Don Bassingthwaite - Word of traitors

The great lizard let out a terrible honking screech and reared up on its hind legs. The halfling on its back, trying to stab down between the plates at Keraal, had to drop his weapon and hang onto one of the plates with both hands. Keraal just clung to the shaft of his glaive as his weight dragged the sharp blade inexorably through the creature’s flesh. Blood spurted out, spraying him. The daggertail crashed back to all four legs. Its head twisted around to try and bite at the source of its agony and its spiked tail thrashed wildly, but Keraal had chosen well: neither neck nor tail were flexible enough to reach him where he clung. He kept digging with the glaive, forcing the wound deeper and wider.

The slapping tail kept the clawfoot riders back, too. The half-ling on the daggertail whistled and waved, gesturing for one of them to throw him a glaive, but the other riders were busy trying to control their hungry clawfoots as they caught the scent of fresh blood-and a moment later, the daggertail decided to act on its own. Turning suddenly, it made a lumbering run for the nearest wall of the arena. Spectators sitting in the lower rows fled for higher elevation, even though the spiked tail couldn’t have done more than splinter the wall below them. The clawfoot riders scattered. Keraal seemed to reach into the wound before he flung himself away from the beast, leaving the glaive behind.

The daggertail’s rider wasn’t fast enough. Yelling at the beast as if he could calm it by voice alone, he hung onto one of the plates along its back right up until the moaning daggertail slammed its side against the wall and began to rub like a cow against a tree. The impact jarred the halfling loose. He screamed as he lost his grip and went sliding down between the great lizard and the wall.

The audience winced and groaned with one voice.

Keraal had his chain free again. He let it swing loose in one hand as he stalked closer to the nearest clawfoot, a blue-streaked monster somewhat larger than the others. The halflings were wary now. The others circled as the hobgoblin warrior’s target backed his mount away-but Keraal’s eyes were on the lizard, not the halfling. He stretched out his free hand, in it a big chunk of bloody flesh torn from the body of the daggertail.

The blue-streaked clawfoot cocked its head like some enormous bird.

Its rider saw the chunk of flesh and stiffened, then bent over his mount’s neck, maybe trying to whisper to it, to control it. No luck. Keraal took two quick paces forward then flung the meat to one side of the beast.

The clawfoot whirled and lunged, snapping for the food. So did the next nearest clawfoot as both riders fought to control their mounts. In the moment of chaos, Keraal darted close. His chain snapped up and curled around the throat of the unfortunate halfling whose clawfoot had betrayed him. Keraal stepped back, heaving the struggling rider out of his saddle. The halfling hit the sand of the arena and an instant later, Keraal was on him, one arm around his neck, the opposite hand gripping his skull. The hobgoblin’s shoulders tensed and the halfling’s head twisted around on his shoulders, the snap of his breaking neck completely lost in the roar of the crowd.

The now-riderless clawfoot turned to stare at Keraal, who froze with the body of the halfling hunter still in his hands. The clawfoot lowered its head, taking a slow stride forward, and even from where she sat, Ekhaas could see a kind of feral intelligence and loyalty on its reptilian face. It knew its rider, knew he was dead, and knew that Keraal had killed him. Behind it, the remaining three riders spread out. Keraal let the corpse slip from his grasp and backed up slowly, swinging his chain.

It might have been his final act if the daggertail hadn’t at that moment staggered away from the arena wall, honking in pain and distress. It left a long smear of blood on the wall behind it, along with the broken body of its rider and the shattered shaft of the glaive-the head of which, Ekhaas guessed, must have broken off inside the wound, now even larger and uglier than before.

All four clawfoots turned to look at it. All of the surviving riders tried to rein in their mounts and control them just as the dead rider had tried to control his, but with no greater success. The distraction that Keraal had set up by wounding the daggertail was too strong. The halflings had left their clawfoots hungry before the battle. The sight and smell of the injured daggertail-natural prey for such predators-was too powerful.

The clawfoot that Keraal had initially brought down was the first to break. Twitching its head against the pull of the reins, it stalked out to confront the daggertail. The wounded lizard’s eyes fixed on it. The fearsome tail swung back and forth, but the clawfoot stayed well back. The other clawfoots moved in, forcing the daggertail to try and watch all of them. Ekhaas saw one of the lizards turn its head and fix its rider with an ugly stare. The halfling stiffened and whistled to the other halflings before he leaped to the ground to let his mount hunt. The other two hunters followed his example and the clawfoots, all riderless now, circled the daggertail.

The blue-streaked clawfoot looked once more at Keraal and threw back its head to let out a bone-chilling shriek. The daggertail swung toward the sound-and the other clawfoots pounced on it. The big spiked tail caught one in mid-air, bashing it to the ground with deep wounds in its flank, but the others were on it, trying to find a grip in its flesh with their claws and their teeth. The blue-streaked clawfoot shrieked again and leaped join in.

Keraal picked up a lost glaive, snapped the shaft over his knees to create a weapon that he could wield in one hand, and went after the three surviving halflings.

For a warrior who had defeated a tiger, a two-headed ettin, three Kech Shaarat bladedancers, and four Marguul berserkers armed only with the chains that had once bound him, they were no challenge. The clawfoots fought their own battle and the deaths of the hunters of the Talenta Plains were accompanied first by the screams of the daggertail and then by the sounds of the feasting clawfoots.

And by the roar of the cheering crowd, a roar that died away only when Keraal stood below the warlords’ box and let the head of the last halfling fall to the sand.

Tariic rose slowly and glared down. His face was dark and tight with anger, but somehow it didn’t reach his voice. “Keraal, who was warlord of the Gan’duur,” he called out-and if there was no anger in his voice, there was at least malice. “Who defied Lhesh Haruuc Shaarat’kor. Who led his clan to defeat and watched it die. Who is now Keraal of nothing.” He paused, his ears trembling, before continuing. “You have fought in the arena and you have triumphed. By the tradition of the People, you have won your freedom.”

He gestured and one of the gates of the arena, the one farthest from the still feasting clawfoots, opened just a crack. Ekhaas was fairly certain that whoever stood on the other side was keeping a very close watch on the great beasts. Keraal, however, ignored both lizards and gate. He just looked up at Haruuc’s successor as Tariic pointed and said, “Go.”

“No,” said Keraal.

Except for the tearing and gulping of flesh, the silence in the arena was complete. “No?” asked Tariic, a hint of fury finally creeping into his voice.

“No,” Keraal repeated. He stood tall. “Where is Dagii of Mur Talaan?”

Partway along the box, just behind a wide-eyed Geth, Dagii rose and came forward. “I’m here.”

Keraal looked up at him. “You ride to war against the Valenar?”

“Yes.” Dagii glanced at Tariic, then back at the fallen warlord. “I leave Rhukaan Draal before twilight. I wait only for the blessing of the lhesh.”