4 First Fight

"What I'd like to know is where did you get those weapons? And why did the bleeding wardens let you keep them? They look better that those scrap metal bits that Melior Twohammer pushed our way earlier."

The injured man smiled. "That was one of the reasons why he hit me, I suppose. They belonged to a ... friend. He was injured and close to dying, and the ... Templars wanted something that he carried. Well, there was a magic that he used to bind that to him, so that no one sworn to the Red Priests would be able to take it off him."

"And they got you do it?"

The man nodded. "After I got Twohammer to agree to my price. The sword and these three knives. They are a lot better than most weapons that I've seen. But once he got a hold of the ... what he wanted, he broke my ribs for me. For my impudence, he said," the man sighed, "Should have known better than to trust a Templar. The ones who did the rest were wardens of this place. Another Templar, Kerris whatshisname, killed most of them. He seemed annoyed that they were wasting their time on me, rather than dealing with their problem."

The thief whistled at that. "Kerris Bloodblade. He just made Temple Highguard two years ago. A right bastard from all accounts," Gaebril shared, "You're lucky that Melior got to you first, then. Kerris would have taken your head off.

"Still, Kerris Bloodblade and Melior Twohammer. That is worrying. But I am the Grey Cat, the infamous highwayman who preys on the wealthy and the arrogant on the North Road! So I suppose that it would take two Templars to deal with me."

Then he turned to look at Edmon, and grinned at the former Tower guard. "Well, what do you think? He tells a better story than that false Aeric at least. Do we trust him at our backs? Or do you think that the idiots are trying to plant another spy in our midst?"

The shorter man sighed. "His injuries aren't fake, if that is what you're asking. The ankle is merely twisted, and should heal on its own in a day or two. The ribs, however, look like they are badly bruised, if not cracked. The one who hit you must have been wearing metal-studded gauntlets, at least," he said to Gareth then, as he helped the man into the cot that the false Aeric had vacated.

"Ah! I take it that I am accepted then?" asked Gareth then, as he sank into the cot, "I suppose I'll live to see the Arena tomorrow at least. Say, can either of you use the sword? I'm not exactly in the best shape to handle a weapon like that. Not for a while at least. And I think the knives are better that those pieces of scrap metal that you have there."

He pointed at the pieces that Edmon had been inspecting before he arrived. Drawing a snort from the shorter man and a laugh from the bearded one.

Gaebril waved a hand at the guardsman. "All yours if you want it, Edmon. You were from the Old Guard at the All Faiths Square. You are trained in all sort of blades, aren't you?" he asked, before he turned back to face the injured man, "I'd take one of the knives, if you care to share those. The spears and the short sword that they gave us are just trash, as you said."

Edmon nodded back at him, before he accepted the weapon gratefully, from Gareth's hands. "We were trained. Or, at least, I was. But are you sure? You won't find a weapon like this in the Arena, I'm certain. Not a weapon like this."

"As if I have a choice. With my ribs hurting this badly, I'll be lucky if I'm able to walk into the Arena tomorrow, much less fight!"

*

Gareth still did not look fit for a fight when the morning came, but the man refused to let his injuries stop him from entering the ring. Edmon gave the thief a look, as if meaning for Gaebril to deter their new companion, but the rogue merely shrugged back at the former gate guard.

"It is his life, and his own choice to make," Gaebril told the swordsman quietly, "Let him decide for himself. He can always take a rest at the side of the arena if he feels tired. And leave all the fighting to the two of us."

To that Edmon merely gave a shake of his head. And his next words were clearly directed at the injured man. "There will be a melee today, with several bands of three or four fighters each. If you show too much weariness, or weakness, they will all come for you. We two cannot fend off all of the other bands, if that happens."

Gareth snorted at that. "Let one or two come at me then, in the early part of the fight. After I deal with them, you'll not have trouble with the rest," he told the pair confidently, "I've fought while nursing a wound before. No need to worry yourselves over that. Although I did have better armour and weapons than these then."

Edmon nodded quietly at that, although it was clear from the look on his face that he was not altogether convinced. Gaebril merely chuckled at the boast. "Well, we were told that we could take what we want off the dead fighters later, when the fighting is done. You'll just have to bear with these poor weapons and armor a little while longer, I suppose," laughed the thief.

Then the claxons rang, and the roars above them prevented any further conversation. Ere the noise died down, the gate in front of them was hauled open, and the trio started up the corridor as they had been told to do.

The walk was not a long one, and they soon found themselves emerging onto the sands where they would be fighting. Gareth blinked as his eyes grew accustomed to the sunlight after his time spent in the tunnels. When he could see properly again, he noted that there were two other teams were already standing in the arena, and it was clear from the wounds that they bore that they had already been through one fight themselves. But Edmon pointed at the other gates at the other three sides of the arena, and Gareth noted the entry of the three other teams. It was clear that the survivors were going to be tested again, and that they were one of the teams that were going to be introduced to the fight.

His eyes went back to the original teams, and he noted that one of them had a man already on his knees. And there was another, bent over, and making dry retching noises. Obviously, the first fight in the ring had taken its toll on him.

Then he looked up, and studied the rest of the pit, and the other teams being introduced to the same. There were the remnants of other bands still lying on the sands, and he could see that at least three bodies lay between his band and the groups left in the center of the pit. The cheers of the crowd above his head also warned that the audience was still hungry for more blood. That was not a good sign, as far as he was concerned.

"To your right. I see weapons that we can use. And the others look a little too far to keep us from them," Gaebril hissed as he stepped past the mercenary, as the crowd began to settle down, "We should take them the moment that the fight begins. They may make a difference."

Edmon nodded at the suggestion, while Gareth merely gave a grunt to show that he had heard as well. But someone up on the stands had begun to talk, and he took that to mean that the guards were still pointing their crossbows at all the groups in the arena. It was not time to move, just yet.

But the spoken words from above seemed soft, and none of them could hear what was being said. Then Gaebril remembered something that he had been told about the place. He took a step forward, then another. And smiled when the sound became clearer. There was a hiss behind him then, and he turned to see Edmon glaring at him. But the highwayman merely gestured to a spot beside him, and left the warrior to make up his own way next to him. He was curious to hear what the lavishly dressed, rotund man - the announcer, no doubt, had to say to the crowd.

"... for too long to find the sort of gladiators that would please the Deities that Watch over our Realm. Too many call themselves warriors, but show no skill, no courage in real combat. So before the Devotion, before they gather to shed their blood in honor of the Highest Power of Yraengard, they shall first be Tested!"

A loud cheer - one filled with bloodlust that even Gaebril could taste, echoed above him then. The rogue smiled. This was sounding like the sort of fight that he had seen, at the docks where the rough crews of ships gather, down in Wreaker's Bay. The only difference here, that he could see, was the fact that they would be fighting in the day, rather than at night. Oh, and the ones watching seemed a lot richer and better dressed.

"What is he doing?"

Gaebril turned to Edmon, who was wearing a scowl as he looked up at the announcer. Clearly, the shorter man had not seen something like this before. So he leaned a little closer, and quickly explained.

"He is telling the crowd above us why we are fighting, and that it is an honor to be chosen for these Rites. That sort of thing. The usual drivel. Now hush. He is getting to the best part. We should listen to this." Then he turned his attention back to the speaker.

"For three days, the gladiators shall prance these sands, and demonstrate not only their willingness to fight and bleed, but their skills as well! Only the best, the strongest, shall have the right to represent the Houses in the actual Devotion!" the brown-haired announcer thundered.

That much Gaebril already knew. He was more interested in the rest of it, like how many teams would be selected, and how many to a team. From what he could remember, he had never heard of a team of just three men before. How they were going to get more to join them, however, was still unclear. But he wanted to hear that first, from the fat man's lips.

"So, to find the Hundred best teams - one for each of the Houses of Yraengard, these men shall now do battle, and the survivors shall go through to the next round! When the thousands here have been winnowed, and only a hundred remain, they shall go on to the actual Devotion next Tenday!"

Gaebril nodded at that. A hundred teams, including the one that the Cardinal himself shall pick to represent the Temple. But thousands? That was likely to be an exaggeration. He doubted that there were that many people in all the prisons throughout the City to make up that number. Or enough fanatics that the priests could entice to show their dedication to the Faith.

He glanced at the pair at his side, as he considered the what had just been announced. That was what Melior Twohammer had wanted the two of them to do, to get into the final Hundred. Well, Gaebril was not exactly enthusiastic about that, although he doubted that he would have any difficulty surviving the fight ahead.

Gareth, on the other hand, was likely to face problems. Those so-called cracked ribs of his were likely to make it hard for him to survive the clash ahead. And his death would certainly disqualify their team, if it happens.

While Gaebril was sure that Melior and his people would have something arranged, he doubted that the Templar would be bothered if his plan failed. Not even if he had to slaughter the other two members of that little team.

Gaebril hid a sigh at that. It looked like he would have to pay a bit more attention to his new team-mates, and make sure that they lived through this first fight at least!

*

If the bruised-faced mercenary had known what the Grey Cat was thinking as the announcer drew his words to a close, he would have definitely been a little annoyed. After all, he was already doing his best to tolerate the scorching pain in his side, and the slightly duller ache in his ankle, as he tried to stay as still as he could on the Arena sands.

While his eyes took in the opposition in front of him, and he started to consider his options:

The teams that were on the other side of the Arena pit could be ignored, he reminded himself, as he stared at the ones that were closest. If anything, these were the ones that would attack the three of them as soon as the signal was given. With fewer members than the other groups, there was no chance of the three of them being missed.

But the first thing that they would have to do was to get their hands on better weapons!

Then abruptly, the crowd roared, and the horns blared, signalling the beginning of the next round! Gareth started limping as fast as he could, after the other two men, as soon as the cheers sank in. The other two were already headed for the bodies strewn on the arena floor, and he saw Gaebril ripping a long blade free from a cadaver's fist, while Edmon pulled free another spear. By the time that he caught up with the pair, the latter had liberated a buckler as well, and was wrapping its leather ties to his left wrist. He paused long enough to toss his newly obtained polearm to the injured man.

"Take it!" shouted Edmon as he turned back to his preparations. Gareth did not bother to watch, but snatched up the weapon as he quickly limped past the shorter man. A glance at the rogue showed Gaebril with the sword in his right hand and the Raven knife in his left. The battered short sword that he had picked up in the cell had already been abandoned at his feet. And from the ease that he showed with the weapons, the mercenary thought that he must have fought with a similar array of weapons before.

But a roar from the crowd made him turn towards the rest of the gladiators. Two of the bands had decided to gang up on the ones who had already fought before. Which left one band remaining free to charge towards the trio!

Gareth shouted a warning at the others, but Edmon had already unsheathed his Raven-marked sword and was moving to take the lead position once again. Gaebril, on the other hand, shifted to the far side of the guard, on Edmon's left. Which left the injured man to take Edmon's right.

He understood the pair's plan quickly. He was the only one who was hurt and the least likely to be ready for a long-drawn fight. It was obvious that they intended to keep him out of the heavy fighting as long as they could. Which was why he was given the extra spear. Together with the Raven knives that he had with him, the pair was no doubt hoping that he would stick to throwing weapons at the enemy, while they took up the heat of close combat. Too bad he did not care for that sort of strategy. The more important thing, as he saw it, was to separate the enemy so that they could be dealt with, each on their own. And looking at the trio heading their way, he saw a way to do just that.

Two of the other team were wearing light leather jerkins, but only one of them carried a small shield. Both had similar blades - shortswords of a sort that he was not familiar with. So clearly they were a match for Edmon and Gaebril. But the last of trio was carrying a rather large axe, as well as a larger wooden shield, on top of wearing scale armor like the Arena Guards. Which made him the most heavily armored, as well as the most heavily weighted. And the greatest threat! He was the one that Gareth decided to deal with, to slow down and separate from the other two.

He shouted insults at Axe Wielder at once, having made his decision. He added a rude taunt when the man looked his way, and made an obscene gesture with the spear in his right hand, moments before he launched it. The shield-carrying one was sneering back at him as he halted and lifted his protective cover, blocking the attack adroitly. There was a loud crack as the spear caught on the wood, and Gareth was rather sure that he had damaged the shield at least.

The other two members of Axe Wielder's team seemed amused by his actions, and they took pains to step away from him, to engage Edmon and the rogue. Neither of them seemed to notice how he palmed one of the Raven knives in his left hand as he took up the second spear in his right, ready to cast again. But he paused to shout another insult at the shield-carrying man as he lifted that, making his opponent more wary, and ready to block his next attack.

The Axe-and-Shield looked annoyed at him by then, and more than a little impatient. Gareth crept a little closer in front of Edmon's fight then, as he continued to taunt his opponent. Then when he saw that the enemy appeared to be on the verge of making a charge, he threw his second spear.

Axe Wielder lifted the shield as he crouched behind it, and the spear clattered harmlessly against his protection again. But Gareth was not looking his way the moment that the spear had left his hand. Instead, he turned around, and snatched up his readied knife in the throwing grip. And hurled it at the broad, exposed back of Gaebril's lightly armored opponent!

The man was caught by surprise when the weapon caught him squarely in his back. He gave out a cry of pain as he stumbled, and the Grey Cat did not waste his chance. His sword flashed as he thrust a good length of the weapon into the enemy's chest. And snatched up the short sword that the man dropped lifelessly from his hand moments before he collapsed into the sand.

Gareth, on the other hand, saw none of the last. He tracked the knife long enough to see it hit its intended target. Then a loud roar sounded at his back, and he didn't even bother to turn to face Axe Wielder. Instead, he started to run at Edmon and his opponent, as fast as he could. Which bought him an extra few steps as the scale-armored man shouted again and began to thunder after him.

But he was not running blindly. He headed directly for Edmon's foe and threw himself at the knees of the leather-clad man. Yet, the man must have guessed what Gareth was about to do, for he skipped over the crude tumble, and kept to his feet. He raised his own sword to cut at the supine man, just as a buckler-reinforced fist crashed into his face, throwing him onto the sand as well. Edmon ignored him thereafter, as he stepped past the recovering Gareth to meet the axeman's charge.

Gareth did not waste his chance, and quickly jumped on the fallen man and stabbed him twice with his last dagger. Then he looked up, to see Edmon engaging the scale-armored man. The pair exchanged a series of quick blows, with neither appearing to win an advantage. So he picked up his dead opponent's sword, before he started towards the two men intent on killing each other. Only to find Gaebril there before him, harrying Axe-and-Shield from his stern.

A twinge in his side made him pause then, as the pain warned him that he was still not at his best. Instead, he stood and watched as Edmon bound his opponent's axe with a unusual sword and shield technique, and left him open to Gaebril's blades from behind. And the bearded man cut the man's throat above the collar of his heavy armor-shirt with a swift motion that warned of much practice.

For a brief moment, Gareth felt a sense of relief. His ploy had worked, although there had been substantial risk involved. The fact that the other two had seen, and supported, his intentions had resulted in its success. He didn't intend to throw his own life away, but he wasn't going to hide behind them when he could still fight.

Then, just as he was about to attempt to move again, Gaebril's voice came cutting through his focus. "Stay where you are. There are still four of them out there," came the rogue's warning.

Gareth looked up, and saw that the other bands were still fighting, a distance away from where they had ended up. Of the three other teams that had entered the Arena together with them, one had only one man left standing while the other was down to two. The two veteran groups had been reduced as well, each to two men; the quick, dark-skinned spear-man that he had noticed earlier was lying in the sand with his mouth agape, his innards drawn out in a mess over his knees. And the blond-haired, bearded man who had been throwing up earlier lay a short distance away, his throat cut.

A loud trumpeting rent the air soon after, and there was an announcer shouting something that he could not catch overhead. But streams of flowers and brightly colored handkerchiefs came floating down on his head moments later. As he looked around himself in confusion, bewildered by the sudden chaos around him, Gaebril appeared on his right.

"Stand easy, my friend. The fighting is done for now," the bearded ruffian laughed.

"What do you mean done? There are still some of them standing."

Gaebril chuckled at that. "Oho! A little bloodthirsty, aren't we? But look, we are the only band who still has all three of us still standing, see? So we are the ones who won the fight!"

* * *