get another helping. The guards followed him, barking orders to stop and get down. But Vylder paid them no mind. He simply went back to his seat and continued eating. Mswali, in the meantime, was shaking his head and laughing to himself. Vylder caught his eye, smiled, and winked.
The trainer burst into the mess hall and spoke to the guards, demanding to know what the commotion was. The guards explained what had occurred, to which the trainer scolded them. “Why didn’t you drag this fool away? Now his wrist is broken. How will he fight? Are you going to take his place? Maybe I should speak to Flavius, and have you fight his opponent. Huh?”
The Guards’ eyes were downcast, as the trainer continued to berate them. Finally, the trainer said to them, “Drag this useless sack of shit out of here. And the next time another slave even looks in the big one’s direction, you grab him before he goes near him, throw him in his cell, and then tell him how you just saved his life.”
The two guards grabbed an ankle each and, followed by the trainer, dragged the unfortunate fighter out. After they finished breakfast, they went to the holding area to warm up and stretch, preparing for the day’s events.
For the next few hours, they could hear the occasional cheer and a dull rumbling sound. They guessed that the opening events were chariot races.
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Following the races were several matches, and finally, Vylder and Mswali pitted against some mercenaries or personal guards. Those who were wealthy enough to hire them and willing to risk them by accepting the challenge.
Slowly, one by one, the fighters would move out to the arena. Vylder could not know who he would see again after the matches. As much as he lamented it, he had resolved himself to focus on his own situation so he could get free and return to his family.
Soon enough, he and Mswali were the last ones, and they headed into the arena. Mswali with his trident, and Vylder with his shield and single-handed ball mace.
As they cleared the entry and moved to the centre of the sandy ground of the pit, they looked around, only to see that there were no opponents as yet.
They looked at each other, and then the opposite end of the pit floor opened, and a platform arose. They could hear a loud, low hissing sound. And then they saw it.
It raised its giant snout above the edge of the opening, tasted the air with its shiny, black, forked tongue, and then climbed out onto the pit floor before the platform had raised fully. Confronting the pair of large men was an eighteen-foot-long monitor lizard.
Vylder immediately told Mswali to break right, as he started sprinting around to the left. This confused creature for a moment, not knowing which prey to go after. It decided on Vylder and started barrelling after him.
Mswali tried moving to the rear of the creature, aiming to climb onto its back. A swift swipe of its tail sent Mswali careening along the ground. He was stunned by the blow, struggling to stand and shake off the cobwebs.
As Mswali struggled to his feet, the lizard lurched forward, tilting its head to the side to snap Vylder up into its jaws. Vylder thrust his shield into its mouth, buying himself precious seconds to roll out of the way.
He raced over to Mswali. “You all right?” Mswali nodded. “Guess they’re telling me something without talking,” Vylder quipped, as the two men cautiously circled the giant beast.
As the lizard struggled to break the shield holding its mouth open, Mswali raced toward it. He thrust his spear at it repeatedly, slowly backing it up, while Vylder circled around on its right side. Vylder dashed in and smashed his mace down onto the creature’s front foot, shattering bones.
The creature shrieked in pain, which caused the shield to fall from its jaws. It turned and swatted at both men with its tail. Vylder dropped to his stomach as the tail swept over him, missing him by barely an inch. Mswali leapt into the air in a flying split as the tail whipped by beneath him.
The wind caused by the sweeping tail kicked up dust, concealing Vylder. This caused Mswali to be the first enemy the creature saw. It moved toward him with cation. These things had hurt it, so it was taking no chances. Then it lurched forward, rotating its head to the side to take Mswali into its jaws. Mswali rolled out of the way.
Seeing his opportunity, Vylder leapt up from lying prone and launched at the creature’s head. With its head still turned on its side, Vylder struck it with a powerful double-hand strike, the ball of his mace caving the beast’s skull in. The giant lizard instinctively scurried forward into the nearest wall and collapsed, its legs in the air twitching as if still running. Mswali had regained his feet and then cautiously approached. As Vylder came to his side and the pair moved together, weapons at the ready, Mswali thrust his trident into the centre of the giant reptile’s thorax, after which it finally twitched its last.
ᚲᚺᚱᛟᚾᛁᚲᛚᛖᛊᚱᛁᚾᚾ×ᛟᚱ×ᛟᚱᚾ
The lock clicked as the key turned. A Holvelan guard entered and knelt beside the large bed and gently roused the man sleeping on it. From within the covers, the small man sat bolt upright. Despite the fear that was visible in his eyes, he asserted himself admirably. Ambassador Gallad Crassus, after gathering himself, said with indigence, “This is an outrage! I demand to speak to King Ulden immediately! I mean, really! Locking up an ambassador of a foreign nation. My government will hear of this, I promise you that.”
A voice sounded from outside the room. “Are you finished?”
“Grand Duke Viggin? Is that you? What is the meaning of this?”
“Yes, ambassador, it is I. You will have to be satisfied with my most humble self. The King has returned to Utstadland. But I can help you if you would be willing to first accept my sincerest apologies for your current situation, and allow me to explain.”
Gallad inhaled deeply, letting it out with a long sigh. “Very well, Your Grace. Why have I been detained?”
“Well, ambassador, as it stands, there has been an incursion into my lands by people of your nation. That incursion resulted in the rape and slaughter of many of my people. Not to mention the six men that were abducted and taken, I would presume, to somewhere within your country. This is not in dispute. Are we agreed on this point?”
“Well yes, Your Grace, but what that has to do with my being detained…” Gallad didn’t finish his sentence before Viggin cut him off.
“Now the fact whether this was an action taken by the individuals, or one that was sanctioned by your government, is in question. This is due to the fact that these men wore the uniform and equipment of the Neven Imperial Legion. Are we agreed on this point?”
“Well, yes, but I assured you…”
“Are we agreed?”
Gallad visibly flinched at the sudden change of tone from the grand duke and answered quietly. “Agreed.”
“Right. Now, as it stands, you sent messengers to your government. However, I must inform you that, unfortunately, they did not make it outside my borders.”
“What happened to them?”
“Well, the birds we had to shoot down, so I’m sorry about that. The riders you sent off with dispatches, however, we intercepted and detained them.”
“But why?”
“Well, it ties into the document we had you sign and seal. Yes, yes, under duress. Again, I do humbly apologise. See, we couldn’t allow your government to know until we investigated ourselves.”
“But my government must know of this. We can track down your people with…”
“No. No. You see, it may not have been sanctioned, as you say, and I genuinely believe that you believe that. But who is to say that someone in the Imperial government didn’t commission this outrage? Who is to say that this was not designed to cause tensions between our people, possibly even spark a war between us?”
Ambassador Gallad sunk into himself a little and sullenly nodded. “Why couldn’t you just tell me of this? I would have listened. I most likely would have agreed to your plan. I am greatly injured by your lack of faith in me, Your Grace. We have known each other for many years, and I would think by now...”
“Ambassador, although I rule this country, as you know, it is more like a province. My father, the king, has the final say. It was his decision to do it this way. Until I am king, I must obey.”
“I see.” The ambassador sat up straight again, adopted a slightly haughty expression, and continued, “Well, although I have been held against my will, it wasn’t entirely awful.”
Viggin leered at the man he still considered a friend, and shook his finger at him, saying, “Ah? Ah? I knew you’d appreciate Ingrid. She is a most talented young lady, that one.”
Gallad had the good grace to blush at that. “So, what now, Your Grace?”
“Well, we get you out of here, get some fresh air, and have breakfast in the garden. Then, now that my father is gone, I will let you in on what our plan is and where we are with it.”