Brimstone

Chapter Twenty-seven

Ronon sat in one corner of the holding cell, his legs propped up and eyes closed, pretending to sleep. The steady click of computer keys lulled him, but he heard something beneath that; something farther away and growing louder. His muscles tensed and his eyes slid open just as the doors did.

Three of Saul’s guards stood in the opening, brandishing their weapons. “You! Come with us!”

The guard pointed directly at Rodney. Rodney looked behind him, to each side, then back to the guard. “Me?”

“You are the one that Saul wants. It’s your time. Let’s go.”

The guard took one slow step forward and Rodney was on his feet. He managed to keep the laptop concealed behind him, and Cumby, who’d been sitting beside him, moved as if to grab Rodney and stop him. When the guards were momentarily distracted, he slid the laptop behind his back.

“You don’t want me,” Rodney said. “I’m no fighter. I couldn’t fight my way out of a paper bag. Ask any of them.”

Ronon stood up and crossed the room in three quick steps. He stood toe to toe with the guard, staring daggers at him. Another half a step, and their chests would have bumped. The guard brought his weapon up and trained it directly on Ronon’s face.

“He’s right,” Ronon said. “You want entertainment, and that means you want me. This one won’t last five minutes. He’ll be dead before the doors even close on him. I can take anything you throw at me.”

The guard said nothing in response, only glared into Ronon’s steely eyes.

“Take me instead.” Cumby stepped forward and inserted himself into the tiny space between Ronon and the guard, pressing them apart. “What you really want, what your entertainment needs, is me. What better entertainment than someone who can use brains instead of brawn? Colonel Sheppard lied before — I have the gene, and I can use your weapons. I’m smaller than he is,” he nodded at Ronon, “but I can fight.”

The guard let his gaze trickle over Cumby; he smirked, but said nothing.

“You won’t be disappointed, I assure you.”

“Forget them. He fights like a girl,” Ronon said. He turned toward Rodney, “And he’ll faint like a girl.”

“Hey!” Rodney said. Then, as if thinking about what he was doing, he added, “He’s right, of course. I’d probably just pass out. He’s the warrior. He’s the one you want.”

“Come on,” Ronon laughed. “Wouldn’t you rather see me take on that beast? I know I would.”

“Enough!” The guard pushed Ronon aside and stepped around to where Rodney stood, seizing him by the arm. His partner flanked him and they held Rodney between them. “What I want doesn’t matter. I have orders to bring this one to the arena. Now, step aside before we put you out of your misery.”

“Hey! Wait!” Rodney’s heels scuffed along the floor as the guards dragged him toward the doors. “Can’t we at least talk about this?”

Ronon moved to follow, but Cumby grabbed his arm. He couldn’t have restrained the bigger man, but the last guard had his weapon trained on Ronon and he didn’t look like he would hesitate to use it. Ronon shook free, but not before Rodney had been dragged into the outer room.

The doors shut on the three of them and Rodney’s whining voice grew muffled and more distant.

“He’s going to be killed out there. He won’t stand a chance,” Cumby said.

Ronon’s jaw tensed and he began to pace. “We should have done more. We should have stopped them.”

“Yeah, sure we should, because that worked so well last time,” Cumby said dryly. “They would have just shot you, and you’d be no good to anyone.”

“I know, but to just let him be taken like that?”

He dropped heavily onto the stout chair in the far corner of the room and turned away. Cumby held his silence.

“Hey! How’s about slowing down a bit, huh?” Rodney said. “Sheesh! By the time we get wherever we’re going, I’ll be too exhausted to fight.”

He alternately dragged his heels to gain time, and struggled to keep up with the two larger guards as they hauled him in and out of elevators, down corridors, and finally into the staging area. He heard the roar of the crowd all around him, muffled a bit by walls but nonetheless disconcerting. He felt disoriented, and things around him passed in a haze. His nerves were badly frayed. He needed to concentrate, but he was terrified, and that sense of dread grew each moment he drew closer to — what? He had no idea what sort of creature he would be fighting. His knees began to shake.

First, he was relieved of his jacket and shoes, and then redressed in armor. It was made of a very light metal and shone like silver, even in the dim light. There were crystals embedded in the surface, forming a pattern. He’d never seen it, but he recognized it as the work of the Ancients. As he waited, he chattered to himself nervously, eyes darting around, trying to get some glimpse of something that would tell him what he was up against.

“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. You’re a smart guy. You’ll find a way out of this. Sheppard won’t just leave you out here to die. He never does. Besides, you prepared for this. You’re ready.”

Guards and trainers jerked him around, thrusting him this way and that, shoving things at him and barking orders.

“Maybe the weapons will give me some idea what creature I’m fighting. Don’t panic, Rodney. You’ll get through this. You always do.” And then, “Hey! Watch it! I bruise easily. Don’t I at least get a chance to practice?”

“Stop complaining. Your friend was right about you,” the guard growled.

“Oh yeah? Well, you may have giant mutant creatures, but I have a secret weapon.” Rodney smiled and nodded, tapped his head. “Besides, I don’t see any of you jumping into that arena.”

Ronon leaped up from his seat in the corner when the view screen opened. Cumby was on his feet already, leaning against the wall by the door. He turned his head and frowned. “That was fast. Didn’t they even take the time to show him how the weapons work?”

“Apparently not,” Cumby said, stepping over to the screen. He rubbed his arms to ward off the chill that had suddenly stolen his voice.

There was nothing in the center of the arena save for a mechanical horse, which stood motionless for want of a rider. The crowd in the balconies above stomped their feet and cheered, hungry for the massacre that was about to take place. They obviously knew something about what was to come, and they knew that horse.

The camera drew in tight on the doors as they slid open. For several long beats, nothing at all happened. Then a figure appeared, dressed in armor and apparently shoved into view. Once he was free of the door, a lance sailed through the air, landing at his feet with a clunk and kicking up dust where it fell. He stumbled several times, the armor clanking and jingling as he did so.

“Is that Rodney? Or the other guy?”

Ronon frowned and tried to find something that would tell him who was in that armor. The uncoordinated stumbling soon gave it away.

“That’s Rodney,” Cumby said.

“Sure looks like it,” Ronon agreed. “And what’s up with the horse?”

In the arena, Rodney was having his own problems.

“You can’t do this!” he screamed. The sound echoed inside his helmet and he took several clanking steps toward the doors through which he had just passed. “Hey! Open up! This isn’t even a fair fight. I have no idea how these weapons…”

Suddenly, the doors at the opposite side of the arena slid open. A wall-shaking roar filled the arena, inspiring the crowd to scream even louder. They were whipped into a frenzy now, calling for the fight to begin.

Rodney turned, pressed his back against the wall and stared, eyes wide. “Swell! Just swell! They send me a monster and all I have to fight with is this toothpick.” He glanced down at the lance and frowned, then shook his head.

Whatever was beyond that door, whatever the thing was that he was supposed to fight, it was loud enough to rattle his brain inside the helmet, and heavy enough that the ground shook with each step. Rodney was rooted where he stood, staring into the open portal and waiting for his fate. His knees shook and his mouth had gone dry. All about him, the crowd screamed, jeered, and cheered, but he heard nothing but the loud pounding of his heart and the roar of his blood in his ears. He tried to think. He tried to make sense of the symbols on the armor, and to figure out what might be special about the lance, but he couldn’t calm his nerves.

The beast poked its head through the door, body sliding through after it. It was huge and covered in bright green scales. Rodney’s wide eyes took it all in and all he could mutter was, “Holy —”

“ — crap!” Ronon groaned. “It’s a dragon. He has to fight a freaking dragon.”

“Poor Rodney!” Cumby exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“You got that right.” Ronon said. “That thing is huge.”

“Great. Just great. I get cast in my first Arthurian role, and they send Merlin in to be Lancelot.”

Somehow the sight of the creature released him from his paralysis and he hefted the lance clumsily. The tip was heavy and it dipped to the ground. He lifted it, just for a moment, and then it dropped again.

The dragon still stood in its entrance, and Rodney realized it had not been fully freed yet. Saul was waiting for something — biding his time. Not far from where Rodney stood, the mechanical horse waited, poised but motionless. For all Rodney knew, it would remain so forever. Still, the weapons were designed to even the odds, and the horse was half of what had been provided to him.

“Well, why not?” he said. His heart was hammering, and he kept talking just to try and prevent his mind from sliding over the edge. “I mean, how much worse could it be? When in Rome and all that.” He paused. “Wait! Were there dragons in Rome? What am I saying? There weren’t dragons anywhere! Dragons don’t exist. At least, they don’t exist on Earth. They exist here, of course because I’m standing right in front…”

The dragon let loose another fierce roar. It shook its head, trying to free itself of whatever bonds still held it, and its eyes flashed with an animal intelligence.

Rodney screamed. It was a low sound, rising slowly in pitch, and quavering. Like a shot, he lunged for the horse, struggling as he ran to keep the tip of the lance from hitting the ground and tripping him up. Never mind that he had never ridden a horse before; he was about to get a crash course. He knew very little of horseback riding, and all that he did know he’d learned from watching movies. He remembered, for some odd reason, that he should mount from the left. He paused for a moment to ponder whether that was the left as you approached from the front or the back. A second roar from the dragon told Rodney that it didn’t matter. It was a mechanical horse and it wasn’t moving.

He rested the lance against the horse’s side and rolled quickly up onto the thing’s back. It wasn’t very large, as horses go, but it was big enough that Rodney could sit on it comfortably without feeling like he would slide off. With no small effort, he hoisted the lance’s tip upward until it was level, and then shoved the shaft under one arm.

“Just like all those Errol Flynn movies,” he muttered.

He expected the lance to do something, anything, when he held it. After all, they had said these were Ancient weapons, activated only by one who has the gene. Rodney had the gene and still there was no sign of life from the lance. Had they sabotaged it somehow? Or had they merely lied to him? Or maybe —

“Of course!”

He braced the lance against the horse’s head and shook off his glove. The moment his bare hand slid onto the grip, the lance hummed to life, glowing blue and pulsing. Very suddenly, it was as light as a feather.

Across the arena, the dragon snorted and pawed the ground restlessly. It was anxious for a taste of flesh. One great foot left the ground and thudded back down, then the other. The dragon was ready for him, hungry. He knew that whoever or whatever still held it in check wouldn’t be doing so for very long.

Rodney shuddered. His heart felt as though it might drive its way right through his chest. He shook off the other gauntlet and gripped the reins with his free hand. The horse hummed to life, its eyes lighting up with a mechanical click and its back shifting slightly as some sort of inner hydraulics compensated for Rodney’s weight. There were dents and dings all over its body, obviously from previous battles. At the edges of each metal panel was a fringe of corrosion. Rodney worried about its ability to move, about his own ability to command it.

“The tin man had nothing on you!” he exclaimed with a heavy sigh.

Through the small slit in his helmet, Rodney surveyed the crowd. They were on their feet and yelling, some shaking their fists and drinks in the air. To his left was Saul’s glass-fronted box and Rodney saw a figure inside, pressed tightly to the glass. He couldn’t tell who it was. Saul, probably, but there was no way to be sure. At the side of the box the monocular gaze of a camera followed him and, inside the helmet, he managed a little smile, though no one else could see it. Then he saluted, raising and dropping his lance in what he thought to be a farewell gesture to his friends watching from their cell. He imagined they were saluting back.

With a scream of rage, the dragon was freed. It lunged into the chamber, winding right and left, flowing out of the hole like a giant serpent and heading straight for Rodney.

With a yelp, Rodney turned the horse and managed to get it to move forward, away from the dragon. He turned just in time to see the beast leap toward him, eyes blazing and a low growl emanating from its wide throat.