Vance Moore - Odyssey

”Weeks before the way clears,” Satas said, drifting back to the wall. ’’However, two more mages have mastered the door spell.” The tresias moved suddenly, his whiskers whipping as he struck at a blind crayfish swimming out of a small crevice. "When more soldiers arrive we can open enough portals to flood the city with troops,” he whispered and devoured the tender morsel alive.

”I will need the winnings before the matches end tonight.” Kamahl said seriously, maneuvering through the crowds around the arena. Chainer crowded closer, raising his voice to be heard.

”Why not tomorrow?” the young man asked, slapping a youth whose fingers reached for his purse. The gesture was casual, but the boy fell down under the feet of the crowd. Kamahl could hear slurred cursing growing fainter as they moved toward the preparation rooms.

”The price of my lodging is due tonight and I dislike arguments about money,” the barbarian responded.

His massive metal gauntlet nudged a too eager fighter who tried to enter ahead of the pair. A cool stare by Kamahl forced the warrior back into the milling crowd as they entered the fetid air of the common preparation hall.

The barbarian entered the city with enough money for normal times, but the tourney had inflated the prices of food and lodging far above what he expected. The last of the fighter's funds were totally expended in placing a bet on the matches today.

”What will you do if you lose?” Chainer asked with concern. The young Cabal employee had warned Kamahl of the dire straits that the destitute could be forced into. The pits devoured a steady supply of the indigent to perform jobs too disgusting and dangerous for workers with any means. There were darker rumors that Kamahl heard hints of, but Chainer had not commented on them. ”You are in a multiple party match. The other fighters could combine against you.”

”I never considered losing,” Kamahl said. He smiled and motioned the Cabal employee to leave and place the bet they discussed. ”I also failed to consider a Phyrexian invasion destroying the city.”

The barbarian chuckled slightly as he moved to prepare. Losing in the preliminaries, before the champions even entered the lists? He laughed at the implausibility of it as he moved toward the entrance of the arena.

The screaming and cheering crowd was a continuous background noise, overridden as the last competitors staggered in and were carried from the field. One lizard man lay on a stretcher, laid open like a butchered animal. His hands grasped the wooden poles with desperate strength, and Kamahl could see the life ebbing from the grip in time with the pulses of blood. The fighter expired as he was ferried past.

”A shame to die so badly,” a deep voice commented. Kamahl turned and could see only a wall of fur.

He stepped back, his eyes rising to look at the speaker's visage. A centaur looked down on him, smiling with his lips closed in apparent friendliness.

He was huge, towering over the other competitors waiting for their matches. He stood at least half again as high as the barbarian. His features were simian with glimpses of fangs showing as he breathed through his mouth. The lower body was catlike though in sheer size it reminded Kamahl of a dray house. The fur over the body looked short and coarse. The barbarian could see the play of huge muscles under its hide as the creature shifted. The gigantic club in the centaur's hands was a mass of wood and banded iron. A small granite boulder capped the end, and the warrior lowered it to the floor as he offered a hand in greeting. ”I am Seton, from the Krosan Forest.”

The barbarian gripped the massive hand, showing no hesitation or fear even as he felt the power in that grasp.

”Kamahl is my name,” he answered. The barbarian gestured to the dead competitor being carried out. ”Death comes to all. The lizard man lost and defeat often exacts the ultimate price.” The centaur squeezed hard but seeing no response released Kamahl's hand.

’’Defeat is often terrible, but the lizard man was the victor of the round.”

The centaur held his weapon tightly, twisting his hands as he watched Cabal servants clearing the arena of corpses and raking in fresh sand. The smell of old blood and rot wafted in through the lower entrances to the fighting area. Kamahl dropped his pack to a bench along the wall. Other fighters, some almost green with fear and dreadful anticipation, made room. The barbarian undid his cloak and put it in his pack. A massive armored belt went around his waist as he moved his purse and nonessential items into the pack.

”A victory that leaves you dead is no victory,” the barbarian opinioned, moving his massive sword from his back. The sword was a remnant of a massive artifact from the invasion. The fighter he had defeated swore it was part of Urza's staff, but Kamahl had his doubts. Still, the double-edged great sword channeled power exceptionally well. Its only flaw was the lack of a good stabbing point. ’’Better yet is to leave even your enemy alive to grant you homage and spread word of his defeat. Dead bodies feed only crows.”

”Dead bodies do much more in the hands of the Cabal.” Seton spat to the side, the spittle running down the wall and across the Cabal symbols on this side of the doors. ’’Unless you have made special arrangements, the necromancers will raise your corpse or feed it to their monsters.” ”If you fall, I will make sure that you don't end up depending on their tender mercies,” Kamahl answered, his confidence such that he felt compelled to relieve the other's mind. ”Why do you care what happens to me?” the centaur demanded, anger displacing the worry in his tone. ”Do you make some claim for me?”

Kamahl was calm as he sealed his pack and kicked it under a bench. The Cabal servant overseeing the room caught the barbarian's eye, and he pointed to his gear with a forbidding expression. Power flowed from Kamahl's hand and danced over the wire interwoven with the cloth of the pack. The centaur was almost snarling as Kamahl finally turned his attention back to Seton.

”I came to fight the best,” Kamahl replied, checking the fit of his armor. ”I want to beat the best. Victory

would be less pure if my opponents worried about what would happen to them after they lost.”

The centaur swelled at the sheer arrogance and effrontery of the barbarian and then exploding in laughter.

”You are confident, hero,” Seton laughed. ”If you fight one tenth as well as you boast you will walk away with every prize.”

Kamahl only smiled slightly then straightened. The gatekeeper posted three tiles. One of them was the crossed axe and sword that Kamahl was assigned upon entering the games. Another was the Cabal house tile, stating that the Cabal would have a representative in the fight. The last tile showed a branch gripped by a hand. The barbarian watched Seton move toward the arena and knew the forest warrior was now his opponent. The centaur pushed through the thin screen of fighters in front of the door.

”Both against the Cabal fighter first, Kamahl,” the centaur called to him. ”After the undead are dispatched, you and I can discuss who should be the winner.”

Seton spun his massive club like a light baton, sending others scrambling away as the small boulder seemed to whistle through the air. The barbarian smiled and nodded, moving up to stand by the mighty forest dweller. He showed no concern as the club began to spin even more wildly as they were directed into the arena. The crowd noise heightened, and Seton put on a show for the crowd. Kamahl attracted little notice, as he preferred to save his energy for the fight. The Cabal opponent entered from the opposite side, heading for a platform. A dark and tattered pennant drooped limply from a metal flagstaff.