Odyssey

CHAPTER 3

"I will need the winnings before the matches end tonight." Kamahl said seriously, maneuvering through the crowds around the arena. Chainer crowded closer, raising his voice to be heard.

"Why not tomorrow?" the young man asked, slapping a youth whose fingers reached for his purse. The gesture was casual, but the boy fell down under the feet of the crowd. Kamahl could hear slurred cursing growing fainter as they moved toward the preparation rooms.

"The price of my lodging is due tonight and I dislike arguments about money," the barbarian responded.

His massive metal gauntlet nudged a too eager fighter who tried to enter ahead of the pair. A cool stare by Kamahl forced the warrior back into the milling crowd as they entered the fetid air of the common preparation hall.

The barbarian entered the city with enough money for normal times, but the tourney had inflated the prices of food and lodging far above what he expected. The last of the fighter's funds were totally expended in placing a bet on the matches today.

"What will you do if you lose?" Chainer asked with concern. The young Cabal employee had warned Kamahl of the dire straits that the destitute could be forced into. The pits devoured a steady supply of the indigent to perform jobs too disgusting and dangerous for workers with any means. There were darker rumors that Kamahl heard hints of, but Chainer had not commented on them. "You are in a multiple party match. The other fighters could combine against you."

"I never considered losing," Kamahl said. He smiled and motioned the Cabal employee to leave and place the bet they discussed. "I also failed to consider a Phyrexian invasion destroying the city."

The barbarian chuckled slightly as he moved to prepare. Losing in the preliminaries, before the champions even entered the lists? He laughed at the implausibility of it as he moved toward the entrance of the arena.

The screaming and cheering crowd was a continuous background noise, overridden as the last competitors staggered in and were carried from the field. One lizard man lay on a stretcher, laid open like a butchered animal. His hands grasped the wooden poles with desperate strength, and Kamahl could see the life ebbing from the grip in time with the pulses of blood. The fighter expired as he was ferried past.

"A shame to die so badly," a deep voice commented. Kamahl turned and could see only a wall of fur.

He stepped back, his eyes rising to look at the speaker's visage. A centaur looked down on him, smiling with his lips closed in apparent friendliness.

He was huge, towering over the other competitors waiting for their matches. He stood at least half again as high as the barbarian. His features were simian with glimpses of fangs showing as he breathed through his mouth. The lower body was catlike though in sheer size it reminded Kamahl of a dray house. The fur over the body looked short and coarse. The barbarian could see the play of huge muscles under its hide as the creature shifted. The gigantic club in the centaur's hands was a mass of wood and banded iron. A small granite boulder capped the end, and the warrior lowered it to the floor as he offered a hand in greeting.

"I am Seton, from the Krosan Forest."

The barbarian gripped the massive hand, showing no hesitation or fear even as he felt the power in that grasp.

"Kamahl is my name," he answered. The barbarian gestured to the dead competitor being carried out. "Death comes to all. The lizard man lost and defeat often exacts the ultimate price." The centaur squeezed hard but seeing no response released Kamahl's hand.

"Defeat is often terrible, but the lizard man was the victor of the round."

The centaur held his weapon tightly, twisting his hands as he watched Cabal servants clearing the arena of corpses and raking in fresh sand. The smell of old blood and rot wafted in through the lower entrances to the fighting area. Kamahl dropped his pack to a bench along the wall. Other fighters, some almost green with fear and dreadful anticipation, made room. The barbarian undid his cloak and put it in his pack. A massive armored belt went around his waist as he moved his purse and nonessential items into the pack.

"A victory that leaves you dead is no victory," the barbarian opinioned, moving his massive sword from his back. The sword was a remnant of a massive artifact from the invasion. The fighter he had defeated swore it was part of Urza's staff, but Kamahl had his doubts. Still, the double-edged great sword channeled power exceptionally well. Its only flaw was the lack of a good stabbing point. "Better yet is to leave even your enemy alive to grant you homage and spread word of his defeat. Dead bodies feed only crows."

"Dead bodies do much more in the hands of the Cabal." Seton spat to the side, the spittle running down the wall and across the Cabal symbols on this side of the doors. "Unless you have made special arrangements, the necromancers will raise your corpse or feed it to their monsters." "If you fall, I will make sure that you don't end up depending on their tender mercies," Kamahl answered, his confidence such that he felt compelled to relieve the other's mind. "Why do you care what happens to me?" the centaur demanded, anger displacing the worry in his tone. "Do you make some claim for me?"

Kamahl was calm as he sealed his pack and kicked it under a bench. The Cabal servant overseeing the room caught the barbarian's eye, and he pointed to his gear with a forbidding expression. Power flowed from Kamahl's hand and danced over the wire interwoven with the cloth of the pack. The centaur was almost snarling as Kamahl finally turned his attention back to Seton.

"I came to fight the best," Kamahl replied, checking the fit of his armor. "I want to beat the best. Victory would be less pure if my opponents worried about what would happen to them after they lost."

The centaur swelled at the sheer arrogance and effrontery of the barbarian and then exploding in laughter.

"You are confident, hero," Seton laughed. "If you fight one tenth as well as you boast you will walk away with every prize."

Kamahl only smiled slightly then straightened. The gatekeeper posted three tiles. One of them was the crossed axe and sword that Kamahl was assigned upon entering the games. Another was the Cabal house tile, stating that the Cabal would have a representative in the fight. The last tile showed a branch gripped by a hand. The barbarian watched Seton move toward the arena and knew the forest warrior was now his opponent. The centaur pushed through the thin screen of fighters in front of the door.

"Both against the Cabal fighter first, Kamahl," the centaur called to him. "After the undead are dispatched, you and I can discuss who should be the winner."

Seton spun his massive club like a light baton, sending others scrambling away as the small boulder seemed to whistle through the air. The barbarian smiled and nodded, moving up to stand by the mighty forest dweller. He showed no concern as the club began to spin even more wildly as they were directed into the arena. The crowd noise heightened, and Seton put on a show for the crowd. Kamahl attracted little notice, as he preferred to save his energy for the fight. The Cabal opponent entered from the opposite side, heading for a platform. A dark and tattered pennant drooped limply from a metal flagstaff.

The barbarian remembered Chainer's recitation of arena practice and how it echoed the ceremonial fighting practiced in the mountains. The Cabal fighter was fair game during combat, but the simple act of taking the flag would expel the house fighter from the match. The rule allowed overmatched house fighters to retreat and lose a flag rather than their lives. Several matches Kamahl saw earlier in the week involved the Cabal fighter losing to a stolen flag as they were overwhelmed and forced to protect themselves first and foremost. One novice Cabal fighter pulled the flag himself as he was overwhelmed. The fighter lived, but the shame of his cowardly act would undoubtedly make his life a living hell. The contestants not with the Cabal had no flag to lose. Only total defeat or humiliating surrender awaited them should a Cabal fighter prove superior. The barbarian heard many complain that the Cabal lost flags more often than lives, but he planned to win, so not having an alternate way to be defeated did not bother him.

Kamahl ignored the Master of the Games' speech. The light from the flaring torches along the rim of the arena made it almost impossible to see the crowd. The viewing pods floated down from high above the wall as a few of the important game patrons watched the bout. Kamahl could see the ambassador from the Mer Empire and his champion taking their ease. The ambassador gave him a languid wave, and the barbarian gritted his teeth, feeling his color darken. The Order champion Kirtar was in the box as well and laughed at Kamahl's discomfiture. The lights brightened as Cabal mages fed more power to the torches, and the crowds and boxes were washed away in the flood of light. The barbarian focused, ignoring the sound of the crowds, blocking out superfluous noise until it seemed as quiet as the highlands of his youth.

The Cabal fighter was a woman, her hair braided with beads and bones. She looked disinterested even as Seton bellowed a challenge, waiting for the fight to commence. Whatever the signal to commence the bout had been, Kamahl missed it in the charge of the centaur. His club spinning, the giant advanced in great bounds, hoping to close before the dementia caster could react, but his charge proved too slow as groups of fighters congealed in front of the Cabal fighter and her flag. Though humanoid, the creatures showed buglike qualities. Their dark exoskeletons rasped, and Kamahl could hear their pincers and mandibles working as he closed at a run.

Seton arrived first, the club falling like an avalanche on an evoked fighter. The armor broke with a wet crunch that reminded Kamahl of a lobster he saw devoured at an inn. Seton was tearing through the defenders, his club squashing them like the bugs they resembled. More and more flickered into being even as their unnatural ichor discolored the sand.

Kamahl arrived, and his massive sword cut out a great half-circle among the defenders. The barbarian did not even call forth energy to feed the blade, husbanding his power until more worthy adversaries appeared.

The Cabal magic user began to appear more interested, her eyes growing brighter as Kamahl and Seton approached, coming closer together as they neared the stand. The centaur swung his club less wildly, though the creatures still exploded at every strike. Kamahl cleared the caster's minions from his path with the same amount of energy and speed, his smooth swings showing no signs of slowing. The caster motioned, and the creatures tried to close on the pair of fighters from behind. Her tactics proved futile as the centaur roused himself and with great leaps and bounds prevented any from closing with him.

The barbarian responded to the new attack with wider swings and footwork. His mind and spirit cleared, and he appeared almost to dance inside the lethal circle of steel. The creatures drew closer but died before they could close. The barbarian worried more about tripping over a smashed or dismembered corpse than one of the monsters breaking through his defense. Seton was proving faster as his great leaps took him around the fighters, who then closed on Kamahl. The centaur's breath could be seen as great gouts of vapor blew out through the giant's nostrils.

Now the Cabal fighter smiled slightly, and new horrors issued from her mind. Kamahl could see a delicate and beautiful face coming into being. The eyes opened as the rest of the summoning took shape. The eyes were slit like a snake's, and from the torso down, that was what the monster appeared to be. As more of the creatures flickered into existence, the first attacked. The upper arms appeared normal, but from the elbows down, her arms were great blades of bone. The leader attacked, and Kamahl dodged one strike and blocked another. Though his sword cut through the insectile drones like a knife through butter, this new creature's arm rang like fine steel. The scrape of the edge along the bone made Kamahl's teeth ache. His return strike left only a small cut that began to ooze an oily liquid even as Seton joined the attack.

The centaur seemed to swell beyond his already prodigious size, muscles writhing under his fur. The club whistled through the air, the head a blur as it struck at the monster in front of him. Bone cleavers, raised to intercept the blow, were amputated as the forest giant literally disarmed the summoning. Seton turned to another enemy, but the first was not yet done. Pulses of blood jetted out of the form, covering the centaur's chest and head. Seton's manic energy leaked out of him as he screamed in pain.

The barbarian ran to intercept the caster's minions falling upon his temporary ally. His sword ran with power, the metal glowing as Kamahl fed it more energy. He struck at the creatures' backs, the enchanted blade once again shearing through his enemies. The limbs that fell did not release streams of corrosive blood, for the fire of his blade burned its way through the creatures' bodies. The corpses piled up; streams of fire burning through the skin as they raced through the veins and arteries.

Seton slowly rose as the barbarian protected him. The scream that he gave was deep and filled with pain, but the centaur could move. The club rose and fell weakly, but it freed Kamahl to act more aggressively. He chopped his way through three of the demons and came back to protect Seton's flank.

The centaur wove like a drunken horse, the fur on his chest slowly growing back through bloody strips of skin. But it took too much time, and Kamahl realized that centaur was a liability. The fight needed to end soon or the centaur might yet fall to the Cabal warrior. Kamahl looked to the platform. The flag flapped loosely as a new creature came into being.

It was the smell that hit the barbarian first. His nostrils curled, and he breathed through his mouth. The creature was enormous, taller at the shoulder than the great buffalo that roamed the plains. In appearance, it reminded Kamahl of a great mole. Its sharp snout quested in the air even as it moved toward Seton and the barbarian. Kamahl ascribed the hesitation to its lack of eyes. Empty sockets set in rotted flesh and exposed bone left the monster without a means to see. Whether it had ever had fur Kamahl could not tell, but it had none now. Its skin seemed gone, leaving only rotting meat and a thick layer of mold. Each step of the creature left a mark of foulness.

Seton performed his own summoning. The whine of insects could be dimly heard though cries of the crowd and the movement of the Cabal castings. A cloud formed, growing thick as insects came into being. One landed on the barbarian's arm, and he flicked it away before it could do any harm. The green locusts fell upon the dark minions. The barbarian absently killed the few creatures still in reach as he considered the centaur and the Cabal mage. The bodies of the fallen were covered in a moving carpet that flattened as the insects devoured the flesh. Bone peeked out briefly, but the enchanted mandibles of the insect swarm ground down even that.

Seton raised his arms, his giant club held loosely in one hand. The cloud of locusts rose together, then fell upon the giant mole. The centaur moved toward the platform, ready to kill. Kamahl came as well, walking around the locusts that orbited the main mound.

The attack on Seton was unexpected by the two allies. The insect-covered mole lurched into action, leaving a trail of twitching bugs. The creature humped itself up, its spine breaking through the layer of dead flesh and dying locusts. The huge animal left the ground in a prodigious leap that equaled anything Seton had shown so far. The shock of the bodies meeting sprayed the remains of the insect swarm across the arena. A thick cloud hung around the pair as the centaur tried to grapple. The claws of the mole carved hunks of flesh from the shoulders and flanks of the forest dweller. Showing unexpected flexibility, Seton ducked under the attack, scrambling clear. But only a few yards away he fell, his features slack with astonishment.

The mole twitched, each shake spraying spores into the arena. The remaining locusts cascaded from the air with each gust of the agents of decay. The spores came from the thick ropes of purple on the mole's back. The locusts' attack had served only to unmask a more deadly response. The mole swung its head from side to side as it made for the fallen centaur.

Kamahl stamped his foot loudly, sending an irregular rhythm into the sand. The monster paused, its head swinging and its feet shifting. The Cabal caster took her ease, and the barbarian could see her discounting the centaur and focusing on him. A smile lit her face as Kamahl drove his sword deep into the sand. The shock of the tip striking into the rock of the arena floor was a signal to the creature. It charged, each lunge releasing another cloud of death. It passed the platform as the barbarian stamped his feet. The Cabal fighter ignored the spores as her summoning closed. Kamahl's hands blurred as he moved-but not for the sword stuck into the ground.

The barbarian plucked a throwing axe from his belt and cocked it back to his ear. Like a great sigh, power poured into the steel and leather-wrapped handle. The head flashed brilliantly, and then, as a comet, it flew toward the mole. The metal glanced off the massive skull, and Kamahl saw the Cabal warrior becoming still, summoning additional creatures. The barbarian closed his eyes as the axe reached the apex of its deflected flight.

The detonation rocked Kamahl back. The light was bright enough that he could see through his eyelids as the edge of the energy brushed him. The crowd was stunned into silence. The magic ignited the spore cloud, and the explosion sped back to the mole, devouring it as the molds detonated in sympathy with Kamahl's attack. The dementia caster rolled on the ground, unable to stand. She had been flung back several yards, and the sand stripped most of her clothes off as well as much of her skin. Her teeth bared and bloody, she stood, gathering herself to summon more monstrosities. Kamahl did not take his newly gained advantage, though his other axe was in his hand. He pointed to the platform with the metal head. Scraps of the flag still fluttered to the ground, signaling the Cabal fighter's defeat.

"You won more than five hundred!" Chainer said excitedly. The young man gripped the bag of coins tightly, proclaiming to all in sight that he held riches in his hand. Kamahl only smiled thinly as he waited with the other victorious fighters in the winners' box. The arena attendants seated those victors needing no medical attention. The winning fighters watched the remaining fights and were observed in turn by the crowd. A steady stream of visitors and dignitaries cycled in and out, some of them obviously trying to steal some of the fighters' glory. Chainer had come from the bet-monger with Kamahl's winnings. The barbarian held out his hand and was surprised by the weight of the purse. It felt much greater than the victory that had won it.

"The bettors know you now," Chainer said. "You will get much lower odds now that you have won."

A voice interrupted the pair.

"That is because the servants of the Cabal mistake luck for skill," taunted Kirtar. The lieutenant strode arrogantly through the other fighters, pushing some out of the way. Kamahl noticed how the others took it and realized that the Order champion must be even more powerful than the barbarian thought. Perhaps the lieutenant's lop-sided victory had prevented Kamahl from seeing the bird warrior at his best.

"Most of the fighters here don't realize how lucky they are to be competing with their better," Kirtar continued. His pale skin flushed as he drank more deeply from the goblet of wine in his hand.

"I am surprised that you fight at all in these contests," Kamahl said slowly. "Surely you must realize how unequal you are to those who fight here."

Kirtar nodded his head and then realizing that the comment was more easily read as an insult advanced angrily. A massive webbed hand deflected his path. Turg patted the champion on the back as he led him over to the food, the ambassador smiling at Kamahl and Chainer.

"You must excuse our friend," Laquatus said. "He fights out of duty. The Order considers it their task to rid the world of the symbols of past evil. Many of the prizes that he wins will be destroyed at the Order's headquarters."

"He is not my friend," Kamahl said flatly. Chainer nodded slightly, a grim look on his face. "And when he faces me in the arena, he will discover that I don't need luck to win."

Laquatus, still smiling, bowed his head, but his eyes were serious, not merry. Kamahl turned as he felt a threat directed at him. Across the room Turg looked at him even as he shepherded Kirtar toward a bar. The amphibian's eyes held the same look of deadly concentration as the ambassador's.