The Fight Of Our Lives (Shiva x Fates)

[Shiva the Cat]

The shaman had warned Atana that outlanders could be dangerous. They weren't all like her stepfather Liev, with his silent, hulking gentleness, or her younger brother Einar, with his sly, quick, but mostly harmless pranks. Of course all of the Naessiq knew the southern merchants could be cheats, but they were very rarely violent with their northern trading partners. Perhaps it was because in most villages, and especially among the Thousand Spears Tribe, the blond-haired, blue-eyed men were usually outnumbered twenty to one, if not more.

That wasn't the case in the city of Carales, thousands of miles from Atana's arctic homeland. Here she was utterly alone among the masses, though many of the faces she saw resembled those of the southern merchants. But there were just as many faces darker than her own golden-brown one, and eyes of every shape and color besides just brown and blue. The people of Carales came in all shapes and sizes as well, although most were taller than the young woman, who'd scarcely passed five feet before she'd stopped growing. Of course, the Children of the Lights all tended on the short side, with a generous layer of fat on their bodies to protect against the bitter winters. But in the year that she'd left home, Atana's curves had melted away, leaving lean, sharply chiseled muscle in her limbs (especially in her powerfully-built legs) and rather fierce, proud angles in her heart-shaped face.

Her body might not have drawn much attention from the residents of Carales, but those who did notice the woman must have marveled at one of two things at least: the heavily fringed and beaded reindeer-skin clothes she wore (much too warm for the sub-tropical climate of he city), or fat, snakelike braid of black hair shot with white that brushed against her tight, toned buttocks. While long hair on women was certainly admired in the city, those who chose to adopt the style rarely ventured into the hot and dirty market streets where such a mane was likely to end up the mouth of a none-too-particular camel, or worse.

But Atana was no luxuriating noblewoman. She a Wolf Hunter of the Thousand Spear Tribe, and had received Warrior's Training on top of it. In addition to wearing a rucksack made out of whole skin of a young seal, she'd had a bow and quiver of arrows slung across her back, two blackrock daggers tucked in each of her tall boots, and carried an enormous widowwood spear, leaning on it as though it were a simple walking stick. All of the weapons had tasted blood on her journey, but when she came to the city she'd hoped her goal would soon be in hand, and she would be headed north again in only a few weeks. Then she would only need to worry about killing enough to keep her on her feet, and paying proper tribute to the spirits.

In her journeys, the huntress had learned of the city far to the south, where magicians worked miracles in an enormous white pyramid on a hill. The people of the city could live for hundreds of years, and many had strange abilities equal or even greater than those of the northern shamans. And most importantly, the inhabitants of the pyramid had an elixir that could cure any disease, no matter how fatal. If Atana could only get her hands on such an elixir, and learn how it worked, maybe she would finally be able to stop the plague tearing through the tribes of the north, and give her people a fighting chance at survival.

Alas, upon her arrival in the city the woman had learned that not just anyone was entitled to visit the great pyramid. That was a privilege reserved for the nobles, and they rarely chose to share it. Frustrated at being denied when she was so close to achieving her goal, Atana had retreated to a tavern in the market district to try to determine her next course of action.

She certainly hadn't intended to come between the drunken guardsman and the young serving girl of the establishment, but how could she in good conscience allow him to strike the girl across the face, when he carried a sword and she did not? Her honor could not allow such an offense from a warrior to a village-woman, and she had hoped when she'd planted her fist in the lout's stomach he might have realized his error and apologized to the girl. Instead, he'd turned his blade on Atana herself, who'd had no choice but to fight back. Perhaps if the man had been sober he might have handled himself better, but when the opening came the huntress took advantage, and jammed one of her blackrock knives into the guard's kidney.

And that was why she no longer had her knives, or her spear, or her bow and arrows. The other guards came and took her rucksack as well, and after a mocking attempt at a trial they even took her clothing, leaving her dressed in nothing but a loose linen shift and uncomfortable leather sandals. For a few days they'd locked her in a dark room with bars on the tiny window, and then this morning they had taken her to the stadium.

“It's the Festival of Ishtar,” explained the young woman who'd been charged with bathing Atana and preparing her for the ring. “One man and one woman are chosen to fight in the Goddess' name, and if they can complete all twelve of the trials they'll be blessed by the High Priest in the Great Temple.”

“That is the pyramid in the center of town?” Atana asked, her voice deeper than the girl had expected, and strangely accented. That was one blessing of the entire situation: so far there had been no language barrier to add to the huntress' troubles. Yet again she was grateful her mother had taken a foreigner for her second husband, and that Liev had taught his stepdaughter the language she needed to communicate with the rest of the world, even if she'd heard little good from any of it.

The young girl nodded as she began to fasten leather pieces of armor to the huntress' bare limbs. “Yes, it's a great honor. Of course, it's been years since anyone has beaten all twelve trials. Both the man and the woman have to survive them all, and if one of them dies the other will be executed along with them.” She paused as she marveled over the black paw print tattoo on Atana's shoulder, and considered asking about it, but then again what would be the point? It seemed unlikely the dark-skinned stranger would even survive The Joining.

“And how do they choose the man and woman?” Atana asked, although she was sure she already knew the answer. She'd scene the row of weapons when she entered, and she doubted the unarmed child before her was the intended target.

“Well...” the girl began slowly. “You're going to enter the pit, with five other women and six men. You'll want to stay away from the men, and they'll stay away from you. The Chosen need to be a man and a woman, and if two men or two women end up being the only survivors, they'll be executed and everything will start all over again. Just fight the women.”

“Until they yield?”

“Until they die.”

Atana's face went white. Prior to leaving home, she'd never killed anything that wasn't a bird, beast, or fish. The guardsman in the tavern hadn't been the first person she'd killed on her journey, but she'd prayed to every spirit she knew that he would be the last.

Clearly, the spirits weren't listening.

“If you can join forces with some of the men, do it,” the girl continued as she began to run her fingers through the woman's thick mass of hair. “The other women will, especially Floria. The betting houses are all favoring her and Bruccius as the Chosen. If you can take them out right away, you might stand a chance at survival. You look like a fighter to me.” One of the girl's small, white hands ran over Atana's bicep approvingly, then went back to her hair. “We should cut this. Long hair is a liability in the ring. If someone gets their hands on it...”

“You cannot cut my hair!” Atana snapped, frightening the girl so badly she dropped the tresses and stepped back entirely. Guilt immediately washed over the huntress; clearly the girl was a simple village-woman and meant no harm, and it was cruel to turn her own fear against the innocent child. “Forgive me but...it is a sign of honor among my people. We only cut our hair when we have done something shameful, or when a spouse or child has died. I would rather lose my life than lose my braid.”

“You probably will,” the girl grumbled, but nonetheless took her place again behind the hunter. “I'll see if I can put it all up for you, but it may be heavy.”

“I've carried it this long,” the woman replied, a grim smile twisting her plush brown lips. After a while, as the girl was nearing the finishing touches of her adornment, she risked another question. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

“Because you probably will die soon,” the girl admitted, stepping back after she'd wound and arranged Attana's braid in several tight loops around her skull. “And I heard you killed a man to protect a servant girl. There aren't many people in this down kind enough—or stupid enough—to do something like that. Now--” Helping Atana to her feet, she led the woman over to the rack of weapons near the door. “You get to pick one to bring in with you. What'll it be?”

It was hardly a question. Excluding the bow (which had been left out of the lineup, probably to avoid errant shots into the audience), Atana's strongest weapon was the spear. Several different styles had been provided, but she chose the one with the longest shaft and head. It would be too heavy to throw, but it was made of some lighter wood and metal than her own, and had a nice balance in her hand. She was still worried it wouldn't stand up to blows from another weapon as well as the widowwood staff, but at least the point was longer and sharper and could hopefully do a fair amount of damage before any of her opponents could get within range of her body.

After the choice had been made, the girl showed her to the door of the chamber, where four guards were waiting to escort her down a long corridor ending in a grated doorway leading to a wide, sandy pit. She could hear cheering and shouting out there in the light, and even a little music. She couldn't tell how long she stood there, gripping the spear like a talisman with her heart pounding in her ears, but eventually it all ceased, and the door opened.

“Citizens of Carales!” A voice boomed from overhead. “I give you, your Tributes!”

One of the guards pushed Atana sharply in the back, and she had no choice but to step forward. All around the pit, eleven more grates had lifted, and eleven other people stepped out. There were men on either side of her, and the Tributes all eyed each other warily for several moments. Every single one of them held a weapon.

For a moment, it seemed as though the entire stadium took a breath. Then came a gong, and the same booming voice roared out again.

“Let The Joining begin!”

 

[Fates.Gamble]

For a time, Aldis was well and truly at peace, his body’s tension melting away with the tepid water. He took a deep the vaporous air, eyes drifting shut once it fled his lips by way of a relaxed sigh. A soft utterance of approval followed, drawn out by the touch of the servant girl who’d come to bathe him. Her hands were soft as silk, and quite appreciative in the way they roamed sculpted muscle, seeking out all of the bothersome knots he’d built up.

“You are very relaxed,” she began to say, Aldis hearing the smile in her voice while teasing fingertips traveled as gnarled scar that traveled from his belly, all the way up to his right pectoral, “For one who is about to look death in the eye.”

Aldis simpered, stretching out his limbs as much as the cramped bathtub would allow, and relaxing into those magnificent hands. They’d quit their teasing, now, moving on to work at the slopes of his broad shoulders. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen a hundred times over,” he assured her, another sigh, heavy with contentment, escaping him. The evidence of that was to be found anywhere her hands chose to explore, his olive skin a canvas painted in the violence of countless scars. Some were more ghastly than others, but all were a testament to his endurance. And, more often than not, a memento from the warrior who’d paid with their life to leave it.

“And besides,” he went on, wearing a sly grin as bright green eyes cracked open to spy her, “It’s hard not to be lax with you tending to me so diligently.” Her grip increased in pressure, heart lifting some over the compliment. Yes, it truly was a heavenly moment… But like they say, all good things had to end. The sound of a heavy door storming open was all it took to bring the peaceful moment crashing back down.

The unexpected arrival was enough to lure away his buddy masseuse, her hands jumping away from the hard muscle as though it burned to the touch. Her spine went straight as a board as she spun about to face a man Aldis had already identified, despite having his back to the door. His face soured at once, the expression thankfully hidden from the dark, chocolate eyes now observing the scene. Their master’s gaze swept over the one lounging so carelessly in the tub, lingering instead on the guilty-looking servant girl. She dared not move beneath the weight of it.

“Leave us,” he ordered, sounding none too pleased; not that he ever was. The man did seem to worry himself with every little thing. Stress like that was bound to be deadlier than the arena.

The next sound Aldis heard was that of the woman’s bare feet fleeing across stone, the door closing in her wake soon after. Then came the beat of soft, leather sandals as his master strode forward, stepping into the warrior’s line of sight. Aldis eyed his ceremonial robes and feathered coronet boredly. Perhaps it was due to the safety granted by the vital role he would soon play, or maybe just the fair amount of wine he’d consumed (The remaining two thirds of which he mastered looked upon with fervent disapproval), but whatever the reason, the scarred fighter found himself in a bold mood. A mocking smile claimed his lips, and he decided to court death even before the looming battle.

“You didn’t have to get all dressed up just to see me, Cadmus,” Aldis goaded his master, who bristled over the insolent comment.

“Enjoying yourself, are you?” Cadmus seethed, his face seemed to be growing redder. Then again, maybe it was just the contrast of that gaudy, stark white circlet looping his forehead.

“I was,” Aldis answered, growing more brazen by the second, “Until you took the girl away. Have you come to replace her? My neck is still a little stiff.” Then, Aldis made his boldest move yet in reaching for the wine bottle with intentions of polishing it off. His hand scarcely reached the sideboard, however, before his wrist was snatched up into the iron grip of his overseer. The mischief disappeared from Aldis’ eyes, replaced by dark expression of the warrior he truly was. That look was matched by one just as venomous from the high lord, his sneering face; a sneer the fighter had grown more than accustomed to over the last year and a half of his life.

“Do not forget what you are, slave!” Cadmus spat with choler. Then, he leaned in close, his voice dropping an octave as though that made him anymore threatening to a man like Aldis. “Thanks to your usefulness I allow you to live more comfortably than the common rabble, but make no mistake: Fighters come and go, and you are expendable like all the rest. Test me much further, and you might find that its your blood soaking into that sand next time. You will not address me in such a way again.”

Cadmus released his hand, which Aldis snatched back, his good mood from earlier now officially soured. “My apologies, Master,” he grumbled out the disgusting title, biting back on the things he truly wanted to say, “I seem to have forgotten my manners.”

“As well as your senses,” Cadmus added, snatching up the wine bottle for himself. He did not raise it for a drink, however, choosing instead to idly inspect the label while resuming his criticism. “Have you lost your mind? Drinking before a match? And not just any match… The Festival of Ishtar is of utmost importance.”

“It’s a match for children; common murderers and thieves rounded up off the street and given a chance to earn their life through combat.”

“Not if you win,” his master countered, “And at least two other lords have thrown their fighters into the lot.”

“As if that will be a problem.”

Cadmus bristled at the arrogance, his fingers clutching so tightly at the wine bottle he just might shatter it. “Enough of your insolence!” he demanded. “This tournament provides me with enormous opportunity, understand? My chosen failed me in the last one… The blow wasn’t fatal, you see. So it fell to me as his sponsor to decide his fate. As a mercy, I allowed the victor to finish him then and there on the sands. But should you be unfortunate enough to land that situation, you will receive no such mercy, Aldis. I will have you dragged from that pit and skinned alive, like the foul beast you are.”

Aldis looked the man dead in the eye, his stony expression perking up into a false smile. “Well,” he began, sounding aloof as ever, “I’d say that’s proper motivation to win, then. Let’s just hope I end up with a proper warrior for a partner, and not some cut throat dragged in off the streets.”

Only time would tell, but it was the chief concern on the warrior’s mind, haunting him even after Cadmus left, who’d hurried Aldis out of the bath before taking all of his bluster with him. Normally it was an easy thing to clear his mind before a fight, but it was proving much more difficult this time. How could he not be concerned when some unknown entity had a say in whether he lived or died? Though his life technically belonged to another these days, out in the pits he preferred his fate in no hands but his own; for who else could he rely on out on those bloodthirsty sands? There was nothing Aldis loved more than a good battle, but truth be told he was starting to want out of this whole damned thing.

I’ve just got to treat this as though it were any other fight, Aldis told himself, trying to ignore the distraction while outfitting himself for battle. A pair of padded trousers and cingulum covered his lower half, the leather worn with use but sturdy enough. His upper half, however, was far less defended. He wore a pair of manicae about his arms, but his chest and abdomen were left bare, the sheen of his scars on display. Cadmus had not seen fit to spend the coin on a proper chest or shoulder guard for his prized fighter; nor even a decent pair of boots, leaving Aldis to bind his feet in cloth, from soles to ankle, leaving only his bare toes free. It wouldn’t offer much protection against a weapon, but it would contend with the hot sand well enough. In fact, none of his armor was ideal compared with what some of the Chosen were gifted, but heavy armor would only slow him down where he favored speed. And Cadmus had not been entirely ungenerous…

Though Cadmus had skimped on the armor he’d invested in a fine pair of falcata. The twin swords made for a menacing sight in the seasoned killer’s hands, their curved edges perfectly maintained. With ivory handles carved into the shape of the falcons they were named for, it was far too luxurious a gift for a lowly slave. But Aldis had turned the princely gift into a fine investment, earning his master tenfold what he’d spent in winnings so far. An accompanying swordbelt was lashed over the cingulum, the swords carefully stowed in their sheathes at either side of his hips. Though they were at rest, his hands lingered at the hilts, fingers clutching tightly. He had to ground himself before stepping out of those doors; empty his mind of all trouble, lest he be in the grips of it on the battlefield. A steadying breath was all he could manage, however, before a meaty fist came pounding at the door. His time was up.

Aldis couldn’t say how many times he’d made this walk, four well-armed guards escorting him down the corridor. It was a reminder that no matter how lavish his treatment, Cadmus’ words were ultimately true. He was nothing to these people; the product of a spectator sport that had performed well enough to draw their favor for a time. But how long? How many more chances would he have to stand before this great, stone door, listening to the thrum of energy that awaited him on the other side?

Not many more if I get the wrong woman in my corner, he thought, just before the stone barrier lifted to a flood of sunlight, and thunderous roar of the crowd.

Squinting into he glare, Aldis stepped out from the dark corridor, onto the burning sands, same as the rest of their ‘tributes’. Most of the fools would be fodder, he wagered. A fair few of them were fresh faces, wide eyes roaming the spectacle of the arena and the heavily armed individuals they were pit against. Aldis’s attention was drawn across the ring, quickly taking measure of the female fighter as they emerged. Out of the six he recognized Floria alone. The other five were a motley assortment. Of them, he took note of a particular spear wielder… He could tell by the build of her body and confident posture that she was no stranger to a fight. However, that might not mean much here. If her expression was anything to go by, she’d never seen anything like this place. And worse yet, what was she thinking with that hair? At least she had the good sense to tie it up, but it would have been better to do away with it all together. Any good fighter knew to keep it short. That’s why Aldis’ light, brown hair was kept no longer than an inch.

It’s to be Floria, then, he decided silently. She was a proven fighter, after all, and pretty much a shoe-in against the rest of the rabble. Instead, Aldis turned his judgement to the men. Bruccius could prove a threat; he was more heavily armored and held no few victories under his belt. But Aldis had seen the brute fight often enough to know he had the upper hand when it came to speed. All in all, the warriors before him would not be half so challenging as the trials that would come after. With this many fighters on the field, all he had to do was remain observant, bide his time, and seize opportunities as they came.

With that in mind, Aldis stood perfectly still, swords remaining in their sheathes even as the warriors around him spread out, brandishing their weapons. It took little time at all for the fighters to clash into pairs, the more experienced of them being the first to jump in for an attack. One of the fresh faces took notice of Aldis standing there with no weapon in hand and decided to try his luck. Mustering his courage, the fool charged forward with the point of his spear aiming for his foe’s unprotected chest. But Aldis was far too quick for him. His feet were like the wind the way they blew across the sand, carrying him to the right just in time to dodge the attack. The momentum behind the failed thrust left his opponent off balance for a moment, but a moment was all he needed.

Lashing out, he took hold of the wooden shaft of the spear and yanked it forward. The strong grip of his opponent saw him dragged right along with it, right into the brute force of a charging shoulder. The impact knocked the weapon free of his hands and threw him sprawling to the ground, the breath knocked out of him. With dazed eyes, he gazed up to see Aldis looming above, a twirling spear in his hands. It stopped with the point aimed downward, and those glazed eyes went wide with horror as the fighter realized what was about to happen.

“N-No, wait!” he shouted, throwing up a hand.

It was all he had time for before Aldis thrust the spear down, driving the point of it right through his chest. At least he made it quick for the poor bastard, his expression never making it past a state of shock before succumbing to the spear that pierced his heart. Instead of mourning, he death was met with a deafening roar of cheers and applause from the raucous crowd. It was a sadistic practice to be sure, but Aldis did not waste a second thought for the unfortunate soul. He merely wrenched the spear out of his fresh corpse and moved on. The other fighters were still engaged with each other, remaining none the wiser to his advance and giving him a brief opportunity to glimpse how things were progressing on the other side of the arena.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

The fighting broke out almost instantly, but for one brief moment Atana was able to observe her fellow tributes with the trained eye of a hunter. They're like a pack of wolves she thought grimly, her grip on the spear tightening. She'd hunted wolves countless times before, but in almost all of those instances she'd been accompanied by a pack of her own; fellow hunters with decades of experience between them and an instinct understanding of how the the enormous white canines of the north behaved. It was only on her Hunter's Hunt she'd ever faced a pack on her own, and while she'd walked (well, limped) away with a carcass slung over her shoulder, it was only sheer luck that had saved her then. And considering how the spirits seemed to abandoned this cursed city, she knew there was little point in hoping for a second such miracle.

She wasn't alone in her hopelessness. Three of the other female tributes were shaking in their sandals and clumsily gripping at weapons it was obvious they'd never touched before. Atana felt a wary sort of pity for the trio, but for the most part her attention was fixed on the other two women in the ring: one an enormous blonde valkyrie clutching a strange weapon that resembled a stick and spiked ball connected by a long chain, and the other a stunning beauty clad in such scanty leather armor she was almost naked, save for her insanely long brown hair that hung almost to the ground. This second woman the huntress eyed with particular suspicion. Her servant had warned her that long hair was a danger in the ring, and the other four tributes all wore theirs cropped no longer than their chins. Why had this woman forsaken the tradition as well?

There was no time to think on it. The moment of evaluation had passed, and the world around her seemed to explode into chaos. Both the big blonde and the long-haired woman had set their sights on the three weaker females, and were racing across the sand at alarming speed. In her heart, Atana knew she should have done the same. Weak as some of the women might have looked, she knew what kind of strength and viciousness could creep into an animal's heart when it was saturated with fear. But she could not find it in herself to fatally attack someone who had never done anything to wrong her, and instead she kept close to the wall of the arena, her spear leveled in a defensive position, but making no motion to attack the others.

Although this earned a fair amount of booing from the crowd above her, the other participants in the pit didn't seem to pay her any mind. The men were busy tending to themselves for now, probably waiting to weed out the weakest parties before joining forces with the remaining women. Meanwhile the big blonde was barreling towards a skinny redhead fumbling with a javelin. "Throw it...throw it..." Atana whispered under her breath as she watched in horror. The blonde woman's armor only covered her torso, and if the girl could make the shot through a limb she would at least drop her weapon. But when the smaller woman finally did unleash the missile, it fell helplessly in the sand a few feet away, and a moment later the spiked ball that had been gaining momentum as the blonde whirled it over her head collided with the head of red hair, sending it exploding over the sand in a burst of cheers and chants of "Floria! Floria!"

Floria, as the blonde was evidently called, grinned up that the crowd as she planted her foot in the dead woman's chest and swung the bloody flail over her head, sending a rain of blood drops all around. But her victory was quickly forgotten as the beautiful woman in the scanty armor approached her own prey, and it wasn't long before Atana realized why the fighter wore her hair long.

The huntress knew of some strange fish in the oceans that had long tentacles they used to catch prey, and she imagined it must have looked similar when the woman's long hair began to rise in the air and twist into serpentine locks. She had been unarmed, but had no trouble in snatching the short sword out of her victim's grasp with one long tendril of hair, while four others twined around the sobbing woman's limbs and forced them to splay. The entire stadium seemed to take a breath, and then the lock of hair that had been holding the sword ran it through its former wielder's abdomen.

"Witchcraft!" Atana gasped, pressing her back to the stadium wall.

Up in the stands though, the crowd hardly seemed shocked at this spectacle, and one observer in particular seemed almost bored at it. She was a younger woman, freshly turned twenty-one and welcomed into adulthood, although the white feathers adoring her artfully arranged yellow curls designated her as an unmarried member of the higher classes. She held a small tablet in her soft white hands, and appeared to be scratching out names on it as each death occurred below her.

"Looks like Ariadne's had a visit to the temple. That's unexpected, considering she killed her master's wife. Old Yannis must really be smitten with her if he wants her to survive the ring that badly," remarked the man sitting beside her. He was a few years older than her and quite handsome, but in an almost feminine way that wasn't helped by his flamboyant orange tunic and the deep blue feathers in his copper-colored hair. His tone was rather unimpressed as he watched the female fighters, but a new light came into his blue eyes as he glanced over at the men. "The betting masters must be throwing a fit right now. Do you suppose it's too late to put money on her, Phryne?"

His companion's emerald gaze fell critically on Ariadne, who was now turning her attention to her next target, the old madam who had finally robbed and murdered the wrong man in her nasty little hovel down in Slaughter Row. Considering the defender was armed with only a small knife (who had arranged for that, Phryne wondered) and the attacker had a sword and plenty of Mana within her to go with it, there was no doubt how it would turn out. "You might," the young woman said slowly, turning back to her tablet and preparing to cross the name Yeorgia off her list. "But I still think Floria is going to come out on top. This is Ariadne's first fight, and all the Mana in the world can't make up for experience. You'll see the same thing with Bruccius and Gallio, mark my words." She pointed her stylus to the other side of the arena where the men were fighting.

The handsome man visible bristled at this. "I'd better not. You know I own a third of Gallio's sponsorship. And he's a Chosen and an experienced pit fighter."

"Not as experienced as Bruccius, or even Aldis for that matter. Besides, what was it Tryphon had said about his Mana? Something about making him immune to pain? That still won't help him if someone takes his head clean off. No, my dear Cassius," Phryne absentmindedly patted at his thigh in a manner the man could only interpret as patronizing. "Mana can do a great deal, but it only goes so far in the pit."

Cassius sniffed sharply and turned his gaze away from her. "I swear, if you weren't my betrothed..." he began, then sat up in his seat. "Good heavens, what's the foreign bitch doing?"

Down the ring, Atana had watched helplessly as the two women were slaughtered before her, but when both Floria and Ariadne began to stalk towards the only other competitor left besides herself, she could no longer remain still. She darted in front of the older woman and artfully twirled and slashed her spear in the Naessiq gesture of challenge. "You will stay back!" she snarled, glaring first at the blonde then the brunette.

"What are you doing?" cried the woman behind her in utter shock and alarm.

"Protecting you!" Atana snapped back, lunging forward in an attempt to plunge her spearpoint into Ariadne's bare midriff. The long haired woman immediately fell back, avoiding the blow, but she stared confusedly towards Floria.

"What, are they sending lunatics into the pit now?" she asked in a haughty voice.

"Don't know, don't care. Lunatics die like anyone else," Floria remarked, swinging her flail towards Atana. But the dark-skinned woman was much shorter than the opponents the experienced fighter was used to, and she had no trouble tucking and rolling into a somersault before falling back towards the woman with the dagger.

"Run!" she hissed, as if there was anywhere any of them could go to escape. And that was probably why the only response Atana recieved was a searing pain in her side as the would-be victim buried her knife into her protector's body. The huntress let out a shriek of pain, and before she had even known she what she was doing, the spear in her hands twirled and twisted before jabbing directly backwards, impaling the old woman a third of the way down the staff.

Atana's grasp on the weapon loosened as her enemy fell back dead, and she herself collapsed to her knees as she gripped at her side, trying to keep the blood in her body. Floria and Ariadne's surprise quickly turned to grisly mirth, and while the former raised her flail to finish the job, she was quickly caught off guard by a tendril of hair wrapping around her wrist.

Up in the stands, Phryne shrugged and crossed off Yeorgia's name, and despite the fact that the foreigner wasn't quite dead, she crossed out Atana as well. It was a pity; leading up to today's fight there was a rumor that the strange foreigner was a dark horse in the Joining, and she'd amassed a respectable amount of bets on her head purely out of speculation. But if she didn't bleed out on the sands, she was in no position to take out either Floria or Ariadne now, which was probably why the two women were more focused on fighting each other than finishing off their lingering enemy. After all, the survivor would have no trouble finishing the job once all the other threats were eliminated.

And with every passing moment, it looked like Ariadne was going to cause a major upset in the gambling houses as she took first Floria's flail, then got more tendrils of hair wrapped around her throat. But then the crowd erupted as the men, who had been moving ever closer to the women's combat, came into range of the brawl. Gallio, armed with a battle axe, suddenly broke apart from his three-way brawl with Bruccius and Aldis, then whirled around and buried his axe in the middle of Ariadne's back. Cassius leapt to his feet and let out a roar of triumph from the stands, while Phryne rolled her eyes. She knew her fiancé was far from friendly with poor dead Ariadne's sponsor, but it seemed a little tasteless to cheer her death so loudly.

As the life left the Chosen woman's body, the Mana-fueled tendrils of hair loosened and Floria wasted no time in reclaiming her flail and looking over the three remaining men with heavy breath. Now that she was the only woman left, the gladiatrix held the power of choosing which of the men would be Joined to her, and she needed to think quickly. While most expected she might select the one that had saved her from strangulation only moments earlier, she made her choice clear when suddenly she swung the heavy iron ball into Gallio's torso, the impact sending him flying across the sand.

"What? Why in the Goddess' name would she do that?" Cassius shrieked as he saw the woman chasing the Chosen across the ring, leaving Aldis and Bruccius to fight things out between themselves. "He's a Chosen!"

Phryne shrugged as Ariadne's name was removed from her list as well. "Pit fighters don't typically like the Chosen, and frankly I can't blame them. I'd hate to train my whole life for a sport only to be beaten because some nobleman's favorite got him a cheating edge. Even if they're trying to kill each other, I've found there is a certain respect among the career fighters that I have to admire. Unlike what Floria is doing to poor Gallio over there." The crowd let out a thunderous groan as the woman had tackled the Chosen man to the ground, taken the ball of her flail in her hands, and was now smashing his skull in with it.

"It's not cheating, it's a privilege. By the Goddess, Phryne, if you want to get into the gladiator game you need to learn the rules properly. Otherwise you'll end up out a thousand dalar, like I am," Cassius sighed glumly as Floria ground his investment into the dirt.

With the Chosen dead, the blonde had picked up her flail and was turned towards the last two men left in combat. If she had wanted, Floria could have sat back and waited for the pair to finish things on their own, but it was clear she was growing wearing of the fight. Positioning herself behind Aldis, she locked eyes with Bruccius and raised her flail a final time...

...and a javelin ran clean through her neck.

The crowd went wild. On the far side of the arena, Atana of the Thousand Spears was on her knees near the first woman that had died, having crawled her way across the ring to pick up the discarded javelin. She was still gasping heavily and was gripping her side with one arm, but it seemed that the leather armor had done its job and prevented the old woman's dagger from piercing her too deeply. And there was no doubt, now that Floria had fallen dead onto the stand, that the wounded foreigner was the final woman in the fight, albeit it was clear her strength was utterly spent.

"Please...finish this!" she called out to the two men, not rightly caring which one of them lived or died as long as it would end the fight quickly.

 

[Fates.Gamble]

This was where Aldis lived: The taste of blood and sand in his mouth, the roar of the crowd, the thrum of his heart as it pumped, veins flooding with adrenaline; he was at home in the arena. Nothing made him feel more alive than the fire of war and the uncertainty it brought. He wasn’t real without a weapon in his hands, just a sack of meat biding its time until the next man came to take a swing at him. That was the life of a slave bound to the ruthless masters of Carales. Lucky for Aldis that he lived for the thrill of battle even before they’d taken him in chains. But not all found their joy in the heart of conflict. Where he was at home in the ring, the woman with ivory streaked hair appeared more like a fish out of water. He spied her but an instant, noting the way she avoided the other fighters by tucking herself to the wall, earning no favor from the crowd in the process.

That one would be better off in the stands if all she’s going to do is watch, Aldis thought with grim amusement, his attention turning back to the task at hand. The wary and kindhearted souls that found their way into this world would not be long for it, anyway. Not like Floria, whose name rang out from the sea of spectators, the clear favorite of the female warriors. But the gladiator took little time to consider his potential partner when there were still our other men vying to take his place.

He’d been the first to fell an opponent, but Bruccius was soon to follow. The goliath of a man made for an ominous sight. He was donned in a heavy breastplate and greaves, armor that would prove too much for the inexperienced fighter that faced him with a gladius in his trembling hands. It was clear he didn’t know how to wield the sword, yet Bruccius was only all too familiar with the war hammer in his hands. One swing of the bludgeon was all it took to send his enemy soaring with a mess of broken bones. There was a roar from the crowd while the broken man lay sprawled across the ground, choking up blood. Their delectation grew to deafening proportions once Bruccius crossed the distance to his victim, raised his mighty hammer, and brought it down on the man’s head, splattering it like a watermelon across the golden sands.

Aldis knew how easily he could find himself in that same position, and he had no intentions of giving Bruccius the chance. He was already dashing forward, charging in for the hulking brute with spear in hand. Bruccius didn’t appear to notice him as he lifted his gore covered hammer in a pose for his cheering fans, giving Aldis the perfect opportunity; or so he thought. As soon as he made it within range and launched with a thrust of his spear, the sands began to shift around his opponent, taking form and coming to life. Much like Ariadne’s tentacles of hair, a tendril of earth shot up out of the ground, capturing the spear point before it could harm its intended victim. The sudden, unexpected resistance jarred his arms.

The mana caught him by surprise; he hadn’t anticipated that. The sand solidified quicker than he could react, leaving him unable to pull his weapon free of its unbreakable grip. In the end there was little choice but to abandon the spear, Aldis springing back as Bruccius rounded on his heel with a swing of his hammer. The sledge burst through the sand sculpture and spear alike, exploding them into a cloud of dust and shrapnel. Aldis kept his distance from the haze and quickly drew his blades, the dark steel looking thirsty for blood as it caught the sun. Bruccius came charging through the dust a moment later, giant hammer reared back and ready to swing with the momentum. Aldis waited until just the right moment then surged forward, moving out of range of the blow and countering with a swing of his right sword. His blade glanced off of his enemy’s breast plate, just barely missing the exposed bit of underarm he aimed for. There was no chance to amend it, Aldis having to dodge away a split second later before a recoiling Bruccius repaid him for the attempt.

By now Gallio had dealt with his contender as well, gleaming battleaxe eviscerating his opponent after a careless misstep. If he’d been left to contend with both of them, things might have turned troublesome, but fortunately for Aldis, Gallio recognized Bruccius as the bigger threat and charged for him next. His battleaxe came in swinging, forcing Bruccius to backpedal away. Aldis used the chance to dip in and attack him from the side. He kept his left blade at the ready for a quick parry, should his enemy surprise him, and slashed with his right. The pincer attack caught their enemy off guard, and while Aldis’ blade rent no flesh, it managed to cut through one of the straps holding his breast plate in place.

Bruccius roared out his displeasure as he felt the shift in his armor, and swung his hammer at Aldis as though he were some bothersome fly. But he was far too quick for such a slow weapon, struck only by the wind left in the wake of the bludgeon as it narrowly sailed past. He’d expected his enemy to react in such a way, but the near miss had his heart racing all the same. Slow as it was, one blow from a weapon like that and he wouldn’t be getting back up. And there was always the mana to think about; at any time, Bruccius could call upon his blessing and manipulate the sand beneath their feet. With that in mind, Aldis kept every step light, ready to react at the slightest indication while he put some space between them. Gallio would be upon him again soon, and with the distraction Aldis would seize his next opportunity to rush in and do some damage. Bruccius, however, had no intentions of getting cornered again.

Aldis could feel a crackle of energy when the gladiator rose his hammer and called upon the mana flowing through his veins. With inhuman speed he brought it right back down, slamming it into the ground with all the force he could muster. The earth around him rippled as though it were water, the power of his strike sending out a shock wave of sand that ravaged Gallio and Aldis, knocking them both off of their feet. Aldis hit the ground with a thud, blinded by the stinging grains of sand that blew over him. There was little time to recover, however, before Bruccius followed up, racing over and planning to put an end to the pesky swordsman. Aldis didn’t have time to get up, but enough of his vision returned in time to spy the hammer being primed over his head. With a note of alarm he rolled to the left, narrowly escaping the crashing weight of the maul. He was back on his feet an instant later, just in time to notice that Gallio had also recovered, and that their alliance was apparently over.

The battle axe came swiping in at his left, leaving Aldis no time to catch his breath as jumped back, dodging clear of its edge. Suddenly the tables were turned, Aldis facing two very large, heavy weapons being swung at him from both sides. He dodged the wild swings until an opening appeared, Gallio taking a bit too long to heft his axe back out of the sand. He struck fast and precise, left blade cutting deep through Gallio’s right arm. Such a blow would have been enough to make a lesser man recoil, dropping his weapon and falling victim to Aldis’ second sword on the follow up. But Gallio didn’t even flinch at the wound, his immunity to pain letting him continue on as though it were nothing. His axe was up in time to block Aldis’ finishing blow, who was forced into retreat when Bruccius came in with a follow up of his own.

And just when they had him on the ropes, Gallio broke away from their duel,, crossing the gap to join the women in their melee. Aldis’ eyes followed him long enough to spy the reason why; Floria had found herself in a bad way, moments from being a fan favorite to a complete upset. If he could save the warrioress and curry her favor to boot, it made his chances of surviving this thing that much better. After all, judging by the state the spear wielding foreigner found herself in, whoever Floria chose to spare would be the last man standing. Gallio made it so by way of its axe, burying it deep into Ariadne’s back and putting and end to her mana-driven slaughters. The smugness was clear in the way her smirked, as though he could already taste the victory Floria would help him achieve over the his remaining competitors. That blind faith made him sloppy, however, his thick head finding itself upon the deadly end of Floria’s flail.

Aldis hadn’t the time to consider what that meant. With the rest of the competition out of the way he’d become the sole focus of Bruccius. His opponent knew exactly what to do, launching attacks that drove Aldis into the right position. He kept his eyes to the sun, and even more importantly, his back to Floria. She and Bruccius had been the favorites from the beginning, it was no question to him which of the men she would choose to assist. One, last, half-hearted swing saw Aldis leaping back, dodging the hammer and falling right into the trap of Floria and her raising flail. He caught only a flicker of motion from his eye, alerting him to her presence at the last second. The cold tingle of impending death crawled across his spine, but when Aldis spun about to meet his fate, Floria met hers instead.

Aldis exhaled a shaky breath, stumbling back a step from the crippled blonde. His eyes jumping from her dying expression to the foreigner who’d saved him. She didn’t look too far off from joining the rest of the women dead on the sands, and if that happened, Aldis may as well have slit his own throat. Bruccius, however, was still intent on taking care of that for him, leaving him little choice but to grant Atana’s wish of bringing this bitter fight to an end. His opponent came charging in with his hammer, but Aldis was ready for him, spinning to the left and swinging with one blade, then the other. One struck home, slicing through the other sides of the straps and loosening his foe’s armor to the point it became more hindrance than protection.

And increasingly frustrated Bruccius had no choice but to strip it off then, letting the heavy iron fall into the dirt to expose his bare torso. Aldis had a chance now, and the two circled each other like a pair of ravenous wolves, Bruccius none too keen to let him take it. But, flustered as the goliath was, Aldis knew his patience would win out. All he had to do was wait and keep his distance. True to form, Bruccius grew weary of the game and stepped froward, trying to catch Aldis with a downward swing. Another miss, and this time Aldis did not give him a chance to recover for the exerted force. Using the very hammer at his feet as a stepping stone, he sprang up into the air, and came back down to drive the twin blades deep into the chest of his opponent.

With a grunt, Bruccius sagged, hands releasing the shaft of his hammer as he collapsed backwards beneath the weight. Aldis dropped with him, falling to his knees with both swords still buried in his victim. He left them there as he pushed back to his feet, standing over a dying Bruccius while he extended his attention to the crowd. They were positively raucous, a mix of cheers and jeers. No doubt Cadmus was watching from up on high, wearing an arrogant smirk where as many were sour over the money they’d just lost; or were about to lose, anyway. Bruccius was still breathing for the moment, but Aldis would see to that. He retrieved his swords with a sickening lurch, only to lower them, holding the blood-stained blades at either side of his opponent’s throat. The audience swelled with another clamor of anticipation, which Aldis satisfied with his killing blow, twin blades cutting so deeply into his victim’s throat it nearly decapitated him.

Normally, Aldis would have relished in his victory, drinking in the cheers and taunts of those who watched from on high. This time, however, he had reason for concern. Instead, his regard gravitated towards Atana, to whom his life was now bound. His emerald eyes drank her in, taking in the measure of her, though it was difficult to see anything beyond the wound she clutched to. If she couldn’t even make it past the joining without bleeding out on the sands it did not bode well for his future; not that he’d have one if not for her quick action with the javelin. It seemed Atana was in need of a little quick action herself iff she was going to be fighting fit for the next round. Aldis had the impulse to step forward and help her; more out of self preservation than anything else, but it was not his place. Soon enough officials would swarm into the ring and maybe tend to her wound if she was lucky. But they would most certainly could to parade the victors around like a couple of prized horses, albeit with a flock of heavily armed guards at the ready, should their new tributes prove too wily for their own good. He sheathed his weapons, and shot out a quick word of warning to his new partner before they were swept up in it all.

“I hope you don’t plan on saving an enemy in our next fight,” Aldis scolded her sharply, “If so, it would have been kinder to let her kill me.”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Atana had been so busy trying not to be slaughtered by the other female fighters in the pit that she'd hardly had time to glance towards the men. When she had thrown the javelin, it wasn't necessarily with the intention of saving either of them from Floria, but more about taking advantage of the only opening she could possibly have made for herself. The huntress was more than a little surprised that the weapon had even found its mark at all, and she'd half-expected the big blonde to turn around and finish her off once and for all. But when the other woman's body finally collapsed onto the sand, the dark-haired woman finally felt like she could breathe again, and it was several moments before she had the presence of mind to really observe the two men locked in combat on the other side of the arena.

She recognized the one with the scarred torso as the man who had made the first kill of the fight. The other was bigger and much better armed, although his movements weren't as quick or smooth as the scarred man. One of them was called Bruccius, she could determine that much, though which man the name belonged to was utterly beyond her comprehension. The pain in her side was quickly overcoming her interest in the fight, but all twelve of the gates leading into the pit remained firmly shut, and it was clear that if the masters of the ring even kept any healers on hand, they certainly wouldn't be stepping forth to help her until the fight was over. A cruel and unjust thought crossed Atana's mind as she struggled to get to her feet, pressing both hands to her wound as she stumbled towards the nearest wall. Why doesn't one of them just die already?

The woman didn't have to wait long to get her wish, though the guilt at making it haunted her for many nights after that. Up in the stands, the spectators were busy gambling on what would be exhausted first: Aldis' swiftness or Bruccius' raw strength. If Atana had any money, she would have bet firmly against the latter. His movements, never very swift to begin with, were growing clumsier with every passing moment while the scarred man still seemed as fresh as if he'd just set out from camp. How he'd managed to get through the fight without so much as a scratch she couldn't imagine, but the more she watched him the more sure the woman was that this was not the scarred man's first time in the ring. If only the Thousand Spears had such a warrior in their ranks she couldn't help but think, sinking with her back against the warm white wall of the pit.

Very few people in the stands seemed interested in the foreigner's plight at the moment; Atana's overwhelming upset was quickly outshone by the final struggle between the two men that erupted in even louder roars when Bruccius finally fell down dead. "Ugh, we'll never hear the end of this," Cassius grumbled to his fiance as he calculated out how many more dalar he'd just lost to the gambling house. "And I thought Cadmus' head couldn't get any bigger. Do you suppose he'll need a new circlet after this Phryne?" The young man turned to where his companion had sat a moment before, but the young woman had vanished seemingly into thin air, leaving nothing but her scratched-out tablet behind. "Phryne?"

Down in the ring, the twelve gates had finally raised to admit a small army of guards and priests. A thunderous, disembodied voiced named the two Chosen of Ishtar as Atana and Aldis, and at the sound of the names the huntress quickly turned towards the only other survivor. So his name was Aldis. It sounded as strange to her as all of the other southerner's names, but as the scarred man approached and she got a good look at his face, Atana thought he bore a curious resemblance to her stepfather. But Liev's face would never make such a cruel expression towards anyone, especially not someone who was injured. And Aldis' voice certainly had none of the softness or kindness of her mother's husband.

Despite the pain in her side and the exhaustion in her limbs, the warrior's sentimentality inside rose up to a fire over her tongue. "Just because someone puts a weapon in my hand and tells me to kill another person, that does not make them my enemy," she snapped, although her throat felt dry and it made the words come out a little less sharply than she had intended. "And just because I killed someone who wanted to kill me, that does not mean I intended to save you, sanik'vik."

"Hush now miss," a gentle female voice murmured, and Atana looked over to see the face of the girl who had originally prepared her for the battle. There were a few other attendants as well, gathering not only around her but around Aldis to check for injuries. They easily removed the huntress' leather chestplate to reveal the bloodstained white shift beneath, and began to chatter urgently among themselves. The warrior's original handmaid pressed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then began to wave over a tall woman in a pale green gown that seemed to be one piece of fabric wound intricately around her body. "It'll be all right," the girl said. "The priests will fix you up in a moment, then you and Master Aldis can have a bath."

"A bath?" The idea was so preposterous that Atana almost forgot about her wound, but a slight jostling as the attendants helped her to her feet quickly made her yelp in pain and brought it back to mind.

"My, that is a nasty wound. Who knew Yeorgia had it in her?" the woman in green remarked as the little entourage began to escort the tributes down the nearest tunnel. Besides the young men and women who had been sent to make the pair comfortable, there were still plenty of guards to gather the weapons and make sure no one tried to make a last-minute escape from the stadium. At the end of the passage was a well-lit chamber similar to the ones where the tributes were prepped for battle, however this one was much larger. A table laden with food and drink was pushed up against one wall, and there were plenty of comfortable-looking upholstered benches and overstuffed poufs along the others. A beautifully tiled pool was sunken into the center of the room, where steam and the slight scent of incense were rising upward.

"Lets get that nasty thing off of you and take a look," the tall woman remarked, inclining her head towards the handmaidens who immediately began to remove the shift from Atana's body. Curiously enough, the foreigner hardly seemed uncomfortable to be naked in front of so many strangers, though she did have a hard time pulling her hands away from her side to allow the priestess (or so the woman in green seemed to be) to take a closer look. Atana's personal handmaid seemed to sense her fear, and carefully pulled the fighter's hands away.

"It's all right, Sister Evangelia is a healer," the girl explained. The foreigner's posture seemed to relax somewhat, though her eyes still watched Evangelia suspiciously as she withdrew a small vial of beautifully luminous liquid from a pocket of her gown. When the priestess uncorked it, a strange but not unpleasant metallic scent hit Atana's nostrils, and she seemed to see a burst of white stars before her. She could feel the priestess' hands on on her side, cool and gentle, then a strange warmth began to spread where before there was only pain. Curious now, Atana tilted her head just in time to see a white light glowing on her side, and by the time it faded the wound had closed completely, as if it had never been.

"Is that...mana?" she asked finally, looking in awe towards Evangelia.

The priestess raised an eyebrow. "It is," she replied, placing the now-empty vial back in her pocket. "You know about mana then? I had heard you were a stranger in Carales."

"I am, but I must--"

"You must rest," Evangelia cut off, taking a red robe from a hook on the wall and draping it over Atana's shoulders. "You and Aldis both. Relax a bit, eat something, and take a bath. You both need to be cleansed before you can be brought to the Red Shrine. A palanquin will come for you both in a little while. In the meantime, I recommend you get to know one another. You'll be working quite closely together moving forward. Perhaps in a few days, Atana, you and I can have a little chat about what brought you here." A strange smile crossed the priestess' face as she moved towards a pair of intricately carved open doors on the far wall. "I must admit I'm quite curious, and I hardly doubt I'm the only one."

As her eyes followed the retreating figure in green, the huntress noticed the four guards stationed beyond the door just as Evangelia turned her attention to them. "Do no allow anyone inside," she ordered. "If anyone asks about sponsorship opportunities, direct them to the Temple. These two belong to us now." No sooner had the priestess uttered the words than the doors slammed shut behind her, sealing off that particular route of escape.

The rest of the attendants began to filter out through the door they'd originally passed through, but Atana's own servant (or so the girl seemed to deem herself) whispered to her that if she needed anything they would be right outside the rear doors. These too shut after a moment, and utter silence filled the room. For a moment, Atana wasn't sure what to do with herself, but as the stillness settled down upon her she became aware of a ravenous hunger in her belly. After casually tying the robe around her body, the woman turned her attention to the long table of food and began to heap a porcelain plate with...well, she wasn't quite sure what it was, but she felt ready to eat anything short of human flesh at the moment. She was tempted to fill a goblet with wine as well, but past experiences warned her against it, and instead she poured herself only water before sitting down on the nearest couch to devour her meal.

 

[Fates.Gamble]

Cadmus released a steadying breath, his dark eyes drinking in the golden sands below; but more importantly, the two lone figures who stood upon them in victory. His normally bronzed fingers curled around the railing before him, clutching so tightly they’d practically gone white. A swell of emotions stirred within him, delight and anxiety most prominently. This should have been a cause to rejoice, yet the wounded, unproven warrior who’d just stumbled her way to Aldis’ side blemished what could have otherwise been a great triumph. Now, the uncertainty was tangible, the confidence he’d only just started building in Aldis now thoroughly overshadowed by concerns over his partner.

“Honestly, Cadmus…” chimed a smooth-as-silk voice from his rear, “You really must learn to relax.” While he stood on edge, gazing down at the source of his ire, his companion remained seated, all the confidence he was lacking offered in her contented smile. “Our champion wins the day and you act like it’s the end of the world. You worry too much.”

“And you too little,” he growled in retort. “Nothing is won until I have what I need.” A bitter note remained in his voice as he leaned over the edge, eyes furiously set on the woman with braided hair; Atana, if he remembered correctly from the lists. Honestly, he didn’t put enough stock into the fresh meat to keep them in mind. “Nothing is won until I have what I need. “I cannot… Will not wait another year for this, Zahra.”

Zahra kept her composure where Cadmus would not, ebony hands calmly smoothing down the soft, lilac dress she wore before pushing to her feet to join him. “You won’t have to,” She promised, sounding absolutely sure of herself. Our goals are the same, you and I. We will see it through together, and at the end of it all, we’ll both have that which we desire.”

“How can you be so sure? Did you even watch the bitch? She tried saving one of them!”

“And paid a steep price for it. It’s a lesson she won’t forget in her next match.”

“Again, how can you be certain?”

Zahra laughed, a pure, musical note touched with the thinnest layer of disbelief. “All this time and you still doubt me, Cadmus? It almost breaks a girl's heart... But never mind that. I’d question if you were the one paying attention to her. Did you see the way she whirled that spear and struck the old crone down? There’s a lion sleeping in that girl, just begging to come out. And we’ll make certain that it does; all she needs is the right motivation.”

“Are you suggesting we sponsor her as well?” Cadmus wondered, passing a sideways glance to the woman who lingered at her side.

Zahra brushed a strand of midnight hair away from her face before casually leaning forward, resting her elbows upon the barrier that kept them safely aloft the bulk of the rambunctious crowds below. “No.” she stated firmly. “Even if we wanted to, the temple wouldn’t allow it. The Festival of Ishtar is too grand a stage to put the act in the hands of one man. And besides, it gives us common cause with whomever does. One can’t have too many friends in this game of ours; and Aldis is an impressive olive branch. Don't forget, her life depends on his as well. Whoever sponsors her will only be all too aware of it.”

“You are bold assume she will land in friendly hands. I can't speak for you, but I've more rivals than allies."

Zahra merely smiled, her chocolate eyes watching the scene as guards flooded the arena to relieve them of their weapons and wounds alike. "Don't forget," she told him, "Her life depends on Aldis, as well, whom we already know is a competent warrior. Whoever sponsors her will be all too aware of it. Whoever it is, we have the advantage." The booming voice of the announcer drowned out anything Cadmus meant to say as their victory was declared, a thunderous roar following from the crowd. “Why don’t you leave the rest to me and hurry on home, Cadmus,” she suggested, giving him a sly look once the raucous faded to an acceptable volume. “That wife of yours will get lonely if you leave her for too long.”

Cadmus bristled at Zahra, a mix of fury and uncertainty in his gaze. He looked as though he were ready to retort, but Zahra had already brushed him off, knowing full well he would acquiesce to her wishes in the end.

~

Aldis gave her a dark look, his emerald eyes flashing at Atana’s response, though he was uncertain of whatever foreign slur she might have cursed him with at the end. Regardless, he said no more on the issue, falling silent once the battalion came in to relieve him of the tools of his weapons before he used them on someone more important in their little hierarchy. She would learn that she was unique in her way of thinking before long; just because she wasn’t out for blood didn’t mean the men coming at her would share in the sentiment. He wondered how long her altruistic beliefs would hold out in the end, given the nigh insurmountable challenge ahead of them. In the end, he could only come to a single conclusion:

I’m as good as dead with this one at my side…

There wasn’t much time to think about it, though, with attendants soon making a fuss over him. Aldis was stubborn at the best of times; refusing any healers and their mana for all but the most serious injuries. This match had been a wonder, though. Usually he walked away from a melee like that with a few cuts or unpleasant gashes. It was rare that he came out unscathed, and even the relentless attendants were left a little surprised to find he was not just shying away from such help this time. The same could not be said of his partner, of course, nor did she make quite as much of a fuss about it once they were carted off to their chambers and the priestess tended to her.

His couldn’t help but watch, his curiosity getting the better of him as Atana’s bloodied clothes were shed, revealing her full profile. Like her, Aldis held no shame in baring himself for all to see, not only for a confidence in his figure, but as this was the life he’d come to known ever since he was dragged to Carales in chains. For most newcomers it was a shock, but not for her… Curious that. He found himself wondering where this Atana hailed from, and better yet, how she landed herself into such a predicament. It was hard to consider with the distraction of his attendants, who assisted him with his equipment whether he willed it or not; an armored slave could prove as troublesome as an armed one, after all.

Aldis could still hear their conversation well enough, though, and he scoffed amid the women who stripped him of his grimy clothes, reaffirming that the blood smear about him was not his own. He would not have been so relaxed to have the hands of that witch upon him, nor so amazed by her miracles.

“Yeah it’s great” he said begrudgingly of the mana, butting into their conversation, “When they’re not using it to try and slaughter you in the ring, that is.” There was nothing but contempt in his eyes as he glanced at the priestess and her charge.

Aldis left well enough alone, after that, ignoring the flock of women around him and sauntering towards the pool the moment he was free of his articles. At least he could take another relaxing soak; maybe if he closed his eyes and used his imagination it would be as though he’d never been interrupted from his first bath; that wily servant girl’s hands still roaming his chiseled form. He wasn’t off to a great start, however, eyes cracking back open to spy Atana and Evageline as the priestess announced the curiosity they indeed shared.

No doubt every one of those glorified assholes is wondering the same, he thought of Carales’ elite. Atana would become the talk of the town for a time, and not much of it was bound to be positive after watching her heroics be rewarded with a knife to her side. They’d be laughing stocks if their next match followed suit. He could already picture the insults; a relentless buzzing in his skull that left him irate even as they were finally granted their solitude. Worse yet, was his insatiable curiosity which only peaked as he heard Atana shuffling about the room, and finally settling down to eat something. Aldis hardly allowed her two bites, however, before he called out to her from his resting spot in the tub.

“What did bring you here, anyway?” He boldly demanded of her, outright asking the question Evangeline had primed for later. “You don’t strike me as a killer,” he quickly explained his reasoning, “Or at least not a murderer, anyway. Murderers don’t go around saving people.”Even if she claimed she hadn’t meant to save him, she’d definitely intended to help Yeorgia. But then, when it came down to it, she hadn’t hesitated to end the woman’s life herself. It left Aldis all the more inquisitive about this woman, who was clearly a long way from home.

“So why?” he wondered, eyes boring into Atana, “Why’d they throw a bleeding heart like you into a pit of vicious killers like me?”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

It was the first real meal Atana had eaten in days, so she couldn't say for sure if the food was particularly well-prepared or if she was just so ravenous that it tasted heavenly, but in either case the plate was empty before she had realized what happened. Still, she felt more than satisfied, and leaned her back against the cool stone wall of the room and let her eyes drift shut for a moment. She might have even allowed herself to relax if it weren't for the rather annoying voice of the other occupant of the room, and when one pale brown eye opened to look in his direction, it was far from friendly.

"I am not a murderer. And it was not my decision to take part in...that." She shuddered a little at the memory of the fight. How could people who called themselves civilized partake in such brutality? By Atana's estimation, there must have been at least a couple thousand spectators in the stand, and not a single one tried to stop the carnage. No, they had cheered the spilling of blood, even her own. And what had she done to deserve such callous hatred?

"I...I did kill a man. He deserved it, for the dishonor he showed as a warrior to a village-girl, but I did not mean to take his life. He would have taken mine if I let him though," she admitted, looking Aldis more fully in the face now. Well, she started with his face, at least. Despite his unpleasant expression she had to acknowledge there was a certain proud cast to his bone structure that wasn't wholly unattractive. And as her gaze dripped towards the surface of the pool it occurred to Atana that maybe her own aching muscles could do with a soak as well. Without even a hint of embarrassment, the huntress rose to her feet and let her robe fall to the floor, then crossed the room and slipped into the pool across from her partner.

The water was warm and smell vaguely of minerals, and reminded her of the arctic hot springs back home. A soft sigh escaped her lips; would she ever see those springs again? "They told me if I fought the in ring, I could earn my freedom. If I didn't, they would kill me," Atana continued, leaning back against the edge of the pool and reaching up to unbind her hair. "I don't understand why they chose to punish someone who kills a man by making her kill more people, but I'm beginning to suspect there may be a madness in this city." She took a deep breath, then submerged her head entirely beneath the water, rising up a moment later and running her hands over her face.

Feeling a bit more refreshed now, her expression softened as she looked back at the man. "What did you do that they forced you into the ring?" Although the question sounded genuine, Atana was already suspicious that Aldis had been forced at all. So many voices in the crowd had screamed his name, they must have known who he was. And the way he handled himself in a fight...this couldn't possibly have been his first. Prior to her arrest the foreigner had heard people in the taverns talking about gladiatorial fights, and surely the stadium couldn't have been built just to punish criminals. And he had called himself a killer, though she had assumed he was referring to what had happened in the most recent fight, not anything that had happened before.

Although her body had been relaxing up until that point, once the realization dawned on her Atana's shoulders tensed sharply, and her posture grew a little more guarded. "Are you going to try to kill me as well?" she murmured, emphasizing the "try" despite the uncertain look in her eyes.

 

[Fates.Gamble]

Aldis was surprised Atana had such an appetite after the bloodbath that had just taken place; one she supposedly couldn’t stomach, if her sneer of a reply was anything to go on. Aldis cocked a brow, wearing a look of impatience while she practically echoed his own words. Yes, he’d already deduced that she was no murderer. But she was a killer, the way she struck down her attacker told him that much even before she confessed to her ‘crime.’ Once he learned the truth of the matter his eyes softened a bit, though he was quick to avert his gaze, burying any sympathies he might have had for the girl.

“No good deed goes unpunished,” he said making less of an effort to hide the cynical tone of his voice. “I think you’ll find that ‘honor’ doesn’t get you far in this city. There is only what the masters accept, and what they do not. Morals are best left at the gates if you hope to survive here…”

Aldis’s train of thought fell off track once Atana rose from her seat, the robe slipping from her form so casually that she practically invited his eyes to roam her. He accepted, drinking her in with appreciation, emerald gaze never once slipping away while she came to join him in the bath. Modest in the ring, he thought, watching her ease into the water across from him, Yet brazen in everything else. He found himself wanting to know more, a dozen or so questions brewing in his mind. Where was she from? Why was she here? And what was her interest in Mana? Many a power hungry individual came in search of such power, but she didn’t strike him as that sort either. The look of her eyes when the priestess used it was almost desperate.

None of his questions came forth, however, Aldis setting curiosity aside once Atana told him more. A humorless smirk crossed his face instead. “That depends on your definition of freedom,” he said, meeting her gaze. “No doubt you’ll have caught the eye of a potential sponsor or two. Win your fights and you’ll start to make them money. Make them enough of it and you might earn yourself some wiggle room, a few liberties, at least. But have you ever known a rich man to throw away a lucrative source of income? Because that’s exactly what they’d be doing if they freed a champion from their chains.”

Perhaps, Aldis thought, considering Atana’s words before she submerged to douse herself in the pool’s cleansing waters. If not madness, Carales was certainly caught in the grip of a bloodlust to rival the vilest of killers. But what was madness for some was normalcy for others. For Aldis, killing had become a way of life. When he was in that ring it didn’t matter who stood against him. Deserving or undeserving it, none of that mattered when they death meant his own survival. At that point they were only sacks of meat, blood, and bone, no matter the person inside of it all.

Aldis looked upon Atana as she resurfaced, only to return his question from earlier. For a moment his gaze hardened, a deep consideration in his vibrant green eyes, though only briefly before he scoffed and looked away. “Take your pick,” he said darkly, eyes scanning the placid surface of the water. “There’s a hundred different reasons why I should be in chains. But in the end, the only reason I’m wearing any is because I pissed off the wrong person.”

He left it at that, refusing to elaborate even though he’d been the first to pry into their history. But even if he were in the mood to be more forthcoming, her next query was far too important to consider anything else. Aldis looked at her seriously, the weight of his gaze settling on her. He could see her apprehension, noting the way she tensed. Yet he detected a bit of resolve in the way she said it, as though daring him to come and try. A light smile tugged at his lips. Perhaps if she let a little of that loose in their next fight, this tournament would not prove a death sentence after all.

“What, and end up like Yeorgia?” he suggested with a bit of dry humor. But the humor dissolved, Aldis deciding she deserved an honest answer to such a heavy question. “Perhaps someday,” he admitted, “If the masters wish it of me. But for now, I’m more interested in keeping you alive. Surely they told you? As far as the masters our concerned, our hearts beat as one for the duration of this tournament. If you die, I die. So, needless to say, we’re in this together for the time being, whether we like it or not.”

Aldis let her chew over that for a moment, submerging much like she before him to rinse away grit and grime. He kept beneath the surface for a lingering moment, his body finally coming to relax after such a tense fight. The need for hair brought him back up before too long, but the warrior seemed done with their conversation after that. No sooner than he surfaced did he leave the pool, body wet and dripping as he climbed out and crossed the tile floor. He didn’t concern himself with drying off, nor even covering before making his way to the banquet table, enough of his appetite returning to snag a bread roll at least. After that he merely paced the room, nibbling at his snack whilst eyeing the ornate decor. It wasn’t very often he received such nice commendations, though with any luck that would change from here on out. Now that he was a tribute for the festival he’d have even more leverage to wield against Cadmus.

Now I’ve just got to make sure this woman doesn’t get us both killed, he thought, passing Atana a sideways glance and wondering how much longer it’d be before they were paraded through the city and delivered to the Red Shrine.

One Step closer, Aldis told himself silently. Cadmus and those in the temple would never free him willingly, but with enough victories he might just earn enough leverage to find a way to break those chains himself. Even if that meant using their own Mana against them.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Masters?" The contempt in Atana's voice was almost palpable as her eyes narrowed to indignant slits. "I am a free woman, Aldis of Carales. I have no masters, aside from the spirits all men must serve. They are the ones who will curse me if I become like the savages of this city, killing as wantonly as a shark in spawning grounds." And then I shall never see home again she though with a shiver, though she did her best to maintain her fierce expression. "As I speak from my heart, I don't give a fuck about getting 'far' in this city. In fact as soon as I have accomplished what I came to do, I plan to leave immediately and never, ever return to this accursed place." Not only that, but she would tell the others back in her village about the dangers of the south, the city of murders being the chief of them. Carales would never again see a Child of the Lights within its walls if Atana of the Thousand Spears had anything to say about it.

Speaking the words aloud did give her a sense of courage for a moment, but the more she watched Aldis the more the fire began to fade. He was strong, there was no denying that. Surely he should have had the ability to free himself and escape the city to a life that was more than just battle after battle. And yet, here he was. Atana supposed the fighter might have been there of his own free will, but something in his eyes when he spoke of the chains hinted at a sadness, or perhaps a hint of rebellion? Either way, he certainly didn't seem happy at his current situation, thought that could have been because he now found himself bound to a novice to the ring.

Well, not a complete novice. It might have been in poor taste, but Atana couldn't help but crack a small smile when Aldis brought up Yeorgia. "The spirits always punish treachery, but some are more quick to respond than others," she replied, recalling how surprised she'd been that her spear had found its mark, wounded as the wielder was. There was no doubt in her mind the blow had been guided by some supernatural force, though she couldn't begin to guess which one had taken pity on the poor huntress and let her walk away with her life. At least she could take some comfort in seeing she had one mortal ally before her killer or no.

"If I die, you die," Atana repeated thoughtfully, pushing herself up to sit on the edge of the pool. Her sopping hair fell over her chest for a moment, almost concealing her body completely, then she began to finger comb the long tresses and untie the knots that had formed underwater. "And I suppose if you die, I die, is that correct?" she continued, not bothering to wait for an answer. "Then I shall do all I can to protect you. I have received the training of a Warrior, you know, although our tribe has not fought a war for more than twenty years. Only fools would dare to challenge the Thousand Spears." A note of pride had crept into her voice as she began to rebraid her hair, but she was quick to extinguish it before she could risk angering any eavesdropping spirits. Pride was usually punished as swiftly as treachery, after all.

"I must admit though, before I left on my journey I had never killed another person. I am a huntress, my strengths lie in killing beasts, not men," she admitted, finally satisfied with her grooming procedure and rising to her feet entirely. A few rough towels had been left in neatly folded piles near the wall, and while Atana was in the process of drying herself off she couldn't help but sneak a glance at Aldis' nude body.

Her breath almost caught in her throat. Was there no fat anywhere on his body? Each line of him looked as if it had been perfectly and deliberately carved. Of course, if he were to find himself in the arctic Aldis probably wouldn't last three days unless he wrapped himself in six layers of furs and never went outside. But here in the arid south, his powerful limbs looked as though they had been built for nothing but combat, while the rest of him...well, Atana was sure she could find a use for those finely chiseled hips at least.

Idiot. That's what you think of at a time like this? she scolded herself. Well, it had been a long time since she'd had a man. But those few southerners she had experimented with had such strange ideas about sexual relations between one another. With them, it was never a matter of laying down, doing the deed, saying thank you and going about one's day. Men in particular always seemed so quick to develop a sense of ownership over their partners, and could get downright violent if they learned of a woman enjoying herself with someone else instead of him. Atana knew the precariousness of her current situation, and the last thing she could afford to do was offend or complicate Aldis' opinion of her, so she quickly turned her back and looked for something to wear.

Two sets of red robes had been left hanging on wall hooks, and while the huntress found them oddly-fitting and smelling unpleasantly of heavy incense, they were clean and not wholly uncomfortable. "Am...am I doing this right?" she asked, turning back to Aldis after having draped the fabric haphazardly around her body. "Do you suppose once we're done here I could convince that priestess woman to give me my old clothes back? I'll admit they were a bit warm for the weather here, but at least they were easy enough to put on." She let out a sigh and tugged at a pleat on her shoulder. "I don't know how your women manage to dress themselves every day without help."

That raised another question in Atana's mind, and since there was still no sign of the priestess or servants returning to gather them, she thought she might as well ask it. "Do you have a woman? A wife, or sheltermate?" Her eyes took another surreptitious glance at Aldis' body, so much nearer to her now and still dripping from the pool. It's a shame if he doesn't she thought, though perhaps women weren't quite to his taste. Such things weren't unheard of even among her own people, and the general consensus was that as long as the pair was happy without children, the spirits wouldn't mind. In either case, if the fighter was already spoken for, that would remove one dangerous temptation from the huntress' mind. She might be able to kill someone if the situation demanded it, but she would never choose to drive a wedge between a family, no matter how badly she might want to climb on top of him and ride him to oblivion.

A short time later, the doors leading away from the ring opened again, and Evangelia returned, with a small army of servants surrounding her. "Feeling better?" she asked the pair, looking from one to the other as if trying to gauge what they might have been speaking about. "The palanquin is ready to take you to the shrine. If you'll come this way, please..." she instructed, gesturing for the pair to follow her down the long corridor leading to the outside world. At the far end, there was enough daylight to reveal a large, heavily-curtained platform, covered with a slightly curving pagoda roof. The hangings and the roof were both a deep red, and the four tall, extraordinarily muscled slaves posted at each corner also had various red symbols pained on the their faces and shirtless torsos.

Atana looked somewhat skeptically at the vehicle before leaning closer to Aldis. "Is it safe?" she asked, doubting the four men would be able to carry the strange vehicle all the way to...wherever they were going.

 

[Fates.Gamble]

Aldis had listened intently to Atana’s spirited declaration, and wondered how long she would hold on to such steely resolve. She claimed that she was a free woman, that she didn’t care about making it far in a city like this… But, then, she’d never been in a city like this. If not her resolve than her ignorance, at least, would be broken soon. There was no leaving this city, not without tearing your way through flesh and stone alike. This city was like a fortress, guarded day and night by those loyal to the rich men who ran it. Skilled as he was, Aldis could never cut through that many men and without being cut down himself. Mana and money were the only way of buying yourself out of this place.

More amusing than her proclamation of being a free woman bound to none but the spirits, was her promise to protect him. Aldis eyed her seriously then, unable to keep the ghost of a smile from gracing his lips.

“Well then, I suppose I have nothing to worry about.”

If only it were anything but sarcasm. Man was often far deadlier than beast, and the woman may have been a trained warrior, but she’d only just learned what it was to have someone swinging back with the intent to kill. That wasn’t something you could truly prepare for, no matter how deadly the sparring lessons that honed her spear. The look in a man’s eye as he came for your head; the ferocity of an opponent truly fight for their life… These were not things that could be simulated on the training field. But even putting all that aside, promises of the mouth meant little to Aldis. He would take her seriously once they were proven with steel.

Aldis kept such thoughts to himself as he finished his morsel, though his eyes followed Atana once she made for the ceremonial robes they were expected to wear. She caught that gaze upon turning about to ask his opinion. “I believe so,” he answered, surveying her appearance in the crimson garb, though he was not so reassuring with her next question.

“I couldn’t say, but I wouldn’t count on it.” Aldis strode forward to join her, his eyes jumping to the outfit that was expected of him. “Regardless, you’re a chosen of Ishtar now; I’m sure they’ll don you in something fit enough to look the part…” His fingers ran over the smooth fabric of his robes as he retrieved them, a dissatisfied look taking his face. “Personally, I’d take a fine set of leathers or armor over this any day. Won’t do much to stop a knife from slipping between your ribs.” It was something he was ever conscience of whilst walking the streets of Carales. No small amount of betting was made on fighters in the arena; he wouldn't put it past the rich bastards to gut him in the street in order to protect their investments.

Aldis could feel Atana’s eyes on him as he stood beside her even before she posed her question, which caught him a little off guard, to say the least. His eyes met hers with a questioning look. “Why?” he asked, his cockiness rising to the surface, “Hoping to fill the position yourself?” He could think of worse things as he stood there, robes still in hand leaving body exposed to her, unabashed. Even dressed in the garb of Carales, Atana retained an exotic, even enticing appearence. He’d already seen what she had to offer beneath the robe, but he wouldn’t be against unwrapping her and explore a little closer. If only time permitted; being caught in the act by the priestess who’d come to fetch them was the last thing he needed.

“As it happens I do not,” he answered honestly, dropping his tease for now. “As much as I enjoy them, I don’t see any point in tying myself down to a woman. I’ve no place for a family when each day I enter that arena could be my last.” Even if Cadmus were willing to let Aldis settle into such a life, it didn’t feel like the sort he cared to have. His true love would always be found in the revelry of combat; of that he was almost certain. The ring satisifed him well enough on that front, but it would always be soured by the lead the Cadmus and the temple strung about his neck.

After sating her curiosity, Aldis busied himself with dressing, shrugging into the loose fitting robes which he found no more appealing on his body than he did in hand. Still, it was comfortable enough, and if wearing their robes was the cost he had to pay for a visit to the Red Shrine, than he was more than willing. His increase in status would be reward enough, of course, but the more he learned of the inner workings of his city, the better chance of getting leverage over them. The way Atana spoke, he knew she was a woman who also valued freedom. Perhaps she could prove an ally to him outside of the ring as well. After all, it wasn’t often Aldis got to work with a fighter who wasn’t hoping to open his throat somehow.

He had no chance to speak on the matter before their attendant returned. Aldis met Evangelia’s look with a dark one of his own. He could practically see the suspicion in her eyes, as though they might have already conspired on the thoughts brewing in his head. They were tasked with following her, and Aldis remained silent as he fell into stride beside Atana, dutifully traveling the corridor in Evangelia’s wake. He wasn’t nearly so skeptical about the mode of transportation as Atana. Concerned with his regular means of getting about, this would be the lap of luxury.

“It’s safer than walking the streets, anyway,” he promised her, stepping forward at Evangelia’s invitation. After slipping through the curtained entrance, Aldis wasted no time in making himself at home, plopping down upon the satin cushions within and stretching out as though he hadn’t a care in the world. It wasn’t often he was afford luxury, so he had every intention of enjoying it while he could. Once Atana shuffled in to join him, they were off, the four slaves grabbing up their carrying poles and lifting them up to their shoulders in practiced unison. The burly men were indeed strong enough for the task, never faltering in their duty as they carried them down the sun-baked streets of Carales.

At first, Aldis found the motion of being carried a bit unsettling, but it didn’t take long before he found the appeal. Stuffy as it was, it was a fair deal cooler than being out in that arid heat and out of the crowds, who were promptly cleared out of the way to allow their passage. Aldis spied their faces through the small window near his side of the palanquin; faces that were full of contempt as often as they were envy. The rest of the scenery demanded his attention before long, though his eyes were inevitably drawn towards the most imposing of the buildings. The Great Temple was built in such a way that it was impossible not to notice, the massive pyramid of white stone reigning above all, commanding one’s attention from every which direction.

Just twelve more fights, Aldis thought to himself, considering the trials ahead while taking in the magisterial structure, Then I’ll finally see what they’re keeping in there… Until the day of that final victory, he’d be lucky to get within a hundred yards of the place. But the Red Shrine would do for now, and it wasn’t long before the lesser temple came into view, its red stone unmistakable in the distance ahead. Soon they would find themselves in the shadow of its stone guardians, the ancient statues standing watch over the temple’s entrance, blessed scepters in hand.

Aldis pulled away from the window, calculating eyes gracing Atana instead. “You may think you’re a free woman,” he started to say, thinking back on her vows from earlier, “But the people receiving us won’t see it that way.” These zealots could be conniving and vindictive at the best of times, few of them possessing the charm of Evangelia. Whether they were the Chosen of Ishtar or not, the priests were unlikely to tolerate insubordination. “It’s none of my concern what you’re here to accomplish, but if you hope to live long enough to do it, then best you keep your head down and remember your place.”

His warning given, Aldis turned back to the window, a scowl taking his face as they came into the shadow of the shrine, a bloody shade of red against the afternoon sun. “Only loyal dogs are rewarded here,” he assured her.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Atana did not find it reassuring that Aldis considered the palanquin safer than the streets. She supposed that meant no one was likely to stab her in the back while she was inside it, but all the same she found her hands clenching helplessly in want of a weapon as she followed her partner inside. It was surprisingly cool beneath the shade and curtains of the vehicle, although wished she could see what direction they were headed in. The layout of Carales was still muddled in her mind, and the huntress knew she would eventually have to learn her way around if she ever wanted to make her escape. Aldis did have a small window on his side that she might have peered through if she was willing to crawl into his lap, but the unsteady movements of the palanquin made the woman hesitant to move at all.

"Do you know where they are taking us?" she asked, folding her legs on top of themselves and gripping her shins nervously. The priestess had said something about a Red Shrine, but Atana couldn't remember any such place during her limited tour of the city prior to her arrest. Unfortunately, it seemed Aldis was as uninterested in conversation as ever. Atana snorted a little. No wonder he doesn't have a woman she thought to herself, unable to hide a little smirk as she observed his profile. Physically he might have been a fine specimen, and even a strong fighter. But she doubted he knew a thing either about providing food or making a good home for his family, and would probably be doomed to a life of brief, shallow encounters before being left out to die with the rest of the other useless old men.

Then again, with the life that Aldis lived, his words back at the arena were probably correct: it was unlikely he would ever live long enough to become an old man. He would have to take his pleasures where they came.

Well, Atana would not give up so easily. When this was over, she'd find a man of her own, have as many children as the spirits saw fit to give her, and never leave home again. Stiffening her shoulders, she thought back to a handsome young fisherman back in her village, one who had pleaded with her to become his wife and fill his house with little ones. He'd been a good man, Kanut, and the huntress was beginning to wish she'd accepted his plea and stayed with him. But who knew now if Kanut even lived? If any of her people did? With every day that passed, it seemed the odds of returning home to the bustling village she'd known grew thinner and thinner.

“You may think you’re a free woman,” Aldis said, jerking the woman out of her thoughts. “But the people receiving us won’t see it that way.”

"I don't care what they think," Atana answered with a proud toss of her head. "One may think the sun rises in the west and sinks in the east, but thinking does not make a thing so. I am a free woman, even if they kill me under the weight of the chains. But I am beginning to think killing me is not what they want. Neither is killing you." Relaxing her shoulders, she tilted her head as she examined him more closely. "If things are as you say, then the masters of this city could have killed either of us at any time. But they did not. They want to see us fight. And if we fight well enough, they will take us to that pyramid in the middle of the city, will they not?"

A new light came into her eyes as she leaned forward, peering through the little window to stare at the glittering white temple. "What I need is in there. If the only way in is to complete these trials, then I shall do it. And you will help me, or you will die." Atana nodded surely towards him, just as the vehicle came to a halt.

When the curtains parted they were in the courtyard of a strangely-constructed building, painted roof to foundation in a rich scarlet. The vehicle lowered to the ground, and Atana wasted no time in scrambling out, although once her sandals touched the smooth cobbles she saw there would be no escape. Enormous black gates had been shut behind them, and sentries were posted along the galleries and verandas overhead. Sister Evangelia was waiting on the grand staircase leading into the heart of the shrine, freshly arrayed in clean robes with her arms outstretched.

"Welcome both of you to the Red Shrine. This shall be your home until the trials are completed," she explained, gesturing for the pair to follow her up the stairs. A trio of armed guards had appeared behind them, ready to ensure the lady's instructions were followed. For her part, Atana too curious to think of escaping at the moment, and with only a glance towards Aldis she eagerly followed after the priestess.

"Your first fight will be tomorrow evening. You'll be placed in the ring with a pair of the Sacred Bulls," Evangelia continued, pausing to look pointedly towards Aldis. "One weapon apiece. You may choose what you like." Bypassing a hall that seemed to lead towards more comfortable living quarters, the priestess instead brought the pair out into a sunny, sandy pit; a smaller version of the arena they had just left. "You may practice here at any time, but be aware that you will be watched. If you are suspected of foul play, you will be placed in more secure quarters, and will have to make do without preparations during the Festival."

The rest of the tour was relatively uneventful. There was a bath similar to the one in the arena, as well as comfortable sleeping rooms connected by an ornately-carved arch. A good-sized living area had been stocked with light refreshment, and while Atana could smell a kitchen somewhere the priestess informed her it was well locked away (considering the presence of knives and other risks). The rest of the day belonged to Aldis and herself to do with as they pleased, although before she took her leave Evangelia did incline her head towards a veranda overlooking the practice pit.

"One more thing: there is a potential sponsor hoping to speak with you," the priestess remarked. "The Temple has approved their offer, but you may decide whether or not you wish to accept. I cannot promise we will approve future requests, so I would advise you take what advantages that may be extended to you."

That settled, she stepped back out into the courtyard, the door locking tight behind her as the tributes were left to amuse themselves however they saw fit.

 

[Fates.Gamble]

As usual, Atana’s spirit was something to commend. If she remained this stubborn and driven in the ring, maybe they’d actually have a chance at surviving this partnership. But she still had much to learn of Carales and the masters which pulled her strings. Even Aldis remained ignorant of the upper echelons; officials he only knew by name or title. But the pawns that served were representation enough of the ideals they adhered to.

“Well, they’re going to try to kill us,” Aldis pointed out. “Only a handful of chosen warriors have ever completed the twelve trials of Ishtar. Most don’t even make it half way through. But yes, those that do triumph are brought to the pyramid and blessed by the gods, or so they say.”

Of course, Aldis had never actually met such a victor. The last pair to succeed in the trials had done so years ago, long before the betrayal that shackled him to this cesspool of a city. He’d tried seeking them out before, curious to learn what sort of power or wealth they’d been ‘blessed’ with, yet his efforts had proven fruitless. Commons knew little about such matters, and few if any aristocrats were willing to share in conversation with reprobate slave, no matter his success in the fights. Perhaps the absence of former champions meant victory really could earn them a ticket to freedom from this city and its chains. Aldis might have been hopeful for that if his mind wasn’t so naturally suspicious…

His thoughts went astray once Atana leaned in close enough to spy the white pyramid with a determined spark in her eyes. Until now Aldis hadn’t particularly cared about what she came here to do, but her hungry expression and bold statement had him curious now. What could have possibly driven Atana of the Thousand Spears to leave the other 999 behind and travel to a city of a thousand sins instead?

Mana…

The answer resonated through Aldis’ mind nigh as soon as the question was posed. It was the only thing that made enough sense, not to mention the way she lit up when the healers produced it earlier. But that begged a new question: Why did a simple huntress from some tribe he’d never heard of need the power of Mana? He might have asked as much if the palanquin hadn’t come to a halt just then. That was one conversation he didn’t care for Sister Evangelia to overhear. Regardless of her reasons, though, Atana had the right of things for now. He had no choice but to aid her in the trials to come. But Atana had another thing coming if she believed she could use him beyond that. Aldis had more than enough masters in his life.

Once the vehicle had been set down, Aldis waited until Atana had scrambled out before following in her wake. Much like his partner, he noted the heavy security of the place first and foremost. His trained eye roamed over the posted sentries and other defenses, seeking out potential weaknesses. There weren’t many to see, and that was to say nothing of what he couldn’t see. Some of the priests could get creative with mana, as Aldis had learned from others who tried to escape their violent internment. Who knew what kind of magic might have been set to keep them in line?

Aldis’ eyes settled on Evangelia as she spoke, greeting them cheerily and welcoming to their new home as if it weren’t a prison. He wasn’t exactly raring to explore it the way Atana seemed to be, especially once a contingent of armed guards appeared to escort them. Aldis was more than used to the way things worked around here, but a bunch of armed goons lingering at his back had a way of setting him on edge. . Even without his swords, it would have been an easy thing to kill all three of them. He’d made a point of showing the master’s that earlier, when he’d skewered a man with his own spear. He might have made a point of it now as well, had the shrine not been staffed with a small army to contend with. In the end he had little choice but to follow along, albeit with a scowl over the lingering threat.

The armed men became easier to ignore once Evangelia revealed the details of their next match. Aldis snuck a glance at Atana once he learned they’d be facing a pair of boar. It should have been her specialty as a huntress, though he wondered if she’d ever faced anything quite as monstrous as a sacred beast of Carales. It would be no simple task, as even Aldis’ experience was limited here. He’d mostly been pit against fellow man in melees, not thrown to the beasts. Evangelia made things all the more challenging by imposing her rule, but Aldis was already reconsidering the twin swords he’d grown so comfortable with. Chasing down a giant boar with a pair of blades would likely see him trampled. In this, Atana likely had the best weapon of choice. There wouldn’t be a thousand of them, but perhaps two spears would be enough to see them succeed.

He considered other options as they pressed on, stealing a quick glance of the living quarters once they passed the halls. The Red Shrine may have been an inescapable prison, but there was no doubting that it was a generous one. It was far nicer than the lodging Cadmus had provided him with, though also far more heavily guarded. Before he’d been able to sneak away at times, roam the streets and find a bit of trouble or passion before making his way back to the rundown abode. Aldis wondered if that were at all possible here with the black iron gate and manned verandas. Either way, Evangelia had given him more than enough to think about for now.

Aldis didn’t much like the idea of constant supervision, but the shrine itself could prove to be a nice change of place. The otherwise private training grounds was a nice touch, impressing him with its set up as he stepped into the sunlit ring. The rest of their new home was equally lavish, giving them a taste of what the nobles must have lived like, if not for restricted areas and menacing guards about. It would take getting used to after Cadmus’ much more lax approach; something Aldis had been grateful for. But it seemed he had a bit more liberty when accepting his sponsor than Atana would be allowed. Aldis hadn’t landed anything as illustrious as the Festival of Ishtar upon his first bout in the ring.

His eyes gravitated towards where the priestess had indicated before taking her leave, silently wondering how much leverage his own sponsor would have now that he was more firmly within the temple’s clutches. Knowing Cadmus and his greedy, ambitious nature, the man would find some way to keep the lead on his collar. Atana, however, was a blank canvas all together. Aldis may have disagreed with Evangelia and her ilk on many points, but she wasn’t wrong about the advantages a wealthy sponsor could offer.

“You should go and talk to that interested party,” Aldis said to Atana once they were alone. “If you want to get into that pyramid then you’re going to need all the help you can get, not just mine.” He turned away from her then, planning to leave though soon coming to stop in his tracks.

“Then again,” he began to say, glancing back at her with the ghost of a smile, “If you’d rather prove you’re more than talk and show them you’re worth the money, you can find me in the sparring ring.”

With that, Aldis left Atana to decide what she would, making his way back to the quaint, sandy arena to find out if they’d risk putting a weapon in his hands or expected him to train for a fight with a pair of sacred boar with nothing but his fists.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Atana felt torn between going out to meet the mysterious visitor, or following Aldis down into the pit. Something inside her warned that she ought to stay close to her partner, and yet they had just left the last ring. Was he really so eager to enter another?

Well, she certainly wasn't. And if Evangelia was speaking the truth, and she needed to take every advantage that was offered, the least she could do was speak with the potential sponsor and listen to what they had to say. It was disheartening to think that so far her only ally in the city was a foolish warrior with nothing on his mind but the next battle. Shrugging, she turned back towards the veranda. "I shall join you in a short while, I think. It is bad luck to leave visitors standing at your door anyway," Atana explained, passing through the sliding wooden panel out to the shady porch beyond.

As luck would have it, the veranda overlooked the pit itself, so she would be able to keep a close eye on her partner as he practiced. At the moment though, the huntress' attention was utterly captured by the beautiful woman seated in front of her, a slave slowly batting a green-feathered fan behind her elegant figure and making the matching feathers in her golden hair shiver in the breeze.

"Ah good, I'm glad you arrived safely," the lady replied, smiling towards Atana much the way a cat might smile at a mouse. She gestured for the huntress to sit on a pile of lavish cushions placed before a low table that was laden with fruit and chilled wine, then raised her own glass to her scarlet painted lips. "I was a bit worried someone else might have absconded with you on your way to the arena, you're in such high demand at the moment. But Sister Evangelia does take her job quite seriously, it appears. If I hadn't beaten her here myself, she might not even have allowed me in to see you."

Atana's dark eyes flashed suspiciously as her fists clenched in her lap. "Who are you?" she asked, not caring much for the light tone in the strange woman's voice given the severity of her situation.

The blonde was unaffected. "You really are a stranger, aren't you?" she mused, taking another sip of wine before setting down the glass. "My name is Phryne, daughter of Paullus the Magistrate. The very Magistrate that sent you to the arena in the first place, in fact."

All the color drained out of the huntress' face, and her eyes immediately went to the small fruit knife on the table before her. Phryne's emerald eyes flashed in amusement. "I really wouldn't do that if I were you. Besides, you must know that I can have no control over my father's actions. Surely you aren't that ignorant."

The dark-skinned woman whispered something under her breath in her own language, and Phryne doubted it was anything flattering. However, after another moment or two the fighter relaxed somewhat, even taking an orange from the bowl and beginning to break away bits of the peel. "Why are you telling me all of this?" Atana asked, glancing from the young woman before her to the ring down below, curious why Phryne hadn't said anything about Aldis yet.

"Because I think we can help one another," the magistrate's daughter replied. "It is my intention to purchase a majority share in your sponsorship this very day if you will agree to accept it. And yes, you do have a say in that particular matter," she added in response to the surprised look in Atana's eyes. "Sponsorships must be approved by the Temple of course, and there is an understanding that if you survive the trials--and that is by no means guaranteed--ownership will be fully transferred to your sponsors once the festival is over." Phryne paused, looking the huntress over from top to bottom. "If I am to be frank with you, Atana, I think if you do survive this ordeal, anyone else who may sponsor you will not do so with the intention of sending you back into the ring. You are far too beautiful for that. If I were to make the wager, I see a brothel waiting for you when this is all over, assuming the grave doesn't take you first. But not if you accept my help."

Shadows washed over Atana's face in waves as she weighed the consequences in her mind, while the orange was worked into pieces in her hand. When she finally looked up again, suspicion had returned to her dark eyes. "And why do you wish to sponsor me? Why not Aldis?" she asked, inclining her head down to the pit.

Phryne shrugged. "I may yet purchase a small share in his sponsorship, but he's an accomplished fighter. The odds are not as strongly against him as they are with you. You could make me a great deal of money, Atana. Money I desperately need. I don't know how things are in your homeland, but perhaps you are familiar with the concept of dowry?" The huntress shook her head, and the magistrate's daughter smiled in response. "You're luckier than I thought. Well in Carales, a daughter of noble blood can be bought or sold like any slave. But it is my intention to purchase myself."

Atana frowned and tilted her head slightly. "You are wealthy enough to purchase a sponsorship and yourself?"

"If only," the blonde chuckled sadly. "While I do have some money left to me by a relative, it is not nearly enough to pay the bride price my intended has offered for me. But it is enough to purchase your sponsorship. And for every battle you win, my savings will grow. I fully expect that if you can survive the trials, I will have obtained enough to pay my own dowry. And when I am free, then you shall be free."

For a moment, Atana was ready to argue that she was already free, but as she recalled Aldis' words, she thought better of it and kept her mouth shut. Phryne seemed to interpret this as agreement, and continued on. "Do we have an understanding then? In exchange for my sponsorship, you will be freed at the end of the festival. Contingent on your survival, of course. And in the meantime, I do have something to offer you if you're having trouble deciding." Standing up, she gestured towards Atana to join her at the rail of the veranda, then waved to one of the guards standing near the door. As he stepped forward he raised his spear, and the huntress let out a gasp.

"That's mine!" she cried, whirling around to stare in awe at Phryne. "Where did you get it?"

"My father, of course. I was able to obtain all of your confiscated belongings from him," she replied with a smile. "I'd be happy to return them to you, with the exception of your bow of course, for obvious reasons. Accept my sponsorship, and you shall have your spear back this very day; this very hour if you wish to practice. And for each fight you win, I shall return something else. But refuse..." Phryne snapped the fingers of one white hand, and the guard immediately stepped back again, ready to disappear back into the shadowy corridors beneath the shrine. "I'll have it all burned as refuse. So what is your answer?"

Atana hesitated only a moment, still not trusting the woman's pretty, cat-like expression. At the same time, she could not imagine any other sponsor who might be able to make such an offer. "Very well, I accept," she said finally, sitting back down. "I will survive the fights, I will go to the great pyramid, you will set me free and I will leave this place."

"You have my word," Phryne replied simply, draining the rest of her cup. "Well, now that that's settled, I believe I have other matters to attend to. I shall call on you prior to the fight tomorrow just to see how you're doing. In the meantime, I do think a bit of practice is in order." Snapping her fingers again, her slaves immediately began to clear away the plates and cups before Atana could help herself to anything else. With nothing else to do on the veranda, the huntress let out a little sigh and followed her new "mistress" back inside.

"I've instructed the guards to return your spear to you," the blonde continued. "You'll only be allowed to use it in the ring of course, but that's better than nothing I suppose. Get some rest when you're done, and if you like, tell Aldis I intend to visit Cadmus to pay my regards. And possibly something else," Phryne added with a wry grin before sauntering out of the room.

Atana practically ran for the practice ring. A guard met her at the entrance, spear in hand--and was it just her, or was there actually a smile on his face as he held it out to her. "Now don't get any smart ideas," he grumbled, stepping aside and patting the sword on his hip. "Your opponent's over there." Inclining his head, he gestured towards where Aldis was practicing in the center of the ring.

She couldn't help it. With the familiar heaviness of the widowwood shaft in hand and the sunlight gleaming off the firestone head, Atana finally had to smile. Making sure she was well out of range of hurting anyone, she gave the spear a heavy twirl over her head, the blade singing through the air as it cut a wide arc in front of her. While such spears could be thrown by the strongest members of the tribe, as a whole they were usually used more like polearms, meant to slash and pierce while keeping the wielder well out of their enemy's way. Atana might not have hunted boards in the past, but she had no doubt such a weapon would be useful in the upcoming fight.

"Aldis, look!" she cried once her muscles had warmed up again. "They gave me my spear back! I can use it in the fight tomorrow! We'll have no trouble winning now!" Between the light in her eyes and the mirth in her voice there was no doubt that the huntress truly believed it, although it was obvious now that joy and hope was beginning to cloud her better judgment.