Last Knight (The Champion Chronicles Book 2) (23 page)

              It was just starting to hit him that he was being forced into combat.  His mind was swirling, trying to wrap itself around the moment.  He remembered being in the dungeon talking to Master Goshin and the prince that led him there cast some sort of magic spell that exploded the door.  That was the last thing he remembered until he woke up in this cell.  Then he was given a sword and a shield, and pushed into combat.  It did not seem real that he was standing here, just feet away from a large crowd that had come to watch him fight.

              He was afraid.  He wasn’t sure why because he knew he shouldn’t be.  He had trained many, many hours with Master Goshin and the squires back at the castle in Karmon.  His body was ready for combat, and it was proven on the battle field when the Karmon army met the Thellian army.  He had not only survived, but he dominated in the battle.  But he also knew what combat was all about.  He knew that blood would flow as freely as limbs and other body parts.  There would be death and it could even be his.

              He was afraid.  Not because he was afraid of combat, but because he could die without seeing Elissa again.  His last memory of her was tears flowing down a heavily bruised cheek.  She was pushing him towards the secret exit forcing him to leave.  It had been the right thing to do because the Karmon Royal Guard would not have had any mercy for the killer of the king, regardless of the fact that the king was evil.  He wanted to see her face again, to talk to her, to touch her.  To tell her how he really felt about her.

              His head told him that she was queen and a noble, making her out of his league.  But his heart told him otherwise.  He just had to see her at least one more time to tell her that he loved her.  But that meant he would have to get out of the arena alive.  And it would likely mean he would have to do it any way he could.

              A voice suddenly rose up from the arena, but the voice spoke in Taran so he had no idea what was being said.  He thought he heard the word ‘Karmon’, but he could not be sure.  But once the voice stopped, the crowd noise exploded into yelling and shouting.  The sound was deafening as it came through the opening at the top of the ramp.

              The leader of the centurions stepped forward and said, “It is time.”

              “What do I do?” Conner asked.

              “You live or you die,” the centurion said.  “That will be up to you.  But the man you are to fight, I am sure he wishes to live as much as you.  So you better be ready.”

              Suddenly the crowd starting chanting a single word.

              “What are they saying?” Conner asked.

              The four centurions behind them shared a chuckle.

              “
Arata,
”the centurion said.  “It is a Taran word that means ‘foreign dog’.  They are chanting for you.  The man you are to fight is a Taran hero, a centurion from the wars with the barbarians. He was a hero before he was tossed in the dungeons for killing a general.  But the crowd does not care that he was a murderous criminal.  They only know him as a heroic centurion.”

              “They are chanting for me?” Conner asked.

              It was the lead centurion’s turn to let out a laugh.  “They are chanting for your death!  They will cheer for blood to be spilled, for your blood to be spilled!”

              Conner glanced back behind the centurions, looking to see if there was another way out.

              The lead centurion must have recognized the look, because he said, “There is but one way out alive.  That is back down through the tunnel after you have killed your opponent.  Even if you killed all of us, there are three gates that you would need to get past, and you would never get past the first one.  So turn around, march up the ramp, and meet your fate.  You can either do it right now, or you can do it with a crossbow bolt in your back.  It’s your choice, but I think you would have a better chance without a bolt sticking out of your back.”

              Conner adjusted the grip on the small strap attached to the back of his shield and twirled the longsword.  It felt clumsy and unbalanced in his grip, but it would have to do.  He gave the centurions one last look before marching up the ramp.

              As soon as he appeared from the tunnel, the crowd stood and started cheering even more loudly.  He came out from one of the walls of the circular arena and he could see most of the crowd right away.  Even though the arena floor was about ten feet below the first row of seats, there was no railing or anything that would keep the crowd from jumping into the arena.  Conner’s first thought was that some of the exited fans would jump down and attack him.  But they stayed in their seats just screaming and shouting at him.

              As he continued out onto the arena floor, he turned to see the crowd directly above the entrance to the dungeons.  He could not understand what they were saying, but he had some idea.  The faces that he could see were contorted in anger and they were pointing at him, spewing forth words that he was sure were vile and insulting.

He walked backwards towards the center of the arena and looked up through the crowd and came to a stop.  About halfway up the stands, directly over the tunnel opening, was a covered platform where a group was sitting in comfort.  The only one he recognized was a black-haired man in a black robe.  Prince Tarcious sat silently, staring down at him.  The others in his group had stood up and were casting their own vile words down at him.  For a long second, Conner caught his gaze and did not break from it.  It was only when a trumpet blew that he turned away.

The trumpet blasted three long notes and the crowed settled down.

Then a moment later cheers erupted again as Conner’s opponent appeared from a tunnel directly across from him.  The man was clad in full centurion battle gear.  He wore a golden helmet with red plumes atop.  The face guard that covered his mouth and chin was long enough to also protect his neck.  He wore a chainmail shirt that had pieces of polished plate attached in important places. Upper arms, chest, back, and sides were all protected.  He carried a long, body-length shield that was curved at the sides and freshly painted with a red eagle on a white background.  His sword was sheathed at his side, which allowed him to use his sword hand to wave at the crowd.

He marched out to the center of the arena and continued to wave at the crowd, who responded with more cheers.  Once he reached the center of the arena, he drew his sword and faced Conner.

Conner’s heart was pounding.  He had never felt anything like this before.  He had fought and killed before, but it had been either in self-defense or in battle.  Even when he had attacked the bandits, he had killed out of vengeance for his friends.  But now, as he stood and faced his opponent, he had time to think about what was about to happen.  He had time to think about a man that was not truly his enemy, but would kill him nonetheless.

Then his mind went blank.  Suddenly, he could not remember anything that Master Goshin had taught him.  He held a sword, but he was not sure what he should do with it.  The shield was held tightly by his left hand, but he was not sure what he should do with it as well.  Panic swept through him and he began to sweat even though it was a cold, fall afternoon.

His opponent motioned his sword at Conner, telling him to come forward.  As Conner did, the noise of the crowd rose.

“Hail, stranger,” the man said.  “My name is Korkus.  Hero of the Barbarian Wars!”  He lifted his sword and turned around, encouraging the crowed to cheer louder.

“Who are you?” Korkus asked when he had finished playing to the crowd.

“Conner,” he said meekly.

“Well, Conner,” Korkus said in a gravelly voice.  “Today is a good day to die, is it not?  You are afraid?  Are you afraid to die?  You have fear on your face.  Do not fear, I will be merciful and your end will be quick and painless.  But we must first give a show.  Are you ready?”

Conner kept his sword low and unprepared for battle.

“All who have come here to see a show deserve to see a good fight.  So raise your sword, and let’s give this crowd something to cheer about.”

Conner raised his shield and lifted his sword.  The crowd’s cheering rose to another level.  It was almost deafening.

Korkus took a step back and turned his body so that his shield was between himself and Conner.  His right hand went back behind his ear, holding tightly onto his sword.

Conner saw this and it seemed to move so slowly.  As the hand went back, the left foot went forward, and the shield was extended in front of him, Conner knew what was going to happen.  He knew the slash would come, then followed by a forceful attack with the shield, and then maybe a thrust with the short sword.  It was a common start to an attack that he had seen so many times when drilling with the squires.  It was common because it was easy to execute and did not expose the attacker’s body to an open counter attack.

Conner easily parried with his sword and kept his body away from the attack by the shield.  Once steel met steel and the force of the blow was felt though his arm and into his body, something changed in Conner’s mind.  He was no longer afraid.  Instead of fear, he felt a surge of adrenaline through his limbs.  In an instant, his instincts took over.  With those instincts having been finely tuned through many, many hours of training, he did not need to think about what to do.

Conner would rather have had his own swords, the finely crafted Sak’turana blades that Master Goshin had given him.  The slow, plodding fighting style common to Karmon Knights worked well for men with large muscles that had incredible strength.  But it didn’t work well for Conner, who wasn’t as big or as strong as a Karmon Knight.  He was strong, but it was a strength from lean muscles that were quick and full of endurance.

But because he had also spent so much time training with squires, he know how to fight with a sword and shield.  His counter attack was quick and fierce, knocking the former centurion off balance.  Conner kept the attack coming, forcing his opponent to only defend and parry.  Korkus did not have any time to try a counter attack.

The fear that had left Conner was now on the face of his opponent.

Conner’s blood boiled with an excitement that he could not contain.  He so easily handled his opponent, it was almost unfair.  Conner knew exactly what Korkus was about to do, and whenever he tried something different, Conner was too quick.

As a strong overhand slash drove Korkus to his knees, Conner let out an ear shrieking scream.  He had never felt so alive and so powerful and he could not contain his excitement.  Conner dropped his shield and with a two-handled slash, knocked Korkus’ shield out of his grasp.  In desperation, Korkus tried to parry the next blow, but Conner was too fast.  He slashed across Korkus’ chest cutting through the chainmail links.  If the man wasn’t wearing the chainmail, Conner’s sword would have sliced him open and he would have quickly died.  But the mail shirt did enough of a job to only make a shallow cut.

The hero of the barbarian campaign dropped his sword and held up his hand, screaming, “
Marsae!  Marsae!
”

Conner hesitated, unsure what the man said.  He thought maybe the man was crying for mercy, so he took a step back and held from delivering a finishing blow.

Conner lowered his sword and looked around.  The crowd had stopped their shouting and yelling, but they were all on their feet.  There was a murmur about the arena, a slow buzz of conversation that was just soft enough that Conner could not hear what was being said.

Suddenly from somewhere in the crowd, someone shouted, “Kill him!”

Conner looked back at the fallen man.  Korkus had pushed himself farther away.

From somewhere else in the crowd, someone else repeated the shout.  And then there was another.  Within moments, the whole arena was chanting, “Kill him!  Kill him!”

The energy that had driven Conner was now spent.  He took a step back, unwilling to do what the crowd was asking him to do.  As he did so, the crowd’s chanting turned to jeers and boo’s.  He did not care what they crowd was chanting, he was not going to kill the man after he begged for mercy.  He turned and started walking towards the tunnel to return to the underground cells, but the entranced was blocked by a closed gate.

A trumpeter blew a single, long blast and the crowd quickly stopped shouting.  Heads turned towards the Prince Tarcious as he remained seated, a hand stroking his chin.  After a moment he turned towards an elderly man in a white robe and gave him a slight wave.

The elderly man stepped forward from underneath the covering of the prince’s platform.  He shouted as loud as he could, “
Marsae! Non!
No mercy!  You will kill him!”

Conner took his sword and drove it into the ground, tip first.  He was not going to kill the defeated man.  Korkus had been beaten and to kill him now would be murder, not sport.

“My name is Sir Conner of Karmon,” he shouted as loudly as he could.  “I am a Knight of Karmon.  My life is devoted to serving my kingdom and my queen.  I live by a code of honor and I will not kill a man who has asked for mercy.”

A slow rumble of chatter from the crowd filled the arena once again.

The elderly man turned back to the prince, who shook his head ever so slightly.  Then he turned back to Conner and shouted, “You are a peasant boy, a commoner of no consequence!  You will complete the contest, or it will be your life that will be forfeit!”