The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (13 page)

“Well met, Koyd.” Was all he said, having noticed the slightest respect from the man.

“Well met, gray one.” Koyd knew there was no coming back. No one had defeated Mafahann, and he knew the brown minotaur he was paired with wanted him dead as well.

Step by step, he walked into the middle of the arena floor for all to see. Cold black stone below his feet, cold air with the smell of sweat, perfumes, and blood, it was all coming back to him. His father’s words, his younger brother, the arena in Unlinn, they all haunted his mind as doubt crept in. He flexed his bovine muscles, raised his axes in the air, lifted his head and horns to the ceiling and bellowed, a rage filled roar from somewhere deep inside to push anything unsavage aside. The crowd was startled at first, then cheered and stomped in return. They stared at the tattoos of horns on his face, the brands and scars across his arms and back, admired his physique and began chanting his name once it circulated the crowd.

“
Saberrak, Saberrak, Sab---!“
Another door began to open.

The shadow of a larger minotaur appeared across the floor, lights from behind him casting for a moment before the giant portals were closed once more. Greatsword in hand, eyes staring at no one but the gray, Chalas Kalaza strode into the center of the arena and stood within blades’ reach of his nemesis. His scars decorated his wicked countenance, parts of his face near the lips and teeth were but angled holes where flesh should have been, but bone show instead. Nearly a foot taller and half a man heavier that the gray, Chalas the brown lowered his horns to the crowd and gazed upon them with a hatred that would allow no chanting of his name. The disobedient crowd cheered regardless at the fearsome warrior that had brutally stained his name in Ajastaphan already.

“
Chalas, Chalas, Chalas
!”

“They enjoy the fear, the bloodshed, it excites them to know I may shower them with my kills. Look at them Saberrak, like worshippers of death they are, and they want more. I wonder how they will scream when I toss your horns to them?”

“It will be hard to toss anything after I cut your arms off.”

“We could start this now, to hells with the two-headed ogre, I care not.” Chalas tightened his body as Saberrak did, each waiting for the other to move or twitch in the slightest. Neither looked directly at the other, talking and glaring from the side and watching as three black robed lords floated in above and the master of ceremonies appeared on the balcony over the arena.

“Anytime you are ready, I will be happy to send you to any one of the hells, your choice.” Saberrak did not move, one gesture could begin the fight early, then he would be left with this famous Mafahann by himself.

“Don’t worry little gray one. I will kill this beast alone, then I will kill you. Did I ever tell you what I did to your father and brother after you escaped?”Chalas laughed, covered by the crowds’ loud welcome of Napralis Ten-Scars who raised his hand over the masses.

“Lords and ladies, noble guests from far and near, the three great lords Koligail, Trehad, and Maroguille all welcome you to Ajastaphan Arena! As do I, your master of ceremonies here in the noble undercity, Napralis ten-scars!”

The
aaah--ooohs
and stomping, religious tradition seemingly to many here, echoed to deafening heights. Napralis smiled his greasy smile, scars and girth glistening in the false lights. His decorative armors of gold and black were heavy in his age, sweat dripped off of him up this high as the air seemed to turn traitor with so many packed inside. His hand lowered, the noise vanished, the three shadowed lords hovered magically to their thrones and gracefully sat without sound. They nodded, and Napralis was approved to proceed from the three hoods, as nothing of their faces could be seen.

“Tonight is a special night indeed, for we have three undefeated gladiators to entertain you. Two warriors before you, minotaurs from the southern arenas of savage Unlinn, neither have ever known defeat, I give you Chalas Kalaza and Saberrak the gray!” His voice carried across the stone chasm underground like ecstasy to the crowd.

“Aaahh---ooohhh, Aaahh---ooohhh”
Whispered the masses in their concealing masks.

“They will face, from the outskirts of Bloodskull, infamous kingdom of the ogre, cast out by his own many years ago and trained here in Devonmir, the only gladiator that has
never
fought less than three opponents, and
never
left one alive…I give you your very own,
Mafahann the two-headed
!”

“Aaahh---ooohhh, Aaahh---ooohhh”
The stomping of feet in unison blanketed the grinding of double stone and steel doors opening before Saberrak. Yet his eyes did not fool him, for in strode a monstrosity, all four eyes glaring at the center of the arena.

Armored in giant scales of layered steel, spikes on every joint and cross-section, its footsteps thundered the ground. Mafahann stood nearly twice as tall as the gray minotaur, thirteen twisted feet or more, with a spike and blade covered shield on one arm, and a curved sword without a crosspiece forged for his size in the other. Skulls hung strung together from the pommel and his leather belts, strands of hair shagged over one head while the other was shaved. The hair on the left revealed just eyes above an oversized jaw and tusks protruding from a scarred and scraggly face. The right head was misshapen, curved or dented making one eye larger than the other and the long curved nose nearly touched its chin. Connected necks into the armored shoulders turned and twitched with aggression, looking this way and that toward the crowd and its opponents. Purple eyes, mottled with red and brown, yellow skin and scars, the beast smiled, then roared, then seemed to chuckle, then roared again. The two-headed terror of an ogre was now less than ten feet from the dwarfed minotaurs it towered over.

Napralis looked to the crowd, hands up in the air. They chanted in whisper,
“To the death
!”

Chalas looked to the balcony room reserved for the White Spider, seeing Cadius where he should be. He turned, satisfied, and glared up at the faces of Mafahann. “Last words, freak?”

It had none, but answered with a quick rush leading with the curved blade overhead to chop the brown in half. Saberrak ducked the rapid swing of the deadly shield, a shield as tall as he was, bladed outer edges grazing his mane of black hair as it passed. Chalas rolled away from the cut, back up in time to parry another chop, taking two hands to hold the strength of one from the ogre.

Saberrak charged, two greataxes slashing toward the legs of Mafahann, unable to do anything but echo steel on steel from the massive shield. The gray shoved with all his muscle and weight, axes locked with spikes, the ogre did not move. The arm of the ogre pushed back, then lifted, sending the gray airborne. He landed on his back, axes held tight, scrambling back as the bladed shield slammed down to where his legs would have been and cracked the stone floor instead.

The clang of blades continued, Chalas using his greatblade two handed against the one handed sword of Mafahann. Rage took hold, the brown pushing back each attack, blow by blow getting closer to the body of his opponent. The shield swung across and Chalas turned inside, blade ready to cut the legs of this beast. His head snapped back and blood sprayed as the armored fist of the ogre hooked inside simultaneously, knocking the brown to the floor.

Gray muscle and horns thudded into the thigh of Mafahann as it went to finish Chalas with the shield blades. Stumbling back, blood trickling down its leg, it hunched down closer to the gray.

“Flank it, it sees too fast from the front!” Saberrak roared to Chalas, both minotaurs now circling the two headed warrior. They taunted, stalked, twirled their weapons and growled. It was hard to tell if they hunted each other or Mafahann.

A snarling roar returned from Chalas, to Saberrak or the ogre, the gray was not sure. Yet the necks stretched as Chalas took the other side. It was looking at each opponent, circling and backing, keeping distance as did the horned ones. Step to step they moved, then Mafahann lunged at Chalas until he dodged and rolled back, then turned at the last moment to Saberrak.

Axes parried and deflected blows, the gray gladiator backed up faster than the ogre could move, yet its reach was great indeed. It dove, lunged, swinging shield and sword high and low, until Saberrak fell backward with the onslaught. The shield pressed over crossed greataxes, spikes getting closer by the heartbeat. Spittle from labored breaths dripped off the blades and steel as Mafahann leaned his weight on his shield that was pinning the gray minotaur to the ground. Two sets of eyes squinted with the exertion of muscle and hate.

Saberrak held his breath, arms out and locked, looking at the spikes, feeling his chest burn with the strain. He roared as two, then three, six spikes penetrated his flesh. His rage gave him adrenalin, pushing the ogre back half a foot, the six holes now seeping hot blood from his arms, chest, and legs. A moment of unexpected release from the deadly pin of Mafahann and Saberrak was rolling out and away toward a pillar of onyx.

Two heads screamed as one as the blade of Chalas Kalaza butchered through the calf muscle of the ogre. Then a second slash hit near the knee, and the third was blocked with shield and sword. Chalas pushed on, the kneeling ogre trying to regain its footing and stand. Chopping at the swordarm, then the shield, then trying for the other leg, yet the ogre defended well. Mafahann got to his feet and began to attack in return, forcing Chalas to backpeddle near the wall covered in spikes.

The crowd cheered as Mafahann began twirling his blade playfully, having one of his opponents trapped. Nowhere to run, no way to get past the reach, Chalas waited for the right moment to lunge in and strike even though he knew it had the advantage. The ogre watched his every move with both heads, limping on the right side, waiting for the attack it knew would come if it kept pressuring the brown into the spiked wall.

Another step, spikes touching the back of Chalas, he feinted a lunge, then backed up, and chopped down at the incoming blade. The sword loosened from the ogre grip and Chalas hit again, knocking the blade free and to the stone. He reared for another blow, but was punched square in the chest first, knocking him into the spikes.

The roar of pain invigorated the crowd as Chalas pulled himself from the spikes, blood pouring from his back. He hit his knees from the sudden pain and release, his sword dropped as he closed his eyes for a moment forcing out the pain. The thousands shouted and screamed, “
Mafahann, Mafahann, Mafaha
---“

Sppllgrrchhh!

The masses hushed as the hairy head snapped to the side, a greataxe from nowhere embedded into it. Blood ran black and red down the necks, splattered across the bald head and the stone floor, and more spurted into the air. A second throw, and another axe landed into the ribs on the same side, the shield arm twitching now. The beast reached up and pulled the axe out of its lifeless head, the bald head aghast and roaring for its other half to wake up. It threw the axe back toward Saberrak, now glistening with his own blood down the front. It missed. Mafahann pulled the second from its ribs and tried again, hurling it back at a now charging gray horned warrior. Another axe skittered across the stone floor, Saberrak sidestepping with ease, horns low.

Chalas picked up his blade from among the puddles of his own blood on the floor. He looked up in time to see Saberrak take a suicide lunge from his dead run at the shield of Mafahann. He smiled, until he saw the shield not raise but a half foot, the gray grabbing two spikes by the hands and starting to climb up the staggering beast. Saberrak grabbed onto the dead head by the hair just as the free hand of the ogre grabbed him by the waist. A momentary tug of war began, enough for Chalas to charge in.

Blood sprayed from the head as hair and scalp tore from the pull of Mafahann on the gray gladiator. Saberrak kept reaching for more, hand after hand, keeping his grip and trying to get onto the shoulders of his opponent. His footing slipped as the ogre shuddered, then again. Saberrak heard the crowd reach deafening euphoria in their bloodlust as he saw the shield arm of the ogre hit the floor, cut off from Chalas and then the disemboweling slice of greatsword into the abdomen.

Wasting no time, his body aching from being crushed by the hand of the two headed beast, Saberrak reached for the ear of the misshapen head, and the nose. He gripped until blood perspired out from between his fingers, and the living head began to shake in reflex to the pain. He scrambled, hearing another fatal cut into the midsection from Chalas. He reached the head, grabbed with both arms atop the thrashing ogre, dove his horns into its face, and twisted with all that his body had left.

“
Snap, crack, snap
.”

The gray leaned off of the front, pulling the weight of his kill overtop of Chalas Kalaza. He landed and rolled, not even turning back, he did not need to. The spasming bald head poured blood out the mouth and down its back as the eyes closed, the neck was broken, head facing the wrong way. The crowd roared, the brown minotaur was crushed under the ogre Mafahann, whose body lay bleeding and twitching in the throes of death. The gray picked up one axe as he ran, then the other, skidded, and turned just in time to see Chalas get to his feet out from under their dead opponent.

Thousands began chanting their names, cheering their impossible victory, and coins of uncountable number changed purses. One of the lords of Devonmir looked to the other two, nodded, and hovered away down the corridors.