Heart of the Dragon - Sample by Mark Hagbarth (ereader that reads to you .txt) 📖

The Bloodsands

The sands of the Colloseum were hot enough to burn anyone who touched it, and the stench of sweat from the crowd seated on the tribunals was all-consuming.

I could smell it even there, behind the closed iron gate where I had been told to wait.

 

I felt like I was being cooked alive in my imperial-issue scale mail. When would that bloody Battlewarden start the match?

I crossed my arms over my chest and took a deep breath.

"Come on..." I whispered impatiently, though no one was there to hear me.

 

The chorus of the crowd suddenly rose, and I knew that Battlewarden Autilius had entered the arena.

After a few moments, the crowd grew more or less silent, and The Battlewarden spoke:

 

"People of Cear! Honored Ladies and Lords, we bring to you this day a symbolic fight between a valiant soldier of the Empire, and a dangerous, barbaric beastman from the cold north!"

His voice was music in the ears of the onlookers, and an excited muttering began all over the tribunals.

 

"My lords, my ladies... Tesserarius Gregory Walsh has been so kind as to handpick a skilled soldier from the Fourth Legion! This brave young man will face the ferocious beast and show everyone the might of the Empire! And now..."

I made a sour face and pulled my helmet on. So many pretty words, and all in favor of th Empire.

 

The Battlewarden's voice rang again, and this time it was full of pride and, to be honest, quite sickening.

 

"Tirones Darion Crimson! Enter the Bloodsands and make the Empire proud!"

 

The iron gate before me clanked and whirred as it was pulled open with heavy chains.

The sun blinded me for a moment, but I blinked it away, and took the first few steps out unto the sands of death, where many a slave, gladiator and beast had met a brutal, painful end.

 

With every step I took, the rising chorus of the onlooking crowd tore through my ears.

How they loved these bloodgames – sitting up there all high and mighty, watching and laughing while men, women and wild beasts were mutilated and killed on the arena floor. All for entertainment.

 

I took no pleasure in this, and I would have refused to participate if I had had any choice.

But as a soldier of the Varanite Legions, choices were not ours to make. We just followed orders – and any failure to do so would result in punishent, or even trial of treason.

 

So here I was, a Varanite soldier whose name the crowd had already forgotten, preparing to meet some kind of poor beast in a battle to the death.

 

I looked up at the cheering crowd, and saw only rich lords, ladies, merchants and even children.

I wanted to spit, but I didn't.

 

"And now, my lords and ladies... may I present our champions ferocious, barbaric opponent..." souted the battlewarden.

I turned my gaze to him as he spoke. He was a middle-aged man clad in simple steel armor, with a golden cloak draped around his shoulders and a gladiator's barbut on his head.

 

"This terrible opponent has traveled from the far north in his search for victims – yes, ladies and gentlemen! He is a bloodthirsty murderer and the molester of many a young maid before he was finally captured by brave legionnaires!"

 

The crowd feigned horror, though I knew that few of them would even care if this was the truth.

 

"Lords and ladies... I bring to you the terrible, the evil, the vile! The half-orc, Grimmaxe the Bloodsoaked!!"

 

The iron gate in the other end of the arena opened with a steely screech, and from the darkness within walked a giant of a man with greenish skin, long black hair and a jaw the size of a small man's chest. He was clad in ragged chainmail and bore heavy steel cuffs which held his hands together.

 

I am tall. One meter and eightyfive to be precise. And I look quite strong.

But this guy... he was in a different league. More than two meters tall, with a chest bulging with muscle and arms like the trunks of small trees, this half-orc looked like he could rip a man apart with his bare hands.

 

And he was going to be my opponent.

 

 

 

The battlewarden took a few steps forward, sent me a look, and then shot a gaze at the half-orc.

”And now... man versus monster! Empire versus evil! Let the battle be-”

 

”Hold it!” I shouted. My voice somehow cut right through the battlewardens, and everyones eyes were immediately turned to me.

Interrupting the battlewarden was not something the Tesserarius would be fond of, and I was very sure that a proper beating was in order when I returned to the barracks – no... if I returned to the barracks. I might, after all, meet my end at the hand of this huge half-orc.

 

Nevertheless, I turned my gaze to the battlewarden, and spoke:

”As a legionnaire of Varana, I will not fight an unarmed opponent, no matter how strong and dangerous he or she might be. I request that my opponent be armed with a weapon of his choice.”

 

The battlewarden's face changed, and I saw futy in his eyes. He opened his mouth to reply – and I intercepted him again:

”Besides... would that not be a much more interesting fight, my lords and ladies?”

I looked up at the tribunals where hundreds of faces looked at me with a mix of surprise, anger and a strange kind of approval. The kind the higher ups gives to their lesser servants when said servants says something beneficial to the master...

 

The battlewarden saw this as well, and with aonelast, angry look at me, he turned look at the guard by the half-orc's side.

A nod from the warden made the guard look at my opponent, exchange a few words with him – and a few moments later, my huge half-orc opponent was equipped with a greataxe made of steel.

 

Parrying that weapon with my own steel scimitar would mean my death, as the axe would snap the thinner blade immediately. I would have to dodge every swing.

 

I had just made sure that this fight would be very, very dangerous... and I felt good about it.

Strong or not, the half-orc would likely have met an unfair match in me had he been unarmed.

 

”Now then... if we are done with the delays!” shouted the battlewarden.

”Gladiators... prepare yourselves!”

 

My opponent and I immediately locked our gazes.

I put a hand on the hilt of my scimitar and shifted my feet so the left was in the front, and the right behind. A broad stance, ready to draw steel and move quickly.

 

The half-orc took a single step forward , bent his knees slightly and took a loose grip of his greataxe – and that told me that this guy was skilled. Only veterans knew that a loose grip was better than a tight, uncontrolling grip.

 

I could hear my heart pounding. Thump... thump... time almost froze in that moment.

 

The battlewarden raised his hand.

I bent my knees slightly, ready to spring into action.

 

Thump... thump...

 

”Now FIGHT!!” roared the battlewarden, and we thundered towards eachother, both swift as snakes and brutal as charging bulls.

 

-

 

The sharp blade of my scimitar sang against the leather sheath as I drew it. As we reached eachother, the half-orc swung his axe with the force of giant – a strike that would surely had split me in two, had I not thrown myself to the ground, sliding through the sand. The axe cleaved the air mere centimeters from my face as I passed my opponent. I rolled and got back on my feet, blade raised and facing the half-orc, who had already turned around with a downwards swing of his axe.

I quickly sidestepped, and the axe slammed the ground so hard I could feel it in my feet.

I used my opponents newly-made opening and stepped forward, swinging my scimitar quickly.

 

My blade caught him on the upper arm, cutting through the chainmail and into his flesh.

His reaction surprised me: the half-orc grunted in pain, let go of his axe, and before I had even withdrawn my blade from his arm, he delivered a hammer-like fist to my face.

I heard the disgusting, crunching noise of my nose breaking as my opponents giant fist connected with my face.

The force of the blow sent me stumbling backwards, and I fell flat on my back, completely desoriented. My ears rang and my vision was blurred.

 

With a triumphant roar, my opponent liftet his axe above his head, and brought it down towards my head.

By sheer willpower, I forced myself to snap out of my desorientation, only to discover that I could not possibly evade the strike.

 

I had only one choice.

 

As the axe came rushing down towards me, I roared, let go of my scimitar, and swung my right fist towards the side of the axehead.

Luck was with me, and my fist connected with the flat steel.

The blow was enough to send the axe far enough away that it cut deep into the sand beside me, instead of getting buried in my chest.

 

The half-orc blinked in surprise, and the crowd went wild.

I rolled sideways away from my opponent, scooped up my weapon and got up again.

 

As I looked at the half-orc, I felt my eyes change. I knew they had now shifted from my normal blue, to a strange, faintly glowing green.

I doubted that anyone on the tribunals could see it, which was probably for the best.

My true nature was not something I wanted to be public knowledge...

 

The half-orc could see the change though, and then he surprised me again:

 

He raised his axe again, but instead of charging at me again, he went down on one knee, and planted the axe head first on the ground before him while he held both hands on its hilt.

He looked me in the eyes, and his demeanor had completely changed.

 

With a voice full of strange respect, he spoke to me in the one language I thought I would never have heard in that arena.

 

Imprint

Publication Date: 08-01-2015

All Rights Reserved