11/11/98
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Page 4
her post and remind her about withstanding the temptation of the fight.
Luna swept a hand over the crowd, and they turned their attention back to
the pits as if nothing had happened.
"You…" she said softly, "have set you last step in this life."
"But mistress," babbled the goggle eyed priest, "I have found him." - he
shuffled closer - "It is the creator, standing before us. See, he is
unspoiled by manmade objects. He stands proudly holding the 'Staff of
Light' in his noble hand, he…"
"Enough," Luna's hand had reached the unfortunate man's throat before he
could utter another word. "You are no longer required."
And with very little effort she heaved the priest off his feet, and into
one of the pits. She was careful he did not land on the spikes. Leave that
small pleasure to her bloodthirsty sister. Twado seemed to be psyching
himself up to join the bloodbath in the pits.
"As if the worm could do anything," she thought.
In her opinion, this wretched excuse for a man, who had barely scraped past
the first tests, was a waste of space. If it was her choice, he would join
the priest in the pit. However, powerful as she was, she owed N'one her
life, and he had plans for this wastrel. She grabbed his head and kneed him
sharply on the nose.
"Oh dear, he seems to have tripped in the bath…" And she dragged him off by
the ankle.
Meanwhile, Svana was jumping on the squealing priests back, to ensure that
the spikes embedded themselves properly.
"People are getting more and more confidant," she thought.
Three Muskites had challenged he tonight, all dead of course, and even an
Arko had dared to assume superior strength. She mused a moment on the
pleasing image of his writhing body as she tried to stick one hundred
spikes into him before he died. The miserable man had died on her after
only 25!
"I am wasted here," she thought, looking round and stopping at the edge of
the pit. Svana congratulated herself that no matter how much fighting she
did, her sword was the only bit of her that ever got dirty. She licked it
clean with relish, tasting the sweet tang of her own blood as the edge bit
into her tongue.
She strode out of the room to meet the others.
"I'm not sure he is the one I seek…" mused
N'one.
"What ever made you think he was?" inquired Lobsang.
Both were in the upper tier of the gallery, discussing and reminiscing.
"After all, he wouldn't have escaped Lord Bane's minions if it hadn't been
for you."
"'Tis true."
"Well," exclaimed N'one, "I feel the need for blood!" He leaped over the
balcony, landing on the back of an Arko who was busy feeding of the on the
brain of the, now very dead, monk. N'one drew out a couple of skewers and
got to work on the current array of combatants who had populated the pit
after Svana had departed it. He flung his weapons with practised ease and
with blinding speed.
Lobsang watched for a while, but decided that there was something about the
gleeful grin on his old companion's face, which was slightly disturbing.
He went in search of Twado - feeling a certain responsibility for him.
Svana, now out of her beserker mode - she was one of the fabled Sweelander
beserkers, only with less self-control - was strolling down the halls of
the 'Gate of Hell' to the rooms they were using. She had Twado over one
shoulder, unconscious of course, he face a mess of blood - nothing a dose
of 'Minerva' wouldn't solve.
She had found him in a crumpled heap at the end of the passageway leading
from the pit.
"Rabbits underlings!" she heard him mutter - awake already.
Quickly, she slew the hellbeast that was munching on his arm; she hoped he
hadn't noticed as he had enough on his plate already!
They reached their rooms, but found them empty. A few minutes passed before
Lobsang arrived, bearing fresh clothing.
Twado, awake and in very much severe pain, demanded to know why his
stylish, yet functional clothes had been destroyed. He seemed to have
regained his senses.
"Stickler for cleanliness, these Sweels," said Lobsang, looking slyly at
Svana.
Twado was in the midst of changing in to his ludicrous clothes - which
consisted of a codpiece, chainmail and not much else - as N'one and Luna
strode in to the room.
"We'll be leaving in the morning," stated Luna.
"Crispy hellspawn!" moaned Twadostick, "We've only just arrived! Gaah…" he
added, as an afterthought.
"I mistakenly killed Lord Bane's consort…" muttered N'one.
"Rocks!" exclaimed Lobsang, "we shall need to make hast on the morrow!"
"…'twas only fifteen skewers…"
The dawn sun rose over the holy city of Upus,
capital of the Bell Charris and Mortaddelo duchies. The weak light shone on
the twisted alleys and the buildings of steel and stone. It glistened on
the spires of the Petrifaxes and the domes of the Arlane foundries. In the
centre of the city, rose the palace. It seemed to repel the morning
sunlight as oil repels water. Dark shards of obsidian pierced the sky like
the lamp blackened knifeblade of an assassin.
Inside the spires,
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