Vance Moore - Odyssey

The sun lay sullen to the west. Hovering on the horizon, its rays cast the hills in shadows. The pits lay ahead. Finally he was drawing near after months of travel. Kamahl looked at the heart of the games and saw only a gaping hole of darkness. The twilight prevented him from seeing the city that lay in the hollow. Even as he watched, torches were lit, the dull red light illuminating the site of Kamahl's future triumphs. From mountain obscurity he traveled toward his destiny.

Cabal City was the largest in the continent's interior, but only a few signs of its size were visible from Kamahl's vantage point. He could see just the roofs of a few buildings and the residential quarters' laundry hanging in the still air. The city was held in a huge rocky crater, its sides uneven but highest on the western outskirts. The glow of torches and the streetlights near the great dome of the arena began to color the walls of the buildings as Kamahl moved closer. The flare of both ordinary fire and magic lit the streets, but the dark shadow cast by the crater walls shrouded most of the city in darkness.

The barbarian started down the shallow incline at a slow run. He breathed easily, even with the armor in his pack and the great sword strapped to his back. Skin the color of brass showed no flush of exertion. His smooth beardless features were calm. No sweat dampened his inky hair, and his violet eyes were clear. Living in the mountains had given him good night vision, and he looked through the increasingly dim light to the town's gate. The road began to rise, and he breathed harder as he neared the city limits. The crater walls were notched, and the entrance reminded the barbarian of a pass through mountains, though far smaller in scale than the peaks of his childhood home. Drovers hurried a string of camels into the city, their whips snapping as they moved the animals through the high gate. Merchants from across the continent come to satisfy the tourney crowds, the warrior thought.

Kamahl breathed deeply, the prospect of the games exciting his blood more than the run. Years mastering the fighting arts lay behind him, and now he rushed to show his skills before the wider world. Veteran of many a duel in his home mountains, he wanted more than the championship of an alpine valley. The best fighters on the continent converged on this tourney, and he belonged here.

His stride lengthened as he left the hills, his boots pounding into the road's surface. The guards waved the merchants through, uttering only a few threats to increase the bribes offered. They turned their attention on the jogging figure. His light throwing axes softly rubbed against Kamahl's wallet. He had run for days approaching the contest and lost what little fat he might have had. The strict regime of exercise had refined him down to his essence. He pulled up to the gate without any sign of exertion except his deep breaths.

"Another jack," muttered a guard as he took a firmer hold of his halberd and moved out from the gate, Kamahl frowned, for the soldier used the term for an arena fighter as if it were an insult. He was a champion, and only the obvious inferiority of the speaker prevented a demand for satisfaction. The man looked nervously at a stack of orders. The rest of the troops had withdrawn inside to the guardhouse. Two stout men-at-arms slowly lugged a crossbeam to brace the gate when it closed for the night. The road lead directly into town with only a portcullis to bar the way. The wall was only twelve feet high and the guards served more to collect tolls than defend the city.

"Why have you come to the pits of the Cabal?" intoned a guard who drew away from the gate as if to duck behind the wall.

"I have come into my own," Kamahl said absently, looking to the city beyond. The guard was confused and unconsciously gave way as the massive barbarian came closer. The fighter drew his attention to the minor servant before him. "I will compete in the tourney. Where would I find the Master of the Games?"

The guard blinked at the bald statement but regarding the warrior seemed uncertain how to respond. Shouting broke out on the road behind him, and he turned from the barbarian to the commotion. There were several wagons backed up the causeway leading down to the pit. Kamahl could see soldiers gathered in a clump in front of the waiting vehicles.

"As you can see, the road is backed up due to a wreck." The guard said, drawing a little confidence from the sight of his fellows so far away. "The elevator cable snapped and killed a mule." Kamahl just strode forward, ignoring the guard's outstretched arm.

"No profit from crazy men anyway," the soldier muttered as he stepped away from the barbarian.

The road's decline prevented horses hauling fully loaded wagons into the city. An elevator dropped cargo from the staging area just inside the guardhouse to the bottom of the depression. Once relieved of their loads, merchants could then safely take the horses down the slope. Traffic headed into the city rode the brakes all the way to the flat at the bottom, using the animals just to steer. The elevator had just broken, however, and the snapped cable had beheaded a mule, overturning a wagon and blocking the causeway.

Kamahl drew a dagger, holding its blade against his arm. He used the hilt to prod people out of the way, ignoring angry words. The decapitated beast lay tangled in its traces, its blood pouring down the steep roadway. Kamahl gathered a whisper of power and wrapped it around the dagger's blade. He shoved aside the owner and guardsmen and skimmed his blade along the beast's side with a single stroke. Harness leather and chains parted like air before the blade, singing as tension released. Kamahl shoved the corpse hard with his boot. The barbarian's physical power became plain to the angry guardsmen. The donkey shot down the ramp lubricated by its own blood. The animal hit the railing, wood coming apart in a spray of rotten timbers. The remains of the beast and fence fell to the ground below with a heavy thud. Kamahl withdrew power from the blade and continued down the road, walking just along the bloodied skidway.

"The Cabal pit masters bought that carcass!" bellowed someone. Kamahl's ears picked up the conversation even as he continued away.

"Leave it alone," he heard someone else hiss. "Jacks are all crazy; just consider the meat tenderized."

Fighters from throughout the continent moved in the streets. Kamahl saw races of all descriptions- faerie, human, dwarf, centaur, and others that he could not name. They came to the pits to compete for their own glory and the prizes offered. Everywhere in the land the contest between warriors played out every day, but it was in the pits that jacks of known mettle found opponents worth the sweat of battle. Kamahl came for worthy adversaries and to prove his mastery. Most of his opponents were there for more.

The Cabal had opened up its vaults to supply the prizes. Booty from centuries of collecting and a thousand battlefields was available. Sages and historians were nearly as prevalent as fighters in the city. All converged to see the treasures drawn from the rock deep below the pits. With the fighters and the learned men, an influx of gamblers and enthusiasts filled the avenues. Moving among the throngs worked pickpockets, whores, and sellers of the forbidden. The barbarian sauntered over the cobblestones, seeing unfamiliar sights. Tents stood with ragged and dirty men calling for custom. Though from the sparsely settled mountains, Kamahl was completely civilized in his cynicism. False wonders filled the streets as the hopeful went from stall to stall, determined to find the lucky prize that surely must be hidden in all the chaff.

Torches flared and some burned brightly with magic enhanced lights. Kamahl took a second to feel the warmth of the energy with his mystic senses. Stretching forth his mind and spirit he felt the beat of power and dissonance as contesting magics fractured against each other. It could only be the pits that called to him, and he hurried through the collected throngs to take his place.