Alastair Archibald - Truth and Deception

You have a job to do, Tordun. You must maintain control of yourself. Remember: a fighter uses his emotions; they do not use him!

Any successful fighter knew when to bring emotions into play, and when to veto their insistent demands. Tordun was one of the best, and he pushed hate, anger and outrage into a mental prison deep inside his brain. Since he had been able to do this since his callow youth, he felt surprise at the considerable effort it cost him.

Tordun's heart pounded. "No, I won't fight you, Shugar. Not now, not ever. You had your chance at my title, and you lost. Get used to it.

"I think I'll leave now," he said, turning to face Keller. "That was a nice try, but I told you: I've retired from the ring. Goodbye, Shugar, and good luck in your future fights. I'll be there to cheer you on tonight, but no more than that. Thank you, Keller. I think I will go back to my companions now."

Tordun imagined that he saw the ghost of a satisfied smile on Shugar's face, but he could not be sure. He took another deep breath, and began to relax again. There could be nothing sinister here. It was a common enough ploy to goad another fighter into reaction rather than action, with insults and innuendo, and he could not blame Shugar for trying.

"Of course, Tordun." The Pit-master rolled his eyes and nodded. "I tried my best, but I'll acknowledge defeat. I respect your decision, and I congratulate you on your mental fortitude. However, perhaps you'd do us the honour of wearing one of our torcs of honour, anyway? As I told you, they're reserved for the best fighters and, although you've chosen not to fight in the Pit, you're a well-known and respected fighter. It would mean a lot to the Pit boys and me if you'd wear our emblem at least for one night."

Keller placed a torc in the pale warrior's hand. Tordun admired the workmanship and the clarity of the jewels. It was certainly a handsome enough gewgaw, and he felt a frisson of pride at the honour the Pit-master offered him. The weighty, open circlet looked like a pair of bull's horns, the traditional offering made to a victorious bullfighter. Tordun might dress like a monk on most occasions, but that was for the sake of utility in combat. The golden torc beguiled him, tempted him…

The albino cast a furtive glance at Shugar and saw the scarred warrior's face contort in a fierce, wide-eyed grimace. Was it an expression of disgust, hatred, or fear?

Tordun was an expert in the art of divining an opponent's intended actions from the subtlest of cues revealed by the fighter's pose or movements. However, he had never managed to master the reading of complex facial impressions. He guessed that Shugar felt affronted at the idea of such a generous offer being made to a Pit tyro.

His misgivings growing, he turned back to Keller, trying to think of a rational excuse to refuse the offer. "Well, I suppose it'd be churlish of me to refuse," he found himself saying. "Thank you."

Shugar began to thrash in his seat again, as another of his strange seizures took hold of him, and Tordun regarded the warrior with anxiety.

"Are you sure he's all right, Keller? This can't be normal."

"It's just a touch of heat prostration brought on by overtraining," the Pit-master said, his voice mellifluous and serene. "Don't worry about it. Go ahead; put on the circlet. It'll look splendid on you."

Something about Keller's urgent stance, the tenseness of his body, appeared at odds with the honeyed words, and now loud alarm bells seemed to sound in Tordun's head, although he still did not know why.

Why is Keller so keen for me to wear this?

The thought was swift, but the albino's body started to react before he could command his hands to stop. In less than the space of a heartbeat, the torc was clipped around his neck.

"It looks good on you, Tordun," Keller declared, as Shugar slumped back into passivity in his chair. "You'll be a credit to the Pit."

"As long as you understand that I'm not fighting for you," Tordun said, fiddling with the circlet. Despite the appearance and weight of soft gold, the torc seemed as strong as the finest steel. He now felt distinctly uneasy, and the Pit-master's now-sinister smile unnerved him.

"It's a bit tight, Keller, and it prickles," Tordun said. "So I think I'll leave it off until tonight, if you don't mind. How do I remove it?"

"You can't." Keller's voice no longer sounded as warm, friendly, and deferent as it had.

"I'm not playing games here, Keller!" Tordun abandoned all pretence of friendliness. "Get it off me, or you'll be sorry!" The giant warrior strode towards the Pit-master, his left hand clenched and ready to strike.

"That's far enough, Tordun," Keller said, reaching into his pocket.

The pale giant gasped and stopped in his tracks. He felt as if flames were consuming his spinal column and bursting through his brain, consuming his eyeballs from behind. For some reason, his arms and legs no longer obeyed his commands, and he realised, too late, what Shugar had been trying to tell him.

"Direct neural stimulation," Keller said, in a conversational manner. "I'm told it can be quite painful. That's Level One. Perhaps you'd like to try Level Two?"

Tordun struggled to control his voice. "I'll… kill… you," he gasped, managing to stagger another couple of steps towards the Pit-master.

"You would like to try Level Two?" Keller said, in a cheerful voice. "I knew you would. Here it comes."

The albino felt as if his limbs had turned into long trailing tunnels of fire, spreading and branching like a rabbit-warren, splitting off into a myriad of tendrils of pure, unalloyed pain. Panic fear gripped him as he felt his eyes bulging, as if they would burst. His mind seemed to shatter into countless fragments of pain and fear, and he lost all control of his body. He felt a warm sensation at his groin as his bladder voided itself, but any sense of shame was consumed by the overwhelming pain.

The agony continued, intensified, and Tordun heard a long, thready scream somewhere in the distance. The tiny knot of consciousness he retained knew nothing more than the primordial need to survive.

At last, his body was free of pain, and Tordun found himself lying on the floor of the room, curled up in a tight ball. To his disgust, he smelt the acrid odour of vomit, tasted the vestiges of bile in his dry mouth. Several minutes passed before he could speak.

"All right, Keller. You win. I'll fight for you tonight," he growled, his voice scratchy and hoarse. "Just remember that I have friends here. They're not likely to stand by while you turn me into some sort of flesh-and-blood marionette."

The Pit-master laughed. "After tonight, they'll be too busy experiencing the delights of their own collars," he said. "They won't be able to help you, even if they wanted to. And we haven't even started yet, my monstrous friend. That was Level Two, and the collar goes all the way up to Level Eight. Every one's different, each with its own distinct character. And each level's worse than the one before. It'd be a pity to waste all that extra capacity. At some point, probably Level Five or Six, you'll find that it doesn't hurt any more, and you'll begin to love me."

"In your dreams, Keller," Tordun snarled. "I'll see you in hell first."

"Do you know the beauty of it, Tordun?" Keller ignored the albino's defiance. "All that pain is in your mind. It doesn't strain your body at all. When you finally come to your senses, you'll willingly agree to fight just to please me, and you'll be as fit and strong as ever. The Pit's flooded with pheromones that ensure every fighter gives everything he's got.

"The beauty of it all is that we still have hours to go before tonight's bouts. I can show you the full range of this pretty little bauble's wonders."

Keller turned towards Shugar. "You tried to warn him, didn't you? That'll cost you dearly, I can assure you. You can join your friend, Tordun, in his exercises.