“Don’t be a fool! It is time to die! Stand where you fell, greet the end with open arms! It is too late, little Dorian! There is no return, only the black gate yawns before you! Meet your death with honor, for it will not wait another day!”
The voice was not a voice at all. It was layers of sound, grinding, whispering, a chorus of bones scraping across stone. The laughter followed, wet, splintering, endless. It skittered across his thoughts, threading through his mind like cracks spreading through glass.
It reverberated, folded in on itself, doubled, tripled. A sickly creaking, a splintered echo that grew and grew until it wasn't a sound anymore, it was the weight of something pressing down, suffocating, real.
Ingrid was shaking him. Then she slapped him. “Dorian, get up, get up!”
Dorian groaned, turning over and opening his eyes. He saw Ingrid there, half worried and half alarmed. He smiled.
“You know, you're beautiful when your flustered.”
“Gods, I could strangle you! You scared me half to death!” She said, eyes widening.
“What did I do?” He asked, feeling foggy.
“Oh, it doesn't matter now.” She glared, taking a long breath and letting it out through her nose. “That memory crystal, why didn't you show me earlier?”
“Oh, shit. You didn't, did you?”
“You were screaming when they put you down yesterday. You were pulling three priests into the arena, and I don't know how, but I'm sure you had your eyes up. Dorian, do you remember anything?”
“I think I won my match, didn't I?” He thought for a moment, looking around his room. A mass of flowers had been placed at one end of the room, and he smiled again.
“Oh, shit. I totally forgot, did you like your flowers?”
She scowled for a moment, looked over to the flowers, then reluctantly smiled. “Yes, they're marvelous. Thank you.” Dorian thought she might be turning sweet before her expression changed again. “Do you have any fucking clue what I did to save Ken? Do you have any idea what I had to go through...” Her eyes were going wet, which confused Dorian to no end.
“What about Ken?” Dorian said softly, as dread began filling the lower part of his guts.
A long silence passed before Ingrid spoke, though by the time she did, she didn't have to. Dorian knew.
He could hear the words before they were said. His eyes were watering when she spoke the words, “he's not Ken any more, Dorian. He's the Elder now. Dorian,” she put a hand on his, “he's gone.”
He snapped his hand back like she was a viper. He didn't realize it, but he had moved away. He found himself standing, staring at a wall. “No.” He whispered, hoarse. Then he broke.
Kurt was quiet as he left the bed that morning. Quena was... well, she was tired. He didn't want to try and wake her, what he wanted to do was have this gods damned fight all ready. Grabbing his staff and boots, he crept out the door, locking it behind himself. She had a spare key, after all. No sense in taking a chance. Gods, Kurt, what did you do last night?
This morning wasn't nearly so bad as the prior. His head wasn't pounding, though he could feel a little ache just behind his eyes. Though the pain was minutely distracting, the consternation he felt was dominating his thoughts. Had he made a terrible mistake last night? Happy accident? Why did I do that?
He had to stop shortly after making his way down the hall. Leaning against the wall, he dropped his boots and staff to slide slowly down, cupping his face in his hands. I told myself I wouldn't. Then I did it anyways. I'm a betrayer, a betrayer of my own beliefs, my own rules.
Even as he chided himself and hid his face in shame, he felt the knot of pleasantness that was accompanied with the thought of Quena. Lowering his hands for the moment, he stared off, lost in thought. She really is her own person. Perhaps, I've fallen in love. If I have, does that mean what I did was right? Would not following my feelings for Quena be a disgrace to Diana or an honor? Is it a disgrace to me?
He took a long breath and let it out slowly. What was done was done, but before facing off with his brother, he had a few stops to make. He reached over to put his boots on, only then realizing he didn't have his pants. Kressor's scorched testes, what am I even doing with myself?
Sneaking back in to put on some pants was the least stressful part of his mid-morning. The more stressful bit was watching all the people. They were crazed, or damn near crazed. Every server was short with him as he asked for food, every person gave him a scowl, and violence was erupting everywhere. Even the last day of the games wasn't enough distraction. A man throwing a ten pound ball further than the other wasn't all that entertaining anyhow. The archery competition wasn’t half bad.
His match had a few hours yet, then there would be some kind of ceremony for the winners, and another really big ceremony for the rest of the evening hailing in their new Grand Elder. He was just a kid, Kennith Tanner was his name, and when Kurt saw him the night before he wasn't all that impressed. That feeling shifted decidedly when Kurt came on to the balcony for the first time.
He was imposing. Every time Kurt looked that direction, it felt like someone was pointing an arrow right at him and was too close to miss. It was alarming, to say the least. Ever so often, the images on the platforms above the stadium would light up with the Elder's visage. The difference was staggering, concerning really. His eyes were now sunken in, his posture was that of the decrepit man that stood in his place yesterday, and that smile. That smile was a bit of wickedness that Kurt didn't have words for. That was Bacchus, right out in the open. Smiling to a crowd in a uproar.
Going down the stairs to visit his parents was an astounding relief. His parents, by the grace of the Gods, were actually mild compared to the stadium. His mother looked worn and tired, while his father seemed hale, considering that a week ago Kurt was wiping drool off his face.
“Kurt, what's going on up there?” Rita asked, sunken eyes looking the direction he came from for a moment.
“I don't know, but everyone is really fired up. How long do you think they'll keep this up?” He was suddenly cut off by a roar from the crowd, Kurt thought he saw that it was archery.
Rita rolled her eyes, but Rand pointed saying, “what a shot!” Then he was on his feet, pointing furiously to the images in the sky. “I can't believe it, she split her own arrow on the bull's eye!” The following series of expletives had the air of repetition to it, flowing forth like so many strung together vowels that the words lost their meaning.
“I see.” Kurt said, nodding.
“Rita, I can't believe you missed it for the serving boy. That was unbelievable!” Rand was smiling broadly before turning his eyes back to the field.
“So, was he this bad yesterday?” Kurt asked, a bit amused.
“Oh, shut up. I have enough to deal with.” She sighed, then quickly added, “not this bad, no. He seems to remember a bit more now though, that this isn't his tournament. Where we lived that first year.” She grew tired for a moment, and her face relaxed, then just like that the face of composure held fast. Unwavering, she added, “but he doesn't remember either of you. Kurt, what are we going to do?”
“We're going to move forward, that's all I can do.” Kurt sounded determined but felt a nagging dread at what he had to do. Then he snapped his fingers, remembering. “Someone gave me this, I almost forgot.” Handing his mother the letter, he then left her to her peace. She had enough problems to deal with for the moment, no sense in adding to her burden by bitching about fighting his brother, or how unsure he was about all of it. No sense in voicing his complaints, that he was a pawn in a larger game didn't really bother him. What bothered him was the unsure feeling he had every time he held his new staff.
At first, it was subtle, like the distant buzz of a swarm of insects. Now, it felt like the buzz was closer, though he couldn't tell if the buzz was that of flies, wasps, or harmless honeybees. Regardless, he wanted to relax a bit with his new friends before the bout, though no drinking this time. They'd respect him for that, though they were angry enough at Dorian over the whole challenge that they might just decimate him for even going near a drink. Kressians were just like that.
His eyes were rough feeling, they ached in a way that reminded him that he wasn't worth his own weight in stone. Dorian, after nearly an hour of weeping, rocking, and dwelling on his own mistakes, was finally ready to meet this ransacked day.
Perhaps he was being pessimistic, perhaps losing one of their four was too much for his young psyche, perhaps he was nervous for himself and his remaining friends. No matter what the looming threat was, he had been weak long enough. Looking at Ingrid, he momentarily swelled with pride. He could be strong, for her and for himself, he could do that.
The pain wasn't gone, no, it likely never would be. Attached to him like an ethereal tumor, his sorrow was heavier than... well, himself. At the time he couldn't think of anything larger, not that he was practicing his old pass time of self-loathing, but for how strongly his emotions had control of him. It was invading his mind, his sorrow, his mind’s eye shrinking in on itself to the point that he felt claustrophobic.
Once again, Ingrid was there, holding his pieces together. Though there was something wrong with her, a quietness where there would normally be a chiding remark, or an arrogant smile.
“Darling, what's wrong?” Dorian asked, his voice cracking a bit.
“Hmm? Nothing.”
Dorian's response was the most patient expression he could muster. He stared that way for a full ten seconds before she spoke.
“I... I don't know. I went there last night, to get Ken, but it was too late. Quena and I, we,” she took a steadying breath, “we found the unmarked grave of all the people he's been. I have memories, all shook up and confusing, but they aren't my memories, Dorian. I don't know what to make of them.” She was frowning, and paler than her normally fair skin, she looked nearly gaunt for a moment.
He put a hand on her shoulder, and looked deeply into those stunning blue eyes. “We will figure this out, I'll do whatever it takes.” An idea flushed to the fore of his mind, but he stuffed it down as quick as it came. Nobody could know. Not what he planned to do with his boon, not what he'd be willing to trade.
“It's almost time. I'd ask you to help me warm up, but I need some time to put my thoughts together.” He kissed her cheek and rose slowly. Before he had a chance to turn, she gripped him by his waist and held.
At first, he thought he should pry her off and go, but this kind of behavior wasn't like Ingrid. It wasn't like her at all. He held her there, patting her hair softly, trying to stroke away her worry.
“Hey.” Dorian said as softly as he could. “Whatever happens, no matter what, if we aren't together at the end of this day, I will commit all that I am to reunite us. Okay?”
She shook her head. Finally looking up to him, her wet rounded eyes broke his heart. “That's not good enough, Dorian. I want you to swear it.”
“Uh, on-”
“Swear it! On your light, and your hope to be reborn, on your word and your line and, and, everything. You swear to me, Dorian, or I'll keep you right here.” As she said her final words, she buried her face in his tunic, his soft stomach folding as she held herself as close to him as possible.
He let a moment pass, let his mind digest the gravity of her need. Feeling as though he would fail in this regard as well, he said the words and meant them.
Kindly, but not softly, Dorian said, “I swear to you, Ingrid Wheeler, that on my light, my power, my soul, and my hope to be reborn, on all that I am, all that I can be, all that I will be. After this day, if we do not end it together, every success, every failure, and every desire I have will be, in the end, to reunite us. I swear, even death won’t stop me.”
Bending over, he kissed her forehead, then, as she lifted her chin, he gave her the best kiss he could. The kind that melded their mouths together, that made Dorian feel whole, vibrant, and new. The kind of kiss that belonged in a story. Even if I die today, I'd like to give her at least one good thing for all the good she gave me. A kiss to remember is a trifle, but it's all I've got.
Dorian turned towards the door, when she said, “but death will stop you, Dorian, you're not a Priorius. So don't die.”
He stopped, nodded once, and said, “then I'll just have to break the rules, anything for my beloved.” He smiled, opening their bond to reinforce his point. It radiated with absolute conviction.
He kept his bracelet on him. Even if he couldn't talk to her on the sands, it was a comfort to know she was there. Still, he didn't send her anything through it until he was about to go down the stairs. On the way he happened to run in to Basil.
“Basil, good sir, how are you today?”
“Afternoon sir, I'm glad I caught you. I've got all your money right here, haven't let it leave my sight, though I took what you offered, since you were right an' all.”
“That's why I told you to do it.” He smiled down to Basil noting his new looking clothes. “So, what were my winnings then?”
The young man's eyes went slant for a moment as he looked about the vacant hallway. He began untying the cord that held up his britches. Dorian, alarmed, put his hands up, “whoa, Basil, what are you doing?”
“Sorry, sir, I, uh, didn't feel right wearing it on my hip, ya see?” Reaching into his pants, he found what he was looking for and pulled out a rather large sack of coins. “All's there, of course sir. Planning on putting in on another wager?”
“Hmm?” Dorian shook his head, “no, Basil, however.” Dorian snatched the coins and tossed the young man a roll of Vega tokens. His eyes went wide, but Dorian put a hand up to protest. “It's not a gift, its payment of trust. Trust you'll deliver the rest of these coins to the woman in my rooms, and trust that you won’t gamble today. Does that sound like a good deal?”
The boy tried to say several things all at once, which came out in a series of short bursts. “Si-I-Wha-I mean-sir-.”
“Relax, Basil. You've done well by me, now let me repay you. Oh, have you anything to eat on you by chance, I haven't eaten yet.”
“But sir! It's passed noon, you have to keep your strength up. Here, cinnamon almonds mixed with granola and honey, got them from a vendor on the first floor. Suppose for a whole roll, I won’t mind making another trip.” The boy’s eyes were going everywhere at once.
“Basil, is there something wrong?”
“Hmm, uh, no, I don't think so. I mean, everyone's been in a mood today. Whole stadium is about to riot, the new elder-”
“Stop.” Dorian put a hand up and shut his eyes. “I don't need to know anymore.”
“Oh,” Basil looked suddenly hurt, “I didn't mean to offend you sir Dorian, it's just-”
“It's okay, Basil. I'm just dealing with something right now. Tell you what,” Dorian popped some of the mixed cereal in to his mouth, and was surprised at how delicious it was. “Take the coins to her, but grab another bag of these when you go down, treat your next bag out of the earnings, thank you for everything Basil.”
“Oh, of course sir. Is there anything else I can do for you? Perhaps buy a large diamond ring for the lady? She's been there a few nights in a row now...” He shrugged. Dorian smirked.
“She's the only one to ever be there, Basil. I'm no hot shot, I'm just another person, not so different from yourself.”
“Oh, no sir, I could never be so-”
“You can be whomever you want to be, whenever you decide to be it. If you wake up tomorrow and decide to be a king, and never falter, never yield, and exhibit all the qualities you see to be kingly, I dare say, you'd be a king in truth. I'm just a fat kid that woke up one day and figured, maybe I'd like to be a champion.” He smiled to the young man, and something seemed to melt away. His rigidity went lax, and he started grinning sheepishly.
Standing straight, he said, “so, do you think you'll win?”
Dorian shrugged, “at this stage, I've made my point. Nobody out there would want to face me on those grounds, even the one I'm fighting today. I don't know if I'll win,” Dorian looked off into space for a heartbeat before adding, “but I can promise you, it'll be something to remember.” He smiled wickedly before turning down the hall. “Oh, and Basil.”
“Yes sir?”
“When you deliver the sweets to the girl, give her this and tell her just in case. She'll go black in the face for a moment but tell her that I said if there must be a wait, she'll need lodging.” Dorian tossed the bag of coins to the kid and was around a corner before he knew whether or not Basil caught them. No, I know he caught them. He just needed someone to believe in him, maybe that's why I think he's a good sort.
He chuckled to himself before he saw the guards in front of the archway leading downwards.
Gripping his bracelet, he sent, “Ingrid. Before this goes dark, just know that I love you. I love you more than anything, even myself. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.”
“Hey, I'm not a thing!”
“Bullshit, you know you are. What is a whirlwind but a thing? A storm? An avalanche? Oh, you are a force Ingrid, a force that's changed my view on what good could be. I was never happy until you entered my life.”
“Hush, you. Just stay safe, you've got about an hour to warm up. This guy is gonna be tough, he fights with Alex's accuracy, has several more combinations than you, and will harry you the entire match. I don't know, Dorian, I've got a bad feeling about this.” Somehow the waver in her voice managed to echo through his head.
“What? He's not near so big as me, I've got my own advantages, thank you very much.” He wasn't really hurt, though her words did draw back at his optimistic mood.
“The bigger they are the harder they fall.”
“The smaller they are the further they fly, now get out of my head woman. I have a match to win us.”
As Dorian was walking down the stairs, he heard her voice echo through his mind, “I love you, Dorian.”
Kurt slapped Niko on the back before standing up and stretching a bit. “You guys are nuts, and I'd love to stay for, what did you call it?”
“Ball-biter darts! You'll have to play a match with us after you win.”
“Maybe I've found what my boon will be, to ban any game involving biting balls.”
Niko laughed uproariously, though Kurt didn't think it was all that funny. “You do not need it, but good luck my friend. The ancestors are stronger in you than he, you will be victorious. I know this, like I know my other new friend very much likes your stick.”
“Huh? What are you talking about, are you drunk?” Kurt replied, caught off guard by the statement.
“My puppy, you see?” Niko pointed, and a small Kressian shepherd was chewing on the bottom of Kurt's new staff.
“Hey there, you little bastard?!” Kurt said it exclaiming, but was smiling as he did so. “Not for pups.”
The little critter had the audacity to yip at him as he left. The last thing he heard as he left the Kressian balcony was about thirty people laughing, cheering, or just plain shouting, “there goes the next champion.”
Find me, Kurt.
Kurt shook his head. Oh, yes, he was about to find Dorian and have this be done. He had woods to explore, a woman to convince that the cities really weren't that great, animals to hunt, a home to have, and by the end of this day, by the grace of the Gods, a whole family.
Quena was alarmed to find that Kurt had slipped out without even waking her. How had she let her walls drop so far?
The memories still flashing through her mind made her a little... inconsistent. One moment she wanted to cry for how happy she was, then she wanted to scream, then she wanted to laugh. Sometimes she had a call for sudden and abrupt violence, though she didn't act on it. She didn't like how it felt, didn't like how she felt. It wasn't her, and if it was, then this was only a reaction. A temporary problem. She hoped.
When she left the room, the urges became unbearable. Like something was playing the strings of her emotions, but they were only a novice, and every third note was off-key. So, she stayed in Kurt's rooms for the time being. She had earned it, she thought, especially after last night. She smirked as she undressed for a bath, or perhaps he earned it. My oh my, I can't believe I-
A loud knock at the door nearly jolted her off her feet. Grabbing a robe, she went to the door and opened it a crack. “Can I help you?” She said as flatly as she could.
“Oh, sorry, m'lady. Is the contender in there by chance, it's only an hour off now and they're going to be starting announcements soon.”
“No, he's been gone. Not even sure when he left.” She yawned unapologetically.
“Oh, I see, um.” He was blushing! Oh, I have to do something with this.
“Don't worry, I wont miss his match. I'm afraid to see what he'd do to a man, considering what he did to me.” She smiled, and even blushed a little. Ironically, she found she wasn't stretching the truth too far. The man, however, didn't know that. His face was beat red when she opened the door a little more, showing that she was in little more than a robe.
“You're welcome to try and show him up, but I don't think he'll like that much. Probably wouldn't like to know that you came here and were openly gawking at me either.” She said this so nonchalantly that the man didn't even register the words for the first few seconds. He went from smiling and nodding to straight backed.
“I apologize, m'lady. I'll take my leave, and say if you didn't mention the little peek I saw, I wont mention to my superior that there was a woman in a room that should be empty.” He bowed his head, but pointedly kept her eye.
She grinned Kurt's reckless grin, and tilted one eyebrow for just a moment as the door slowly shut. She laughed to herself, despite the echoes running through her mind. Oh, that was too much fun.
Forty minutes later, she was bathed, dressed, hair in a tight bun, with her finest traveling tunic on. She then bribed, cheated, sneaked, flirted, and coerced herself to a front row seat. Close enough to the sands that she could drop herself into the arena, though she'd likely break a leg if she jumped in. She was just considering how she would go about lowering herself without injury when the announcer began.
“Today, this day, we celebrate the autumnal equinox in spectacular fashion, just as we celebrate the life of our Grand Elder. We beg hope to bring in the reign of our new spiritual leader, so that we may continue to prosper under the guidance of the Gods! The qualifying tournaments just to get this far were incredibly competitive, and here in our new Colosseum we have witnessed some of the most brutal and stunning matches ever had! To get here today the journey has been long, but through the grace of the Gods and the will of our leaders, we have filled our Colosseum to the brim. I doubt there's a soul out there, saving for those who have ascended, that isn't right here to witness this glorious celebration.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
The first of our contestants hails from our southernmost settlement, Metan. On the front line, this contestant is a Hunter of great renown, and has been acknowledged by our new Elder as the King of the wilds!”
A few gasps came from the crowd at that statement. For good reason, that would be considered blasphemy.
“Fear not, my Pathian patrons, our Elder has stated this as the Gods themselves do not wish to trifle with those wild and wicked lands. Such is the fortitude of our first championship contender that he has grown up besides the unforgiving brutality of those uncharted lands. He is the son of a great house, the Hunts, who ten generations past were given their name for their fearlessness in facing the lions that hunted the sheep of the Kressian plains. I assure you all, he is true to his name! His ancestors should be proud for all that they wished to be has come to fruition, in the poise of his stance and the strength of his strike! To all those that bear witness, I beg thee welcome the king of the Wilds, Kurtis Hunt!”
The cheers were so loud that the stands began to shake, eventually the crowd cheered, “Hunt! Hunt! Hunt!”
Kurt came out at a light jog, wearing his traveling tunic. He looked audaciously plain, save for his fine musculature, he might have been anyone. Though that musculature wasn't bulky by any means, he certainly had more than most that were as lean as he. He stood tall, waving his staff around and watching the crowd react. Seemingly from nowhere, green leaves began to flow downward towards the stadium floor. She watched as this registered to Kurt, and that wolfish grin spread across his face so broad she could see it without the Technum that projected his image above.
“For our next contender, hailing from our northernmost reaches, deep within the depths of the initiate's Monastery. Having had to fight his way through to the top, even as a child, our next contestant to the championship has always shown a keen eye. Don't believe what you see, nor make the mistake that this hulk of a man is quiet behind the veil of his eyes. This young man began fighting just a few years passed, and has grown nearly a foot since his first victories against much more athletic opponents. With his wit he learned to fight, and as his body grew to match his mind, his strength taught him to dominate. Representing the Monastery, please welcome, Dorian Hook!”
The crowd went absolutely mad, and she felt it too. She felt a whole lot of things, but mostly she felt anger and a lust for violence. It was foreign, as in, it was coming from an external source. She didn't want to shout and cheer for the once pudgy kid, but now she found herself standing and cheering “Do-re-an! Do-re-an!” with everyone else. What is going on?
Kurt watched as his brother stepped out from the shaded entrance, dressed in an all white tunic he looked like a living wall. The crowd were chanting that ominous sound, and looking up, Kurt could see the Grand Elder's gaze resting upon Dorian. It made him sick to realize it, but Kurt was sure that look was one of pride. No, Bacchus, he is not yours. Not in truth.
Still, Dorian's light jog seemed to shake the ground before him. His prodigious bulk as a child seemed to migrate upwards, broad shoulders and chest covered any sign that he once resembled a circle more than a square. His staff, a new one it seemed, bobbed lightly as he came to his marked spot. Then the announcer started up again. Kurt's heart was fluttering, which was unlike him. He hadn't been this close to his brother in long time, and the man his brother had become was something Kurt hadn't expected.
“Today, we celebrate a grand tradition of champions. From before the great library was burned down, since well before we kept records, we have always honored our champions. In that tradition, remember that once your opponent has been defeated, you will announce your boon. A wish from the Grand Elder himself, without reservation, a gift from the divine among us! Are our patrons ready?!”
The cheers that erupted made Kurt want to wince, and he would have if his eyes weren't so solidly locked on Dorian's. Dorian didn't speak, he just mirrored Kurt, assessing his opponent. Damn, I really shouldn't have taught him a damn thing.
“Hook, are you ready?” Called the announcer, so Dorian nodded once, keeping the Metian's eye. “Hunt, are you ready?” The Metian mirrored him, a single nod. “ Blessed be the blood that stains this ground, for it shall bring our redemption! Fighters at the ready! Begin!”
Hunt came at Dorian with a broad swipe, so Dorian stepped in quick for a parry, rolling in to as he went, attempting to deliver his own arcing swipe in turn. A parry met his attack, as the staff rebounded, Hunt stepped in towards Dorian. With both hands on his staff, he bashed at Dorian's weapon again and leaned in to shoulder Dorian. Dorian, however, was wise to the tactic and mirrored the man. The result was a mutual headbutt that sent them both staggering.
Finding his feet, he put a hand up to his head checking it for blood. Nothing, though for some reason he found this absolutely hilarious. He laughed, looking towards his opponent, he was laughing as well. Their grins mirrored each other, as did the following head tilt. How odd.
“I hope you're ready for this next one, came up with it myself.” The Metian said, pointing his staff and wearing a feral grin.
“What'cha got, then?” Dorian beckoned, readying himself.
Hunt took two large bounds, leaped off the front of his staff and vaulted himself forward. The force of the thrust was unreal, and would have taken Dorian right off his feet if he were fool enough to stand there and block it. The man weighed less than Dorian by a few stone, but the amount of momentum he brought was staggering.
Pivoting past the blow, Dorian clipped the man as he passed, but didn't think he hit soundly enough to do any real damage.
“Here, let me show you one of mine!” Dorian shouted over the crowd. He put all his might behind a series of strikes meant to push someone out of their base. Ideally, it would throw them off balance enough for Dorian to follow with something proper.
The Metian stunned him as he planted the spike in to the soil and placed a foot behind it to reinforce his staff. The result made Dorian's hopes drop as each attack sent his opponents staff shaking but otherwise absorbed every blow. Hunt simply pivoted around his staff, reinforcing it as he went. Damn. Smart though.
Figuring, why not, Dorian did what he could to imitated Hunt's incredibly strong thrust. To his surprise, it worked better than he expected, though still fell short of the mark. Hunt backed out and began to circle.
“You picked that up quick,” he said as he slowly spun his staff in a small circle.
Dorian grinned, “you're not doing so bad yourself.”
Dorian, seeing that the man was beginning to close in, didn't want to be caught on his back foot. In a situation like this, Dorian figured, you either got the hell out of there or you rose to meet your opponent. He chose the latter but shifted his stance to one that was much lower.
And they danced, Dorian swapping stances, high to low to basic, swapping his left and right dominance, using a series of attacks that were so fluid that he doubted any of his practiced techniques could compare. This wasn't practice, however, this was the big event, and he knew in the pit of his soul that if he didn't rise to this occasion it would cost him everything. The man across from him knew the same thing, and he too was rising to Dorian's challenge.
The series of attacks that they unleashed upon each other was a thing of beauty. No holds barred, everything they had came together as they fought, neither of them backing down or backing off. Once, Dorian was caught wrong footed, and Hunt capitalized by swiping out Dorian's feet. As he followed up with an overhead bash towards Dorian, Dorian pulled a clever maneuver and managed to trip his opponent as he defended himself. They both ended up on the ground, scrambling to get back to their feet.
Without pause, they met again, the crowd cheering as though they wanted to break the stadium with the magnitude of their accumulated voices. Dorian was surprised to find that his opponent hadn't become exhausted yet, he was still fresh. Dorian had hoped his larger size and greater strength would eventually give him the edge. Who was this Hunt character anyway? He didn't have to run the circuit, face the horrors Dorian had, Dorian had earned this with blood sweat and tears. This Metian wouldn't take that from him.
Another series of attacks and blocks, parries, counters, and the Metian managed to dance away without a single strike. He hadn't landed one either, but still, how much longer could the man hold up?
As they came in for the next attack, Dorian thrust low towards his opponent's knee. Instead moving sideways, the Metian overestimated how low it was and tried to raise his leg above it as he threw his own backhanded strike. The result was Dorian's staff getting lodged between the padded boot and the man's foot, and the aforementioned backhanded strike came across Dorian's cheek hard enough to send him reeling away. He refused to let go of his staff, yanking it free he pulled Hunt off his feet for a moment, giving Dorian a few seconds of reprieve he desperately needed. Then, he felt something. Like a tickle at the back of his mind, like he'd forgotten something, and that something was swiftly becoming everything.
“No!” He shouted, putting a hand out to stop Hunt from coming on.
Kurt staggered about as he watched Dorian stumble away. He dro
pped to a knee as he shouted, “no!” and put a hand out to where Kurt would be coming from. Kurt hadn't even made it to his feet yet, and was wondering what Dorian was doing. It was just a small hit, Kurt hit him much harder when Dorian was just a little dough boy, so he was a bit confused as to why Dorian was doing whatever it was he was doing.
“It's okay, I can wait.” Kurt said as he dusted himself off.
“No! I said no! I don't want this!” Dorian was screaming now.
Kurt backed up a step, had Dorian gone mad? The stadium, what did that woman say? Don't feed it?
Kurt took a tentative step forward. “No, stay back! Get out of my fucking head!” Then Dorian, resting on both knees, roared. Somewhere between pain and exultation, somewhere between losing control and bingeing on violence, somewhere between being human and being beast. He was struggling.
“Dorian, don't feed it!” Kurt shouted to his brother but wasn't too keen on getting close. Unfortunately, the crowd was so loud, booing as they were, that Dorian couldn't hear him.
Dorian was shaking his head back and forth now. Kurt looked up to see that wicked smile on the Elder's face. He was doing this, and there wasn't anything Kurt could do about it. Fuck! What do I do?
He looked around and figured that he had to stab Dorian no matter what he did. Through the heart, little squire, do not miss, or you will be the only one to walk off the sands.
Hearing Moder in his head was unexpected but not unwelcome. He nodded once, eyeing his target. Right there, where the tunic came together, just slightly off the center. One step, then another, then surging, almost in a run.
Dorian screamed again, his voice shifting an octave down. About to strike, Dorian opened his eyes. They were black.
Kurt was just about to strike Dorian in the chest. His staff was pointed, Dorian on his knees. The whole crowd was on their feet, Quena among them. She cried, “Kill him, Kurt! Do it! Kill him!” She didn't know what had come over her, but this feeling was the best she had ever felt. Better than any memory, possibly better than sex.
Just as Kurt was about to put an end to the big bastard, he paused, and Dorian swiped madly. Kurt recoiled, grasping a hand. Why did you wait?!
She took a breath. Get. A. Hold. Of. Yourself.
But despite her mind saying the words, she still felt the same way. She wanted violence, and every exchange between the two men in the arena brought her closer and closer to complete rapture.
Now Dorian was standing, but not in any stance she recognized. He lumbered towards Kurt, and a new feeling broke the surface of the raging storm of her emotions. Dread.
“Dorian! Stop! This isn't you, Dor!” But Dorian couldn't stop. He could only watch. Every step he took felt right, even if he had no stance whatsoever. As he stepped close enough, he whipped out, generating more strength than he thought he could. Kurt blocked it, but the blow ripped the man's planted staff right out of the dirt.
The Metian was shaking his hand as he backed away. Dorian seethed, lusting for more destruction.
“Brother, if you're in there, take control! Dor! That's your body, nobody else!” Brother? Well, at least I'm not the only one that's gone mad, because this guy is crazy.
“Ah!” Dorian bellowed, now picking up the pace. He unleashed a flurry of attacks, combinations he didn't like because he felt they were unfair. Despite this, the man was able to defend most of the attacks, until Dorian stabbed the meat on the Metian's upper leg.
“Sss,” the man hissed as he inhaled and spun away. He limped as he backed up, but Dorian couldn't stop. “Please, Dorian, please!” He wailed, but Dorian felt nothing but confused and angry. He charged.
Kurt was in bad shape, his injuries were mounting and if Dorian didn't let up, Kurt would have to do something desperate. Kurt looked down to his leg for just a moment, but when he looked up Dorian was charging, already several strides closer than he should have been. Kurt danced back, preparing for the wicked strength his opponent bore.
Each swing was like catching a boulder thrown at him, enough power to shake the foundations of any trade house in the Wilds. Blackened balls, man, give me a fucking opening!
Kurt was getting frustrated, but Dorian had learned well. They were equally met, something Kurt seriously hadn't expected, but Kurt missed his chance to do this right and was now paying for it with a broken finger or two. It had happened so fast, just a glancing contact after a parry. Now his grip was gone.
He could still tuck his thumb behind his staff to defend, but his strikes had to either be underhanded or offhanded. So, that's exactly what he did.
Unleashing another series of attacks, Dorian had to back off or get caught with a backhanded bash or a solid strike. Kurt's dominant hand wasn't at it's fullest, but he was sure he was still the greater talent between them. He had to optimize on that aspect, because facing Dorian down with sheer strength or speed wouldn't work. Gods, a big man shouldn't be able to move like that.
Despite Kurt's attacks, Dorian had met them strike for strike, and before Kurt knew it, they were exchanging blows. Kurt had managed a solid bash with the steel cap of his staff against Dorian's forearm, which had slowed him enough to give Kurt some space. He backed out, trying to catch his breath, but Dorian was coming again. Next time, no drinking with the Kressians the night before.
Kurt danced away, managed to land another strike to Dorian's ankle as he stepped too soon. His eyes were completely black and unblinking, a disturbing visage to see on one's kin, to be sure, which further worried Kurt. If I land this through the heart, will he still be Bacchus's puppet? His thrall?
Indecision was wracking his mind and was likely going to get him killed. Get them all killed. “Gods damn you, Dorian! Wake up!”
Dorian staggered for a moment, stumbled. Then he shook his head, looked up and bellowed, eyes black as the night.
“Dorian, it's okay! I'm here now!” Kurt attacked, but Dorian was a living fortress. Clack, clack, thump.
Kurt reeled back, struck solidly in his right shoulder, just at the top where the joint sat. Trying to lift his staff on that side, he couldn't raise it higher than his now injured shoulder. He switched stances, but kept his weight on his back foot. A calm seemed to wash over Kurt then. He took a slow breath through his nose and let it out through grinning teeth.
“Dorian!” To his surprise, the crowd had quieted as they expected a final blow. It was the right time, Kurt knew. They were both battered and bleeding, gasping for breath, but still armed and talented.
“My brother! Dorian, I know you're in there!”
Quena was breathing in short spurts, trying to watch every move, not wanting to miss a single piece of the ecstasy-inducing fight. She wasn't thinking anymore, just another part of the crowd. Just another reveler in the masses, just a piece of the puzzle instead of being the puzzle itself. It wasn't like her, she knew, but when that feeling gripped her like this it was unlike anything. Even better than the freedom she had always dreamed of. Freedom, Q, this isn't freedom.
With a lurch, she pushed down the engulfing emotion. Pushed so hard that if she hadn't lived and died ten times, she doubted she would have had the fortitude. Finally burrowing out a space for herself in her own mind, she was drawn back to the fight.
Dorian was stepping towards Kurt, but slowly. Kurt was in an awkward kind of stance, his wounded leg forward but barely touching the ground. He was speaking, but every word just bounced right off the lumbering oaf. His focus was undeterred, unlike her man. Wait, my man? Why had I thought-
“Dorian! Do you remember when we ran away from the weavers after we doused their clothes in itchweed?” Dorian swung and bellowed, but Kurt backed out of range. “Do you remember when Mom had to whip your bottom so hard you couldn't sit for a week because you thought you could play hooky when it was your turn to burn the waste?” Dancing away, Kurt managed to stab a strike to Dorian's shin that left him hobbling for a few moments.
Kurt resumed his posture, holding his staff out to fend off his foe. “Do you remember how hard we ran when I caught you feeding that baby bear? Do you remember the sounds the mother made as she got caught in the branches? Do you remember the time you saved that injured Garru? I never told you, but I hunted down that giant rat and killed the wicked thing, not for me but because you loved that Garru. Do you remember the-” he parried a strike, then turned the parry in to a shove that caught Dorian off guard enough to send him sprawling.
“Do you remember the first time I told you not to tell anyone about it.” Kurt said, quiet now even if the entire stadium could hear him. “How about when you thought it would be a good idea to lace the smith's Steelfyre with powdered Gwam?” He laughed.
Dorian stood slowly, teeth gritted, beyond exhausted, but still he kept coming.
“Dorian, do you remember jumping off the cliff into the pool? How clear the water was, how the air felt up there? The view?” Dorian stepped closer, a half foot at a time. He wasn't within striking distance yet, but anyone with eyes could see where he was heading.
“I made you a promise, Dorian. Do you remember? I told you to keep pace as best as you can, that I wouldn't leave you behind. Dorian! I'm here to remind you of that promise, I'm with you now! Brother!” Kurt stepped in as Dorian did but staggered slightly. Dorian caught enough of this to double down his effort, but Kurt had stumbled in too close to be effective. Kurt turned the stumble, dropping nearly to a knee. Twisting, the lightest thud was heard.
It was light, gentle, subtle. It was the razor edge of an obsidian knife, the swiftest glimmer of light from a shooting star, the blackness of a Shade compared to the darkness of a moonless night. Oh, so subtle, but so momentous, the glimmer of the sun reflected off the point that jutted out of Dorian's back. No one moved.
The pressure was mounting in his head when he felt the slightest sting. Like a bee sting, it wasn't worth more than an audible yip, and yet...
The grip on Dorian melted away as though it never was. Finally in control of himself, he was looking down at someone, looking down at... Kurt?
Just below him, Kurt was on one knee, off hand extended. Dorian followed it to a staff, the staff followed...
Dorian couldn't breath. He tried, and though he got something, but it wasn't enough. He looked to Kurt, confused.
“Kurt?”
Kurt stood quickly, hands up. Dorian shook his head softly, disbelieving. He coughed, and blood erupted from his mouth. He took a short breath to cough again, and watched as his white tunic was stained red. His eyes were watering, his chin was quivering. “Kurt?”
“Y-yes, Dor?” Kurt sounded unsteady. Kurt never sounded unsteady.
Dorian coughed and gasped as he gripped the staff. His instincts told him to take it out, but his mind wouldn't have it. “Tell Ingrid-” his legs were growing weak, and he was gasping.
“Dorian! No, no, no, no, no! Dorian, this isn't supposed to happen!” Kurt was there, helping Dorian down to his knees.
“K-Kurt-” Dorian wheezed. His head was twitching slightly, his vision tunneling and blurry. “Ingrid.” He wheezed, but Kurt was shouting something.
Quena watched as Kurt threw a tantrum. He had won, why wasn't everyone cheering? What was going on?
Dorian's words were everywhere at once, however, and she was captivated by it. She felt him, somehow, felt his pain, his disappointment.
“I l-l-love 'er, K-K-Kurt.” Dorian was starting to convulse, a very bad sign.
“Shut up, Dorian! This can't happen!” He was screaming, his attention going back and forth between Dorian and the Elder now. “Fix this!” He demanded, pleaded, cried. He was the only thing keeping Dorian up, though at the rate that Dorian was coughing blood, he would be empty within the minute.
“K-Kurt, it's okay. I f-f-found l-love,” Quena recognized the chills, her stint learning with the healers was educational. He was shivering, which was a very bad sign. Meanwhile Quena was sweating through her travel gear.
Faint now, but uninterrupted. Like a quiet call on a winter night. “L-love like th-this” he whispered. A light bloomed from the arena floor.
A warmth, a beautiful warmth, filled her to the point of spilling over. Quena gasped, as did several others around. The anger was gone, but in its place was this, it felt something like love, but so much more. Better than any drug, better than any sex or alcohol, it was wonder. She was smiling so hard that she was flexing muscles on her face that she hadn't known she had. She couldn't resist as she wrapped herself in her arms, twisting back and forth, so full of glee that she didn't know what to do with herself. Get a grip before you start dancing!
She opened her eyes to see Kurt crouched down, cupping Dorian's face. Kurt's face was a rictus of pain and anguish, tears streaming there. “Dorian, I'm so sorry. It's okay, I'm here now. I shouldn't have left, you shouldn't have left. We could have done this, done this together, you know? We-”
A string of wheezing coughs broke the silence.
“Tell her… I’m sorry for breaking my p-p-p-” He choked, the wheezing growing harsher, his breath rattling in his chest.
Quena couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. If she was honest, she was even a little jealous.
For just a moment, she wished she could feel that kind of love, what he felt for Ingrid, with anyone. She had walked back from the cold so many times now, but she had never known that. Thought she had, maybe. But not like this.
The envy soured her mood, but the tragedy unfolding before her was still something beautiful. Even when she wasn’t part of it, tragedy could be just as beautiful as anything else. She couldn’t look away from the final act of this beautiful heartbreak.
“No, no, no, Dorian, stay with me!” Dorian was twitching back and forth now. He was starting his death throws.
Kurt didn't know what to do, he was watching his brother die. “Dorian! You can't do this to me! You son of a bitch! Do you hear me up there! You fix this! You fix this right fucking now!” Dorian was gasping uncontrollably now, like a fish out of water.
Not thinking, part of him thought that if he could stop the twitching, everything would be okay. He held his brother tight, held him upright as best he could.
Dorian was a bloody mess. His jolting movements were so jarring that Kurt had to grab on to his tunic or get bucked away. Kurt screamed, “God's no! Not like this! You fucking bastards! It wasn't supposed to be like this!”
He felt more than heard the last weeping breath escape Dorian. It wasn't even a breath really, just muscles giving up. Nobody moved, the crowd didn’t call out, didn’t react. Absolute silence.
Kurt backed away, and Dorian stayed there. On his knees, he didn't move, didn't stir, didn't even budge. Tears running down Kurt's face, frowning deeply, he slowly shook his head. He gripped the soil beneath his hands as he inspected every inch of Dorian. The scars that ran from his neck down, his broad build, that Cook's chin. Kurt drank in the image of his dead brother like a man dying of thirst. He was kneading his dirty hands unconsciously before he finally realized what he had done. He'd killed his brother.
There on the arena floor, in front of every person in the Valley, Kurt buried his face in his hands, and wept, his sobs, his pleading, his mania, worn openly, and not a soul broke the silence that juxtaposed the sounds of his loss.
Then, the gate that Kurt came out of lifted, the clinking metal shattering the sacred silence. Quena let out a breath she'd been holding, unaware that she had been holding it to begin with.
It tugged at him, pulled at him, down it beckoned him. A weight, an unbelievable weight pulled. It pulled and he fought. Fought and fought until he couldn’t fight it anymore. His last moments, he felt that he was burning the very embers of his own soul, still, unwilling as he was to give in. To the very end.
Rand was mesmerized by the skill of the two fighters below. He was good but, by the Gods, the thought of dueling one of those two with those weapons put butterflies in his belly. When had my belly gotten so big?
Looking over to Rita he saw her concern. She was watching as intently as he, and in the few years they'd been together, he'd never once seen her look so worried. “My dear, what's wrong?”
Something tugged at the back of his mind for a moment, but he let it go as his wife spoke. “Rand, don't you recognize them?” She spoke to him but her eyes never left the Colosseum floor. “Don't you see your father down there? Don't you see my grandfather in Kurt?” She stood suddenly.
Rand looked over to her, confused. “What are you talking about woman?”
She slapped him, hard. This wasn't the playful kind of slap you deliver to a friend, this was the kind that sent a message. By the gods, she's strong. She'll be an excellent mother one day...
Gasping, Rand turned his head back to the two below. They were in combat now, Kurt was saying something, asking Dorian if he remembered? If he remembered?
“Rita, that's my son!” Rand pointed. “Those are our sons! Rita, what has happened? Gods above, are you mad?! Our children are down there!” Rand stood and strode out the room at a speed nobody would expect from such a bulky figure. Just as he was about to approach the stairs upward, Rita grabbed his shoulder.
“What do you think you're doing?!” She demanded.
“What do you think?! Our kids are down there, I don't give a burnt bisque about this fucking tournament, or the Gods forsaken Elder. Damn the rules, my kids will not be hurt for entertainment!”
She held his eye for a long moment. When she spoke, she sounded assured. “Okay, lets go.”
They ran, ran like hell was on their heels, like they were tramping about in the Wilds when he first came Metan and had upset a mother boar. Ran with an absolute need. Rand nearly stumbled as he came to a balcony, slamming into the wall to stop himself. He leaned out, then pointed to the chain that raised and lowered the gate. Rita followed his gesture, as though she already knew what he would say.
“I need you to open the gate, follow me after, I love you.” He kissed her quickly, not allowing her time to argue. As soon as their lips parted, Rand took the stairs three at a time. She shouted something, but Rand ignored it. He had to stop his sons.
Making his way down the hall, down the stairs, and across the long hallway to the entrance to the armory, Rand was sickened at his state of health. When was the last time he ran? Really ran, for all he was worth?
Two guards standing there with staves blocked the open archway heading downwards. “I'm sorry sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Only combatants are allowed below.” He didn't sound insulting, but his words were terse, as though he were at the edge of violence.
Putting his hands up, Rand walked slowly towards them. “Listen, I was sent by Rita Hunt herself. I'm to help ensure tha-” he cut off as he shoved the first man down the stairs. The second man was close by, too close for that spear to be effective. Rand charged the man, shoving him by his shoulders. The man was smart enough to drop his spear, and began trying to fend Rand off.
Once Rand had the man pinned against the wall, he used his longer reach to shove the man against the wall again. Despite the hardened leather helm the man wore, Rand heard the crack from the stone wall as the man's head hit. Rand gripped the man by the plumage on his helm and slammed the man's head twice more. He fell to the floor, hopefully just unconscious, grabbed the man's spear, and was just in time to fend against the man coming up the stairs.
Rand wasn't much of a brawler, not in truth, though he'd always been naturally athletic. The spear, though, the spear was something he knew down in the pit of his soul. The poor fellow had no idea what he'd just signed up for, even in a narrow stairway, he was done for.
In less than thirty seconds, Rand had immobilized the man's upward movement, stabbing the man in each shoulder and in his dominant upper arm twice. From there, it was a forgone conclusion. “Drop your spear or die, no man will keep me from my sons!” Rand held the spear's tip close to his opponent's throat. “Three, t-”
“I yield! I yield!” The sound of the spear dropping to the floor echoed dully down the halls. Rand stepped back, allowing the man to come up. “Now grab your friend and get him to the temple. Go, before I kill you both. Now!” The man hurriedly scurried over, wincing as he lifted the unconscious man from under the arms and began walking backwards. Wordless, Rand went down the stairs, nearly stumbling as he moved with all haste. He came to the bottom just in time to see the gate opening. Gods, thank you for blessing me with such a resourceful wife, he thought as he ran for all he had on to the arena grounds.
“My sons! Not my sons, you faithless swine! End this match!” Came a familiar voice from behind him. Was that his father?
Turning, bleary eyed, he saw his father's prodigious bulk running for them. Afraid, Kurt stood to stop him. His instincts told him to hide what he had done.
“Da! Don't! It's too late!” Rand was before him so quickly that he couldn't believe it. Kurt was holding him back, or attempting to, his father's old man breath suddenly filling all the air in the stadium.
“No, son! Get out of my way! That's my boy over there! Kurt, blast you, move!” Rand tugged hard at Kurt's shoulder and followed with his own, shoving passed Kurt, it was too late.
“No, Dorian! No!” He moaned as he fell to his knees behind Dorian's body. Holding him close, he wailed. He shouted, holding Dorian so tight that if he was alive, he wouldn't be able to breath. Kurt tried to remove his father, but the old man was much heavier than himself.
“Dad, he's gone.” Kurt said as he pulled, but for all his effort, all Kurt managed to do was tilt the two of them. A loud snap accompanied the shift, the staff jutting from Dorian's back now angled away.
“Enough!” Came a voice from above. Looking, Kurt saw the new Elder up there, smirking. “We have our champion!” Then the crowd switched from silence to uproar faster than Kurt could believe.
The Grand Elder chuckled, eyes sunken, he licked his lips before he said, “and what boon would you ask of the Gods?”
Kurt looked up, sneering openly. “I want my brother back!”
The crowd cheered as though he had said he'd bring each of them a keg of ale. The Elder, however, didn't laugh.
“Only the Gods decide when we are given life anew, I am only their servant, child. Do not worry, you will see him when you venture so far. Now, before we begin the final ceremony, and the feast, what is your boon?” He said it calmly, but it was so loud that Kurt's eardrums ached.
“If you can't bring me back my brother,” Kurt looked around, letting the crowd go silent. When they did, he repeated himself. “If you can't give me back my brother,” he paused again, staring up at the Elder. “Then I want you to go and fuck yourself!” He accompanied the statement with a rude gesture, and the gasps from the crowd were simply grand. There couldn't be a finer sound to accompany him to the underworld.
It was so peaceful, wherever he was. It was so quiet, so solemn, so restful, he wondered why he would ever leave this place. He couldn't see where he was, but he didn't care. He didn't need to see in a place like this, there was no need. He would have smiled, but that required too much effort.
As he lofted in his reverie, he felt something shift, felt like he was falling over. That was odd, because where he was there wasn't any up or down, no right or left. There was a pressure in his chest, and he heard the first noise he had ever heard in this place. It was a snapping sound, a crack that echoed, and the pressure in his chest shifted.
Then he heard a new noise, or perhaps an old one? It was a humming noise, a buzzing noise, but as Dorian paid more and more attention, he heard a distinct “ru-ru.”
Quena watched in shock as Dorian stirred. She wasn't listening to Kurt's words anymore, and she doubted anyone else was either. Dorian is alive? How is that-
He rose to a knee, Kurt turning to the noise. “Dorian? Dorian?!”
Dorian's eyes opened, as they did an incredibly brilliant light shot out from his eyes. He roared, and the light arched from his mouth, then his wounds. His hair was suddenly free, and it began flailing wildly. Rand and Kurt both fell back, shielding their eyes from the sudden burst of light.
Suddenly visible to the naked eye, the runes on the arena floor began shifting towards him. The Technum flowed, thousands of runes, covering him like a blanket. The light didn't wink out, but it was as though she was seeing the light behind a piece of paper now, all of his brilliance and luster removed.
Now staring at Dorian, she noted that the staff that was jutting from his body was gone. He was seated on his knees, just as he had been before his father ran out. She watched in amazement as Dorian's light began to fight those runes, the light peeking from behind the veil ever so often, then it began to flicker wildly. Dorian was screaming, his voice odd. He didn't sound human anymore.