Arena

Arena


The multitude of voices triumphed into the air, in glorious celebration, and was the culmination of the fight in the arena between the two warriors, Seggart and Farandees. It was a good fight, but not so much for Farandees because he had lost—skewered by a long spear as he let his shield down to strike with his sword.
Seggart raised fisted hands in victory, and as he walked towards the exit beneath the balcony where King Volidor and Queen Anasses sat, two men wearing dark gray tunics with oranges sashes, ran towards the lifeless body and stopped beside it. They loaded Farandees onto the stretcher brought with them, then hurried away to avoid being the victims in the next contest of arms.
Seated halfway up the stone arena, next to his friend, Calad, who had brought him to watch the day long skirmishes and fights on the grounds far below, Arndenon turned his gaze from the finished bloodlust to view the sea of colors—reds, greens, yellows, blues of the clothes the elated men and women wore, the silver and gold banners that whipped wildly in the stiff wind of the day—and the vivid green on red uniforms of the of the king’s personal guards that numbered well into the hundreds.
“This is a glorious day,” Calad announced, mirth in his voice. “I am wealthier by ten coins from Seggart’s victory.”
A curl of a smile came in quick response, the glint of happiness for the good fortune bestowed upon Calad by the gods, but the emotion was rudimentary—feigned to give the soldier turned merchant what he wanted. Himself once a soldier, but now an adventurer, more of a mercenary, Arndenon lacked the enthusiasm for the killing games in the arena. They had gone on all day, at the delight of the spectators who reveled in the bloodlust with ale, wine and food.
“I cannot wait for the next fight to begin. I should make more than a hundred on it.” Calad continued, as euphoric as before. He nodded towards the floor of the arena then gestured in the same direction. “I have my coins on Jollolen. He’s an ex-soldier turned renegade…big, strong and hateful of the people who put him in chains. He wants nothing more to win his freedom and continue his life as a bandit.”
“He sounds like a good man to bet on,” said Arndenon, spoke in agreement, but the doubts filtered through his words. He knew the last fight of the day would bring some five hundred slaves, prisoners, captives of wars, mercenaries and state sponsored warriors into the warrior for the glorious, blood filled orgy of death and mayhem. It was what the people came for. Around, the men and women’s talk, searching eyes and expectant expressions revealed their insatiable hunger for blood.
The men and women were not the only ones to blame for the killing. The gods demanded the sacrifice, as Calad said. It would ensure the prosperity of the Ciladaren nation from one year to the next, and keep the gods’ wrath from the land for having been forgotten by the citizenry. Lastly, as all rumors of tyrants are carried across the land, King Volidor and Queen Anasses took their part to the games, having enlarged and extended the gladiatorial fights each year—made them more spectacular than the time before. They even entertained smaller conflicts through the season to relieve the boredom and depression that came with their rule.
“But any other man could be as likely to win as the one you put your coins on.”
“I agree,” Calad said, smiled boadly. “Only a fool would put all his coins on one man,” a hand rested on his chest. “That is why I put coin on Rubdun, the Gyberan mercenary and Saddar, the Blackmor Targurnaut from King Volidor’s army. They are the best at what they do, and if any man can win, it will be one of them.”
Again, Arndenon grinned and only started a word of response when a ceremonial horn blew to announce King Volidor would grace the men and women with his voice.
A silence fell over the crowd as all eyes turned towards the head of the arena where King Volidor and Queen Anasses stood then walked together to the end of the balcony. The people roared in delight, showered the royalties in welcome and celebration.
Hardly surprised by the men and women’s reaction towards their benefactor, Arndenon tried to understand how the citizenry could worship a king and queen as they. If the rumors were to be believed, King Volidor was no benevolent ruler, reported to have personally tortured thousands of men to death—by skinning them alive, having them boiled alive, cooked on an open fire and slowly impaled on pikes as he watched from his bed. Queen Anasses was said to be no better, having young women bled to fill her bath to retain her beauty from the demon of old age.
The noise of the crowd subsided as King Volidor raised his arms in a command for silence. He smiled warmly, like a father would to his children then lowered his hands and spoke.
“My loyal subjects; good people of Aetholdorn, the last of this day has come to the glory of the gods and this sacred feast of Galidgor. Perredes, the high priest, says the gods are pleased with the blood sacrifices we have made.”
The men and women cheered. “The gods want more!” the chant started at the back of the arena then quickly moved forward. “We want more!” the words formed as an undercurrent to the voices calling for blood. It created a excited chorus of voices.
“My people,” King Volidor raised his arms a second time then lowered them when silence had taken the arena. The men and women drooled to hear the words that the final bloodlust would begin. “Though the gods are pleased with what we have given them, they want more and we shall give it to them.”
The crowd went wild with delight. More blood! More blood! is what the men and women yelled.
In the crowds’ rapture, an occurrence happened that none but a few noticed. A thud of noise sounded and it took Arndenon’s attention to see the door of the exit sealed in the aisle far behind him. He thought it was a mistake, but as quickly felt something amiss and imagined the other exits being sealed to trap them inside the arena.
King Volidor raised his arms to still the men and women to silence. With a smile, he took his wife’s hand into his own then looked to the crowd.
“Good men and women of Aetholdorn, I know you want to see the final fight of men, the culmination of blood to the feast of Galidgor, but tonight you will have something more than you could have ever dreamt of.” Volidor looked longingly at Queen Anasses then returned to the men and women. “Tonight, we have changed the rules…. You, men and women of Aetholdorn, will fight each other for the pleasure of the gods,” he grinned evilly. “Only one of you will leave this arena alive.”


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