Defiant - Chapter 4
Rydian shivered as he watched the light fading from the sky overhead, a chill breeze only adding to the aching of his body, to the pain from the beating that Falcon had given the three trainees...
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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Rydian shivered as he watched the light fading from the sky overhead, a chill breeze only adding to the aching of his body, to the pain from the beating that Falcon had given the three trainees. The warmth of his Manus reader had died long ago, its Light expended, consumed, and now he sat alone as night approached.
The soft echoes of laughter came from the Goman barracks behind him, as Falcon and the others enjoyed their evening festivities. A part of Rydian longed to stand and enter, to join them. But after the events of the day, a feeling of doom, of despair hung about him.
The other gladiators could drink, could celebrate their victories in the last games, but for Rydian there was only terror, only the knowledge of what was to come. And so instead, he found himself sitting outside in the growing dark, listening to their mirth, yet unable to join in, to ignore the hole inside him.
Earlier, Falcon and her gladiators had spent only an hour on the sands before the gladiators of Riesor had arrived. Apparently the five cities shared the facilities of the practice arena, with each city allocated an hour to themselves through the afternoon, while mornings were open to whoever cared to spend additional time on the sands.
But it had only taken an hour for Falcon to teach Rydian one thing—he was no warrior. If Hazel had dented his confidence, the Goman champion had shattered his very spirit. She had beaten them all easily, the practice blade hissing as it swept the air, deflecting their clumsy blows and finding flesh, despite their supposed padding. But at least the other two had put up a decent fight, with Johanas’s size and Hazel’s apparently innate talent.
What he’d glimpsed of the Riesoran gladiators had only added to Rydian’s sense of doom. After Falcon and her followers had retired, the Riesorans had spread out in two lines across the courtyard, then paired up to begin a series of hand-to-hand drills. Rydian and his companions had watched only a few minutes before one of the opposing gladiators noticed them and shouted for them to get out.
Even so, their performance had been enough to leave no doubt in Rydian’s mind. In a month’s time, he would step onto the sands of the arena.
And die.
After they’d left the courtyard, Johanas and Hazel and drifted away, each lost in their own thoughts. Bruised and broken, Rydian had let them go. Instead, he had wandered alone through the great buildings of the complex, back to the field where they had first arrived, where his life had changed forever.
Now he sat, watching as darkness embraced the world, as the emerald orb of the sun touched the horizon and became golden, before finally fading to red. A lump lodged in Rydian’s chest at the death of the day. It was beautiful, the brilliance of the colours, the intermingling of light, yet he felt no joy at the sight, in watching it alone.
A weight settled in his stomach. He longed for his father, for his mother, to return to how things had been just six months before, to a time when the world—grim as it was—had made sense. Now his mother was dead, her legacy tarnished by accusations of treason, Rydian had been condemned, and his father doomed to a life abandoned by those he loved.
Swallowing, he drew in a breath as the last light faded from the day. The pain of his bruises had finally begun to recede, the fire of their bites lessening as his Manus reader began to pulse again. He turned his hand to examine the device, surprised it had recovered its Light so quickly. It lit the world around him.
Such a simple thing, it seemed, a ring of metal encasing a crystalline orb implanted into his flesh. Again he reached out for his father, but again there was nothing. Obviously the Alfur had ways of interfering with the devices when they did not want a human to contact the outside world. Otherwise, he was sure the truth about the gladiators could not have remained secret all this time.
Its charting function still worked though, which he discovered as he flicked on the illuminated map. It showed only the six buildings of the gladiator complex, along with a distant line that must have been the coast he’d seen from the air.
Rydian swallowed as he stared at that line, a longing rising within—to escape, to leave this place, whatever the danger. The complex had grown quiet with the darkness, though lanterns had been lit in the barracks behind him. The shouts and laughter of the other Gomans only seemed to grow louder as the night drew on.
Beyond the lanternlight, though, the darkness of the forest beckoned, whispering of freedom, of a chance to begin again. Except…that promise was a lie. Rydian had seen the primates for himself, lurking at that invisible boundary the Alfur had somehow created to keep the beasts away. But to enter the forest was to enter their world, to venture into their lairs. No, the jungle could offer only death.
If only Rydian could convince himself the life of a gladiator promised anything different.
He clenched his fists, watching the Manus reader grow brighter. He could do it, he could enter the trees. The device would light the way. Perhaps it might even scare off some of the beasts, preserve him in the wilderness, perhaps it wouldn’t be the end of him…
Rydian had just started to his feet when the sound of footsteps carried through the dark. Frowning, he looked around to find a silhouette approaching from the lights of the complex. A moment later, the strange man, Marcus Aureli, took shape. Rydian was so surprised that he hardly noticed the creature padding along at the man’s side.
Not until the hound gave a yelp and leapt towards him.
Crying out, Rydian scrambled to his feet, but with no time to find his balance he tripped and fell instead. He struck the ground with a thump—and then the beast was upon him.
He gasped as something wet and slobbery rasped against his face. Teeth clenched, he struggled to fend off the beast, to keep it from his face, from tearing out his throat.
It was a while before he caught the sound of laughter above the snorting of the creature. In his panic, Rydian thought the man had lost his mind, that somehow he had set the mad beast upon him.
Finally though, the laughter trailed away and a sharp whistle sounded in the night. Immediately, the hound’s weight on Rydian’s chest vanished, though it was a moment before he could bring himself to believe the creature had abandoned its prey. Blinking, hands still raised to fend off another attack, he looked around and was surprised to find the hound had returned to the man’s side.
“Are you insane?” he gasped, shoving himself to his feet. “That beast…”
He trailed off as Marcus reached down and stroked the creature’s head. In response, it lifted that terrible snout and…licked his hands?
“I take it Princess left you in one piece?” the man’s voice carried through the night, though he did not look up from the beast at his side.
Swallowing, Rydian took a moment to check his limbs and face were intact before offering a reluctant nod. “I…guess so,” he said grudgingly, then: “You…you’ve tamed it, haven’t you?”
“Ay,” Marcus replied shortly. Giving the hound one last stroke, he straightened and strode across to where Rydian stood. “I wanted to prove something to myself, that the legends were true.”
“…legends?” Rydian murmured, before understanding dawned. “You mean the stories about man and hound, about them working side by side, don’t you?”
The man nodded, turning his eyes to the jungle. “There are…some who claim the legends are just tales spread by the Alfur, to deceive us.”
Rydian swallowed, glancing again at the hound, which had followed close on the man’s heels. “But…how? There are still some in Goma. They’re fine when they’re just pups, but when they mature…”
He suppressed a shudder. Every so often, someone would find a litter of the creatures in some back alley. The wise killed the creatures where they found them. But there were always those who thought themselves above the laws of nature, who believed they could tame the beasts. It always ended badly, as the beasts inevitably grew to adults, and turned against their human masters…
…and tore them to pieces.
“Trial and error,” Marcus replied with a grunt.
When the man did not elaborate, Rydian glanced again at the hound. It continued to stand at Marcus’s side, panting softly, eyes on its master. The creature certainly didn’t seem like it was about to try and tear him limb from limb.
Rydian returned his gaze to the ex-gladiator, but the man’s eyes were elsewhere. Following his stare, a gasp slipped from Rydian’s lips as he noticed the pinpricks of lights that had appeared above. A thousand thousand tiny lights spread across the dark horizon. They seemed to dance and swirl in their brilliance, though when he focused on just one, its point remained fixed in the sky.
Stars.
Memories flickered in his mind, of tales his parents had told him as a youth, about a sky filled with the lights of the universe. Of stars, the lights of suns from galaxies far from Talamh, homes to millions of planets, to life. They had not been seen in Goma for generations, but here…
He swallowed, contemplating that infinite expanse with renewed interest. Looking past the beauty, he caught some glimpse of the infinite beyond his planet, and felt small. Somewhere up there was the home planet of the Alfur, farther beyond reach than even the silver towers in which the creatures had taken up residence on Talamh.
And finally, Rydian knew the futility his father and so many others had come to accept. Humanity, however much it resisted, persevered, could not even overthrow the few hundred Alfur that had taken Talamh. How then could they hope to tackle that infinite expanse beyond the stars?
“My first night in this place still stands in my memories, even after all this time,” Marcus spoke suddenly, his voice soft, barely a whisper. “The terror, the despair…” He paused, glancing in Rydian’s direction before returning his eyes to the sky. “The glory. I knew I would die when I stepped into the arena, struck down by a better man, my death made a spectacle for the crowd.”
He shook his head, eyes still on the stars. “Yet to be able to stand here, seeing the Light of the universe for the first time, I felt it might almost be worth it.”
Rydian snorted, tearing his eyes from the vista to look at the strange man. “I see only our doom.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Marcus murmured. “Yet I see something else, the infinite of our universe. Tell me, in all that expanse, do you think the Alfur are the only creatures to exist?”
“I…” Rydian paused, frowning as he glanced again at the strange man standing beside him. “What are you saying?”
Marcus chuckled. “That it seems reasonable to believe, if the Alfur could come from the stars, another species might too. One free of their rule, an opposition to their power.”
Rydian’s heart palpitated at the man’s words. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. For just a moment, he allowed himself to contemplate the implications. Another species, another planet, free from the rule of the Alfur? What would that be like, the freedom to decide your own future, your own fate?
A gentle pulse came from Rydian’s palm and he glanced down to see the Light of his Manus reader fading. He shuddered as the cold, crushing weight of reality returned. If there was another species, a counter to the Alfur, why had they not already come? Humanity had endured centuries under Alfurian rule.
Clenching his fists, Rydian shook himself, angry he’d allowed the old man to distract him.
“Easy for you to have hope,” he said bitterly. “You survived that first day on the sands.”
“I’m still surprised that I did,” Marcus replied, arms clasped behind his back. “But somehow, I found a way. Then again, and again, until one day I found myself the longest surviving gladiator in Goma…and champion.”
“You’re a warrior,” Rydian replied, as though that were an answer.
“I was many things before I came here,” came the answer, and in those words, Rydian sensed a grief he had not seen earlier, a pain.
He swallowed. “How…how did you change?”
Marcus seemed to hesitate, before letting out a sigh. “You seem like a good lad,” he said finally. Rydian frowned at the unexpected praise, but the ex-gladiator continued before he could speak. “I know you don’t want to be here. You’re not alone in that. But there’s not much any of us can do to change our fates here. Not unless…you take your chances with the jungle. But I warn you, the beasts out there are not half as friendly as Princess.”
Shivering, Rydian found himself staring at the distant trees. Even in darkness, he felt he could see movement, as though the creatures lurked just beyond sight, waiting. Shuddering, he forced himself to look away.
“So what do I do?” he whispered.
“Fight,” Marcus replied.
And with that, the ex-gladiator turned and retreated back into the lights of the complex.
Rydian watched him go, still struggling to decipher the meaning behind the man’s words. His body ached and he yearned to give in to his despair, to do as Marcus had warned against, and choose the beasts over life. And yet…as he watched the ex-gladiator disappear between the buildings, Rydian found himself turning and following the man back towards the complex, towards the light.
He wasn’t ready to give up.
Not yet.
Rydian sat in the shadows beneath the arena, listening to the muffled roar of voices from above, straining for some hint of the mad battle that waged overhead. It was no good, of course. The amphitheatres in each of the five cities had been built by the Alfur. The ceiling overhead was of smooth metal rather than brick, making the reverberations of the human crowd almost inaudible, let alone the individual blows of the gladiators who fought on the sands.
Steeling himself, he glanced at the Lightscreen on the wall. It formed an image of the arena above, of two gladiators battling furiously on the golden sands.
He watched Falcon as she crossed blades with a blue-clad gladiator of Mayenke. The woman spun and danced, easily evading her opponent’s attacks as she put on a show for the watching crowd. It had been clear from the start which of the two would emerge victorious from this bout. Despite her revelry and lack of discipline, Falcon was a force to be reckoned with.
A cold breeze blew through the chamber in which the gladiators of Goma waited and Rydian shivered, wrapping his arms about himself. His emerald uniform was suited to the humid, jungle environments of Goma and the complex where they had trained for the past month—not the cold mountain city to which the Alfurian ship had couriered them that morning.
Boustor.
Looking about the room, Rydian studied the other gladiators. He’d spent the last month mostly avoiding his new comrades, unable to face their apparent cheer—let alone Falcon’s abrupt mood swings. For their part, the Goman gladiators took little interest in the newcomers, sticking instead to their own cliques within the team. Even the strange Marcus Aureli had remained distant since that first day.
Today, though, that was the least of Rydian’s worries. He glanced down at the paper he held in his hand, the one with the number twelve scribbled on the back. At the bottom of the nearby Lightscreen, two numbers glowed brightly: 22 and 46. The numbers belonged to Falcon and the Mayenke who still fought desperately on the screen above. But when the bout was done, when one fell and the other emerged victorious, the numbers on the pillar would change. And two new gladiators would know their fate.
Watching the numbers, Rydian couldn’t help but wonder who he would meet in the ring. Would it be one of the black-clad Boustorans, fighting in their home stadium? Would the crowd jeer at Rydian’s every success, and applaud his fall?
Or perhaps it would be the dark-skinned Riesorans in their scarlet uniforms. Rydian shivered, recalling what he’d glimpsed of their gladiators on his first day. They had trained together in a coordinated, unified way the chaotic Goman team could never dream of reproducing.
Swallowing, he forced himself to look away. At least his opponent would be another of the trainees that had arrived with him that first day in the complex. The Alfur were not so cruel as to match experienced gladiators with those yet to win themselves a name.
But they would all have to fight this games, to earn their names.
Rydian shook himself. It made no sense to worry over who he would face. He had no power over that outcome. Rydian could only control his own actions, his own terror. Letting out a breath, his gaze slid to the weapons that lay on the bench alongside him. No practice weapons these, the shield and gladius glinted in the Light of the Alfur. He had seen some of the other Gomans training with other arms, but these were the traditional weapons of the gladiator, the tools with which he had chosen to fight.
Rydian wrapped his hand around the hilt of his gladius. This was the weapon that would determine whether he lived or died today. He’d practiced with it, had fought Johanas and Hazel with the dulled practice blades, yet the weapon still felt clumsy in his hands. All he knew were a few basic thrusts and parries.
Stifling a sigh, Rydian replaced the weapon on the bench and rested a hand on the shield. Constructed of wood with a steel embossing around its circumference, he was at least more comfortable with the leather strap around his arm. Not that he found much comfort in that—after all, there was only one way a match could be won: death. Only a blade would suffice for that.
Rydian released the shield’s leather strap, then flinched as a roar sounded from above. A hushed silence fell in the chamber as the gladiators looked to the Lightscreen. In the image, the graceful form of Falcon staggered back from her opponent, blood streaming from a cut on her arm.
The room held its collective breath as the Mayenken gladiator charged after her, blade raised for the kill. Suddenly, Falcon’s death seemed a certainty. Despite his dislike for the woman, Rydian’s stomach tied itself into a knot as he watched, waiting for the woman to fall.
A moment later, it was over.
Rydian blinked, staring at the Lightscreen, not quite able to believe what he’d witnessed. The Mayenken gladiator lay dead on the sand, his life blood pumping from a terrible gash in his throat. Beyond, Falcon walked calmly back towards the tunnel that led down into the Goman chambers.
Laughter broke out between the other gladiators as they turned expectantly towards the entrance, a moment before the woman herself appeared on the stairwell. The calm expression that’d she’d been wearing above had vanished already, replaced by a scowl as she held a cloth to stem the bleeding from her wound.
The other gladiators moved forward to congratulate her, but Rydian could only sit fixed in place, still struggling to understand what had happened. One minute, Falcon had been standing fixed in place, helpless before the man’s charge. The next she’d surged forward, moving with impossible speed, her blade sweeping beneath her foe’s guard to claim his life.
Shivering, Rydian leaned back against the cool wall behind him and turned his attention to his companions. Hazel wore her usual scowl, though it might have been softer today, as if not even her frosty attitude could endure in the face of what was to come.
Seated alongside her, Johanas looked as nervous as Rydian felt. His eyes kept flicking to the arena entrance, as though at any moment he expected a pack of hounds to come bounding down the stairs. His fists were clenched, every inch of his enormous frame taut.
Rydian suppressed a sigh. Over the last month, the three of them had done their best to train themselves—at times together, at times apart. But despite the fate they shared, little in the way of conversation had passed between them. Now Rydian found himself regretting the lost opportunity for companionship. The other gladiators might drink and revel in their success, but these two at least understood the terror he faced.
“Bit of a mess we’ve found ourselves in,” he said finally in an attempt at conversation.
Before either of the two could reply, a buzzer sounded in the room. Rydian’s eyes snapped open, darting to the Lightscreen, before he exhaled with relief. 30 and 49. Neither were his number, nor his fellow Gomans’.
Rydian turned back to the others, but when neither responded to his earlier comment, he determinedly tried again.
“So,” he said, sitting straighter on his bench as on the Lightscreen overhead, two figures appeared on the sands. “So…how did the two of you find yourselves here?”
It was more awkward than his last attempt, but at least this one generated a response.
“None of your business, mouse,” Hazel snapped, using the nickname she’d come to use for him over the past few weeks.
Alongside her, Johanas looked up and seemed about to speak, but a rumble from above quieted whatever he’d been about to say. Rydian stifled a sigh, before laughter drew his attention to group surrounding Falcon. She seemed to have perked up now, the grin returning to her face. It took only a moment to see why. A bottle of ale had appeared in her hand. As he watched, she downed almost half its contents in a single swig.
Shaking his head, Rydian lowered his eyes to the floor, a familiar fear wrapping its fingers about his throat.
“I attacked Rotin,” he said suddenly, not quite sure why he was speaking, but knowing he couldn’t stand the coldness between them any longer. It wasn’t right, that the three of them knew nothing about one another. Not when everyone else on the planet thought them already dead. They were all each other had now.
“You what?”
“Well, I tried to. It must have been a moment of madness. I dunno, I was so angry, I honestly don’t know what was going through my mind…”
Silence answered his words. Rydian sighed and forced himself to look at his companions. They stared back at him, mouths hanging open.
“You’re insane,” Hazel said at last.
“Truly,” Johanas agreed.
Rydian shrugged. “I know. I should be dead. But some Alfur at the Enforcement station…they took pity on me. Well actually, it called me violent.” He knew he was rambling now, but he couldn’t stop. “Guess it figured I’d put up a good fight. I guess I did try to attack it as well. It almost used its Manus reader on me. Suppose that would have been a quick way to go, though, I’ve never seen one used…” He stopped speaking finally, glancing at his companions. “Sorry.”
Another silence answered his apology and he looked away. The pounding of the crowd in the stadium vibrated down through the ceiling. He could feel their excitement building, could sense the battle coming to a head. Soon, blood would be spilt on the golden sands…
“I have.”
Rydian’s head jerked up as Hazel spoke in a soft voice. A frown creased his forehead, but the young woman wasn’t looking in his direction.
“Seen one use their Manus reader, that is,” she continued, her eyes distant. “I can still smell the burning. One moment…one moment he was there, the next…”
“Who?” Rydian prodded gently when she did not continue.
“My brother,” the young woman rasped, turning to look at him. Her eyes shone and Rydian shivered at the grief he glimpsed there.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“For what?” Hazel snapped, her face hardening into a scowl. “It wasn’t your fault he got himself killed.”
Rydian swallowed and turned to Johanas for help, but before anyone could speak further, another roar erupted above. The words died on Rydian’s lips and he closed his mouth, looking instead to the Lightscreen. A fresh body lay on the sands above.
Heart hammering in his chest, Rydian watched as the numbers at the bottom of the screen began to change.
Not twelve, not twelve, not twelve.
He repeated the words to himself, and yet…a part of him wondered if it might be better, to finally be the one to leave, to come face to face with the death that had haunted him these last weeks.
But it wasn’t the number twelve that appeared.
“No!”
Rydian’s heart lurched as Johanas cursed. Seated across from him, the colour slowly drained from the giant’s face. Terror dawned in the man’s eyes as he stared at the piece of paper in his hand, at the number fourteen clearly etched onto its pale surface, a match for the one above. It seemed he would not move, until finally the man swallowed and rose carefully to his feet. Without a word, he started towards the stairs. Only at the last moment did he glance back, as though seeking something from the room, from them.
A chill passed over Rydian as their eyes met. Despite his size, Johanas was still just a boy, barely out of adolescence. This shouldn’t be happening to him, to any of them. They hadn’t had a chance to live, to experience the world. Now they were about to step out in front of a crowd and fight, to kill or be killed. It wasn’t fair.
But fairness had no place in this world of Light.
“Johanas,” Rydian called as the giant made to turn away. “Good luck!”
Confusion showed in the Goman’s eyes as he looked at them, but Rydian only nodded, offering what encouragement he could. Still Johanas hesitated, until finally he shuddered and turned to the metallic helmets hanging from a rack beside the stairwell. Taking one for himself, he slid it over his head.
Then he was gone, swallowed up by the light above, and Rydian was left alone in the darkness with Hazel. A muffled rumble carried down through the ceiling as the crowd greeted Johanas’s appearance.
A brief silence fell, before fresh cheering began, and Rydian knew that somewhere above, Johanas was now fighting for his life. Despite the distance between them these past weeks, he found himself sending a brief prayer to the Gods below to preserve the giant Goman.
Hesitantly, he turned again to Hazel.
“Do you think you’re ready?” he asked softly.
Blood pounded in his ears as the sounds of the crowd rose and fell, but he still caught the young woman’s curt response. “Readier than you, little mouse.”
Rydian answered with a scowl, but as silence fell suddenly above, he found he had no words for a retort. As one, their eyes drifted to the Lightscreen. Rydian’s heart palpitated as he watched his companion battling for his life, until he forced himself to look away again. Soon enough it would be him out there on the sands.
His mouth dry, Rydian rose abruptly and crossed to the water basin in the corner. For once appreciative of Alfurian technology, he twisted the tap to pour himself a mug. The water that came from the pipes was clearer than anything drawn from the wells of lower Goma or the gladiator complex, and he savoured its freshness as he drank.
Refilling the mug, he made to return to the bench, then hesitated. “Would you like some, Hazel?”
His companion’s head jerked up at the question, and for a second he glimpsed fear behind her eyes. She nodded hesitantly, as though she hadn’t quite heard him. He filled a second cup and passed it to her, before seating himself.
Thump, thump, thump.
Rydian’s attention was drawn again to the Lightscreen as a pounding began, reverberating through the ceiling, as though the entire arena had come to their feet. In the images, Johanas’s foe was forcing him back with a deadly barrage of steel.
Swallowing, Rydian exchanged a glance with Hazel. It appeared the match was already nearing its climax.
They sat there in silence, listening to the swelling crescendo, the roar, then…silence.
Rydian squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the Lightscreen, to discover who had emerged victorious. A silence hung about the room and he feared it meant the worst, that the quiet giant who had trained alongside him all these weeks had fallen.
Clang.
Rydian flinched as a door sounded, spilling water down his tunic. A moment later, the chamber erupted into cheers. His head jerking up, Rydian watched in amazement as Johanas stumbled across the room towards them. Grinning, their fellow Gomans slapped him on the back as he staggered past them and shouted their congratulations, but the young gladiator didn’t seem to hear them.
Staggering to where Hazel and Rydian sat, Johanas slumped onto his bench. The gladius and shield slipped from his hands to strike the metallic floor with a thud. He no longer wore the helmet and his head hung low. Blood matted his beard, dripping slowly to the ground to gather amongst the metal rivets of the floor. It didn’t appear to be his own.
Seeing the man alive, Rydian felt a moment’s joy, a flicker of hope. Swallowing, he turned to Hazel. The last of her colour had drained away at Johanas’s reappearance. Before anyone could speak, a new silence fell over the room. Belatedly, Rydian looked at the Lightscreen, at the new numbers that had taken form.
Twelve. His time had come.
He didn’t look at the other number. Blood pounded in his ears as he rose and gathered up his equipment, his body seeming to function by a will of its own. Fear clawed its way up his throat, but there was no point delaying now. Knees trembling, he started towards the stairwell.
“Rydian.”
Rydian paused as a voice came from behind him, and he found himself looking back. Hazel was on her feet, eyes wide, the mug he had passed her clutched in two hands, though she didn’t appear to have drank any of the water.
“Good luck,” she whispered.
Despite his terror, Rydian still managed to be surprised. Finally, though, he forced a smile, nodded his thanks.
Then he took a helmet from the rack, placed it over his head, and marched upwards into the light.
Rydian felt the heat of the sands through his sandals. Strange, that this was the first thing he noticed as he walked across the arena floor. Not the thousands of faces watching him from the stands, not the sweat that trickled down his face despite the cool breeze, nor the pounding of his heart so hard against his ribs he thought they might break.
Not even the red-stained patch of sand a group of attendants were hurriedly raking over.
The hot sand. Beneath his feet.
Clutching his gladius to keep the blade from trembling, Rydian paused to draw breath, though the air seemed light here, strangely lacking in substance. Fixing his eyes on the emerald sky, he imagined the stars he’d first glimpsed a month ago, their endless possibilities.
But there were no stars this day, only the jagged points of the Boustoran mountains rising above the circumference of the arena.
A roar from the crowd drew Rydian’s attention back to his surroundings, and looking around, he found a man garbed in black striding towards him.
Boustoran.
A weight settled in the pit of his stomach. Just his luck, that his opponent would be favoured with a home crowd. Even now he could sense the mood of the arena turning against him, the sudden hostility of the watchers. Silently he adjusted the straps on his shield, doing his best to appear unperturbed as his opponent approached.
When the Boustoran was just a few yards away, a soft crackling burst into life between them, and Rydian looked up to see a barrier of Light had formed, separating the two gladiators. At least for the moment.
Shivering, Rydian forced himself to focus on his foe. He too wore the helm of a gladiator, his features obscured by the steel encasing and reflective visor that protected them in battle—and concealed their identities. Not that it mattered. Rydian’s only encounter with the trainees of the other cities had been on that first day in the complex.
Other than the helmets, neither wore armour, just the uniforms of their respective cities. Like him, the Boustoran was armed with the standard gladius and shield.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Rydian flinched as a drum began to sound, its rhythm slow at first, but already growing faster. Behind his foe’s visor, Rydian thought he glimpsed a flicker, a hint of his opponent’s own apprehension. Sand crunched softly as they each shifted on their feet.
The drumbeats grew faster, and silently Rydian raised his sword in salute, the one thing Falcon had shown them. His opponent mimicked the action, a final farewell between servants about to face death. Rydian shuddered, the steel plates of his helmet seeming to constrict on him, even as his heart raced faster. Carefully, he dropped into his best approximation of a warrior’s crouch.
Abruptly, the drums fell silent.
The crowd roared as the Light barrier vanished, and the Boustoran gladiator surged forward. Taken off-guard, Rydian almost fell in those first moments, as his opponent’s gladius lanced for his throat. Only instinctive saved him, as his shield lurched up, almost by a will of its own, and caught the point of the blade on its metal embossing.
Steel shrieked on steel as Rydian stumbled backwards, struggling for balance as the sands shifted beneath his sandals. Fortunately, the Boustoran found himself in similar difficulty, and Rydian was granted a second’s reprieve to recover before his foe was upon him again.
Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the crowd as Rydian caught another blow on his shield. Teeth clenched, he retreated before his opponent’s fury, struggling for a chance to breathe, to find his footing, to think.
But if this Boustoran was a trainee like Rydian, he did not show it. Roaring, he launched himself after the retreating Goman. Another blow slammed against Rydian’s shield and this time he felt the weight behind the gladius, a pain in his wrist. Desperately, he stabbed out with his own blade, but the attack was clumsy and the Boustoran batted it aside easily.
Rydian cried out as his foe’s sword came hissing at his face. Thankfully instinct came to his rescue again and he thrust his shield upwards, catching the heavy short sword on the metal rim. This time, though, his foe did not give him the chance to retreat.
Instead, the Boustoran attacked again, hacking and slashing at Rydian’s shield. The harsh ding of each blow rang in Rydian’s ears as he retreated, struggling to keep his feet, even as the impact of each attack thudded through his arm, lanced through his shoulder. He could feel the heat of his Manus reader as it tried to heal him, but the repeated blows were far beyond its abilities.
Around him, the crowd cheered on their man. Just a minute had passed, but it was already obvious which of the two had the advantage, and the Boustorans were more than pleased to watch Rydian forced back. They knew it was only a matter of time before their gladiator found his way past Rydian’s defences.
But teeth clenched, Rydian refused to surrender. Frantically, he fended off the terrible blade, keeping it from his flesh, desperate to survive just a moment longer, then another. His lungs burned in the thin air and he struggled to match the tempo of his enraged foe, to keep moving, to twist away from each renewed assault.
Faced with the fury of the Boustoran, he was suddenly glad for the time he’d spent with the shield. He would not have survived the first minute without it, though he shuddered to think what the wooden front must look like now, dented and dinged by the unending attacks.
Watching Rydian’s continued retreat, the mood of the crowd shifted. Soon the cheers died away, excitement at the Boustoran’s ferocity shifting to frustration that his foe refused to engage. Soon the booing began, as the Boustoran citizens hurled down abuse at the Goman coward.
Rydian clenched his teeth against their derision, risking a glance at the crowd. They were on their feet, waving angrily at him, demanding he stand still for their man to slaughter. His gut twisted at the rage on their faces, the hatred, and he was so distracted that he almost missed his opponent’s next attack.
Only at the last moment did he notice the man and spin, catching the blow yet again on his shield. This time, though, the momentum behind the Boustoran’s charge carried him on, and with a terrible crash their shields came together.
Gasping, Rydian dug in his heels as the man’s greater weight bore down against him. Heat seared his palm, the Manus reader throbbing, burning, as though it longed to aid him…
…a scream sounded from the Boustoran’s helmet as he strained against his smaller foe, but Rydian held on. Teeth bared, he looked up at his larger opponent, at his helmet just a few inches from his own…
…and saw an opening.
Abruptly, Rydian retreated a step, releasing the pressure from his shield. Taken by surprise, the Boustoran staggered at the change of weight—and Rydian finally went on the attack. Pressing his weight into his shield, he drove forward, aiming the metal brim for his foe’s helmet.
A harsh crack followed as the embossing caught the Boustoran on the chin. The man reeled away from the blow, though he retained the presence of mind to unleash a wild swing of his gladius.
Rydian felt a jarring thud as something struck his hip, followed by a burst of heat in his hand. Heart pounding, he didn’t pause, didn’t stop to assess the damage. There was no time. Adrenaline swept through his veins, washing away what pain the Manus reader could not, and raising shield and sword, he advanced on the Boustoran.
A roar came from the man as he saw Rydian coming. Snarling, he tossed aside his shield and grasped his gladius in both hands.
“Are you ready to die, Goman?” the Boustoran snarled.
Rydian frowned at the man’s question, but he saw no need to respond.
“See your blood?” the Boustoran continued, raising his sword. “Soon it will stain the sands beneath our feet.”
Indeed, the tip of his gladius was stained red. Rydian could feel the damp warmth trickling down his side, but he forced himself to ignore it. So long as he had the strength to stand, he would fight on.
Despite the roaring of the crowd, Rydian found himself smiling. Despite the Boustoran’s bold words, he sensed something had changed between them, as though the balance had somehow shifted. Silently he raised a hand and gestured the man on.
The action seemed to enrage the Boustoran, and howling, he launched himself forward. Swinging the gladius like a club, his blows hammered against Rydian’s shield. Yet despite the man’s two-handed grip, still his blade could find not find its mark.
Again Rydian retreated, though this time with his shield discarded, it was clear the Boustoran held nothing back. The man swung his blade in great, violent arcs, seemingly confident in his ability to beat his foe down, to force Rydian back.
So the next time the Boustoran raised his gladius, Rydian leapt forward, instead of retreating. The move caught the black-garbed warrior off-guard, sword still raised for a blow with enough power to take Rydian’s head from his shoulders.
It would never fall.
The end came almost as a surprise for Rydian, as his blade slipped beneath his opponent’s careless guard and buried itself in the man’s chest. A gasp tore from the Boustoran as they both came to a sudden stop. Again, bare inches separated their helmets. This time when Rydian looked into his foe’s visor, he caught a flicker of the man’s eyes, the spark of his sudden terror.
Rydian’s stomach twisted. Tasting bile at the back of his throat, he released the hilt of his gladius and retreated from the man, from the death that could have been his. Around the stadium, an awful silence swept over the crowd as they watched their gladiator topple backwards, as the black-garbed man struck the sands with a thud.
“I’m sorry,” Rydian found himself whispering as he looked down at the dead man.
Then he turned and fled back into the darkness beneath the amphitheatre.
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