Kings Game

Chapter 19 - The reaper (2)

Walking slowly, Roran made his way into the gauntlet, spikes surrounding him on either side. A simple slip would result in a painful death. Roran hefted his sword. It felt good to have a proper weapon in his hands, one that wouldn't break in the middle of a fight. The shield felt good too; solid, durable, reliable. He should have been using them all along.

Around him, the other gladiators moved between the barriers, avoiding him. They would focus on each other, hoping that Roran, Jorgen, and Morena would all kill each other, giving one of them a chance at victory.

Passing through the first round of barriers, Roran jogged sideways and entered the second, minding his distance from the spikes. He would likely find Morena and Jorgen in the center. He wasn't sure how he was going to win against either of them. Not only was Jorgen a more experienced fighter, his staff gave him extra reach. Morena was a renowned swordsman and experienced champion.

Pausing, Roran frowned. He hadn't ever actually seen Morena fight. He'd seen the cruel swordsman wandering around covered in blood, bullying the weaker fighters time and time again, but he'd never actually seen Morena clash against another gladiator.

"Daydreaming on the battlefield is a good way to end up dead."

Roran found himself face to face with Jorgen. He was bigger up close, his body covered in heavy muscle. He wore thin robes and carried his bo staff in a loose grip. Roran could see faded scars where the focus markings had been scrubbed off. He wondered how they were removed. The etching process left behind light burn marks that faded with time, Jorgen's were already healing, but removing the markings themselves had to be an involved process.

"I was thinking about how to beat you," said Roran.

"You can't."

Jorgen's voice was deep, each syllable a small rumble.

"Then why did you seek me out?"

"To send a message. First I'll kill you, then I'll go after the living storm. I will break her in two and reclaim my honor."

"That's why you came here? Is it really worth the risk?"

"What risk? I am a titled champion. Even without my focus markings I am more than capable of defeating every last one of you little refugees. I will kill you here and now as a challenge to the living storm, then I will go murder the cruel swordsman and force Kellsinora to fight me in a revenge match."

"You shouldn't call her that. Especially not to her face."

"Oh, you think I'm afraid of the little girl?"

"She did beat you in single combat, while severely wounded, with only a knife. And that was after she killed the last person that called her by that name."

"Things won't be so easy for her next time. The revenge match will give me the advantage I need." There was that phrase again: Revenge Match. Roran was curious how that would give Jorgen the advantage.

Roran didn't bother responding to Jorgen's rant. Either Jorgen would die here and now or he wouldn't be Roran's problem for long. Hunkering down, Roran raised his sword and shield, ready to fight another gladiator with more strength and more experience.

Taking Roran's cue, Jorgen swung his staff around, striking at Roran with vicious power. Roran met the blow with his shield, the impact jarring his arm and shoulder. Jorgen struck again. Roran parried with his sword, hissing in pain as the blow hurt his hand. He wouldn't survive direct combat with Jorgen for long.

Roran fell back, dodging the blows instead of blocking them. He let Jorgen push him back to the outer edges of the arena. Once he had a clear path to his right, Roran turned and fled.

"You coward!" Jorgen called after him. "Have you no honor?"

Roran didn't need to look back to know Jorgen was chasing him. The iron monk had heavy foot falls. Sprinting between a couple of barriers, Roran worked his way back into the gauntlet, weaving his way towards the center. He wouldn't be able to outrun Jorgen for long, but he didn't need to.

Spotting a couple of gladiators, tentatively sparring between barriers, Roran sprinted straight at them.

"Clear a path!" He yelled.

The two gladiators stared at him, eyes wide with confusion. They shifted apart just enough for Roran to slip through, too startled to block his path. Roran quickly juked around the next barrier, then again and again, running in a circle. Just as he was rounding the corner, coming back to the pair of gladiators he had just passed, he heard a snarl.

He found Jorgen attacking the two poor souls. The honorable monk bashed one of their heads in with his staff, their blood spattering the ground. The second one tried to turn and run but Jorgen was too quick. He swept the man's foot out from underneath him, his ankle snapping from the impact of the blow. As he crumpled to the ground, Jorgen walked over him, his staff raised high.

Roran didn't wait for him to finish. He saw his opening and took it. He charged straight at Jorgen with his shield held high. Just as Jorgen was about to bring his staff down, and end the poor gladiator's life, Roran tackled him, slamming into him with his shield.

The iron monk staggered and stumbled, the shee momentum of Roran's tackle shoving him face first into one of the barriers. There was a sickening sound followed by an eruption of applause from overhead.

Roran waited, his shield raised and his eyes on Jorgen. Spikes were sticking out of his back but he still appeared to be breathing. Jorgen shifted, trying to pull himself off the spikes, but he couldn't get any leverage. Jorgen roared in rage and flailed on the spikes. The sudden fit startled Roran and he raised his sword. Jorgen flailed and screamed some more but only succeeded in making his wounds worse.

Breathing in shallow gasps, Jorgen said, "You...have...no...honor."

Roran approached slowly, his sword raised. When he reached Jorgen, he said, "Neither do you."

"I am a great warrior-" Jorgen coughed, blood leaking out of his mouth. "I trained hard...and fought to...be where I am."

"This is your first Crucible match," Roran said, his voice low and soft, like he was explaining to a child what they had done wrong. "You're better trained and better armed, but you are here killing refugees for your own gain. You had a choice, and you chose to pick on the weak."

"An arena...is an arena..."

"Not this one. The Crucible is chaotic and wild. Caution is half the battle, the other half is luck. You had neither."

"You mean cowardice!" Jorgen coughed again, blood flowing down his chin.

"That helps too, more than I had realized. I have no sympathy for you. You were stupid and selfish, and this is the price you pay."

Roran raised his sword and pressed it into Jorgen's back, just behind his heart. Before the iron monk could say more, Roran shoved his sword through, ending the champion's life. Not wanting to dwell on the moment, Roran pulled his sword out quickly and turned away. The cheers from the audience shook the arena.