Blood on the Sand
Open Shadow, Late-July Amber Time
Another Lynx Castle, and apparently another dead relative. A nephew this time: the first of Wolf's generation that I knew to be dead. From a mother that Dad apparently knew had been murdered...like my brothers; but had never seen fit to tell me about...like my brothers.
Bastard.
When Matthew called me, I vaguely wondered why I hadn't been invited along to help out - after all, he knows my views on the Lynx Cult. However, from the sound of it, Armand had done a good job on the assault, and he and Matthew seem like a potent combination: Armand in the field, Matthew behind the lines.
But Hell, I wish no-one had told Wolf that Kaylen was supposed to have been a sacrifice. If anything was guaranteed to bring back all the old, bad feelings he'd been trying to work through with Adam, it was that. I wasn't at all surprised that he'd headed off on his own. I decided to give him a couple of hours, and hope he cooled down, before trying to call him.
In the meantime, I used the samples which Matthew gave me to confirm that Kaylen was, indeed, my nephew. And that Lex was not. They also told me that Geran was their father, although it seemed as if Matthew didn't want to admit that openly, and so I stayed quiet. I offered to do the same DNA ritual for Andrés, who agreed to let me, but there I was defeated. It was as if someone was intentionally trying to obfuscate any efforts to magically identify his parents. Perhaps Wolf's method - good old basic legwork and police procedural - would ultimately be the only way to find out where Andrés fitted into the scheme of things.
If he came back. Every time he does this, I wonder if I'll ever see him again.
By the time I'd finished with the samples and destroyed them, a couple of hours had passed, which was probably long enough if Wolf had just wanted some time alone. Matthew, Armand and Andrés had secured the castle, and Geran's Brandenburg troops were coming in to garrison it. I dug out my Trump deck and tried to call my son, but to no avail. Blocking, I think, rather than blocked, but I'm not an expert, so I couldn't tell for sure. And with the amount of pain I guessed he was in from what the others had told me of his reaction to discovering that the man he'd tried to save had died anyway, forcing the issue wouldn't help him.
"I'd best go after him - can you guys finish up here?" I asked Matthew, Andrés and Armand.
"Go...find Dad," Armand answered.
I set about acquiring myself some weaponry: handgun and ammo, sword, combat knife. There was plenty to be had around the castle. I rigged a scabbard over my back for the blade, then attached the holster to my belt, tucking the knife into the opposite side. Thankfully, I'd been off duty as Mayor when Matthew had called, so at least I was wearing comfortable clothes.
"How did you get here?" I asked.
"Motorbikes," Armand answered, "We left them down by the trees below the castle. Here...follow me."
He walked me to the gates and indicated the area to me. I estimated it was a twenty minute walk from up here.
"Can I borrow one?"
"He found them for the purpose of bringing us out here. Just take one."
"I'll see you later," I said, and made my way down to the spot he'd indicated. As I did, I tried to come to terms with the fact that Caine had murdered yet another of my siblings, and realised that I couldn't
Recognise a truce with that son of a bitch? Over my dead body.
After about twenty minutes, I found two bikes. I guessed Wolf had taken the third. I debated with myself whether to call Dad to borrow a batch of his guards again, but decided against. This time I didn't have Marina to protect, and I wanted to be able to move quickly. Normally, I would have said how much trouble could he get into in two hours? But this was Wolf. In one of his black moods, quite a bit. I kicked the bike to life and started to try to trace my son.
On the bright side, his trail was still pretty fresh, and I managed to pick it up reasonably quickly. However, I was surprised at the speed with which he seemed to be moving: it was as if he'd hit hellride almost as soon as he was off the world with the castle on it, and that added to my urgency. If he was moving that fast, there was a good chance he wasn't being as careful as normal. AAlso on the negative side, I quickly realised that while I'd shifted Shadow while riding a bike before - the last time I'd gone looking for him - at the speed he was going, I couldnit catch up. I didnit know this machine as well as my own Triumph Bonneville, and he was hellriding to boot. If Wolf could do this, and teach his companions the intricacies of walking Shadow at the same time, let alone bloody hellride...I was impressed.
But then, he'd spent quite a bit of time in Shadow lately, and I suspected that his control had improved markedly. Or maybe both of our control had. I could feel that my ability to home in on him was sharper than it had been the last time I'd had to go and find him in Shadow, after the Germania Working. Maybe that was also how I'd found the cure for Dieter, as well. Perhaps practise really does make perfect.
After I'd been riding for about two hours, I was bloody tired from the combined effort of controlling the bike and trying to shift, and I didn't feel like I'd gained that much on him. In fact, if anything, I felt further behind. In the end I turned in the bike for horse power of the four legged variety, and after spending fifteen minutes making friends with a bay mare I met nearby, I began shifting again. Another hour or so later, it was turning to evening, and I needed a break. I started looking for a decent campsite, and came across a small clearing in the trees, with a spring and some fresh green grass.
I tethered the horse - who I'd named Asha, as I had to call her something - and then went looking for some supplies. I hadn't exactly stopped to pick up my stuff when Matthew had called me to the castle. I played with the stuff of Shadow, and after a few minutes, I'd retrieved my athame and turned up a backpack. I looked around, to see if there was anyone nearby who it might belong to, but I seemed to be alone except for the birds and a variety of small creatures who were looking at me as if they had no fear of anything.
I made my way back to my campsite and then looked to see what I had found. The contents were surprisingly similar to what I usually kept in the go-bag in my rooms in Amber, save for the lack of a firearm. That made me curious and I decided to test fire the pistol I'd picked up at the castle, quite pleased that I'd had the foresight to do so.
Click.
Still, maybe it was temporary. Or, as I hadn't felt the tech level going particularly down curve, maybe it was just a quirk of this place.
I built a fire, ate a couple of portions of pemmican that I found in the pack, and was settling down to make coffee, when I felt the stirrings of a Trump call. Cautiously, I opened up the link to see Geran. He didn't look good: a combination of a lack of sleep, and something else. I guessed Matthew had told him about Kaylen and Lex. After an exchange of pleasantries, I pulled him through and found him a mug of coffee, and then waited to hear what he had to say.
It hadn't really surprised me to learn that he was their father. He did like to boast about his fertility. But as he talked, I found myself torn in how I felt about what he was saying. On the one hand, no parent should outlive their child - even if I had a gut feeling, that in the end, I would find myself in that position. On the other, I wasn't happy that he had added my sister to his "fuck them and knock them up" list. Or the fact that he'd decided he had the right to tell my father what that child's fate had been, when in my opinion that should have been my job. Or maybe I was just jealous that he'd actually met her, when Dad hadn't even seen fit to tell me she existed.
However, we stayed civil, although I found myself saying more about Wolf than I'd intended, and came to a general agreement on funeral arrangements. In addition, having someone know where I was so they could come and look for my body if I fucked up made a lot of sense.
He headed off eventually, leaving me alone with my thoughts, and once he was gone, I pulled out my Trump deck and tried to call my son once more. Still nothing. With a sigh, I decided it was time to sleep. I warded my clearing, made sure that Asha wasn't going to wander off, and then pulled a small, lightweight blanket out of my pack, wrapped myself up in it and closed my eyes.
When I woke the following morning, everything was damp and cold. It had rained overnight, and now a mist was rising from the grass. I made another coffee, ate some more pemmican, took down the wards in a tidy manner, and then set about saddling Asha. I wished I had something warm to give her, but hopefully once we moved Shadow, things would both dry up and warm up. I had another go at calling Wolf, with about as much success as the last several times I had tried, and then set off, holding my son's image in mind.
This time, I seemed to be making better progress. I wasn't tired, and had a firm bearing, as if he'd finally stopped moving. As we travelled, I noticed that the tech level around me - evidenced from buildings, power lines, and cars which passed along the road I was riding parallel to - seemed to have stabilised. I checked the gun again, and this time was rewarded when it fired.
We travelled for several hours, before I drew rein at a country pub and got some lunch. However, from then onwards, the feel of the Shadow I was travelling through began to change. The native tech level stayed reasonably stable - mostly late-1990s/early-2000s - but as I moved, it became more urban, more decayed, and soon it was feeling decidedly post-apocalyptic. It was as if Wolf's dark mood had affected the place he'd wanted to find. Or maybe he was just wandering, and had been drawn to a region of Shadow that was as wounded as he was. Still, at least I felt I was closer to him now. A lot closer. Maybe as little as half a dozen Shadows away.
I called Carmichael and passed Asha through to him before we reached somewhere where they were likely to eat her for lunch. A random horse was probably one of the odder things I'd ever passed through (my last contribution to his dry cleaning bill, the Red Striped Valerian Root, was now planted out in the mock ruins and seemed to be thriving), but he took her with his usual air of imperturbability. He did ask after Wolf - who had apparently called him the previous evening to say that he wouldn't be home to see Soren that night - but I couldn't give him an answer on when my son was likely to be back. This time, I did see a trace of worry, but I tried to reassure him. Unfortunately, the process was hampered by the fact that I was trying to reassure myself at the same time.
Eventually, I broke the call and continued on foot. However, the post-apocalyptic feel made me wary as Hell, and my hand was never far from the butt of the automatic I was carrying. And soon, in my gut, I knew I'd found the right world.
Towards evening, I arrived in what had probably once been London, the ruins around me reminding me of the damage during the Blitz. Scanning about me, I guess that I was looking at the burned out shells of what had probably once been Grosvenor Square. I could see broken buildings and piles of rubble, but from the lack of bodies and the amount of straggling weeds, I guessed that whatever had done its best to destroy this place, had done it ten or more years ago. It was cold, too. The sky was a dirty yellow, and full of dust, and from the dead and dying trees, I got the impression that this world hadn't seen the sun for a very long time. While it wasn't where Iid found him the last time, it certainly had similarities.
As I looked about me, I realised that there were people moving among the wreckage. They were mostly dressed in rags. Children and younger adults, but very few people over the age of 40. I amended my clothes to fit, and started trying to figure out where Wolf might be. Finding a Shadow someone is on is reasonably straightforward. Finding them once you're on that Shadow is usually harder. However, as I felt for him, I realised that I could sense a direction and even an approximate distance. Off to the north-west, and within ten miles or so. That was new.
I found a doorway - if I was right about this being Grosvenor Square, then this was probably the old US Embassy Annex (or the CIA building, as we called it when I was in the service), where I was at least marginally protected from anyone who might want to do me harm, and tried his Trump again. Still blocked.
What the Hell was he doing?
The idea of walking ten miles in this place made me uncomfortable, however well-armed I was, as I had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps not only Asha was in danger of being eaten. I stepped off Shadow again, refreshed my wards to as strong as I could make them, and then, holding his image in my mind once more, I moved back onto the world where I thought I would find him. I was met by the roar of a crowd, and they sounded like they were crying for blood.
Behind me I saw what probably used to be a multi-storey car park, although the upper storeys were little more than broken concrete and twisted metal. In front of me was the ruin of a larger structure, maybe a conference centre or sports arena. I guessed that in its heyday it had been roofed, but that was long gone along with half the walls. But it was where the roar came from. Behind it, I could see the twisted metal ruins of what could only have been Wembley Stadium. It looked like it had been ground zero of a really big bang.
I extended my senses to try to figure out if I work out how fast this place was running relative to Amber, not particularly expecting to get anything other than faster or slower. However, slightly to my surprise, I realised that I could get a decent feel for it. It was rattling on at about fifteen to one to Amber.
So how long had Wolf been here?
Cautiously, I made my way towards the ruins of Wembley Arena, as I was pretty sure that was what it was. As I approached, I realised that it was surrounded at regular intervals by guards. They wore swords at their belts, and one or two of them held SMGs. It made me feel less awkward about the blade slung over my back, let alone the automatic and combat knife at my belt.
Taking a moment to centre and put my game face on, I approached them confidently, expecting to be challenged. They watched me approach what was formerly the main entrance, and then one of the ones armed with an SMG stepped forward. However, I noted that he kept the barrel low, rather than pointing it at me.
"Show's already started, friend," he said, his accent strong but comprehensible.
"Any chance of a latecomer getting in?" I answered.
"Depends. What are you offering?"
What the Hell would these people want?
"Give me a suggestion."
"Got any ration bars in that pack of yours? A dozen of those would see you in."
"Let me see what I can find," I answered.
I stepped away slightly, so they couldn't jump me, then ducked down still looking in their general direction and began rummaging in my pack for the food I knew I'd find in there. And sure enough, I pulled out a fistful of high-protein, if not particularly appetising looking, ration packs. I offered these to the guy with the SMG, and within seconds, half a dozen of the other guards had descended on him and they were ripping the packs open.
Given that in doing so, they'd moved away from the archway like door he'd been standing beside, I took this as permission to enter. I found myself in a dirty, smelly area that in this place's heyday was probably the concessions area, where refreshments and merchandise would have been sold. Now, though, it was only lit by the holes knocked in the walls, and the light from the doorway out into the arena proper. The sound of the crowd in the stands above me was almost deafening, and it creeped me out as I realised that the closest equivalent I could think of to what I was hearing, was the crowd scenes in Gladiator.
Surely Wolf wasn't that much of an idiot?
Behind me, I could hear squabbling from outside, and then the sound of a very short fight and the gurgling of someone's life expiring. I guessed someone had wanted more than their fair share of the bounty I'd given them. On the theory that any moment they might come inside and try to take the rest of what they thought I might be carrying from me, I strode into the arena proper, and started pushing my way through the crowd. The smell of unwashed bodies was almost overpowering.
I didn't exactly make myself popular, but for the most part they stuck with grumbling. Maybe it was the hilt of the sword over my shoulder. One guy, though - who probably had six inches and 50lb on me - decided to take issue. Before I realised what was happening, a circle had parted around us, and we were facing off. He was unarmed, and unencumbered. I was armed, carrying a pack, and short of patience. I dropped the pack to the ground, wondering if it would still be there once we were done, and then drew the combat knife at my belt - on the theory that it was better for down and dirty fighting than a sword - and took up a fighting stance.
I may not be as good in combat as either Wolf or Armand, but in Shadow, against humans, I can more than hold my own.
As he came in against me, I ducked under his arms as they swung to take my head off. I twisted and caught his side with the knife, digging in deeply before withdrawing it. He roared, and staggered back, grasping his side. I wondered if he was going to just let things be at that, but I wasn't that lucky. He came in again, and kicked at me, landing a solid boot just above my right knee. I felt it buckle, and decided to go down with it. I controlled the fall, then kicked up at him with my good leg and caught him squarely below the belt. However, I cursed as the knife was jarred free of my hand as it hit the ground.
He saw this, and dived for the knife, but he was human and I was quicker, even if I was slightly hampered by the blade over my back. I reached it first, twisted and thrust upwards, and felt it go into his chest. I only got it part way out from under him as he collapsed on top of me and I felt the blade snap off at the hilt. The weight knocked the wind out of me temporarily, and I lay there for a few seconds, before pulling myself together and heaving him off, reasonably sure that most of the blood on my shirt was his. He rolled back, arms flopping lifelessly, and then I slowly and deliberately got to my feet, gingerly testing my weight on right leg. Not great, but it held.
"Anyone else?" I said, looking around the faces surrounding me, and suddenly everyone was turning away from me and melting back into anonymity. They even left my pack, which I picked up and slung back onto my back. I wasn't bothered again as I limped through the crowd, towards the front, but behind me I could hear scrabbling, as the body was dragged away. I didn't even want to think what would happen to it after that
Once I reached the front, I got a better idea of the lay of the land. I'd come in on the middle of three tiers of what seemed to be a standing room only spectator areas. The tiers surrounded a sand covered area, with wire separating the spectators from the competitors. If it hadn't been for the fact that what remained of the building looked like it had been built in the early-2000s, and there hadn't been floodlights aimed down at the sand, the comparison with Gladiator still held true. And down on the sand below me, two men were fighting as if their lives depended on it. Both were dressed in nothing more than shorts and sandals, but they were armed with blades and shields, and they were using them with equal efficiency.
I didn't recognise either of them, thank the gods, but I had a sneaking suspicion that if I stayed here very long, that would change. It was completely in character for Wolf in a black mood to go looking for a fight, and he would certainly have found one here.
The crowed howled as one of the combatants finally got through his opponent's shield, and got a cut to the inside of his leg. Moments later the blood was gushing from a severed femoral artery, and the loser was collapsing to the sand. The crowd went wild. I looked around the stands, and on my side of the arena at the centre I could see what was obviously the ‘Royal Box', for whoever counted as royalty here. There was a group of clean, better dressed men and women in it, flanked by bodyguards. One of them instantly stood out as their leader - a well-built, well-fed red-head - and this was confirmed when moments later he indicated that the loser should die, if he wasn't dead already, by passing his hand across his throat.
The winner turned to the Royal Box, and bowed, then walked towards what I guessed was the exit to the dressing rooms, the players' tunnel if you will, while the clean-up crew came and took away the body. A short while later, a group of six people came out onto the sand - two women, four men - and the whole process started again.
I didn't want to watch. Instead, I made my way back into the dark, smelly concessions area, and started working around to where the entrance to the dressing rooms would be, ignoring the smells of barbecued meat from occasional food stands, which were surrounded by groups of slightly better-off looking punters. However, as I reached the approximate area, I saw that it was heavily guarded. Bodyguards for the group upstairs at a guess, standing between their rulers, and the unwashed.
I looked around me and found an exit out of the building. From behind me, I could hear the crowd screaming, and I guessed another fighter had met his - or her - end. I walked out into the murky daylight, noting that there weren't any guards out here, and found myself beside a walled off area: the wall was a combination of razor wire and breeze blocks, about fifteen feet high. Behind it, I could hear the sounds of fighters practising. I walked once around it, and quickly came to the conclusion that there was no way in or out from out here.
Were they prisoners or volunteers?
I took shelter under a broken wall, about fifteen feet away, and pulled Wolf's card out once more, hoping against hope that he would answer this time, but he was still blocking me. However, when I felt for him with the Pattern, backed up by the card in my hand, I was 100% certain that he was the other side of the fence.
Another scream from the crowd. Presumably another body. I was really coming to hate this place. Was Wolf trainer or fighter behind that fence? And did he choose it, or had something else happened?
I weighed up whether I could get over the fence, and would have tried it if not for the razor wire. But with it...I've played with razor wire in the past. It wasn't an experience I wanted to repeat. In the end I sank down with my back against the wall, massaged my leg where the bastard in the stands had given it the boot, and tried to figure out what to do next. As I did, I felt the stirrings of a Trump call, and cautiously opened up to it.
"Morning, Ian," Armand said, as the link resolved. He looked like he'd been working out, and was taking a breather, although he was sitting in a lounge I didn't recognise.
"Hey, Armand."
"You look tired..."
"Shadow travel does that to you," I answered, with a weak smile.
"We're wondering if you've found him yet."
"We?"
"Andrés called me. He was worried, too."
Interesting. Still, Andrés and Wolf appeared to have become friends in the few weeks since he'd come onto the scene. He'd formed a friendship with Armand and Artur as well, but they were more of an age, which made sense. Him and Wolf seemed an odd combination, though.
"I'm on the same Shadow as him, and know where he is," I answered, "I just need to make contact."
"Can you bring us through?"
"I don't think that's going to be necessary."
"Ian...are you okay. There's blood..."
"Someone else's," I answered, "give me fifteen minutes, and if I haven't got back to you by then, call me."
"As long as you're sure."
"For now," I replied, "I'll know more in a bit."
"Okay...be careful."
"I'll try," I answered, and broke off the call. Fifteen minutes at fifteen to one - assuming wherever they were was running at Amber time. That gave me nearly four hours. If I hadn't found my son by then, I would need pulling out.
"Hey, you!" came a voice from the doorway, about five minutes later, and I saw a couple of the bodyguards walking towards me, "what are you doing out here?"
"I was looking for someone," I answered, "I thought he came out here. But obviously I was wrong."
"You're in a restricted area. Get up," the second one ordered, and I got back to my feet. They probably couldn't miss the blood on my shirt from my earlier fight, but they didn't mention it, "now either get inside, or leave...you're not staying there."
I bowed my head, hopefully looking submissive, and walked back into the arena. As I did, I heard the third scream of delight from the crowd and by the time I'd reached the front of the spectator gallery again, three bodies were being dragged away, and the three victors were limping back towards the players' tunnel.
I moved along the spectator tiers, until I reached the edge closest to the tunnel. Of course, that meant that I was pretty much under the Royal Box, but I was planning on going over the edge and down onto the sand, rather than up to bother them. I clipped my athame in its sheath into the small of my back and then dropped the rest of pack by the wall, leaving me with my weapons and nothing else. I was poised to jump over and down onto the ground - I reckoned twenty feet wouldn't do me that much harm - when I saw a group of people coming up the tunnel towards me. Fifteen of them.
All but three were dressed similarly to the previous fighters - shorts, sandals and breastplates, with swords at their belts and small shields - or perhaps large bucklers - on their arms. Two were in richer clothes. And the last one was Wolf. He was dressed like the fighters, but instead of having armour and weapons, he was chained, with manacles on his legs, and he looked like he'd already taken a beating. I waited until they'd passed, and then dropped down into the sand behind them, and waited in the shadows to find out what the Hell was going on.
The group reached the centre, and one of the well-dressed men stepped away, looked towards the Royal Box and bowed deeply.
"Lord Antono," began one of the well-dressed men, his voice resonating sufficiently loudly, that it was obviously amplified somehow, "Citizens. We come to the high-spot of the evening. This man..." Inevitably, he indicated Wolf. "...has been tried and found guilty. Sentence has been passed, and with your permission, he will die, here in the arena, for your pleasure."
The crowd went wild, but from my place in the shadows of the tunnel, I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut. What the Hell had he done? Or was this another of Caine's games?
"Proceed, Master of the Arena," came the voice from above me. It was cultured, but accented, and while he was speaking the bastardised English that seem to be the norm here, I wasn't at all sure that the speaker's native language wasn't Thari.
"Citizens," the MA said, bowing once more to Antono, and then turning to address the stands, "The prisoner will fight to the death with twelve who are known to you, all of whom are veterans of this arena. However, in the spirit of fair play..."
That got a chorus of boos.
"In the spirit of fair play, I am obliged to ask this question. Is there anyone who will fight with the prisoner?"
The boos got louder, but Wolf was standing silent and alone, his head bowed, ignoring them all. The other well-dressed man stood beside him, sword unsheathed and ready to strike.
"I will," I shouted, but the MA either didn't hear me or chose not to. I drew the pistol, and let off one shot, and suddenly, it went very quiet.
"I said I will," I repeated, and strode onto the sand.
As I did, Wolf raised his head and our eyes met. But his expression was dead, as if he had been drugged, and I didn't even see a trace of recognition in them.
"You know the rules," the MA said, looking at me as I approached, "no firearms in the arena. Drop the gun and come forward."
I was loath to do as he said. On the other hand, it was obvious that if I didn't, I wouldn't be allowed to get any closer. I debated shooting either the MA or the jailer - or Hell, maybe even Lord Antono, as he was probably just about within range - but decided against. I wanted to get out of this with both Wolf and I alive. I put the pistol back in its holster, then removed the latter from my belt and dropped it in the sand. At least I still had the sword, although I regretted the loss of my combat knife.
"Step forward and identify yourself," the MA said, and I did as I was bid.
"My name is Ian, and I will fight beside this man."
"And you understand that if you fight with him, you do so to the death."
"I do," I answered, disappointed, but not surprised.
"However, if you defeat your opponents, and there is still breath in both of your bodies, then you will be allowed to leave unhindered. If either of you is dead, then both of you are."
"I understand."
The reactions from the crowd were mixed, but as I looked up at the Royal Box, I caught what could only be described as malicious glee on the face of Lord Antono. He caught the MA's eye, and nodded his agreement.
"Anyone else?" the MA asked, looking around, but unsurprisingly, there was no-one.
"Then take your place...Ian," he said, and I moved closer to my son.
As I did, the jailer removed Wolf's chains. At least he wasn't expected to fight bound, which was something. But on the downside, given that he seemed really out of it - all his movements seemed lethargic, further supporting my guess that he'd been drugged - I had a feeling that whereas normally he could outfight me with ease, let alone twelve Shadow dwellers, here and now things were far more even. I hoped to Hell that his survival instincts were still in there somewhere, as I detected no sign that he had wards up.
"Talk to me, Wolf," I said, quietly, but he just stared blankly at me.
The jailer threw his sword on the ground and stepped away, while the MA instructed the other fighters to make a circle around us, about forty feet away. Wolf bent slowly to pick the blade up, and then I moved so I was back to back with him. Then the jailer and the MA made their way back to the tunnel, out of harm's way, and a single word floated down from the Royal Box.
"Begin."
And they started moving in on us. As they did, I could see their expressions. Cold, ruthless and determined. Every one of them had killed before, probably several times. My only hope was that they'd never fought an Amberite before. Of course, they had breastplates and shields, and we didn't, so our best chance was going to be speed. Assuming there enough of Wolf's combat instincts were left to use it in his current state. Of course, if I really had heard a Thari accent when Antono spoke, then perhaps that was exactly why Wolf had been drugged. To even the playing field. I prayed to the gods that my intervention would be enough to bugger up their plans.
And then they were on us, and all time for thought was past. I got a couple of quick hits in, and took out one of the attackers in three blows: breastplates are good against a human opponent, but the strength a pissed off Amberite can put behind a blow makes them less effective. Behind me, I could hear a scream, followed by a gurgle, and given that I could still feel Wolf's presence at my back, I guessed he'd done something similar. That was good news, as it meant that his survival instincts were in their somewhere.
Two down, ten to go, but now they had some inkling of what we could do.
I cut out at another one and got a leg hit. Thankfully my blade was slightly longer than theirs, which made up for the fact that it was weighted differently to the one I usually use. Then I parried a third by ducking, and came up under his shield, taking him in abdomen by sliding in under the breastplate. However, for my pains, I took a solid thump above on the forehead from the rim of his shield. It stunned me momentarily, and then I could feel the blood begin to well. I pulled away as he sank back, and was immediately back in combat with the one with the leg wound. Unfortunately, it had only slowed him, not taken him out. He swung his blade at me hard, and I felt it connect with my ribs. Thankfully with the flat, but I still felt them crack.
I turned towards him and thrust forward, to be blocked by his sword. I tried to move sideways, noting that my breathing was painful as I did, and as I moved, I glanced over at Wolf. Three were on the ground in front of him, and he seemed to be fighting well enough, but there was something mechanical about his movements, and his defence was weak.
I pulled my attention back to my opponent, realising that my vision was being impaired from the blood from the cut on my forehead, and tried to thrust at him. Blocked by his shield again. I moved sideways and high, and cut towards his neck, and managed to connect. He fell back, dropping his blade and clamping his hand to the wound, to try to staunch the blood flow.
By which time the other three on me had learned, and started co-ordinating their attacks. I blocked, and parried, and swung for all I was worth, and managed to fend off the majority of their hits, although I took heavy thump to my right arm from one of the shields, which left it numb and bruised; and a cut across the chest. But I had no chance to go onto the offensive. These guys were good, and had everything to lose.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Wolf stumble, and saw blood on the inside of his leading leg. Please, gods, not the artery. As he did, his opponent followed up with a thrust to his abdomen. Somehow he ducked enough that it ended up as a blunt force blow, rather than cutting into him, but he was slowing and that hit had knocked the wind out of him.
I redoubled my own efforts, and managed to get inside the guard of the opponent on my left. The fact that I was fighting left handed, as always, seemed to throw him. I thrust my blade home into his chest, through the breastplate, but as I tried to withdraw it, it stuck. I let it go, glanced around me, and then dived for the weapon of one of my fallen opponents. I reached it just before another of the fighters, but took a hit across my shoulder blades for my troubles. I rolled and threw it at him, spear like, and caught him by surprise under his shield. He fell back and I had one left.
I pulled the blade out of my latest victim, and moved in on my final opponent. My right arm was sore, and sluggish, but at least I could use it to balance. The situation wasn't great, but after a certain amount of circling, I managed a good slice on my opponent's shield arm, and it fell to his side, useless. After that, it was a comparatively easy job to get into the right position to end him.
I stood for a moment, and became aware that the crowd was screaming wildly. They didn't seem to be supporting either side any more. They were just baying for blood, the more of it the better. I glanced up at the Royal Box, to see Antono, who was obviously enjoying every bloody moment of this fight, and hated him for relishing our pain.
Then I turned my back on him and looked over at Wolf. He had two opponents left, and was fading fast. His torso was a mass of cuts and bruises. The wound on his leg was still bleeding, and he was limping, but somehow he was still upright. I bent down moved to help, but as I did so, the opponent on his left got a true hit to his side, and Wolf sank slowly to the ground. Fear and anger gripped me, and I moved in as fast as I could still manage. I intercepted the attacker before he could take Wolf's head off, and removed his own in turn.
And then there was one.
I moved purposefully until I was standing beside my son's fallen form.
"Just try it," I said, quietly, locking eyes with the survivor.
"I'm sorry," he said, earnestly, "I have no choice."
And he moved in for the kill. He led with the shield, but I managed to deflect it and lunged in with the sword. I caught his breastplate, but he managed to move aside enough to mitigate my attack, and I heard my blade clang uselessly. In response, he cut low, grazing the top of my leading thigh. I stepped back, then moved around to try to get a clear attack at his right side. But he spotted what I was doing and moved to defend himself.
Either I was tiring, or this guy was faster than the others. Or more likely, it was a combination of both. The trouble was, with Wolf bleeding into the sand, I couldn't afford to take too long about finishing him. I executed a series of quick cuts, but I couldn't get through.
"Who is he, that you would die for him?" my opponent asked, as we circled each other.
"He's my son."
"I had a son once. I loved him. But I couldn't save him."
"Let me save mine."
"I cannot. You heard the rules. Only one of us leaves here alive."
I moved sideways as he lunged at me, but I was slowing, and his blade connected with my ribs in pretty much the same place that I'd been hit earlier. It hurt like the Devil, and this time I knew for sure that the ribs were broken, rather than just cracked. But it gave me the opening I needed, and I managed to get through his defences and plunged my sword into his heart.
Never had victory felt so hollow.
As he fell back, I crossed to Wolf and knelt beside him. I reached for his neck, and after a few anxious moments, I found a pulse. It was weak and thready, but I almost cried with relief. And then I was being pulled upright and away, a sword at my throat, and a man in a white coat took my place beside my son.
"The prisoner lives," he declared to the MA, who had come out of hiding and was standing nearby.
"The prisoner lives," the MA repeated, this time amplified to the arena, and the crowd cheered. Then he turned to the Royal Box. "Lord Antono, what is your pleasure?"
"If one team is alive, and one team is dead, then the survivors have won their freedom," came the answer, but as he said it, I felt as if the words were choking him, "escort them from this place. They may go."
As the blade was removed from my throat, I glanced at the doctor, who I had expected to be binding Wolf's wounds. Being a doctor and all. But he was doing nothing of the sort. Instead, he was just standing, watching.
"Pick up your comrade, and go, Ian," said the MA, and indicated Wolf's body.
"He's too badly injured to move..." I answered, then looked at the doctor, "surely you can see that?"
"That is not my concern," came the reply, "my only job here is to declare if he lives. I've done that. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
And he turned and walked back to the tunnel.
"Pick up your comrade and go," the MA repeated, and I knew I had no choice. I bent my knees, then lifted Wolf in a fireman's lift, cursing as I did so. He'd put on a lot of muscle mass since Russia, and I was hurting and exhausted. But with as much dignity as I could muster, I walked back towards the tunnel carrying my burden. A short while later, I was let out through a door which led back into the concession space, behind the cordon of Lord Antono's guards. They watched my progress in silence, as I walked out of the external doors, past the walled off area, silent now, and away.
It had got dark while we'd been fighting, and the temperature had dropped to the low-40s. The ruins of the stadium were close by, as was the old multi-storey car park. I decided to go towards the former, which gave me more distance from this cursed, bloody place. I was about half way there, when I saw the crowds beginning to exit, and redoubled my speed. I forced myself towards the old, broken structure, not stopping until I'd found some measure of shelter in the ruins. I chose one of the old blocks of ticket windows, as the room behind them still seemed to have a roof, and I forced my way inside.
I unslung my burden and laid him against a pile of wreckage, then checked his pulse again. Weaker still, and the wounds in his side and leg were still bleeding sluggishly. I rested one of my hands on each, and tried to marshal the strength to heal him. And for a short while, it seemed to be working. But then my vision narrowed, and I realised I had nothing left to give. I stopped what I was doing, touched his neck again, and hoped I wasn't imagining it when it felt a little stronger.
I reached into my pocket, and was relieved that my deck was still there. However, as I pulled out Armand's card, I realised that I just wasn't able to concentrate on it enough to activate it. I put them away, and knew that all that was left to me was sleep. I threw up a set of rudimentary wards and then curled up beside my son, so we could take warmth from each other. I wished for a blanket, but it had gone with my pack, which was probably now on the back of one of the spectators. I had nothing left to give, and closed my eyes.
What woke me was a persistent nagging in my head, which was fast turning into a headache. I forced myself back to consciousness, far too aware that I could see my breath in front of me and I was shivering. I checked Wolf's pulse again, and was relieved that it was still there, although he was showing no signs of consciousness. And then I realised that what I was feeling, was a Trump call.
I had no idea how long I'd been out - although I guessed it had been a couple of hours at most - but the timing was probably be about right for it to be Armand, and my heart leapt in hope. I sat up, and opened up to the link.
"Hey Ian, I..." Armand said, smiling. Just then, I couldn't have been more pleased to see him if he'd been a fully-fledged angel.
Then he saw my face, and saw the blood from the hit to the forehead I'd taken in the arena, and his expression changed to something far more grim. I pulled myself to my feet, and then bent down and lifted his father onto my shoulder.
"I found him. Bring us through," I said quietly, and offered my hand. Without a word, he reached out to me, and I gripped his hand and stepped forward.