Last Knight (The Champion Chronicles Book 2) (34 page)

Chapter Twenty Four

The cleanup of the bodies was a messy process.  A cart was brought into the arena to gather up the fallen.  It was a small cart, so it took several trips for the unlucky centurions to take care of the dead.  The fighting had been vicious and many of the bodies had multiple pieces that needed to be accounted for.  And even with the wounds suffered by the combatants, not everyone was dead.

              Two senior centurions walked among the bodies, looking for those who might be alive.  As the crowd cheered on, they ended the lives of the still breathing prisoners in as entertaining a manner as possible.  Some prisoners with fatal wounds were simply decapitated, while others with less serious wounds were slowly killed through torturous means.  With each death came loud cheering.

              Marik could not handle another moment.  He did not need to see the cleanup or the inhumane aftermath.  He was thoroughly disgusted that a people supposedly as civilized as the Tarans would be so barbaric in their entertainment.  But no longer was he surprised by it.  The extent of man’s ability to fall into a depravity was well known, but at least he thought the cultured people of the city of Tara City would be past that.  But in reality, all men were alike, regardless of their birth and upbringing.  Conner had shown him that anyone could rise above their station, but also anyone could fall below it as well.

              There were a few people who were leaving the arena with him, but most of the crowd stayed to watch the entertaining cleanup.  Those that left were excitedly talking about the great fight and the quick, bloody deaths of the final melee.  Fortunately, most were talking in Taran, so he could not understand them.  But a few were chatting in Commoner, so he had to bite is tongue to keep from lashing out at them.

              Marik moved as quickly as he could, pushing aside anyone in his way.  Because he was larger than most, no one stood up to him, they just let him pass with a harsh look and angry whispers.   As he left the arena, the queasiness in his stomach made him look for an isolated place to throw up.  He had seen many dead bodies in his life, and he had contributed to many of them.  He had been in wars, small pitched battles, and had fought for his life many times.  But that had been war.  It had a purpose.  It was not meaningless entertainment.

              What he had just witnessed he knew was the worst of humanity.  He had a hard time believing that he was of the same race as these barbaric people.  But they weren’t simple people of a desolate area.  These were city folk, dressed nicely in fine silk tunics or luxurious robes.  Their hair combed and trimmed neatly, their faces shaved clean.  Yet their eyes were bright with the excitement of the death of men that were insignificant to them.  But significant to someone.  He had witnessed too many die.  Too many fathers, sons, brothers, friends.  The idea of never being able to see Master Goshin or Conner again made his stomach lurch.  And the thought of telling Queen Elissa that Conner was dead was so dreadful, he had no idea how he was going to do it.

              He walked quickly around to the back of the arena and found an empty alley.  The shadows of the late afternoon made the alley seem like a great place to sit and hide from the rest of the city.  He dropped to his knees and cleared his stomach with multiple retches.  It wasn’t the death or blood that made him sick, it was the thought of his own kind being so terrible that made him sick.  Never in his many years of serving his kingdom had he felt like this.  Part of him was ashamed at himself for being weak and he couldn't imagine what his knight brethren would think of him.  But he knew that if they had to sit through what he just did, they would react the same.  And it wasn't just random strangers that he witnessed die, it was good friends mercilessly and coldly murdered.  He thought he should be angry, but there was no anger or rage in him, only a sadness that made him ill.

              After several minutes with his body no longer able to handle the convulsions caused by his retching, he slumped to the ground, his back against the alley wall.  He looked up to see a dirty, old man standing over him.

              The old man spoke, but in Taran.

              Marik shook his head and said, “I have no idea what you are saying.”

              The man scratched his long, tangled beard and said, “You are not well?  Can I help?”

              Marik shook his head.  How in the world could this beggar help him?  “No, I will be fine.  I need to sit.”

              “The arena?  You watch?” the old man asked.

              “Yes.  I watch.”

              “Much killing.  Never liked it.  But it settles them down.  Keeps them happy.”

              “Settles who down?” Marik asked with a tone dripping in bitterness.  “Keeps who happy?”

              The old man waved a hand in the general direction of the crowd.  “Them.  Everyone.”

              “It’s disgusting.  Killing for sport is wrong.”

              The old man shrugged his shoulders.  “They are but prisoners.  Condemned men.  They would have died by the executioners hand anyway.”

              “My friend was there,” Marik snapped back sharply.  “He did not deserve to die.”

              “I see,” the man said, glancing back down into the darkness of the alley.  “But he was a prisoner.  Condemned to die.  For the good of the people, did he die.”

              Marik stood up and gave a hard shove to the old man, letting out his pent up anger.  The old man was more solid than expected and did not move as far as Marik expected.  “They murdered my friend!”

              “He died honorably.  Sad, but true.”

              “He was slaughtered,” Marik shouted, clenching his fists.  It took all his effort to keep himself from beating the old man.  “He did not deserve that!”

              The old man simply nodded, as if he understood.  “His name?  What was his name?”

              “Conner,” Marik replied with gritted teeth.  “His name was Conner.”

              The old man glanced back into the darkness.  “I am sorry.  Will you find your friend and say goodbye to him?  The bodies are piled outside the arena.  They are eventually carted outside of the city and burned.”

              Marik closed his eyes.  Maybe it would be good to see Conner once more, but the thought of seeing his dead body was not a pleasant one.  “I think I would like to remember him alive and not see his dead body.”

              The old man turned away without another word and shuffled farther into the alley.

              Marik watched the old man for a moment before he left quickly, walking as fast as he could straight for the city gates.  He knew it would be late by the time he got to his camp, but he could not spend one more minute than necessary in this city.

***

Emperor Hargon was sad for the man who had lost his friend.  He truly wanted to help, so he continued on into the dark alley.  His headache had subsided from a sharp stabbing pain to a dull ache.  It had been many hours since he last had a drink of his brother’s potion and the effects were starting to wear off.  But that also meant that the nasty side effects were just starting to make an appearance.

              Once the headache subsided, he knew that the muscle shakes and spasms would follow.  He would not be able to control his muscles for some time.  He could just sit and shake and wait for it to pass.  He remembered having gone through the experience several times as he had tried to shake himself from whatever it was that his brother gave him.  But in the past, he had always had that sweet liquid forced into him.  But now that he was not in the palace anymore, there would be no one who could force him to drink it again.  He was free and clear and just needed to wait out whatever bad side effects were to come.

              The alley made a sharp left turn to follow the outside walls of the arena.  It was at that point that the stench of the bodies was overwhelming.  An iron bar gate was open, allowing a cart to access the alley to dump the bodies into a pile.  Two men clad in stained wool clothes with strips of fabric covering mouth and nose were tossing bodies and body parts onto the back of a long, flat wagon.  They were working slower than the cart that was dumping the bodies into a pile.  They seemed to be in no big hurry.

              Two large warhorses, somehow used to the smell of blood and death, stood waiting to pull the wagon outside of the city.   The emperor walked up to one and stroked its chin.  It had been many years since he had last ridden and he missed it.  The bane of being an emperor was to lose the ability to do those things that once loved.  He walked up to the pile of bodies.  The two men noticed him and stood still, unsure what they should do.  No one had ever come back here while they were loading up the wagon.

              Emperor Hargon was glad that the weather was cold.  If it had been the middle of summer, the entire alley would be buzzing with flies.  He did his best to ignore the stench, but it was very powerful and he had to force himself to keep from retching.  He walked among the bodies, looking for the right one.  After some time, he found it laying off to the side of the main pile.  The body was on its back, the head resting so that he could see the blank look on its face.  The eyes were still open, but it was clear that there was no more life in the body.  Four crossbow bolts protruded from the chest, one from the abdomen, and three more from the legs.  He was glad that the head was undamaged as his next task would have been impossible.

              He leaned down next to the body while the two masked men looked on.  He closed his eyes, his mind searching his memory for the words.  After only a moment of searching, he found them and he began reciting the spell.  As the words fell from his lips, he could feel the electricity of the web of magic as it opened up to him.  Power began to flow through him and he knew he had only seconds to finish.  As quickly as he was able, he pulled out crossbow bolts.  He needed to be careful enough to make sure that the entire bolt came out.  If he had left any part in the body, the end result would be the same.  The man would be dead.

              The words were timed to end just as the last bolt was pulled out.  At first the words were but a whisper, but by the time the spell came to an end, he was reciting the words at a level just below a shout.  And then, with one last word, he thrust his hands out at the dead body and the force of magic burst out of him with a climatic release.

              Emperor Hargon’s eyes snapped open and he fell back off his knees and onto his back.  He held his breath while he waited for the body in front of him to take its next breath.

***

The light blinded him.  He lifted a hand to shade his eyes from it, but he could not avoid it.  It did not emanate from a single point, but from a large area that was somewhere off into the distance.  At first, he thought it was the sun, but he knew it could not be.  The sun wasn’t as bright as this light.  And this light was a pure white, not the yellow of the sun.  There was a warmth to the light that fueled his body with a healing strength.  He vaguely remembered being hurt, or tired, but now there was no pain and there was no fatigue at all.

Unsure what he should do, he took a step towards the light and a sense of peace swept over him.  It was a feeling of comfort and joy that he remembered from his early childhood.  It was a time that he had forgotten about, until just now.  The images of his father and mother, long since lost, came back to him.  He let out a gasp of sorrow as their faces were once again familiar.  They were so young, not much older than he was now.  And they were smiling, laughing, and talking to him.  He could not hear what they were saying, but he could see them talking to him.  Then they looked at one another with clear love in their eyes.  And he ran to them, and they hugged him.  For some reason he knew it was the first time he had ever walked, and he had walked right into their arms.

And then they were gone, and he was all alone.  And he remembered crying, even as his aunt took him in her arms and cradled him.  He cried for a long time, screaming for his mother and father, who would not came back to him.  As he started to take a step forward, he could feel his mother’s arms around him, holding him once again in her warm embrace.  He needed to only take one more step, and he would be in her arms forever.  There would be no more sorrow, no more pain.  It would be just her love that he would have.

He wanted to take that step, but there was something holding him back.  She was right there, waiting for him, but there was more.  It was an empty feeling that was in his stomach.  A thought was in his head of something that he could just not remember.  A word was on the tip of his tongue, trying to find its way out, but it would not come.

              His feet became heavy, and he did not take the step.  Instead, the brightness of the light expanded, growing larger and brighter.  He could not understand how light could move, but it did.  And it was coming for him, to encompass him.  Panic came over him as the light touched him.  He felt a slight shock, nothing painful, but it surprised him enough that he let out a shout.  He took one step back and then another as he tried to avoid it.  For the first time since he had been a young toddler, he was genuinely afraid.

              “Do not be afraid, Conner,” the voice said at the height of his fear.