The Unfortunate, стр. 46
“As I have told you before, I have nothing to hide. Unlike some others … thief.”
“Thief?” Derian appeared confused.
“Yes,” the champion explained and looked to Derian. “Atelic claims to have stolen, but I do not believe that to be true. That was not his only crime, but he will not admit I am correct.”
Before Atelic could offer a rebuttal, Gildas entered the room that served as the fighters’ holding and preparation area, and he announced, “This will be the first time the people of Armania have likely witnessed this type of blood sport, so do not expect the reception to which you have become accustomed throughout Winnix or even in the lower cities of Yorcia.”
Several of the fighters nodded to express agreement, and one of them proclaimed, “Not as bad as those of Drunacht! Those people are so backward, they had to be separated by an entire sea from the rest of us! “There are even some, I hear, who still follow the Ways of Old and worship its deities!”
The others responded with laughter and nods.
“I doubt you will find that here in Armania,” Gildas resumed his speech. “Their practices may be different from ours, but I want to change that. I want the people of Armania to witness real excitement!” In addition to having applied a drawn-out emphasis on the word real, his tone furthered his eagerness via a melody of enthusiasm and hope.
In return the men reacted with loud cheers.
“I want them to witness genuine fighters!” The same emphasis had again been added.
More cheers.
“I want them to witness legends!”
This time the men’s roars were accompanied by rhythmic foot stomps.
“You call yourselves the Unfortunate,” Gildas concluded. “But that should not apply today. Today blood will be shed, but greatness awaits. Prove your worth and fulfill your destinies!”
While the other men cheered, roared, and boasted, Awiergan remained still. The words Gildas had spoken years prior continued to echo in his mind. I think it is a sign! You are destined for greatness!
✽ ✽ ✽
Awiergan stood at the end of the tunnel and peered through the gate that separated him from the arena’s pit. He watched as several dog carcasses were removed from the previous bearbaiting match and as areas of sand were raked to eliminate traces of gore. At last he shook his head. It was not a new spectacle, however. At the Dorstor Arena, Awiergan had seen such cleansing of blood from beasts and men alike. But once under the influence of the fighting pit, are we not all beasts to some extent? He again looked back to the pit. Even though the bloodstains were from a few dogs, likely strays that had endlessly wandered the streets, the attempt to cleanse the sand was a chilling reminder about mortality even to a champion. The process was a reminder that blood was blood and that the Life After waited for no one.
His thoughts were interrupted by a booming tone, and although Awiergan could not see the private viewing box, he could hear Gildas’ voice as the master of fighters continued his introductory statements. Even though the fighting pit of Caberton was nothing at all like the Dorstor Arena, Awiergan was still able to sense an overwhelming excitement and a desire for thrills only the games could offer. More than anything, however, he could sense a yearning for blood.
“These are not ordinary men,” Gildas’ voice reverberated throughout the pit. “They have all been tested, and while some have experienced only a couple of games, a handful of matches, they have proven their worth! On the contrary, however, the veterans of my academy are known throughout Winnix and even Yorcia, and with each victory, the stories of their greatness increase tenfold. Their actions would easily shame even the greatest warriors. No, my fighters are not ordinary men. If anything … they are legends! Are you ready to witness legends?”
The owner of the academy, as he had during his speech to the fighters, emphasized his choice word of description, and the crowd responded with a fanfare of enthusiasm.
Despite the noise Awiergan was able to hear approaching footsteps, and he turned and offered his friend a smirk. “So much for a lacking reception.”
“The people of Armania may be different,” Atelic retorted. “But they still want to see blood is all.” He waited a moment before inquiring, “What is your opinion of today’s matches? Any surprises?”
At first Awiergan remained quiet. During his years at the academy, he had rarely questioned Gildas’ selections. Except for arranged matches, those where a lesser man proved the better of one who should have easily killed him, Awiergan never had reason to critique his master’s picks, and he dismissed his thoughts before eventually replying, “I think all of them were well chosen.”
“Even yours?”
He again pondered momentarily. He had been matched against Gruagh, the man who had been arrested for being a spy and who Awiergan had aptly named the Giant of Drunacht. Perhaps a better match would have been against Yrre, the giant-of-a-man who had been charged with rape. Such a match could have been called a clash of titans. Yes, while the name would have enticed the crowds, a competition involving the champion was more popular.
“Consider it a clash between countries,” Awiergan finally answered. “What better way for the brute to demonstrate his absolute worth than to face the champion?”
Atelic chuckled. “Well fighting is all he is good for. The dumb oaf cannot speak our tongue, and I have no desire to learn his!” He acted as if he were prepared to add more, but he was interrupted by Gildas’ next announcement.
“For the first match …”
The gate was opened.
“I give you Gruagh, the Giant of Drunacht!”
The introduction received mixed emotions but mostly negative and occasional vulgar chants. It had been no exaggeration to say the people of Armania rejected outsiders, especially those who were divided by a