Kings Game

Chapter 8 - Going alone (4)

The light didn't blind Roran when he stepped out into the arena this time. He'd been outside enough that it felt more like coming home than escaping the prison. What did surprise him was the crowd.

The thrum of the audience had been intense before, but this time it was overwhelming. The stands above them were packed. Bodies were crammed into as many seats as could hold them, all of them moving and wriggling and buzzing, like a nest of hornets. They wanted violence, they wanted blood. Roran understood why Kell looked at them with such disdain and disregard. These people were only here to watch the suffering of others and revel in it.

Roran tuned out the announcer. He changed up the introductions but, by and large, they were the same as before. There were only two champions this time, and Roran knew both. Duran the boulder and Morena the cruel. If Roran could kill either of them he would walk away with a hefty bounty. Still, he didn't like his chances.

Given that Kell hadn't been able to kill Duran in a straightforward fight, Roran didn't think he would fare much better. That said, he didn't think Duran would pose much of a threat. Duran was slow and easy to run away from, as long as Roran kept his eyes open, the living boulder wouldn't be too dangerous.

Morena, on the other hand, was a skilled swordsman and would probably kill Roran if he got too close. But he was also a coward and a bully. As long as Roran didn't show weakness or act like prey, Morena would probably avoid him.

Scouting out the rest of the combatants, Roran didn't see any other familiar faces. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. While he didn't know what the others were capable of, they were strangers, making the prospect of killing them less stressful. He was waiting for the bell when the announcer interrupted his thoughts.

"...and the one you've all come here to see. He's no champion, not yet, but he is one to keep an eye on. The murderous little refugee from Millgrove, Roran Aurandale!"

His jaw dropping, Roran looked up to see the crowd swell and erupt. Their cheers were deafening. Boos and jeers were intermingled with the screams but the crowd made their opinion clear, they loved him.

Across the arena, Morena thumbed his nose at him, while Duran grinned and hefted his hammer. Around him, the other refugees spread out and moved away from him, suddenly uncomfortable by his presence. Roran sighed, he was used to being a pariah, why should this be any different.

The bell finally rang and the other combatants all rushed into action, running towards each other and away from the champions, and away from Roran. Only Morena, Duran, and Roran stayed still, watching and waiting. Then, hefting his sword the way a farmer hefts his hoe, Roran strode across the arena, ready to get to work.

Duran took off after a handful of refugees, giggling as he propelled his massive weight forward. Morena simply picked a target, drew his swords, and started ambling towards them. He moved slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.

Roran stayed away from the larger groups of combatants, not wanting to get flanked. He was keeping his eye on Duran. He wanted to know why Kell hadn't been able to defeat him. Despite being a fraction his size, and wearing no armor, Kell hadn't been remotely worried about facing off against the living boulder. After going head to head with her, Roran felt that her confidence was well earned. So why hadn't she been able to topple the giant?

As he was circling the arena, two figures cut in front of him. The first, a taller figure bearing a sword, approached slowly, inching forward. He was backed up by a shorter man carrying a mace. Roran didn't like being outnumbered, but both opponents were in front of him, so he hefted his weapons and stood his ground.

"Come on Daryn," said the shorter man, "make it quick. We have to do this."

The taller man, Daryn, inched forward, the sword shaking in his hand. He was a little older than Roran and better built. His clothes were tattered but not completely worn through like the other refugees. These two were new to the Crucible, Roran realized. They were still tan and fat from living above ground. Daryn licked his lips and started forward. Roran didn't move, waiting to see how he approached.

"Come, just do it Daryn!"

"Hush Raff, I'm trying."

Raff stayed behind Daryn, as if hiding behind a shield. He was like Daryn, soft and tan and still carrying the weight of someone that was well-fed until recently.

Testing the waters, Roran moved in and swung his sword. Daryn shuffled back and away. Raff didn't make any attempts to assist. Trying again, Roran went for a quick two stroke attack that Kell had shown him. Daryn stepped away from the first swing, and blocked the second, nearly dropping his sword in the process.

Roran felt bad. These people were just like Toth and Sephyr, young and desperate to make some money for their people. But, they were still planning on killing him in the process. Swallowing his guilt, Roran hunkered down and raised his shield, waiting.

He didn't have to wait long. Daryn moved in with a haphazard strike. He was quick, and when the blow met Roran's shield it jarred his arm painfully, but Daryn was nothing compared to Kell. Roran brushed the stroke aside with ease and moved in.

He thought of Kell, of her grabbing his ear and forcing him to punch her. He thought of the feeling of his fist meeting her stomach over and over again, that smack of flesh on flesh, the sound of someone being hit over and over again. He thought of the overwhelming violence of the whole situation, and how inescapable it was.

Moving the way Kell had trained him, Roran took a single step forward and brought his sword down in a controlled slash. It met resistance, then carried through. Roran stepped around Daryn as he fell, and kept moving forward, not looking at the body. When he heard Daryn hit the ground, Roran advanced on Raff, hoping to keep control of the situation.

Raff stared past Roran, at what had once been Daryn, and his jaw dropped. His eyes widened and he screamed, swinging the mace around wildly. Roran danced away from the first swing, easily deflected the second, and prevented the third with another quick, controlled slash of the sword. Raff joined Daryn on the ground and Roran moved on, refusing to look at them. Refusing to even think about them. Doing his best to forget their names and faces lest they distract him and get him killed.

Jogging around the arena, Roran focused on the fights occurring around him. People were falling quickly and the arena was thinning out. Morena was toying with his second victim and Duran was chasing after a pair of combatants that looked more annoyed than scared.

Making up his mind, Roran ran across the arena and screamed, "Oi! Rock for brains!"

Duran slowed and turned, scowling at Roran.

"Yeah, I'm talking to you."

"You want to play, little murderer?"

Roran puffed out his chest with all the false bravado he could muster. "I killed Gress, now I'll kill you!"

"You're getting ahead of yourself little mouse." Duran heaved his hammer and started towards Roran. "I will break your bones and take your bounty."

Roran was pretty sure he didn't have a bounty yet, not that it mattered. The crowd around them reverberated with excitement, screaming, "Crush him, crush him, crush him!"

Crouching down, Roran readied his shield and prepared to take on Duran, the living boulder.