Defiant - Chapter 5
Standing in the open field, Rydian looked to the sky, at the infinite stars stretching across the heavens, and finally thought he understood what Marcus Aureli had meant that first 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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Standing in the open field, Rydian looked to the sky, at the infinite stars stretching across the heavens, and finally thought he understood what Marcus Aureli had meant that first night. It seemed so long ago now, another lifetime, though only a month had passed.
One month, and a day.
A shiver ran down Rydian’s spine as he breathed in the humid air. Though a member of the Alfur had moved amongst the gladiators after the games, healing any wounds with its terrible Manus reader, Rydian felt he’d left a part of himself in that arena. But…the Rydian that had emerged was stronger for it—had become the man he needed to be to survive this life.
The man that might take the infinite possibilities of the stars, and make the impossible a reality.
“We’re alive.”
Johanas spoke the words in a rasping voice, as though he’d been trying for long minutes to speak. The larger recruit stood to Rydian’s left, Hazel to his right. She too had emerged victorious from her bout. Now the three of them stood studying the stars. They’d been that way for some time, since the Alfurian ship had dropped the triumphant Goman gladiators in the familiar field. The others had long since departed, but the three of them remained.
“I told you we’d be fine,” Rydian said softly.
Movement came from Hazel as she turned towards him. “No you didn’t.”
“No…” Rydian let out a sigh, a smile tugging at his lips, “but I should have.” He swallowed. “I…don’t think I would be here without your help. Without the two of you training alongside me, I couldn’t have kept going.”
It was true. The three of them may not have spoken much, but at least they had worked alongside him this last month, trained with him, done their best to prepare one another. Abandoned by Falcon and her ilk, these two were the best chance he’d have.
Though…a voice still whispered deep down inside Rydian that his victory had been a fluke, his foe a novice like himself. The next games…
…shivering, he forced the thought aside.
“So,” he said, exhaling into the night air as he turned towards the distant barracks. “Shall we get ourselves a drink?”
The others looked at him at that, their eyes widening momentarily before they followed the direction of his gaze. Understanding dawned in their eyes then, and he smiled. Like himself, the two had avoided the revelry of the other Goman gladiators. Now though…tonight was a night for celebration.
“Let’s go,” he said, then started walking before the others could disagree.
His heart began to pound as they approached the Goman barracks, and glancing at the others, he could see the trepidation in their faces. After their crossing with Falcon on their first day, they had done their best to avoid the woman. That could not continue, not if they were to spend the rest of their lives in this place, to fight alongside one another.
Lanternlight spilled from the open windows as they approached the building, lighting up the night. Silhouettes moved beyond the shutters, the voices of their comrades carrying from within, already growing louder as the gladiators sank into their cups.
Only on the threshold did Rydian hesitate, glancing back at the others. Then, determined, he pushed his way through the door.
The warmth of the room swept out to greet them, along with the rowdy voices of their comrades. Those quickly fell silent though, as the others in the room turned towards the newcomers. There was a moment of confusion in their eyes as they looked at the three young gladiators that had stepped into their midst.
The room erupted into cheers.
Rydian was so surprised he leapt backwards into the others, almost causing all three of them tumble backwards through the still open door. Only Johanas’s bulk kept them standing, his massive arms steadying them. Hazel flashed him a glare, but before either of them could speak, a voice carried through the cheering.
“There they are!” Falcon bellowed as she pushed her way through the other Gomans. “Our conquering heroes! Who knew the three of you had it in you, ay? Must be the first clean sweep of Goman trainees since…well as long as I can remember!”
Rydian swallowed as the woman dragged them forward into the room and turned to face the room. Beyond, some dozen gladiators were still standing, while a dozen more were slumped against their tables, apparently already overcome by the night’s festivities.
Falcon didn’t seem to mind. Sweeping several large bottles from a nearby table, she thrust them into Rydian and the others’ hands, then turned back to the room.
“You’ll have to excuse our dear brothers and sisters,” she said, laughter dancing in her blue eyes. “We expected you to join us much earlier, but no matter. Here, let’s have another cheers to our fallen brother!”
A roar came from the Gomans still alert enough to understand the woman’s words, and raising their bottles they drank in unison. Falcon did the same, though finding her own beverage exhausted, she reached out and snatched a bottle right from the hands of one of her companion.
Rydian hesitated, looking to the other two in confusion, and Falcon let out a groan.
“It’s tradition,” she said, gesturing to their bottles. “After each games, we salute those of our number who fell in the ring. Here, let’s try again.” Turning to the room, she raised her stolen drink. “To Scarlet Hog!”
“To Scarlet Hog!” the room bellowed back.
This time Rydian and the others followed suit. Immediately, Rydian began to cough as the fiery liquid burned down his throat. Alcohol was another of humanity’s flaws the Alfur could not understand, and so had been strictly prohibited in Goma. That wasn’t to say it could not be found amongst the underground markets, but this was the first time Rydian had had the opportunity to sample the fiery drink.
For once, he found himself on the side of the Alfur.
Falcon took no notice of their reaction—only grinned as she turned back to them.
“We’ve been brainstorming names for the three of you,” she announced in a voice loud enough to reach the farthest corner of the mess hall. Swinging towards them, she stumbled slightly, before finding her balance. “I think you’ll enjoy what we’ve come up with,” she continued, regarding them with those crystal eyes.
Rydian gritted his teeth at her words, his sense of trepidation returning. Judging by the name of the fallen gladiator, Falcon and her followers were not the most…creative of people. But the woman would obviously not be diverted. Stepping forward on unstable legs, she stopped before Johanas. There she paused, reaching out to place a hand on his chest.
“You are a big boy,” Falcon murmured, and Johanas shifted nervously beneath her gaze. “I watched your bout on the Lightscreen,” she continued, voice surprisingly clear despite her obvious inebriation. “Very impressive. I’m honoured to welcome you properly to the team…Bloodlust!”
She shouted the name, and the room cheered again at her announcement—though Rydian noticed another of the men seated at the rear of the mess hall had slumped against his table.
Standing before their cheering teammates, Johanas went bright red at Falcon’s announcement, his eyes falling to the floor. Rydian thought the man might actually object, but in the end, he only nodded, accepting the title with a murmur of thanks.
Still wearing her smile, Falcon moved to Hazel. Here she paused, hands returning to her hips as she looked the young woman up and down. For her part, Hazel glared back, refusing to shrink before the champion’s gaze, until Falcon finally burst out laughing.
“Feisty one, aren’t you?” she snorted. “I like you, girl. I think Hawk is going to suit you perfectly.”
Hazel frowned at the name, even as the other gladiators cheered yet again. Rydian was coming to see why the men and women of Goma were rarely seen in the practice arena before noon.
Then Falcon turned to him, and he found himself swallowing, unnerved by the sharp intelligence behind those sapphire eyes. It was hard to reconcile this boisterous woman with the champion he had watched on the Lightscreen earlier that day.
“Now yours was an interesting bout,” Falcon said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not sure how I feel about a Goman trainee that spends half his match running away.”
Rydian’s cheeks grew warm at the woman’s words, but abruptly Falcon broke out in laughter. “Nah, let the Boustorans grumble. You’re here, their man ain’t. End of the day, that’s the only thing that matters.” She paused again, raising an eyebrow as she continued her inspection. “Still though, I suppose the name should match the gladiator. We’ve been struggling to find something…appropriate.”
“I call him ‘mouse,’” Hazel said from behind him.
A curse leapt to Rydian’s lips as he spun to confront her, but Falcon leapt upon her words. “Oh, that’s much better than what we came up with!” she exclaimed, and Rydian’s heart sank as she continued. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Hawk. Mouse it is!”
She clapped Rydian on the shoulder then, as though offering her congratulations, before a movement from the entrance drew her attention. Rydian followed her gaze, and was surprised to see the white clad Marcus Aureli stepped through the doorway.
“Marcus!” Falcon exclaimed, practically shoving Rydian out of the way to greet the weapons master. “What brings you to our esteemed hall!”
Marcus paused in the entranceway as though surprised to have been caught there. His eyes flickered over the mess hall and lingered a moment, before returning to Falcon. His face hardened.
“I heard your trainees had some success,” he said shortly. “I thought I would come to offer my congratulations.”
“Of course, of course,” Falcon replied, taking the man by the hand and trying to draw him further into the barracks. “Come on, I’ll introduce you. We just named them…you know, they’re going to be great, I’m sure.”
A frown twisted Marcus’s face as he looked from the woman to Rydian and his two companions. They stood frozen to the spot, staring with surprise at the white-clad intruder.
“I watched your bouts on our Lightscreen,” he grunted, offering a nod. “The three of you fought well.”
“I…” Rydian swallowed, struggling to find a response. The strange man’s words that first night in the complex had stuck with him, though he could not have said why. Finally, he managed to nod. “Thank you.”
“Yes, yes, they were excellent,” Falcon interrupted. “It’s good to have some fresh blood that doesn’t fall over dead the first time they get a glimpse of a sword. But you know all about that, don’t you Marcus?” She smiled, nodding towards a nearby table. “Come on, Marcus, why don’t you join us for a drink? We can talk about old times. It’s been too long.”
The ex-gladiator paused at her words, his eyes flickering around the room again, taking in the gladiators in their revelry—and their stupors. For a moment, Rydian thought he glimpsed something in the man’s eyes, a desire, or longing…but it vanished a second later as the man shook his head.
“No,” he rumbled, “I’m past all that. I had best retire. The weapons must be cleaned.” He glanced at the three of them again. “Well done today,” he said softly.
Then he was gone, disappearing through the door into the darkness outside. Rydian and the others stared after him for a moment, before Falcon shrugged and turned to them, raising her bottle once more.
“A salute!” she exclaimed with her familiar grin. “To our new gladiators!”
It was late into the night by the time Rydian stepped from the Goman barracks. In need of fresh air and a break from the noise, he stumbled out into the darkness. His head spun as he moved away from the building, causing the white specks of the stars to swirl unnervingly in the sky. His stomach swirled with it and his hand burned as his Manus reader tried to protect him from his own stupidity.
It failed, and a moment later he was on his knees, hurling the scant remnants of his supper onto the dewy grass.
A groan rasped from his lips as he straightened. After the initial burning of the alcoholic drink Falcon had passed him, Rydian had begun to enjoy the buzz it had given, the haze that took the edge from his mind. It made it easy to forget what he’d done, the blood on his hands.
Now though, four large bottles later, he was beginning to have some regrets.
Laughter carried through the night, but Rydian ignored the onlooker as his stomach convulsed again. Clutching at the damp ground, he sucked in great lungfuls of air, struggling to regain control of his faculties. His hand still throbbed, and even through the haze on his mind, he frowned at the sensation. The Manus reader should have used up his scant store of Light hours ago.
Instinctively, he reached out into the ether, images of his father flickering into his mind. For just a moment, Rydian thought he sensed something, a distant presence, a flash of concern…but then it faded, and he was left alone again in the empty night.
“What’s…the matter, little mouse…can’t…handle your…booze?”
Rydian stifled a groan as he saw Hazel—or Hawk, as she was now called—approaching. Although approaching might have been too generous a word. She zagged one way across the field, then the other, one of the bottles from inside still clutched in her hand. Finally she stumbled to a stop beside him and sat abruptly. She laughed again, leaning in close to him.
“That’s okay,” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “Neither can I!”
At that, her eyes widened and her face grew tense—then it was her turn to hurl her evening meal onto the grass. Rydian hated to think the other gladiators would say the next morning. His palm still pulsed and the fog over his mind seemed to be clearing slightly, the spinning of the stars slowing.
“Can’t say this…was what I expected,” he said, a hiccup interrupting the flow of his speech.
“No…” Hazel panted as she sat up. Her eyes had a glazed look, but she seemed to have finished evacuating her dinner. Sitting back on her haunches, she picked up her bottle and took a swig, then wrinkled her nose. “Argg, but that’s foul.”
Rydian chuckled. “Then why did you drink so much?”
The young woman said nothing to that, only lay back in the grass, eyes to the sky. Rydian shivered at the silence. The last sounds of revelry were fading from the mess hall as Falcon and her gladiators retired for the night. Letting out a sigh, he lay back on the grass beside Hazel.
“To forget,” she said at last, her words sombre despite the alcohol. As though to emphasise the point, she took another swing from the bottle before offering it to Rydian. “Sorry about the name by the way.”
Rydian snorted and silently he waved away the bottle, his stomach swirling at the thought of more alcohol. Shrugging, Hazel finished the last of the amber liquid.
“What was it like…your fight?” Rydian asked softly. After his own…he’d barely registered Hazel leaving, other than to wish her good luck as she had for him.
Lying beside him, Hazel contemplated the bottle she held in her hands, as though already regretting its end.
“I got lucky,” she murmured. “He was too good for me. But…it only took a second. He tripped, and that was it.”
Rydian shivered at her admission. “I barely survived my own,” he whispered. Swallowing, he glanced at where she lay alongside him. “I…don’t know what I’m going to do. When we face the real gladiators…”
“I know,” Hazel whispered, then glanced over her shoulder as footsteps came from the shadows. “Johanas, is that you?”
The giant gladiator appeared at her question, his big frame silhouetted by the single lantern burning on the wall of the barracks. He said nothing, only crossed to where they sat. His eyes lingered a moment on a particular patch of grass, then he seated himself as far from it as possible.
Rydian and Hazel shared a look. “You okay, Johanas?” Rydian asked.
“Bloodlust now, I guess,” Johanas replied, still looking distracted. He held a bottle of his own, but the alcohol didn’t seem to have the same effect on him as it had Rydian and Hazel. “I heard…you talking about the next games. I…I think we should ask Falcon again. To train us, that is. Maybe now we’re full gladiators…”
Rydian swallowed, sharing a glance with Hazel. The man was right—they had to at least try. Without proper training, they would stand little chance at the next games. No wonder the Goman barracks seemed so depleted, compared with the other cities. Yet…Rydian doubted Falcon could be the answer to their problems.
Maybe they wouldn’t be called for the next games. Normally only a half dozen gladiators from each city fought at a games, so chances were they would not all be called upon.
In the silence of that night, the thought offered little comfort, and Rydian reached out a hand in askance for Johanas’s bottle. The man passed it over without a word and Rydian took a swig, then offered it to Hazel.
“At least we’ll have more time to train,” Hazel mused. “And we’ll know our opponents in advance.”
“How will that help?” Rydian asked, frowning. Unlike unnamed candidates, the matchups between gladiators were drawn weeks before each games, to allow excitement to build amongst the cities. But he didn’t see how it would help the fighters themselves.
Hazel shrugged, taking another drink from the bottle before lifting her Manus reader. Its Light pulsed dimly, before two figures took form above her palm. They watched as the pair leapt to battle, the silent clash of sword and shield eerie in the darkness. It was a moment before Rydian recognised the woman in the recording.
“It’s you,” he said.
“I spoke with Falcon earlier, before she completely passed out,” Hazel replied. “There are recordings of every bout. Once you know your opponent, you can find out their fighting style, what weapons they use…” she paused, then sighed. “Honestly, it probably doesn’t matter.”
The light of her Manus reader flickered and died, leaving them again in the gloom.
“I hate this,” Johanas said abruptly, his voice rough, breaking the silence. He stared down at his hands, lying clenched in his lap.
“We all do, Johanas,” Rydian said quietly.
“No.” Rydian’s head jerked up at the venom in the man’s voice. There was a hardness behind Johanas’s eyes as he looked at Rydian. “I’ve watched you both training, saw how you celebrated, when you won. You might not have chosen to be here, but…” He trailed off, fists clenching and unclenching, the light of his Manus reader flickering.
“I hate this,” Johanas repeated finally, shaking his head. “The training, the weapons, the…violence. My father…he’s a doctor. He was training me to heal, to help people.”
The hairs on the back of Rydian’s neck tingled as he listened to the gladiator’s words, saw the pain in his companion’s face.
“I’m sorry, Johanas,” Hazel said, pausing. “How…how did it happen, for you?”
The big man glanced at her, and Rydian was shocked to see a tear streak his cheek. “Happen?” he whispered. “You mean what did I do to end up here? Which Alfurian laws did I break?” He looked at Rydian and snorted, the sound harsh in the night. “I didn’t punch Rotin or steal or anything. I did nothing.”
“I…what?” Rydian whispered, heart palpitating.
Johanas turned his gaze to the stars. “Whatever planet the Alfur came from, I hope one day it burns for what they’ve done to us,” he whispered. Then he lowered his head, eyes returning to his hands, his clenched fists. “They think we’re so uncivilised, so violent, that we cannot be trusted. But its them that make us fight. If not for the Alfur, I would never have stepped foot in one of those places. But no, Johanas is too big, too strong, they said. Only a matter of time before my violent tendencies appear. Cannot take the risk, they claimed.”
Tears ran freely down his face when he looked at them now, and Rydian felt the man’s pain, felt his hatred for the creatures that had so judged him.
“And now,” Johanas continued in a whisper, “now I have blood on my hands.” He shook his head angrily, his voice breaking. “My father, what would he think now? His son…a murderer!”
The conversation died then, as they were forced to confront the truth of what they’d done. They still lived, but it had cost another their lives. There was a guilt in Rydian’s heart now, and sitting on the grass with his new friends, he felt his anger boiling up, a rage that thrummed through every fibre of his being, burning, searing, demanding its release.
A flash of heat came from his Manus reader, but he barely spared it a thought. All he could focus on was the injustice of the Alfur, on what they’d done to him and his mother and Johanas, the pain they had inflicted upon the human race.
Everything the Alfur claimed to represent, their assertions of benevolence, all of it was laid bare by Johanas’s words, by their condemnation of the gentle, soft-spoken son of a doctor.
The Alfur were liars.
And it was time someone did something about it.
The morning saw Rydian wake before the dawn, just as he had every day for the last month. With one difference.
His head was on fire.
A groan slipped from his lips as he scrunched his eyes closed again. An answering moan came from somewhere else in the dormitory. His head pounding, he reached up to massage his temple, but it didn’t seem to make much difference. He did, however, catch a flicker of Light, even with his eyes closed. Stifling another groan, he squinted through his eyelids…and froze.
Light shone from his Manus reader, bright enough to illuminate the ceiling above him. The glow flickered, pulsing in rhythm with his heart, far, far stronger than he had ever seen it. He swallowed, mouth suddenly parched as he watched the Light. At first he thought it must be some illusion, an aftereffect of the alcohol he’d drunk the night before, but…now that he was fully awake, he could feel the heat in his palm, the power.
A tremor shook him as he considered the possibilities. This was…unheard of, was surely more Light than any human had possessed before. What might that power be capable of? He struggled to concentrate, to think through the pounding in his skull, but it was impossible and instinctively he reached for the warmth in his hand.
The heat expanded immediately, rushing up his arm and filling his body. For just a second, his entire body was aflame, thrumming with that power…
…then abruptly, the Light in his palm vanished.
Rydian frowned, sitting up and raising his Manus reader to inspect it. What had just happened? One moment, he’d held the power of life and death in his hands, the next…the device was dead, its Light faded to nothing. And yet something had changed…
A lump lodged in Rydian’s throat as he realised what it was. The pain of yesterday’s bruises, the aching of his muscles, even the awful pounding in his skull, all of it had vanished. He felt refreshed, his body whole, as though the events of yesterday had been only a dream.
Swallowing, he looked down from his bunk to where the others slept. Hazel still lay below, twisting and turning and letting out the occasional groan, but Johanas’s bed was already empty.
Still half-convinced the entire thing had been a hallucination, Rydian levered himself out of his bunk and went looking for other conscious beings. The sun greeted him as he stepped from the barracks, its light still golden upon the distant horizon, though he could see the green already beginning to tint its edges. Watching its growing light, he swallowed, eyes suddenly watering. Yesterday, he’d never expected to see another sunrise. Today…well, today he had hope.
A heavy silence hung about the complex as Rydian wandered through the buildings, the other gladiators still abed. He wondered whether all the cities had celebrated in the same manner as Goma.
Recalling the night’s festivities, he was reminded of the past weeks, the loneliness and terror. The difference with last night could not have been starker, and yet…
…Rydian couldn’t help but feel a similarity between the two. Amidst the drunken merriment, the revelry and rowdy cheers, he’d sensed something in his newfound comrades, an undercurrent beneath the Goman celebrations. It was as though the drinking was but a front, cover for what was silently acknowledged by every gladiator.
That they were doomed.
Death haunted every soul in their isolated complex, whether they be Goman or Boustoran or another of the five cities, gladiator or trainee. It might not have found them that day, but that was the truth. One day, sooner or later, they would come across someone better, someone faster or more skilled. Then death would claim them.
And that night their comrades would salute their memory with drinks in hands.
And yet…Rydian found he’d woken with a new purpose. To defy the Alfur, whatever it took. He was tired of allowing them to step on him, to push him into the mud. Yesterday he had stood with blade in hand and fought for his life. He could do no less now against the Alfur. He would fight them with whatever weapons he could find.
Rydian saw no sign of Johanas or any of the other Goman gladiators as he wandered through the complex. The sun crept slowly higher, the enormous globe turning its familiar emerald. No breeze blew this morning and he felt a trickle of sweat run down his neck, the heat of the day already becoming sweltering.
Only as he neared the central building did Rydian finally hear sounds of life—the distant ringing of practice weapons. Frowning, he turned towards the training complex, slipping into the long corridors leading through to the training yard.
The noise grew louder in the corridor, and Rydian caught the soft crunching of sand beneath boots. He shivered as his mind was dragged back to the arena, to his desperate battle with the Boustoran trainee, to the blood-stained sand. His hand was drawn to his side where the man’s blade had struck him, but of course that injury had been healed by the Alfur.
Shaking himself, Rydian set off down the corridor, listening for the sound, following the whispers. He wondered who would be training so early after a games. Most mornings this early, he and Johanas and Hazel had had the practice arena to themselves. Who would be training now, the day after a games?
Finally, he drew to a stop before the door to the courtyard. Unlike other doors in the hallways, this one had a window. Through the crystal, he saw the silhouettes shifting on the sands outside. Rydian hesitated. He had avoided the gladiators from the other cities for the most part, but now…reaching down, he twisted the handle.
And froze in the doorway.
On the sands, four burly men fought with shield and blade in hand. Each was dressed in the blue of Mayenke and sported the golden complexions of the island city. Rydian thought he recognised their faces from glimpses around the complex, but he had never spoken to them, and certainly not witnessed them in combat.
Now, he shuddered at the brutality of the men before him. Their swords might be blunted, but the men wore no padding, and this was no mere practice bout they fought. Rydian winced as a weighed blade slammed against flesh and the victim cried out. The pain did not stop him though, as spinning, he struck back, catching his foe in the midriff with the point of his weapon.
The Mayenken man staggered back, mouth wide and gasping, though he kept the presence of mind to raise his sword. Rydian watched on, heart thundering in his ears, as the four beat upon each other. It would take days for their Manus readers to heal the injuries, and yet the Mayenke did not seem to care.
The battle continued for a minute longer, before all four came to an abrupt halt and spun in unison towards where Rydian stood. He flinched, stumbling backwards into the door at the suddenness of their attention. Laughter rang across the sands as the four lowered their weapons and one stepped towards him.
“Ahh, yes, you do have the look of vermin about you, don’t you Mouse?” the man said, sneering. “We heard the Gomans liked to train early. I hoped you might come.”
Rydian gritted his teeth at the use of his new name, surprised it had gotten out so quickly. Even so, he pushed the discomfort aside and forced himself to face the man.
“And why were you looking for me…?”
“My name is Geitsen,” the man replied with a grin, though there was no mirth in his eyes as he came to a stop before Rydian. “Tell me, Mouse, have you seen the draw?”
“What?” Rydian asked, his frown deepening. “What are you talking about?”
The man laughed in answer. “Excellent, then I get to tell you the good news.” Geitsen leaned closer, eyes narrowed as he looked Rydian up and down. “The Alfur have drawn numbers for the full gladiators. You and I are to fight in the next games.”
Rydian’s heart stilled at the words. Unconsciously, he took a step back, reappraising the man before him. Geitsen stood half a head taller than himself and was built like an Alfurian warship, his arms corded with muscle and crisscrossed by scars. He had been one of the most violent as the four fought, his sword moving without halt to strike down his foes.
“I can’t tell you how joyed I was to see a Goman matched against me,” Geitsen continued. “Your Falcon shamed Drake, the way she fought, the way she killed him.” Baring his teeth, he lifted his blade and pointed it at Rydian’s chest. “I intend to make you pay for her dishonour.”
“I…” Rydian opened his mouth, then closed it, unable to formulate a response. His mind was trapped, consumed by what he’d seen just moments before, by the brutal battle between the four.
He knew now that show had been for him, a ruthless display of strength and skill, a demonstration of what he would face in a month’s time. He knew they were only trying to intimidate him, to plant the seed of fear in his heart…
…yet looking into Geitsen’s eyes, at the darkness there, the rage and hatred, Rydian felt himself shrinking before him, his terror taking hold. This was no novice gladiator like he’d met in the arena the day before, no untrained warrior. This was a warrior, his muscles like iron, his will indominable, his eyes without mercy.
He would cut Rydian down in a heartbeat.
And yet…amidst his terror, Rydian felt the soft pulsing of his Manus reader, and recalled the glory that morning, the Light he’d held in the palm of his hand. There had been a moment of power, where he’d sensed himself capable of something great, something terrible. That power might be gone now, but…he drew hope from its memory.
And so he stepped forward and offered his hand to the Mayenken gladiator. “Geitsen of Mayenke,” he said formally, “it will be an honour to meet you in the arena.”
The Mayenke stood staring down at Rydian’s outstretched hand for a long moment, then abruptly, he threw back his head and howled with laughter. Behind him, the other three joined in, and Rydian’s stomach twisted into a knot. He allowed his hand to fall to his side, and stood waiting for their laughter to finish. It was some time in coming before silence returned to the courtyard.
“An honour is it?” Geitsen asked, staring down at Rydian with cold eyes. “I confess the sentiment isn’t mutual. Still, it will be a pleasure to kill you, Mouse.”
A flash of heat seared Rydian’s palms as the man turned his back. The laughter still rang in his ears, echoing over the pounding of blood, of sudden rage. He clenched his fist, feeling a rush of strength, a need to act, to defend himself. How dare these four come here and insult him, call him weak?
Before Rydian knew what he was doing, he started forward. “Pretty words,” he spat after the departing men, his voice ringing from the walls. The warmth still grew in his palm and he clenched his fist, least the Mayenken notice the Light spilling from his Manus reader.
“Very scary,” he continued as Geitsen turned back. “I guess you’re used to opponents cowering in your shadow. You ask me, it’s a lot of hot air.” He paused, a smile tugging at his lips. “Tell me, Geitsen, what brought you here? What inspired this need to seek me out? Could it be…that you’re afraid of a Mouse?”
Across from him, the larger man’s eyes widened, and Rydian caught a flicker in their depths, a hint that his words had somehow struck true. Then the flicker vanished, washed away by a burning rage as the Mayenken gladiator strode towards him.
“How dare you,” Geitsen snarled. “I should cut you in two for that!”
Watching Geitsen approach, feeling the heat building in his palm, the Light, Rydian found himself sneering at the man. The Mayenke might be skilled with a blade, might be faster and stronger, but all that was nothing besides the power Rydian felt within, pulsing through his veins.
“No time like the present,” he said softly. “Why don’t you hand me one of those blades, and we’ll find out just—”
Rydian broke off as Geitsen’s fist crashed against his temple. Stars exploded before his eyes as he stagged back from the blow. Suddenly, he found himself slumped against the ground, knees sinking into sand. Desperately, he reached for the Light of his Manus reader, but to his horror he found the device cold, the energies of just moments ago vanished. Vision swirling, he looked up as Geitsen approached.
“Let that be a lesson to you, Mouse,” he hissed. “In the arena, there are no rules.” He smiled then, a cold, empty thing, and raised a fist. “Your life is mine.”
The blow fell before Rydian could avoid it, crashing against the side of his head, driving him into the sand…
…into darkness.
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