Defiant - Chapter 3
The ship flew on through the entire night...
On the wild planet of Talamh, humanity thrived...
...until the alien Alfur conquered their world.
Now, defeated and broken, humanity serves their immortal overlords.
And pleads to the stars for a hero.
Rydian Holt is nothing, nobody. Just another human from the streets of Talamh. Or at least, that’s what he thinks—until his mother is caught up in a fledgling resistance group. Branded a traitor and sentenced to fight in the arena, now Rydian must face hardened gladiators in single combat. To survive and advance through the ranks, he’ll need the help of an enigmatic weapons master—and more than a little luck.
But after a lifetime of servitude, survival is no longer enough for Rydian. He seeks a way to fight back— not just against his fellow gladiators, but against the Alfur themselves. If Rydian can uncover their greatest secret—the truth about the mysterious Light that powers their world—he might just win his freedom.
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The ship flew on through the entire night. Exhausted, Rydian eventually drifted off on the cold floor, though with the brightness around him, he slept fitfully. Dark dreams haunted him, whispering into his mind, feeding the despair that sought to swamp him. Each time he woke, the world outside the window remained cast in darkness.
Until finally, a light appeared on the horizon.
Body aching from the uncomfortable floor, Rydian sat up at the sight, thinking at first it was simply a reflection of the ship’s own Light. But no, there was no mistaking it—a sharp line across the darkness, a hint of grey to the black. Blinking back the sleep in his eyes, Rydian pressed his face to the crystal, eager to know what waited for him in the world without.
And slowly the truth of the land below was revealed.
Green. An endless, infinite green stretched below. For a moment, Rydian thought it must be a reflection of Talamh’s emerald skies, but the air through which he soared remained dark. Only as Rydian looked closer did he notice the detail to the land below, the towering trees stretching up as one.
The breath caught in Rydian’s throat as he took in the enormous jungle that covered the ground. He’d heard stories, of course, about the wild lands of Talamh, unoccupied, untouched by human hands for generations. The whole planet was the same: utter, uninhabited wilderness.
Except, of course, for the five cities.
Legends whispered of a time before the Alfur, when humanity had spread across entire continents. but the truth of those tales had long since been lost to the ages. Watching the endless jungle pass below, Rydian couldn’t begin to imagine such an existence, a life amidst that wilderness, in a land so wild, so unknown. What would one eat and drink, where would they sleep?
And what of the beasts?
A shiver ran through Rydian as he forced his gaze from the wilderness. Having finally seen this endless jungle, he could well believe the stories of creatures worse than the hounds that haunted Goma, of monsters the size of men, creatures that could swallow a human whole, and still have room for their children.
No, better the cities, controlled by the Alfur though they were, than what passed below. So, where then was the ship taking him?
Rydian did not have to wait long for an answer, as ahead, a break finally appeared in the endless trees. Like the horizon before it, a line appeared in the far distance, where the green gave way to…blue?
His heart suddenly hammering, Rydian leaned closer to the crystal, trying to make out what approached. Beyond the green, the blue rippled like the trees below, but…it also shimmered, light from the rising sun flashing from its surface, as though it were glass or…water.
The ocean.
Rydian watched as the enormous body of water approached. It seemed to grow larger by the minute, stretching out across the horizon as the ship raced towards its shores. How far could it reach? In Goma, there were no bodies of water, unless one counted the puddles in the street after a heavy afternoon shower.
Looking upon that infinite blue was as strange to him as the jungle below—stranger even, for at least the jungle had land to walk on. The city of Mayenke was out there somewhere, on an island amidst the blue. How did its citizens survive, surrounded by endless water? Was that where the ship was taking him, to Mayenke?
Yet even as the thought occurred to him, Rydian noticed something else. The ship was sinking, drifting lower in the sky with every passing moment. As the shimmering blue of the ocean approached, the trees of the jungle grew closer, reaching up with their enormous trunks, branches swaying like limbs, reaching for the sleek steel of the Alfurian ship.
A howl from below drew Rydian’s attention back to the jungle, and he noticed for the first time movement amongst the treetops. Ice froze his veins as he saw the creatures there, leaping from branch to branch as they darted towards the shadow of his ship. Hairs rose on the back of Rydian’s neck as he listened to their howls, to the rage in their voices.
Primates.
They would tear him apart if the ship landed here. He looked around his steel prison, seeking something, anything that would allow him to contact its pilot, to beg them not to drop him in the wilderness below, but there was nothing. His panic growing, he watched the number of primates swell. Their screams chased after the ship, surrounding it, until Rydian felt sure that any moment now they would be upon him.
Then, abruptly, they began to fall behind.
Frowning, Rydian watched from the window of the ship as the primates came to a stop. Hanging from the treetops by their hundreds, they formed a near-perfect line in the trees, as though something had stopped them from continuing.
Before Rydian could begin to understand what he was seeing, the ground below the ship changed, jungle giving way abruptly to open ground. Buildings followed, single-storey and built from wood and stone. He had a moment to take in five squat, square structures placed at equal intervals around a sixth at their centre. Then the ship lurched again, and suddenly he was plummeting from the sky, the ground rushing up, his stomach squashed against his lungs somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.
The falling sensation lasted just long enough for Rydian to release a belated scream. Then the ship was rocking gently as it touched down on the open ground outside his window, and the whirring of its engine was dying away, its Light flickering.
A hiss came from the doors as they swung open.
Crouched against the window in the corner, Rydian watched the opening, expecting at any moment for a monstrous beast to leap at him, for his executioners to come stamping up the ramp, for an Alfur to enter and threaten him with its Manus reader.
Nothing happened.
Slowly the pounding of Rydian’s heart slowed. The sounds and smells of the outside world began to filter through to his senses. Somewhere in the distance, birds sang and insects chirped. The air that blew through the doorway was moist and warm like in Goma, but there was also a sharpness to it here, a tang that set his eyes to watering.
Rising from the cold ground, Rydian stepped hesitantly towards the opening. Though the internal Light of the ship still glowed, he found himself squinting against the brilliance outside. Standing in the doorway, he experienced another moment of disorientation, before details began to take shape.
Carefully, Rydian walked down the metallic ramp, hand outstretched for balance, though there was no railing to hold. He did not look at where he placed his feet, only stared at the strange new world around him. From his window in the ship, he’d been unable to take in the entirety of the complex, but now he saw the rest of it, the doom he had been brought to.
He stood alone on an open patch of ground outside the complex. The buildings were similar to those found in lower Goma, basic in construction, fabricated from wood and stone, not the brilliant metals of Alfurian design. A silence hung about the place, as though it had been abandoned, though he glimpsed smoke rising from a nearby chimney.
But it was not the buildings themselves that took Rydian’s breath away. Beyond the open ground on which he stood, the wilderness waited. There were no walls here, not even a fence to keep out the beasts of the jungle. Nothing.
Recalling the primates that had chased his ship, Rydian shivered, though the wind still carried the warmth of summer on its breath. He retreated a step in the direction of the buildings, though he couldn’t imagine their basic construction could withstand an assault against the monsters lurking in that wilderness. Fists clenched, he waited for the creatures to emerge.
Instead, a buzzing from overhead drew Rydian’s attention. Glancing up, he was surprised to see another Alfurian ship dropping from the sky. A moment later it landed near his own, its metallic doors opening with a hiss. Minutes ticked past before a hesitant figure emerged to join him in the field. Her eyes were wide as she stared at him, though before either could speak, another ship appeared overhead.
Within half an hour, dozens of men and women had joined Rydian in the field. Most stood alone, arms wrapped around themselves as they looked from the buildings to the trees. Rydian could see his own fear reflected in their eyes, though he found that the mystery of this place had begun to replace his own terror. Surely the Alfur had not brought them all here, just for them to die at the teeth and claws of beasts…
So, why had they been brought here?
He turned his gaze on his new companions, searching for some clue. They came in all shapes and sizes, some with the porcelain skin and ginger hair of the Boustorans, others with the golden tans of Mayenke or Lutryde, and yet others with the bronze complexions of the Riesor. All stood looking around in varying states of confusion.
A giant of a man towered to Rydian’s left, though judging from the sparse fluff growing under his chin, the man couldn’t be much older than his own eighteen years. Even so, Rydian shivered as the stranger’s gaze passed in his direction.
Quickly averting his eyes, he noticed another woman standing nearby. Closer to his own five feet and nine inches, she at least didn’t appear overtly threatening. The wind tugged at her ash-blonde hair as Rydian edged towards her. Her eyes darted in his direction at the moment, and a scowl appeared on her lips.
“What are you looking at?” The words hissed from her mouth, lips barely moving.
“Nothing,” Rydian replied quickly, turning away.
“You think because I’m a woman I won’t kill you?” she growled.
Rydian’s head whipped around at her words. “What?”
“You heard me, mouse,” she snapped, eyes narrowing. “Stay out of my way.”
Swallowing, Rydian edged away from her, hands raised. “Listen, I—”
“Silence!”
Rydian jumped half a foot off the ground as a woman’s voice carried over the field. Heart suddenly racing, he spun on the spot, fists raised, warmth surging from his Manus reader as he searched for the owner of the voice. It didn’t take long for him to spot the woman that had spoken.
The newcomer was human, thankfully, though she stood taller than most of the men and women milling in the field. Her black hair had been cropped short and she wore a simple tunic and leggings of Goman green. She wore a scowl foul enough to curdle milk as her sapphire eyes swept the crowd, causing those who stood in her path to quickly step aside.
“So this is today’s offering,” Rydian heard the woman muttering as she drew closer. “Can’t give us one bloody day off…suppose we’d better get this over with…Oy!” she bellowed again, making no effort to mask her irritation now. “Which of you sorry bastards hails from Goma?”
The crowd stirred, glancing at one another in uncertainty at the woman’s words. What was she asking—
“I said, who is from bloody Goma?”
Rydian flinched again at the scream. Belatedly he raised his hand, and noticed the giant and the woman who’d just threatened to kill him doing the same. He swallowed as the latter’s eyes turned in his direction and he pointedly looked away—then stifled a cry as he found the woman in charge standing directly behind him.
“So it’s you three, is it?” she asked, her face twisted in a scowl.
Rydian’s heart began to pound as he realised that of the dozens in the field, the three of them were the only ones to have raised their hands. The others must all hail from different cities of Talamh.
“Hell, that’s gotta be the worst yet,” the woman muttered, looking at them each in turn. “What, they don’t commit crimes in Goma anymore? Ah well, suppose it makes my job easier. And the giant should give the mob a show.” She shook her head before turning and starting towards the nearby buildings. “Come on, then.” Her voice carried back to Rydian and the others. “It’s bloody hot out here and my head is killing me.”
Rydian blinked, sharing a glance with the two other Gomans. But whatever was happening here, the pair were just as confused as he was.
“Oy!” the woman bellowed, looking back and seeing them still standing where she’d left them. “Are you gladiators or bloody possums?” Follow!”
The words rung in Rydian’s ears as he started after the woman. What had she said? Surely he’d misheard…
“Wait!” he called as he caught the woman, just before she entered the complex of buildings. “Wait,” he repeated, puffing as the stranger paused. “What did you say? About being a gladiator? That…can’t be right—”
The woman turned abruptly, irritated eyes fixing on Rydian. Closer now, he noticed the bloodshot red behind her sapphire irises, the tired shadows beneath her eyes.
“Let me guess, kid,” she snapped. “You’re not supposed to be here? You thought you were going to a hard labour camp? Or maybe it was the mines? Looking at you, I doubt it was for execution, though I suppose it’s always the ones you least suspect…” She shook her head, voice becoming weary as she raised a hand to her temple. “Look, kid, truth is, I enjoyed myself far too much last night and today I’m paying for it. I’d really rather be in bed, so if you don’t want to be here, just say the word. We’ll get you back on one of those ships, and the Alfur will find another way to deal with your ‘aggression.’”
“I…” Rydian opened his mouth, then closed it, the words dying in his throat as the implications of what the woman had said struck him.
Execution? He shivered, recalling the way the Alfur had looked at him back in Goma, the fear in its overly large eyes. Those creatures…they would not tolerate aggression in their communities, and especially not violence directed at them. If he were sent back…
“No, ma’am,” he rasped finally, throat suddenly parched. “No, it’s alright, I misspoke.”
The woman scowled. “That’s a shame,” she muttered, turning from them. “And you can call me Falcon. Now come on, the rest of the team will still be asleep, lucky bastards, but I guess I’ll show you around. Honestly, the things they make me do as champion.”
Rydian stared at her departing back a moment longer. He could hardly believe what was happening. He had attacked Rotin. Had tried, insanely, to strike down one of the Alfur with their own weapons. Now, instead of death or a labour camp, where had the Alfur sent him?
To the home of the gladiators themselves.
He, Rydian Holt, son of the greatest traitor in human history, was to become a gladiator. It would be under a new identity of course—all gladiators gave up their old names when they stepped onto the sands. But he would get to fight on behalf of Goma, regain his honour. He might even get to fight Rotin for real one day, to strike down the dreaded Alfur once and for all. And on that day, he would show everyone the honour of the Holt name…
This time when the woman called for them, Rydian didn’t hesitate.
He was going to be a gladiator.
“Catch!”
Rydian flinched as a blade tumbled through the air towards him. Rather than obey Falcon’s shouted command, he leapt back, allowing the weapon to slam into the sand at his feet. The woman said nothing, only laughed and tossed a shield down alongside the blade.
“Better pick those up,” she said before turning to the others, “the weapons master doesn’t like it when we get sand all through his gear.”
Fists clenched, Rydian muttered a curse beneath his breath. The woman could have simply passed him the weapons, rather than throwing the damned sword.
His excitement at the prospect of being a gladiator had been sadly short lived. It turned out, Falcon was far from the woman she’d presented herself to be in the arena. She’d been brisk on their short tour through the complex, stopping only briefly at a building painted a flaking green to explain it was the Goman barracks.
Within, Rydian and the other recruits soon confirmed the truth of Falcon’s words regarding the night before. Discarded plates and tankards occupied the tables of the mess hall, and a stench lingered in the corridors, discernible even through the faint burning scent of the lanterns. Snores had rumbled from behind each door they passed, and Rydian had been relieved when Falcon had led them to an empty room.
The two bunk beds within had been more disappointing, especially when the size of his giant companion made it all but impossible for the man to take a top bed. A glare from the young woman had been enough to remind Rydian of her earlier threats in the field, and so he’d found himself in one of the top bunks.
Afterwards, Falcon had given them each an emerald uniform and had bidden them to follow her. Leading them from the Goman barracks, they’d entered the larger building in the centre of the complex that Rydian had glimpsed from the air. There, they’d found a building painted a neutral white. Within, the corridors had been lit by Alfurian Light, though Rydian saw no sign of the creatures before they reached the courtyard in the centre of the building.
Now Rydian stood on the sands of the practice arena, staring at the blade at his feet, wondering why he’d been so excited about all this. What did he know about fighting, let alone battle with a blade? He looked again at Falcon, but the woman had already moved on to his companions. Drawing in a breath, he reached down and carefully lifted the sword from the sand, then took the shield as well. The blade itself was short and surprisingly heavy, and when he placed a thumb to its edges, he found them dull.
“It’s a practice blade,” Falcon said, drawing Rydian’s attention back to the woman. “Most of the Goman gladiators use the gladius: short, stabbing swords like the one you’re holding now. The practice ones are heavier, though, to help build your strength.”
She stood there expectantly, as though waiting for them to do something, before her scowl returned. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked, gesturing to the three of them. “Get on with it!”
Rydian blinked at the command. “Get on with what?”
Falcon’s face took on a pained look and she lifted a hand to her rub her temple. “Practice,” she hissed. “Gods below, kid, are you deaf or something?”
Fist clenched around the blade in his hand, Rydian took a step towards the woman. “Maybe if you actually explained anything,” he growled, “we might understand what on Talamh is going on!” Blood pounding in his ears, he fixed the woman with a glare, before finally allowing himself to exhale. “And my name is Rydian.”
The woman watched him, eyes glistening in the emerald sunlight, before snorting softly.
“Rydian, is it?” she asked, advancing until they stood face to face. “I suggest you forget that name, kid. From today on, you’re nothing, nobody. That goes for all of you,” she added, eyes darting to where his two companions stood. “As far as anyone back home is concerned, you’re all dead, lost in some accident or another.”
Rydian’s heart stilled at the woman’s words. In his mind, he saw an image of his father seated at their dining table, head in his hands, mourning the son that would never return. Clenching his fists, he felt the hardness of his Manus reader in his palm, the flush of its warmth, but even as he reached out again for his father, he felt only emptiness.
“Oh don’t look like that,” Falcon said, shaking her head. “It’s not so bad—in a month, you’ll step onto the sands of the arena and become gladiators. If you train hard, you might even earn yourself a new name!”
“A month?” Alongside Rydian, the giant gladiator finally spoke up. “Surely it takes longer than that to become a gladiator?”
“A month is plenty of time to sort the mice from the hounds,” Falcon replied with a roll of her eyes. “Anyway, I’ll leave the three of you to it. If I’m quick, I might just be able to snatch a quick nap before the others rise.”
Rydian’s heart sank as the woman turned her back
“What?” the curt young woman at his side spoke up. “You’re leaving us?”
Falcon stared back at her, eyes unblinking. “Were you expecting something else?” she asked finally. “I’ve given you your orientation, provided you with your uniforms, even shown you the practice arena. What else is there?”
“But who’s going to train us?” the young woman gasped.
“Train you?” Falcon asked, then threw back her head and laughed. “Kid, I’m the champion of Goma. You don’t seriously expect me to train every damn recruit that passes through our barracks, do you?”
Silence fell as the three of them stared at the woman. Rydian glanced at his companions, waiting for one to object, but both seemed as shocked as he was by Falcon’s announcement. The gladiator herself watched them for a long moment, hands on hips, before offering them a curt nod.
“Good, so we understand each other,” she said, her smile returning. “I’ll be back with the other gladiators in a few hours. Gods willing this migraine will be gone by then. Until then, good luck, kids!”
With that, she turned and marched to the glass door that was the only entrance to the courtyard, leaving the three of them standing alone.
Rydian stared after the woman, still half-thinking her words had been a joke, that this entire place was a jest played on him by the Alfur. Gladiators might hide their identities behind helmets and ring names, but everyone knew they were meant to be heroes, warriors who risked their lives in the arena for the honour of their city and the riches they earned in victory.
But…the lie to that story lay exposed all around them. Clenching the shield to his chest, Rydian looked to the others, waiting for one to speak. But the giant only stood looking after Falcon, eyes wide, while the woman was staring at the blade in her hand with a glint in her eye, as though wondering whether she might use it to escape this place.
“I…” Rydian started, then trailed off as the two looked at him. Swallowing his hesitation, he shrugged off the shield and offered his hand in its stead. “I’m Rydian,” he said hesitantly, looking from one to the other.
Arms crossed, the woman stared back at him with cold eyes and again Rydian was reminded of her threat in the field. Shoulders slumping, he allowed his hand to drop to his side. He stood awkwardly for a moment, sandals shifting in the sand.
“I’m…ah…Johanas,” the giant said, belatedly offering his hand.
A smile touched Rydian’s cheeks as he clasped palms with the giant recruit. “Nice to meet you, Johanas,” he replied, before turning to the young woman. “And that would make you…”
She glared at him for a long moment, then rolled her eyes. “Hazel,” she said shortly. Looking away from them, she turned on the spot, as though to make a complete inspection of the arena. “So, I don’t suppose either of you know anything about fighting?” she asked as her attention finally returned to the two men.
Rydian hesitated, then shook his head as alongside him, Johanas did the same.
Hazel snorted at that. “Great,” she muttered, lifting her practice blade and turning it one way, then another in her hand. “Guess we’ll just have to learn the hard way then.”
“What’s the hard way?” Rydian asked with a frown.
A smile twisted Hazel’s lips as she looked at him. “I’m glad you asked, mouse.”
Rydian gasped as the blunted blade struck him with the force of what felt like several wagons. The breath hissed between his teeth and he staggered back, slumping to his knees as his strength fled. Pain engulfed his chest where the sword had caught him and he opened his mouth to scream again, but all that came out was a rasping whisper.
Lights danced across his vision as he clutched at his stomach, willing his lungs to inhale, to breathe. They had found a storage locker in the corner of the yard stocked with extra blades and shields—and most importantly, thick vests that could be used for padding. The heavy cotton was constricting in the heat of the noonday sun, but at least they dulled some of the impact from one another’s blows. They’d learnt in the first hour that despite their blunted edges, the weighted blades could still do considerable damage when they struck unprotected flesh.
Or even padded flesh, Rydian couldn’t help but think as he struggled to inhale.
Tears stung his eyes, but finally a flicker of warmth came from his Manus reader, and he managed to suck in a breath. He coughed as fresh air swelled his lungs, his hands pressed against the sand. His vision swam and he scrunched his eyes closed, battling with the sick sense of despair that gripped him, against the voices that told him to stay down, to give up.
Just a few hours with Hazel and Johanas, and he’d long given up on the idea of one day facing Rotin in the arena. Even earning a new name for himself seemed a far-off honour. He’d settle for just surviving this day.
“Come on, mouse,” Hazel laughed as she stood over him, “I didn’t even hit you that hard this time!”
Snarling, Rydian pushed himself up and launched himself at the woman again, his own blade slashing for her chest. She skipped back though, feet moving easily on the sands, and Rydian stumbled as the wild swing threw him off-balance.
Hazel immediately went on the attack, her blade swiping at his side. This time Rydian managed to avoid the blow, then deflected the second as she advanced. Steel rang against steel and the blade jarred in his hand, almost tearing free of his grip. He clenched his spare fist, wishing they’d decided to train with both shield and gladius, but Hazel had suggested they practice with just swords first before complicating the task with a second weapon.
The suggestion had seemed logical to Rydian when they’d started—he just hadn’t realised how proficient the woman would prove with the blade.
She came at him again, and this time his feet failed him, sliding in the sands and slowing his retreat. Before Rydian could raise his practice sword to defend himself, the point of her blade slammed against his stomach, driving the breath from his lungs. Again.
Choking, Rydian collapsed to the ground, Hazel’s laughter ringing in his ears. A thrumming came from his palm, his Manus reader trying to heal him, but he had never called upon its abilities so many times in such a short space of time, and before its warmth could swell it flickered and died again.
A groan rasped from his throat as he finally managed to inhale. His whole body ached from the blows of the last hours—and with the sheer exhaustion of sparring with the other two. Practicing with Johanas, he’d managed to land a few blows on the giant trainee. Against Hazel though…the strange woman had offered them nothing but her name, but it had quickly become evident that this was not her first time holding a weapon.
“It helps if you shout when the blow strikes.”
Rydian started as a new voice carried across the courtyard. Still crouched on the ground, he looked around as footsteps crunched on sand and saw a man approaching. His clothing was a neutral white, and from his greying hair and swelling waist, Rydian assumed the man was no gladiator. Even so, there was a hardness to the stranger’s jade eyes, a…presence about him, one that demanded attention.
“What?” Rydian asked finally as the man came to a stop alongside them. Belatedly, he pulled himself to his feet. “Who are you?”
The newcomer ignored him and turned instead to Hazel. “You, girl, come here.”
Hazel frowned at the order, looking from the newcomer to Johanas. But the giant trainee kept his usual silence, and finally she shrugged and took a step closer to the stranger, blade still in hand.
“Hit me here,” the man ordered, gesturing to his chest.
“I…what? You’re not even wearing padding!” Hazel exclaimed.
The stranger grunted. “You won’t be wearing padding in the arena either,” he remarked.
A frown creased Hazel’s brow. This time she looked to Rydian, but he could offer her no more advice than Johanas. Shaking her head, she lifted her sword and contemplated the blade for a second, before finally making up her mind.
“Fine,” she muttered, then drawing back the weapon, she swung it at the stranger.
Watching from nearby, Rydian waited for the man to react, to leap from the blade’s path or deflect it with some mysterious technique. Instead, he stood fixed in place as the blade struck him clean in the chest.
“Hay!”
Rydian leapt half a foot in the air as the strange man unleashed a bellow loud enough to wake the dead. The shout rang from the nearby walls, causing even Hazel to recoil from the sound. She drew back, weapon raised before her, as though expecting the man to lash out now that she had struck him.
Swallowing, Rydian looked from Hazel to the stranger. He stood unmoved on the sands, hands still clasped behind his back, eyes calm as he regarded the three of them. A smile touched his cheeks as he saw their concern.
“You see,” he said softly, gesturing to his chest. “By emptying the lungs, you will not be winded by the blow. Do you understand?”
Hazel frowned, stepping closer to the man now that it seemed he would not retaliate. Rydian edged forward alongside her, impressed by the man’s resilience. Whether it had been the shout or some other part of his training, the man did not seem fazed at all by Hazel’s blow.
“I…think so?” Hazel said hesitantly, a frown still creasing her brow.
“Good,” the man replied—then abruptly he surged forward, fist lashing out at Hazel.
She had only a second to react before he struck. To Rydian, the blow appeared languid, almost lethargic—but as his fist connected, the man suddenly appeared to speed up, hips twisting to throw his weight behind the blow.
A scream tore from Hazel’s throat as she was hurled from her feet—though whether it was because of the man’s instructions or forced out by pain, there was no telling. Regardless, it seemed to do little good, as she was still crying out when she landed flat on her back with an audible thump.
For a moment she lay there, mouth wide, a soft gasping coming from her throat. Abruptly, she sucked in a breath, followed by a desperate coughing as she curled up into a ball on the sand.
“Almost,” the stranger said coolly as he turned from them. “Try again between yourselves, you’ll get there.”
With that, he moved away to a corner of the courtyard cast in shade by the overhanging eaves. There he crouched on the cooler sand, crossed his legs and closed his eyes, as though he were about to take a nap.
Rydian looked around as a series of curses exploded from the sand where Hazel had fallen. Face pale and clasping her sword, she stumbled to her feet and swung around as though in search of her enemy. Only when she saw the stranger seated cross-legged in the corner did she pause, confusion showing in her eyes.
Her hesitation lasted only a moment, as scowling, she stamped across the sands to where the stranger sat.
“How dare…what…get up!” she spluttered, gesturing wildly with the practice sword. “Get up so I can make you pay for that!” she added, finally finding her words.
The stranger let out an exaggerated sigh as he cracked open one eye. “There’s a fire in you, girl,” he said softly. “You might yet survive the sands.” The smile faded as he continued, his face growing dark. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re ready to cross swords with me.”
At that, he closed his eyes again, indicating the conversation was over.
Rydian shivered as he watched the man, and alongside him Hazel opened her mouth, then closed it again, apparently unable to summon the courage to challenge the stranger further. Though he’d made no outwardly threatening move towards them, there was something about this man that spoke of danger, that warned Rydian that his words were no idle threat.
Swallowing, Rydian retreated back to the centre of the courtyard. It wasn’t long before Hazel did the same, though he noticed she kept flicking dark glances at the stranger as they took up their blades again. Johanas said nothing as they re-joined him, but before they could restart their practice, a fresh voice announced the arrival of more newcomers.
“Don’t tell me the three of you are still standing around like statues!”
Rydian suppressed a groan at the woman’s reappearance, but this time she was not alone. Others wearing the green uniforms of Goma followed her out onto the sands, though they took little notice of the trainees. An odd bunch of all shapes and sizes, they wandered across to the barrels placed at intervals around the courtyard and retrieved their practice weapons.
Falcon alone continued across the sands towards them. Her face was dark, leaving Rydian in no doubt that her hangover continued.
“Honestly, the way you trainees throw away your opportunities,” she snapped. “I’m beginning to wonder why Prince Levaanton doesn’t just send the lot of you straight to the execution pods!”
It was too much for Rydian. From finding himself in this awful place, to the harshness of his companions, to the pain of his injuries and now the mocking of this woman, he’d had enough.
“What opportunities?” he snarled, and around the courtyard, a dozen gladiators swung in their direction. Rydian didn’t care. Sword in hand, he took another step towards Falcon. “What chance do we stand in the arena if no one will train us? All I’ve seen since we arrived here is the promise of a bloody death. The Alfur obviously don’t care if we live or die—only that they get a spectacle for their damned games. You, though…you’re human…you’re meant to be one of us!” He shook his head, staring into the woman’s hard sapphire eyes. “But you’re just as bad as them.”
Silence fell across the courtyard as he finished, a stillness as all eyes turned on Falcon. She stared back at him, unblinking, and Rydian couldn’t help but shrink beneath that gaze. A thrumming came from his Manus reader as he swallowed, suddenly regretting his words, but it was too late to take them back now.
“You want me to train you, kid?” Falcon said, her voice low, dangerous.
She strode forward, then paused beside Hazel and extended her empty hand. The young woman hesitated, glancing at Rydian, but the Goman champion snatched the practice sword from her hands before she had a chance to withhold it. Blade in hand, she continued towards Rydian.
“Well, kid?” Falcon snarled, eyes glinting in the emerald light of day.
“I…I…”
“First lesson,” Falcon said softly. “A gladiator must know pain.”
At that she surged forward. Rydian barely had time to raise his gladius before the woman’s weapon caught him in the side. She struck with such speed and precision that he barely had time to register the impact.
“They must embrace agony, welcome it,” Falcon continued, face impassive. “For on the sands of the arena, you cannot escape it.”
Then she was coming at him again, blade angling in from the left this time. Again Rydian struggled to react, and again he failed. This time, though, he recalled the strange man’s advice as the blow struck him in the chest, and he shouted at the impact.
To his surprise, it seemed to work, for as Rydian stumbled back from the blow, he found himself still able to breathe—though pain still radiated from the twin strikes Falcon had landed. Gritting his teeth against the ache, he struggled to raise his blade to fend off her next attack.
But instead Falcon paused, her eyes flickering to a point over his shoulder. “I see you’ve met our weapons master,” she said archly. A smile touched her lips as she lowered her blade and stepped around Rydian, his insults apparently forgotten. “Marcus Aureli, don’t tell me you’ve decided to take on students again!”
Still seated cross-legged in the corner, the stranger cracked open his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “Falcon, what do you want? I’m meditating.”
“I just thought you might like to join us, Marcus!” Falcon exclaimed. “Since you felt the need to get involved with this lot. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a decent spar.”
The old man stared back at Falcon, and in that look, Rydian thought he glimpsed something, a haunted shadow, a regret, perhaps, quickly hidden.
But Marcus only shook his head. “I’m sorry, Falcon, but you know that I am retired,” he rumbled. “If you’re looking for a decent bout, I suggest you finally lay down a challenge against Rotin.”
Silence returned to the courtyard. Shivering, Rydian looked from Marcus to Falcon, and saw that the colour had drained from the woman’s face. She still stared at the man, but his eyes had already closed once more, his attention returning to his meditation.
“I…he just told us to shout when we got hit,” Johanas mumbled, shuffling on his feet in the sand.
At his words, Falcon came back to life. Shaking herself, she turned to the young giant. “Is that so?” she asked with a smile. “Well in that case, we’d best find out how well the three of you put his lessons into practice!”
With that, Falcon leapt at them, blade dancing in her hands.
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