Elliot Hythe had, in his mind at least, struggled the whole of his life for this one moment. He inspected the bronze trident; its prongs had flared barbs that spread out to prevent wounds from going too deep. He pulled on the large, heavy gauntlet for his off hand and made sure his net had not tangled or torn.
Arneg Foxe approached him at speed. He had a basket of tridents slung over his back and an armful of neatly folded nets. “They say we’re on in two bells.”
“Good. I can’t stand much more waiting.” Hythe looked down at the small man. “The moment of triumph is nearly in our hands.” He closed his eyes and heard the muffled cheers, but he couldn’t make out the sound of the arena floor. “Mealis, assure my heart is pure, Fineth, give me strength, and Garon, grant me luck.” He made several rough motions of his hand; the first bell rang to thunderous applause.
“Poor lad, that was Copper Carson.”
“The twig? Against who?”
“Unbroken Uailean.”
Hythe winced. “That seems unfair.”
“I hear the little man got caught with his owner’s daughter.”
“Ah, what a fool. I suppose we got lucky with that.”
“That your family had enough left not to need a patron? Aye. Was nice while it lasted.”
The second bell rang out, and the two started towards the arena pit. Hythe had to walk with a bowed head and squeeze to one side as he passed the man who looked like a shaved bear, set for hibernation, with thick, bright red hair. “Morning, Uailean.”
“Morning, lads.”
“Twig survive? I don’t even see a cut on you.”
“I suppose he’ll make it if the alchemist boys are fast enough.” The stout man gave a boisterous chuckle and spoke some form of Norrish. “I think his owner took off the edge. He gave me a few bruises.”
“How did Bullock look?”
“Like his namesake.”
“Wonderful.”
“Here’s hoping you give the big man a proper send-off. He has been due for a satisfying close to his career for a decade. No one should fight for as long as he has.”
“Well, don’t worry, you’ll soon have a new champion.”
“Aye, he’ll make you work for it, but I recall seeing him standing toe to toe with your cousin. Not sure if you’d have stood a chance in his prime, lad. Though I suppose you’ve earned the position if it lets him rest.”
“Maybe, but his prime is gone, so we can never know. Mealis will be with you.” Hythe gave him a salute with his trident, and the two stepped out into the light.
Sand spread out in a circle till walls of polished granite rose up to the first row set into the wall of the arena, where boxes allowed the wealthy to watch in comfort and safety. Hythe stretched out in the open space and raised his arms to the raging crowd. He gave them a winning smile and basked in praise before they fell silent and turned their cheers to the figures stepping out onto the sandy floor. The man was built like a bull, a godly physique of muscle, and intelligent eyes watched them from beneath his heavy bronze armor. He limped slightly, and a short thrusting sword hung from his waist. Two scantily clad gladiatrix approached the muscular man and began to cover what bare skin was left in oil to the whistles and calls of the crowd.
Bullock was not as tall as Hythe, but the man was all purposeful muscle, and he slammed the tower shield he held into the sand, raising his arms to the heavens. The crowd became deafening. “Nervous?” He spoke candidly in the relative silence of the low pit. “If you’re half the fighter your cousins are, you’ll do just fine.” He raised his helm as the Patrician stepped out onto a balcony where his seat looked over the arena. Black hair spilled out of the helm, streaked with grey, and he lowered himself to one knee with the help of one of his seconds with Hythe to respect the Patrician.
Silence fell with the rising of Lord Duncan’s hand. “My people! It has been five long years since the great Bullock had a worthy challenge! Now he accepts this match to determine the next Champion of the Arena! The bearer of the hearts and spirits of Ebon!” He raised his hands, and the cheers rose with them. His lordship sat down on his wooden chair.
A swirl of light as seashell chariots drawn by Hippocornasusataurs, Coelestis horses whose name is often shortened to C-Horses, not to be confused with seahorses, which are not horses at all, embody all fantastic forms of horses, each with a long, sleek horn, a humanoid head and upper-torso, winged forehooves, a fish tail, and large wings. Each is roughly the size of a housecat. Upon the chariots came Muses’ beautiful creatures of stone, chalk, brass, and wood held together with paint, visible song, and flowing marble. Tres Facies clamored off the chariots, strange creatures like living scarecrows in colorful robes, their faces various, shifting theater masks. A Coelestis chorus and orchestra formed up and began to play above the arena. At the sound of a horn from a C-horse, the muses began to chant in old mystic tongues.
“Foxe, is that Selker?”
“No, suppose that’s Dorskataan. Master language, Selker was for slaves.”
“What… are they saying?”
“No clue, they probably don’t either.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a language meant to be combined with pheromone scents produced by the Septrinian.”
“Scent-based language?”
“Aye. Very scent-focused people. What bits meddle with the Selker slave tongue… something about… blood, gold,” He winced. “and Bronze…. dancing? Dancing with death. I think they’re trying to be poetic.”
“Hmm.”
“All behold the gift!” One muse called. “To witness the great Fineth! God of Sports, Competition, Music, Athletes, Entertainment, Artists, and Art! Lord of your Bread and Games!” There was a roar from the crowd as a figure of such beauty emerged; marble statues of him looked soft and insubstantial beside him. A god of golden skin, of masculine perfection, rippling muscle, hair of gold like the guts of a lava lamp in a stream of plasma, and eyes of endless blue skies, long tracks, blood arenas, and endless strokes of brushes. He smiled, and it spread through the crowd, causing women and men to swoon with love, desire, and envy.
“My People! My Fans! I, your God of blood, gold, and bronze, stand before you to see who will win my glory! My mother, her Divine Radiance Mealis, has chosen to add a boon for the victor of today’s bout. The winner shall serve her as Champion of her glorious light!” He let forth a boisterous laugh that rolled like thunder through a collection of soft, silvery bells. Tres Facis hurried to set up a raised throne of wood, and C horses covered it in cushions as the golden god sat down to observe the fight. “You may begin.”
“Champion…” Hythe pondered for a moment before Foxe nudged him back to reality.
“Keep your head in the fight before you lose it.”
Hythe turned to face the approaching Bullock, who had pulled his helmet back on and now approached with a great shield raised and a javelin with horsehair tassels that gave it an air of showmanship, preventing it from penetrating flesh more than a quarter inch. Hythe flourished his Trident, spun it, knocking away the first Javelin, a second one, and then warded off the Champion with probing thrusts as the muscular man drew his short sword. The two fended off blow sword against gauntlet, trident against shield. Hythe even attempted a net, which was knocked aside by the shield, and after the two fell back to their seconds, each sporting a mix of cuts and nicks to give a certain flair to the people. Bullock pulled off his breastplate, and his seconds lathered his torso with oil.
“And now… the hard part. How hard do you think he’ll try?” Hythe winced as Foxe tended to his wounds.
“Not sure, but if he gets you in a bear hug, he could snap you in two. Probably descended from one of the Gods.”
“So am I…”
“Closer to his generation, then.”
“He did want to finally retire.”
“From being the champion of the arena, not champion of her divinity, shite hes ready keep him at a distance.” Foxe changed out the trident as the prongs had started to bend out of place against the brutal strikes against Bullock’s shield. “And for Mealis’ sake, add some more fucking flair. Those are the cheers of a good bout. We need this to be a great… spectacular! Fantastic bout!”
“Right. I can do this… I can do this. I can do this!” Hythe approached Bullock, stroking his waxed mustache with his gauntleted hand. He watched and waited. The Bullock made a few probing advances, and with some warding thrusts, they circled. The two closed, and Hythe vaulted over the man with his trident as he lunged and scratched a line down his back danced around his he tried to turn to face him, marked him again, and with a swirl met the lines in the middle forming an H. He struck a pose with a great grin and flicked blood into the lowest tier of the crowd, leading to cheers and fans fighting for whatever had become so valued with the blood of the great Bullock. Bullock charged, caught him mid-flaunt, snapped with Trident in twain, and brought him down to the ground. The two thrashed and struggled in the sand. Hythe struggled for any grip on his oiled frame, and Bullock worked against youth and reach of the long limbs like the reaching arms of a kraken that tried to trap his own arms. Hythe caught hold of the end of his trident’s shaft and, with a brief look for approval from Bullock, belted him several times over the head in stagged blows before pushing him off and planting his foot on the man’s stomach, taking ragged breaths. The crowds let forth a gasp, and tearful cries rose to be crushed beneath the growing swell of cheers.
Hythe bent down and helped Bullock up as Fineth approached and raised both of their hands to the air before dropping Bullock’s. “Behold! The New Champion! The Harrowing Hythe!” Fineth’s voice carried through the cheers without him raising his voice. “May his glory carry on as long as the great Bullock’s.” The God turned his focus on the two warriors, reducing his carrying power so they alone could hear him. “Good fight. I won’t lie I miss a bit more blood but I suppose wasting talent is well… a waste. As for you, Hythe Carabella will be here soon to get you situated on your duties.”
“Um, no disrespect to your golden divinity, but why Carabella? I thought her divine radiance would bestow this honor herself.” He glanced at the raised seats where the Gods Mealis and Zatolen often sat, but neither was present. “My mother and father were unable to attend. Mother feared Mire was up to something and decided to look into it. Not sure what father is up to. Possibly dealing with demigods, one of my siblings, or being the chief divinity.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Anyways, I must be off. I have a poetry contest in Dodicerous to oversee. Ashike Haiku is lovely.” The Golden God gone, in a moment’s briefest breath, off to distant land.
Laurel leaves, bouquets of flowers, and coins rained down as the champions retreated to the changing rooms below. “So… I wonder when the Divine Equine will make an appearance.”
Silly Horses Now, Appears like a springtime rain, Standing with eyes blind. “I’m right here! Also, did I miss Fineth? I feel like I missed Fineth. I am a sad horse.” Carabella stood her equine lower half, 22 hands tall, a snowflake appaloosa with a long chestnut mane, feathering, and on her elven half, hair. A great deal of saddlebags weighed her down, and a carrier bag hung from one shoulder. A strange outfit of cloth of gold buttoned in silver covered her torso, and a golden peaked hat sat on her great mane of hair, the wings of a pigeon spread out in sterling silver with golden feathers. A long golden horn rose up in a swirl. On each pastern, a small golden wing spread, from her withers, two great wings sat curled up, matching her coat and nearly blending in beneath her long mane. Her petite hands covered her eyes. “Are you decent, mortal? Cause I got a delivery for you.”
“Um, yes, yes, I am, and he went to do Haikus… or something. I don’t know much about Dodicerous.”
She peeked between her fingers to check if he wasn’t lying and then removed her hands. “Good. Let’s see… I have a message and a C-Horse for you. You are… a tier 1 hero and your C Horse is restricted to delivering messages and being a normal horse if you need one.” She dug into one of her many pouches, pulled forth a rather squished C Horse, shook it out, took a deep breath, and blew into it until it popped into its proper shape, and brushed it off. “Here you go. Sign… here.” She held out a scroll. Acknowledgment of acquisition. Thank you.” She took it back once he signed it and handed him his letter. “Have a nice day.” She patted him on the head and looked about. “Can I have some of those grapes? I’d prefer apples… buuuut grapes are okay too.”
He nodded as he unwound the scroll and read his future destiny.
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