Confessor: Chainfire Trilogy Part 3

Chapter 32

As he finished touching up their red battle paint, Richard tried not to let the men see how painful his injuries really were. He didn’t want anything to distract them from the job ahead.

His ankle throbbed, his left shoulder was sore, and the hits he’d taken to his head had left his neck muscles aching. After the brief but furious fight he hadn’t been able to get much sleep. As far as he could tell, though, nothing was broken.

He mentally set the pain and weariness aside. It didn’t matter if he hurt, or if he was tired. He had a job to do. It only mattered if he did it, if he succeeded.

If he failed he would have all eternity to sleep.

“Today we have our chance for glory,” Johnrock said.

Richard, holding Johnrock’s chin, turned the man’s head to the side a little so that he could see better in the failing light. He didn’t say anything. He leaned to the side and dunked his finger in the bucket of red paint and then added a symbol for watchfulness above the one for power that was already there. He wished he knew a symbol for common sense so he could paint it all over Johnrock’s skull.

“Don’t you think, Ruben?” Johnrock pressed. “Today we have our chance for glory?”

The rest of the men all listened quietly for what Richard might say.

“You know better, Johnrock. Get those thoughts out of your head.”

Richard paused in his work and swept the finger, coated in fresh red paint, around at all the eyes watching him.

“All of you know better, or at least you should. Forget thoughts of glory. Those men on the emperor’s team aren’t thinking of glory right now—they’re thinking of killing you. Do you understand that? They want to kill you.

“This is a day we have to fight to stay alive. That’s the glory I want: life. That’s the glory I want for all of you. I want you to live.”

Johnrock’s face twisted in disbelief. “But Ruben, after those men tried to bash in your head last night you must want to settle the score.”

The men all knew about the attack. Johnrock had told them all about it—told them how their point man had fought off five of the big men all by himself. Richard hadn’t disputed the account, but he wasn’t letting on as to how much he hurt. He wanted them worrying about their own necks, not wondering if he could hold up his end.

“Yes, I want to win,” Richard said, “but not for glory, or to settle a score. I’m a captive. I was brought here to play. If we win I live—simple as that. That’s all that really matters: living. Ja’La players—both captives and soldiers—die in games all the time; in that sense we are equals. The only true glory in winning in these games is the part about living.”

Some of the other captive men nodded their understanding.

“Aren’t you just a little worried about defeating the emperor’s team?” Bruce, his left wing man, asked. “Beating the emperor’s team might not be the right thing to do. After all, they represent the power of the Imperial Order, and the emperor. Beating them might be seen as prideful and arrogant, even sacrilegious.”

All eyes turned to Richard.

Richard met the man’s gaze. “I thought that under the Order’s teachings everyone was equal.”

Bruce stared back a moment. A smile finally spread across his face. “You have a point, Ruben. They are just men, like us. I guess we ought to win, then.”

“I guess so,” Richard said.

At that, just as Richard had taught them, the men, as one, let out a collective bellow of agreement, a brief, deep roar of team spirit. It was a small thing, but it served to bond the men, to make them feel that, while they were all very different individuals, they all had a common goal.

“Now,” Richard went on, “we haven’t seen the emperor’s team play, so we don’t know their tactics, but they’ve watched us play. As far as I’ve been able to tell, teams don’t usually change the way they play, so they will be expecting us to do the same things they’ve seen us do in the past. That’s going to be one of our advantages.

“Remember the new plays we devised for each signal. Don’t fall back to the old plays for a signal or it will cross us up. Those new tactics are our best chance to keep them off balance. Concentrate on doing your part in each of those moves. That’s what will get us points.

“Remember, too, that these men, besides wanting to win, are going to be trying to hurt us. The teams we’ve been playing knew that what they gave they got back double. These men are different. They know that if they lose they will be put to death, just like the emperor’s last team was when they lost. They have no incentive to play clean. They have every incentive to try to tear our heads off.

“There is no doubt in my mind that they’re going to try to take out our players, so be ready for it.”

“You’re the one they’re going to be trying to take down,” Bruce pointed out. “You’re the point man. You’re the one they need to stop. They even tried to eliminate you last night before you could reach the Ja’La field.”

“That’s all true, but as point man I at least have you and Johnrock protecting me. Most of you men have no protection but your wits and your skill. I think they’re just as likely to go after one of you, first, so don’t let your guard down for a second. Keep an eye on each other and intervene if need be.”

In the distance Richard could hear the rhythmic chanting of countless soldiers eager for the match to start. It sounded like the entire camp was chanting. Richard suspected that every man not forced to work on the ramp, while if not all able to actually see the match, would probably at least be waiting for word to relay back to them.

More men than usual were going to be able to see this game because the emperor had directed the work gangs, who needed material for the ramp anyway, to scoop dirt from a large area to create a bowl in the Azrith Plain. The new Ja’La field, with its vast, gently sloped sides, would enable far more men than ever before to be able to watch Ja’La games.

Richard had thought that their game with the emperor’s team would have been held that afternoon, that it would have already taken place, but the day had worn on as other teams played in games leading up to the match for the championship. The games, after all, were show for the soldiers. The new Ja’La field was the emperor’s statement—right below the People’s Palace—that the Order was here to stay and now owned the place.

Richard glanced up at the iron gray overcast. The last feathery violets of the sunset had vanished. It was going to be a dark night.

Richard hadn’t counted on it being this late when the game started, but night suited him just fine. In fact, it was the one unexpected bit of good fortune in the face of the monumental obstacles that lay before him. He was used to the dark. As a woods guide he often walked the trails of his woods with only the moon and stars to light his way. Sometimes it was just stars. Richard was comfortable in darkness.

There was more to seeing than just using one’s eyes.

While in some ways those times in the woods seemed like only days ago, in other ways it also seemed like forever ago, almost like another life. He was a long way from his Hartland woods. A long way from the peace and security he had known.

A long way from having the woman he loved back in his arms.

As Richard was finishing with Johnrock’s paint, he spotted Commander Karg making his way through the ring of guards. After their complicity in the treachery of the night before, the men involved stayed well clear of the scowling officer. There were a few new faces among the guards, no doubt more trusted overseers. Commander Karg was leading an escort of troops, men dedicated to watching over the captive players to make sure that they played Ja’La and nothing more.

Mostly, though, the soldiers were there to watch over Richard. They were his special guards.

Last in line to be freed from his bonds, Richard was finally able to rub his sore neck after Commander Karg finally unlocked his iron collar. Without the heavy chain weighing him down, Richard felt light, almost as if he might float up into the air. It gave him a feeling of being weightless and inhumanly fast. He embraced the sensation, making it part of him.

The chanting of the soldiers in the distance had a primeval feel to it. It was beyond eerie. It gave Richard goose bumps.

The spectators were expecting blood.

This night, they were going to get their wish.

As he followed Commander Karg, leading his team toward the Ja’La field, Richard put the growing noise out of his mind. He found a quiet center of focus.

As they moved through passages in the encampment lined with throngs of soldiers, hands all around reached out, wanting to touch the members of the team as they passed. Some of the men on Richard’s team smiled, waved, and touched the extended hands of the soldiers. Johnrock, being the biggest man and easy to spot, was the center of much of the attention. He grinned, waved, shook hands, and soaked it all in as he marched along. It seemed to Richard that what Johnrock had always wanted more than anything else was the adoration of the crowd. He loved pleasing them.

Words of both encouragement and hatred cascaded in from all sides. Richard turned his eyes ahead, ignoring the soldiers and shouting as he passed.

“Are you nervous, Ruben?” Commander Karg asked over his shoulder.

“Yes.”

Karg gave him a patronizing smile. “That will go away when it starts.”

“I know,” Richard said as he glared out from under his brow.

The vast depression of the Ja’La field was a cauldron of noise, the spectators a froth of faces over a churning sea of black.

The crowd out beyond the dense ring of flickering torches at the edge of the field chanted—not words, but a guttural grunt meant to express not only encouragement for the players but for the spectacle itself. In time with the chanting the throng stamped a foot. The deep, primordial noise could be not only heard, but felt in the ground beneath Richard’s feet, almost like rolling thunder. The effect was deafening and, in a way, intoxicating.

It was a primal call to violence.

Richard was already lost to those feelings. He let the raw, savage sounds feed those passions he had already unleashed within himself. As he made his way through the seething masses of men, he was in his own private world, lost to inner drives.

Commander Karg brought the team to a halt at one end of the field just before the torches. Richard saw archers, with arrows nocked, stationed all around the field. Near midfield, to his right, he spotted the area reserved for the emperor.

Jagang wasn’t there.

Richard’s insides tightened with a knot of panic. He had thought that, surely, Jagang would be at this game, that Kahlan would be near.

But the roped-off section was vacant.

Richard schooled his emotions, setting aside his dismay. Jagang would not miss this game. Sooner or later he would show up.

When the emperor’s team strode onto the opposite end of the field the crowd erupted in a thunderous roar. These men were the best the Order had to offer. They were heroes to countless thousands of spectators. These were the men who could vanquish all who came before them, the players who crushed all opposition, the champions who were most deserving of victory. Many regarded the team as a tangible representation of their own power and virility.

As Richard and his men waited outside the torches, the other team, looking not merely determined but dangerous, stalked around the perimeter of the field, acknowledging the roar of the crowd with nothing more than bloodthirsty looks. The crowd loved such a visage of hate and menace, of things to come.

When the emperor’s team finished circling the field and finally gathered toward the other side of the field to wait for the challengers, the archers and other dedicated guards parted. Commander Karg waved Richard and his team through the gap in the line. As Richard passed, the commander whispered a warning to Richard that he had better win.

Richard stepped out onto the field. His concern for his plan was eased when the resounding cheers for his team were nearly as deafening as they had been for the emperor’s team. In the many games they had played since coming to the Imperial Order’s encampment, Richard’s team had won every game, and in so doing the respect of many. It didn’t hurt that Richard was well known for having killed an opposing point man. Probably even more than that, though, was the sight of the team covered with frightening designs in red paint. It was theater that fit the games. Richard was counting on that support.

He was also troubled when he finally got a good look at all of his opponents. They were some of the biggest men Richard had ever seen. They reminded him of Egan and Ulic, the personal guards to the Lord Rahl. It occurred to Richard that he could use Egan and Ulic right about then.

Leaving his men gathered at the end of the field, Richard crossed the empty ground alone to the referee at center field with the fistful of straws. The point man for the emperor’s team waiting beside the referee looked to be nearly a foot taller than Richard. His neck started at his ears and just kept getting wider until it met shoulders half again as wide as Richard’s.

A neat row of red, swollen marks running diagonally up along the side of his face recorded where the links of the chain had caught him. As Richard waited, the towering point man, glaring at Richard the entire time, drew a straw first.

When Richard drew, he came up with a shorter straw. The onlookers roared their approval that the emperor’s team would have the first chance to score. The man shot Richard a smirk before taking the broc and heading to his side of the field.

As Richard returned to his players waiting at their end of the field, his gaze swept over the endless masses of men, fists raised in wild emotion, all wanting the blood of either one side or the other. Men with arrows at the ready watched Richard’s solitary walk back to his team. He could feel the fevered emotions of hundreds of thousands of men all pressing in, trying to see what would happen—men who had gotten where they were by trampling over endless corpses of innocent men, women, and children who had only wanted to live their own lives, to better themselves and their families.

Richard felt caught up in a world gone mad.

His gaze passed over the empty space where the emperor was supposed to be. Where Kahlan was supposed to be. Without Kahlan, even a Kahlan who didn’t know him, the world was a cold and empty place.

Right then, Richard felt very small and alone.

In a numb haze, he took his place in the line with his men. When the horn blew and the enemy, bunched together in a tight formation, started coming, being down in the bowl of the Ja’La field was like standing in a valley, watching an avalanche descending on him. Right then, in that moment of desolation, Richard didn’t know what he would do.

The collision was brutal. Gritting his teeth with the effort, he tried to turn the men protecting their point man, but they plowed right through Richard and his team.

With little ceremony their point man reached the scoring zone and threw the broc. Defenders painted with red symbols leaped to try to deflect the throw, but the attackers rolled over them. The broc landed solidly in the net, scoring the first point.

The crowd erupted with a deafening roar of approval.

Richard had just learned something. The emperor’s team appeared to rely on their superior size and weight to grind their way through their opponents’ defense. They had no real need for finesse. He gave his men a stealthy hand signal as the other team formed up for their second charge.

When they came, all of Richard’s team hooked across the blocking line, using low tackles to take the legs out from under the big men in the center. It wasn’t elegant, but it served the purpose of opening a hole. Before the hole could close, Richard was through. The point man didn’t deviate course, confident in his size to smash Richard out of his way.

Richard pivoted, abruptly cutting across the front of the man, sweeping a leg at his ankles. As the man stumbled to maintain his balance, Richard snatched the broc out from his arms when they loosened in a natural reaction to falling face-first.

Richard dodged and darted his way through a loose line of men. As yet more men converged on him, he tossed the broc to Johnrock, already positioned behind the line of men. To the wild cheers of his supporters, Johnrock briefly held up the broc for all to see as he ran from a clutch of pursuers. Johnrock, enjoying the moment, turned backward as he ran so he could laugh at the men chasing him, then threw the broc over their heads to Richard.

Men dove in from every direction as Richard caught the broc. He twisted away from one man, dodged another, and pushed himself away from a third, reversing direction wildly in an effort to keep from the clutches of the big men. Despite his own players tackling men, or blocking them out of Richard’s way, the opponents closed in all around. As Richard tried to miss one man, another seized him around his shoulders and, as if he were a small child, tossed him to the ground. Richard knew that he wasn’t going to be able to keep the broc from these men, and he didn’t want them all piling on top of him and breaking his bones, so as soon as he hit the ground he heaved the broc. Bruce was running in the right place at the right time. He caught the broc but was then tackled.

The horn blew, ending the time of play for the emperor’s team. They had scored a point, and Richard was fortunate to have kept them from getting two.

As he trotted to his side of the field, he reprimanded himself for letting his feelings get the better of him. He wasn’t paying enough attention. His mind wasn’t in what he was doing. He was going to get himself killed.

He couldn’t do anything to help Kahlan unless he shaped up.

His men were panting, most resting by leaning over with their hands on their knees. They looked despondent.

“All right,” Richard said as he reached them, “we’ve let them have their moment of glory. Now let’s take them down.”

That brought grins all around. All the men brightened at his words.

As Richard caught the broc when the referee tossed it his way, he glanced around at his men. “Let’s show them who they’re dealing with. Play one-three then reverse it.” He quickly showed them one finger, then three, in case they couldn’t hear him over all the noise. “Go.”

As one the men broke into a dead ran, immediately clustering into a knot of men around Richard. No blockers went out front, no wing men went to the sides. Instead, all the men compacted together into as tight of a formation as they could and still be able to run at full speed.

The other team looked pleased by the tactic. It was their kind of play—brute force. With their supporters cheering them on they ran headlong at the cluster of Richard’s team.

All of Richard’s men watched Jagang’s team, waiting until they reached the prescribed square. Moments from impact, as the defenders reached that spot, Richard’s entire team suddenly broke in every direction at once.

It was such a startling move that the other players faltered, turning one way, then the other, unsure what to do as the men they were about to clobber were unexpectedly bolting every which way. Each of Richard’s men ran in a crazy zigzag course that appeared to have no rhyme or reason. The men on Jagang’s team didn’t know who to grab, who to chase, or where they were going. In an instant, the massive, focused charge had scattered like so many fireflies.

The crowd roared with delighted laughter.

Richard ran a wild course the same as the other men, except he was the one with the broc. By the time that fact sank in for the other team, Richard was already around most of them and deep into enemy territory. As two of the blockers went after him he ran for his life.

When he reached the scoring zone he heaved the broc. As soon as it left his fingers he was hit from behind, but it was too late to stop the throw. The broc sailed into the goal. Richard hit the ground with a man atop him. It was fortunate that the man had been running at full speed because his momentum tumbled him over Richard’s back.

Richard scrambled to his feet and trotted back toward his side of the field to the wild cheers of the crowd. The score was tied, but he wasn’t interested in a tie. He needed to press the advantage. The play he had devised wasn’t finished, yet. He needed to complete it.

His men, all smiles, gathered as quickly as possible. Richard didn’t need to give them a signal; he had already given them the whole play the first time. When the referee tossed him the broc they all immediately broke into a run.

Again, they formed into a tight formation as they charged across the field. This time, though, Jagang’s team, as they raced to meet them, scattered at the last minute, ready this time to intercept all the men as they tried to take off in every direction. The crowd cheered and screamed their approval.

Rather than break apart, though, Richard’s team remained tightly packed together as they charged right up the middle of the field. The few dispersed players left within range to intercept them were mowed down by the full weight of the team. The minor defense of first two, followed by a third defender, didn’t slow Richard’s men at all. The other team, suddenly realizing what was happening, took up the pursuit. They were too late. Richard steered his men to the right goal.

As he reached the scoring zone and his men fell back into a protective shield, Richard threw the broc. He watched it in the torchlight as it arced through the night air and then went in. The crowd erupted in cheering. The horn blew, signaling the end of the play.

The referee at center field announced the score, one for the champions—Jagang’s team—and two for the challengers.

But then, before the referee had finished with the announcement and the hourglass was turned over, Richard saw him turn to something on the sidelines. It was Jagang. He was in the area that had been roped off for him. Nicci was at his side. Kahlan stood back a short distance. Jillian was with her.

As everyone waited, the referee went to the sideline and listened to the emperor a moment. He nodded and returned to center field, where he announced that the second score was ruled to have gone in after the horn blew, so it didn’t count. The score, the referee announced in a loud voice, was tied.

Part of the crowd yelled in anger, while others screamed with joy at their fortune.

Richard’s men started shouting angry objections, disputing the call. Richard strode in front of them. The noise of the uproar of the crowd was so loud that he feared his men wouldn’t be able to hear him, so he pulled a thumb across his throat, cutting off their objections.

“You can’t change it!” he yelled at them. “Settle down! Focus!”

They stopped protesting but they weren’t happy. Richard wasn’t, either, but he knew that he couldn’t do anything about it. It had been the order of the emperor, after all, that had reversed their goal. Richard was going to have to alter his plans.

“We need to stop these men,” he said as he paced in front of his team. “When it’s our turn again, go to play two-five.” He showed them first two fingers, then five. Men nodded. “You can’t stop what just happened, but you can stop them from scoring. Then we can run our play and get back what was taken unfairly. Stop fixating on what’s done and over and put your minds ahead to what we must do.”

His men all nodded as they formed up, preparing for the other team’s charge. They were still angry but now they were ready to focus that anger on the other team.

The charge by the emperor’s team was sloppy. They were still caught up in the jubilation over their reversal of fortune. In a bone-crushing impact their point man was shaken by a coordinated block. Richard was proud of his men for the way they turned their anger around and made use of it.

In the furious struggle after the collision Johnrock came up with the broc. He tossed it to Bruce when the men chasing him got close. Bruce in turn passed the broc to Richard. Richard ran up the field and, to the delight of the crowd, used all his strength to throw from the two-point line. The broc went in. It didn’t count, of course, but the crowd roared as if it had. The cheers shook the ground. It was vindication for the stolen goal. It was as close to snubbing his nose at Jagang as Richard could come.

Their supporters in the crowd started chanting, “Four to one! Four to one! Four to one!”

The score was still officially one to one, but in the view of those who were cheering it was now four to one.

On their next charge, when the point man for the emperor’s team ran into the scoring zone and threw the broc, one of Richard’s men leaped up high and managed to deflect the broc just enough to cause it to go wide and miss the goal. When the horn blew, the score remained one to one.

On their first play, Richard was almost to the scoring zone when he was tackled. The man caught his legs in a viselike grip. As Richard hit the ground, he tossed the broc in Johnrock’s direction. Johnrock scooped it up just before a man on the other team was able to grab it.

Johnrock reached the scoring zone and threw. From the ground Richard watched as the broc went into the net, scoring a point.

Johnrock, overjoyed, waved both hands high in the air as he jumped up and down like a boy. The crowd loved it. Richard couldn’t help smiling as he untangled himself from his tackier, who delivered a painful punch in Richard’s back just before parting. Richard didn’t take the bait. He knew better than to let himself be drawn into a fight when the broc wasn’t in play.

As he caught up with Johnrock and they ran together back toward the starting zone for their next run, Richard clapped his wing man on the shoulder.

“You did good, Johnrock,” Richard yelled over the cheering.

“I brought us glory!”

Richard couldn’t help laughing. “Glory,” he agreed as he again clapped Johnrock on the back. “And a point that counts.”

As they formed up while waiting for the referee to deliver the broc, all of the men shouted their congratulations to a beaming Johnrock. He pumped his fist, eliciting a mighty team shout, before he took his usual place at Richard’s right. Bruce took his left wing. The blockers formed a wedge heavily weighted out ahead of Johnrock. The play was meant to draw the defenders to the left side, where the defense was weakest.

As they charged up the field, the emperor’s team started going to Richard’s left, as he wanted, but at the last moment they hooked and crashed through the center of the heaviest part of the wedge. Such a tactic would not stop Richard or get them the broc. They were after something else. Richard knew there was going to be trouble when tacklers leaped over the forward blockers.

“Johnrock!” Richard yelled. “Cut right!”

Johnrock, instead, dropped his big shoulder into the teeth of the attack. Three tacklers dove low. The fourth hooked an arm around Johnrock’s neck. A fifth man, racing at full speed, hit him from the side, applying force to the fulcrum at Johnrock’s neck.

Richard felt like he was in a dream and couldn’t make his legs move fast enough.

Even as he was running with all his strength, he could hear bone break.