Vance Moore - Odyssey

”Only one who is worthy should have a chance at these,” the master said, slightly out of breath as he moved to the side of the doorway and gestured over the trove of treasures.

Kamahl heard nothing but the pounding of his own heart for several seconds. A mound of gold, a few jewels, and numerous artifacts filled the center of the room. Mechanical limbs of ancient war machines lay next to charred books. Open scrolls showed letters that the educated barbarian could not even identify much less read. Leaking bags of coin lay against a massive breastplate worn by some forgotten giant. The room contained wealth, history, and shards of power from past wars, but it was a dull metal orb that locked Kamahl's gaze. It lay partially concealed by a fine sword blade, which Kamahl ached to throw away that he might better see this treasure. The rest of the room was filled with dross to the warrior's mind. The orb appeared to be no larger than his fist, yet he was mesmerized by it. His interest grew greater as he thought it responded to him. The light reflected by it seemed to grow brighter. The metal surface hinted at restrained power rather than the dull glint of common metal. Kamahl's line of sight was broken as the Master of the Games entered his field of vision.

"Speechless, eh.” The fat man chuckled. ”A shy barbarian. An uncommon sight, but one which is still not special enough to have in the ranks of the tourney.”

Kamahl's jaws ached as he restrained himself. This corpulent fool was nothing, but now Kamahl burned to enter and win. The metal sphere called to him still. The barbarian thought briefly of just taking the item, but he was a warrior, not a common thief. The official drew breath for another taunt, but Kamahl had heard enough. His hand dipped into his pouch at his belt. He could feel the guards drawing closer. Chainer, who had stayed far back during the entire conversation, came forward. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the young man's concerned face drawing nearer, perhaps to defuse the situation.

Kamahl drew out a single copper coin, worn thin with age and clipped by the truly desperate. The official's already florid face grew darker at the perceived insult of the pitiful bribe, but the barbarian had no intention of trying to buy his way into the tournament with any currency other than his own power. Kamahl's muscles relaxed as he channeled force to his hand. The copper brightened as the patina of age and wear sloughed away from the metal. The coin grew brighter as the guards moved in, their spear points poised to open up Kamahl's back. Like a tourist casting into a wishing well, the barbarian tossed the copper over his shoulder. The stone wall proved no barrier. Like a hot knife through butter, the red-hot coin melted its way through. Shouts of surprise sounded as it exited through the box wall as well. The sound of the cooling slug hitting the arena floor was lost in the confusion of the guards and the white face of the Master of the Games. Looking at the deflated official, the barbarian knew he would have no problems entering the tourney.

”I assure you, my lord, that no such displays of arrogance would be permitted in the palaces of the emperor. Such a boor would be summarily executed, especially one who lacked a suitable patron.” The merman tried to sound sympathetic and outraged, but it was hard to feel much empathy for the fool who sat in front of him. The Master of the Games came to the fete in high dudgeon and had released a spew of bile, detailing the attack on his honor and dignity. Ambassador Laquatus thought such a pig had no dignity. Moreover, a man of true power either acted or waited to act. The pointless railing grated on the ambassador's nerves.

The merman might be mistaken for human with the exception of his coloring and the small horns that lay half hidden by his hair. Of course, under the sea, his ancestry was much more obvious. At a mental command, his legs transmuted to a great fish's tail. The long couches he favored recalled the decadence of lost civilizations but also allowed him to recline when transformed. Long gilded nail extensions flashed in the subdued light as he spoke and gestured.

”I assure you, Laquatus, that your sympathy and hospitality at the end of this difficult day will not be forgotten.” The Cabal official almost gushed as he relaxed and turned to consider the temporary court that the ambassador had established. The merman offered only a nod before looking back upon the revel before him.

The embassy to the Cabal had procured a house that butted up against the bluffs surrounding the city. A huge cavern had been dug out and expanded. In the middle of the excavation, a huge pool was filled with salt water and sea plants carefully transplanted. The ambassador could feel the waves of energy that moved through the water, warming it and sending gouts of mist into the air.

The life in the pool relied on constant infusions of power from the ambassador's mages to live and even flourish. Brilliant coral and anemones lay in the waist deep water, their color and motion suggesting beds of flowers. The soporific compounds they released acted as invisible poisons to the minds of those not rendered immune, yet the revelers in the pool showed no signs of ill health.

The large lagoon was full. Competitors moved in the water, dangerous but temporarily safe to all. Like carnivores after a full meal, they appeared logy. One fighter saluted his host as Laquatus's gazes swept over him. Burly and covered with scars, he waved a prosthetic arm in greeting. The metal arm ended in serrated pincers that rasped together softly as the athlete picked another goblet from the circling waiters. His companion for the evening only cooed appreciatively as the arm gathered her in. For the amount of money the ambassador paid for the escorts, he expected nothing less.

The mechanical limb of the fighter was nothing unusual. Laquatus could see many other examples of grafted limbs and skin. Pit fighting was dangerous, and those lucky and powerful enough to survive often left the floor of the arena with less than they entered.

Mechanical parts salvaged from ancient war machines were used along with limbs and hide from exotic beast and fallen warriors.

A few Cabal sponsored fighters circulated as well. Laquatus curbed his pout of distaste. Many of the local champions sported limbs from zombies and the dead. The rotting stench was almost completely covered by the perfumes filling the air, but nothing could curb the disgust many of the guests showed. The Cabal fighters relied on a steady supply of shattered bodies and dismembered fighters to supply them with new parts as the ones they reclaimed eventually failed.

The pit frog Turg lurked in the shadows, crouched behind a miniature reef with only his bulbous eyes showing above the water. The ambassador's champion had stuffed himself to the point of immobility, and Laquatus cursed his personal failure to curb the creature's insane appetite. It was so easy to be lost in Turg's simple pleasures of the flesh. The official noticed Laquatus's lack of attention and cleared his throat loudly.

The merman's manners and style automatically equated him with the nobility in the eyes of his guests. His background in fact was not distinguished, and the human good looks were a strike against him in the Mer kingdom. The emperor and the empress resembled the octopus on their house flag. Their malleable bodies and eight limbs were the standard for the court, and he was far from the current definition of beauty. He was banished to the land like a malformed child hidden from sight. He felt the injustice of his exile and contempt for the land-locked with which he must interact.

Laquatus speared a small fish that swam past. His long finger extensions were often filled with poison at the undersea court, and it amused him to use such deadly devices for harpooning snacks. The small blood slick lightened his mood, and he regarded the boor next to him.