Magician (Riftware Sage Book 1)

Shimone tapped Milamber upon the shoulder “The games begin.”

 

 

As the doors on the arena floor opened to admit the combatants, Milamber studied the Emperor. He was young, in his early twenties, and possessed a look of intelligence. His brow was high, and his reddish-brown hair was allowed to grow to his shoulders. He turned in Milamber’s direction, to speak with a priest at his side, and Milamber could see his clear green eyes glint in the sun. Their eyes made contact for a moment, and there was a brief flicker of recognition, and Milamber thought: So you have been told of my part in your plan. The Emperor continued his conversation, without missing a beat, and no one else saw the exchange.

 

Hochopepa said, “This is a clemency spectacle. They will all fight until only one stands. He will be pardoned for his crimes.”

 

“What are their crimes?” Milamber asked.

 

Shimone answered. “The usual Petty theft, begging without temple authority, bearing false witness, avoiding taxes, disobeying lawful orders, and the like.”

 

“What about capital crimes?”

 

“Murder, treason, blasphemy, striking one’s master, all are unpardonable crimes.” His voice rose to carry over the crowd noises. “They are put in with war prisoners who will not serve as slaves. They are sentenced to fight over and over until they are killed.”

 

A guard of soldiers left the floor, abandoning the sand to the prisoners. Hochopepa said, “Common criminals. There will be little sport.”

 

There seemed to be accuracy in the remark, for the prisoners were a sad-looking lot. Naked but for loincloths, they stood with weapons and shields that were foreign to them. Many were old and sick, seemingly lost and confused, holding their axes, swords, and spears loosely at their sides.

 

The trumpet sounded the start of combat, and the old and sick ones were quickly killed. Several had never even raised their weapons in defense, being too confused to try to stay alive. Within minutes nearly half the prisoners lay dead or dying on the sand. Shortly the action slackened, as combatants came to face opponents of more equal skill and cunning. Slowly the numbers diminished, and the free-flowing notous nature of the contest changed. Occasionally when an opponent fell, a combatant was left standing next to another fighting pair. Often this resulted in three-way combat, which the mob approved with loud cheering, as the awkward combat would result in an excess of bloodshed and pain.

 

At the end three fighters remained. Two of them had not managed to resolve their conflict. Both were on the verge of exhaustion. The third man approached cautiously, keeping equal distance between himself and both men, looking for an advantage.

 

He had it a few seconds later. Using knife and sword, he jumped forward and dealt one of the combatants a blow to the side of the head that felled him. Shimone said, “The idiot! Couldn’t he see the other man is the stronger fighter? He should have waited until one man was clearly at an advantage, then struck at him, leaving the weaker opponent to fight.”

 

Milamber felt shaky. Shimone, his former teacher, was his closest friend after Hochopepa. Yet for all his education, all his wisdom, he was howling after the blood of others as if he were the most ignorant commoner in the least expensive seat. No matter how he tried, Milamber could not master the Tsurani enthusiasm .for the death of others. He turned to Shimone and said, “I’m sure he was a little too busy to trouble himself over the finer points of tactics.” His sarcasm was lost on Shimone, closely watching the combat.

 

Milamber noticed Hochopepa was ignoring the contest. The wily magician was taking note of every conversation in the stands: to him the games were only another opportunity to study the subtle aspects of the Game of the Council. Milamber found this blindness to the death and suffering below as disturbing as Shimone’s enthusiasm.

 

The fight was quickly over, the man with the knife winning. The crowd greeted the victory with enthusiasm. Coins were thrown on the sand, so that the victor would return to society with a small amount of capital.

 

While the arena was being cleared, Shimone called over a herald and inquired about the balance of the day’s activities. He turned to the others, obviously pleased at the news. “There are only a few matched pairs, then two special matches, a team of prisoners against a starving harulth, and a match between some soldiers from Midkemia and captured Thuril warriors. That should prove most interesting.”

 

Milamber’s expression indicated that he didn’t agree. Judging the time right for the question, he said, “Hocho, have you noticed any of the Shinzawai Family in attendance?”

 

He glanced around the stadium, looking for the family banners of the more prominent houses of the Empire. “Minwanabi, Anasati, Keda, Tonmargu, Xacatecas, Acoma . . . No, Milamber. I can’t say if any of your former, ah, benefactors are to be seen about. Not that I would expect them to be.”