Last Knight (The Champion Chronicles Book 2) (24 page)

The jeering from the crowd seemed to invigorate him.  His mouth continued without help from his brain.  “I am Sir Conner,” he repeated.  “I am more than just a knight!  I am the greatest swordsman to ever live!  You send this man to me, who is so easy, I will not slay him.  Out of pity, I will not slay him.”

The elderly man atop the platform would not be placated.  He shouted right back, “There will be blood, either his or yours!”

Conner caught the elderly man’s eyes move from him to a point directly behind him.

              With a quickness that he had forgotten that he had, Conner grabbed his sword and swung around just in time to catch Korkus’ blade as it was about to slice into his head.  The attack was an all or nothing attack and the man lost his balance when Conner’s sword struck his.  Conner pulled his sword back and with a two-handed chop drove it across the back of Korkus’ exposed neck.  His head rolled several feet away and the body dropped to the ground.

              Conner looked around to the cheers from the crowd.  He felt an exhilaration that was much greater than anything he had ever felt, even after he had humiliated the squires at the Summer Festival Tournament.  He glanced at the dead body and severed head.  He found them fascinating.   Not only because they were two parts of what had been one body, but he had done it so effortlessly, even with a notched and rusty sword.

              The elderly man in the white robe looked around and waved to the crowd and then to Conner.  “
Geress de Karmon!
  The sword master, Knight of Karmon!  Sir Conner!  The King Slayer!”

              The crowd went wild with their cheers and what surprised Conner most of all, is that he loved it.

***

Prince Tarcious fumed from his seat.  At every turn, it seems that a stumbling block named Conner kept getting in his way.  Even something as simple as trying to have him killed for sport went awry.  If he had the energy, he might have just stood up and cast a fireball into his face.  But that would have been disastrous in many ways.  Most importantly, he was not ready to reveal his wizardry skills.  The people of the empire were not quite ready for that revelation.  Soon enough they would be, but not right now.

              He was also angry because his right-hand man Hibold was dead.  He would need to find someone else that he could trust, but that was going to be hard.  Anyone that he would find useful would have their own agenda.  And unless he figured out an angle or leverage against them, he would have to try to trust them.  Trust was also something that he did not have very much of.  He had trust in himself, and that was about all.

              Goshin had survived the explosion of the door, which was fortunate.  He could still use him as leverage against Conner.  But he was not sure if Conner was going to be useful.  Out of anger, he had Conner tossed in with the gladiators.  He had thought about killing and torturing him, but having him fight for sport seemed to be a better option.  But it seemed that Conner had a flair for the show and was not going to die quietly.  Maybe that was going to be okay.  If he couldn’t be used the way he wanted, he still might turn out to be a useful diversion.

              He watched Conner leave the arena to the shouts and cheers of the crowd.  He smiled at the fickleness of the crowd.  One minute they were cheering for him to die, and the next they were cheering because he lived.  It was what made a good show, as long as they cheered.  The next time Conner came out, they would be cheering for a different reason.  They would be cheering at the amount of blood that would be spilled.  And that thought kept a smile on Prince Tarcious’s face.

Chapter Eighteen

At the end of the ramp, the four centurions were waiting for him.  Their crossbows were still cocked and ready, and their eyes were sharply focused on Conner.  As Conner approached, they each took a step back and separated from one another, as if they were expecting Conner to attack them.

              Conner’s heart was pounding in his chest, the euphoric thrill of the fight still with him.  It was different this time.  He had no regrets for killing his opponent.  There was no guilt, no queasiness in his stomach.  It was quite the opposite.  Feelings of power and glory swarmed through his head.  Fueled by the cheering of the crowd, he felt as if there was no man that could match him.  Even using the clumsy longsword and shield, he knew that he had no equal.  If only he had his swords, the twin Sak’turanas that he could twirl and dance with, he would even be better.

              With a great, wide smile, he said to the centurions, “That was incredible!  I have never felt so alive!”

              They backed up another step, allowing him to march past them and towards the dungeons.

              Garonk was waiting for him on the other side of the last set of iron bar doors.  He saw Conner’s face and his drew into a wide, toothy smile as well.  “We could hear the cheering all the way down here, it must have been an epic battle!”

              Conner shook his head.  “It did not take very long.  He was too easy.”

              Garonk raised an eyebrow.  “Easy?  Korkus was a master gladiator and soldier.  One of the best of Taran.  He would be anything but easy.”

              Conner tossed his sword onto a pile of similar blades.  He shrugged his shoulders and said, “He was easy for me.”

              “A lucky break, then.  But do not count on luck to win your battles, for luck quickly runs out.”

              Conner laughed.  “There was no luck!  I beat the man and it was very easy.  What is next?”

              “Next?  Next is to eat and train.  That is now your life, to prepare for your next show.  There will be food served in a short while.  In the meantime, you can rest in your cell.  You remember which one it is?  The bell will call you for dinner.  After that, we will begin your training.”

              “I am already trained,” Conner said.  “I know how to fight.”

              “That may be true,” Garonk said.  “But do you know how to give a show?  Do you know how to get the crowd behind you, or against you?  Your job is to entertain, and that is how you will survive.  The better show you give, the longer you will live.  It is when the crowd becomes bored with you, then you will be killed.  Yes, I know you say you are good, and you very well may be.  But when the emperor wishes to have one of his gladiators killed in a grand and glorious way, they will die a grand and glorious death.  There is no way around it.  Eventually you will die, it’s just a matter of when.  Now go, rest.  When the bell rings for dinner, do not wait too long.  If you do, then someone else will get your food.”

              Garonk gave Conner a pat on the shoulder and shuffled off.  Conner watched him leave, heading towards another row of cells.  With the sense of euphoria starting to fade, Conner found his own cell and fell on the bunk.

              It didn’t take long for him to realize that he wouldn’t survive too long.  Even if he was the best swordsman out there, eventually it would be his turn.  Since staying meant death, the only solution would be to figure out a way for him to escape.  But there were too many centurions that were too well armed for him to try and force his way out.  The exit to the arena, which seemed to be the only way out of this area of the dungeon, was guarded by a double set of locked and guarded gates.  And if the foursome that guarded him on the way to his show was typical, then it would be unlikely for him to defeat them.  One man with a crossbow he knew he could beat, but four would be too many.

              Most of the cells were left unlocked and the prisoners had free reign through the dungeon.  It seemed their captors didn’t really care what they did while they were in here, as long as they were ready to fight in the arena.  Conner was sure there had to be another way to escape.

              But then a dreadful thought fell over him.  If there truly was another way to escape, one of the other hundreds of gladiators that were down here would have found it.  And then their guards would have figured out how to keep them from escaping.  So it was very likely that there truly was no way to escape.  He was doomed to die in this damp and cool place.

              He fell backwards onto his bunk and closed his eyes, letting sleep overtake him.

***

Sometime later, a bell rung, but he ignored it.  He could not remember why it was being rung, and he really didn’t want to move.  He had pulled the thin wool blanket over his shoulders, and now that he was awake, he lay on his bunk brooding about his circumstances.

              “You will miss the food,” Garonk said.

              Conner looked up, but did not move.

              “We are fed twice a day.  Once in the morning and once just before darkness falls outside.  If you do not eat now, it will be a long time until morning, and you will be very hungry.  Especially since there is training to do.”

              “I am not hungry, and I don’t want to do any training.  I am fine just lying here.”

              Garonk stepped into his cells and with a quickness that surprised Conner, he pulled off the blanket and grabbed Conner by the arm and pulled him up.  “You will eat, or you will surely die.”

              Conner let Garonk pull him out of the cell and followed him towards the center of the dungeons.  Tables had been set up along a far wall.  There was a line of men being served from a large pot.  Whatever it was that was in the pot was slopped into wooden bowls.

              Garonk handed Conner a bowl and a hastily carved wooden spoon.  “These are yours.  Don’t lose them because you won’t get another.”

              They fell into the end of the line.

              “You are not the first, and you won’t be the last that has ever felt like you feel,” Garonk said.

              “How do you know how I feel?”

              Garonk laughed so loud, those around them turned and stared.  “I was as you, many years ago.  As all these others are as well.  Prisoners of one sort or another.  Given a second chance only to die in an honorable way.  There is no escape, our life will be here and end here, and the sooner that you come to grips with that, the better your time will be.  See, you can sit in your cell all day long in despair over your circumstances.  Or you can enjoy the last days of your life killing as many as you can.  Go out in a blaze of glory!  Let your name be remembered for all eternity!”

              “Shut up, Garonk.”  The man in front of them had turned around and poked Garonk in the chest with his spoon.  “No one will remember us.  Our names will be forgotten the moment we die.  No one cares.  No one will remember.”  To Conner, he said, “Boy, do not let this sniveling coward tell you any different.  Our lives are miserable, if you can call our existence a life.  We eat, we sleep, and we train to kill one another.  Maybe once a week, maybe once a month, we are let outside into the arena to fight.  And hopefully we will die.”

              “Why do you not fight back?” Conner asked.  “There are many of you here and few centurions.  Have you not tried to escape?”

              The man snorted and turned to get a slop of food into his bowl.  “There have been many over time,” he said.  “It does not end well for anyone.  If any one prisoner escapes, everyone in the dungeons is tortured and slaughtered.  So if you even try and escape, and one of us finds out, we will kill you.  Because if we don’t the centurions will kill all of us.”

              Conner held his bowl to be filled, but only a small scoop was ladled into it.

              “Ran out,” said the man who was serving food from the pot.  “Shoulda gotten in line sooner.”

              Conner moved on, but when he glanced back he saw that Garonk was given a full scoop that filled his bowl.

              “You need to earn respect,” Garonk said.  He switched bowls with Conner.  “Keep your mouth shut and just do as you are told.  They all know that you are a Karmon Knight and they will hate you for it.  Do not expect any favors until you earn them.”

              They found an empty corner and sat down to eat their food.  It was some sort of thick stew with potatoes and chunks of meat.  “Why are you being nice to me?”

              “It is my job,” Garonk said.  “Some fight, some cook, some clean the latrines.  Some like me need to keep the fighters fit for battle.  Whether I like you or not it does not matter.  It only matters that you are ready to fight when your name is called.”

It took only a moment for Garonk to finish the small amount of stew in his bowl.  After licking his spoon clean, he asked, “So, what is Karmon like?”

              “Many forests,” Conner replied.  “Not like here where there are so many open fields.  South Karmon is kind of a big city, not as big as Tara City, but kind of like it.  Stinks some, not like the forests.  It’s a nice place to live, though.  What about you?  How’d you get here?”

“I was a merchant once.  Before all of this.  I ended up on the wrong end of a bad deal and I got tossed in the dungeon.  They needed more fodder for their shows, so I got thrown in to this dungeon.  I fought some, but I was better at teaching others how to fight and survive, so that’s what I do now.”

              “So you’re supposed to teach me how to fight?”

              Garonk shook his head.  “Not just fight.  Survive.  Anyone can fight.  All of us know how to fight.  It’s surviving that matters.  And that means putting on a good show.  If you go out there and just slaughter your opponent in five seconds, the crowd will be bored and they will boo you.  But if you let the fight drag out for five minutes, or ten minutes, then they will cheer you and you will be a hero to them.”

              “Why did you not tell me this before?”

              “It’s the way it is,” Garonk replied.  “Your first one is always that way.  They want to see if you have the skills to stay alive.  If you can win your first one, then you’ll get a second one.  But that second one must be a show.  Or your third one will be a fight you can’t win.”

              The other prisoners had finished their meal and were starting to move about.

              “It is time to train,” Garonk said.  “Scoop your bowl into the water trough and get your fill.  Then put your bowl back in your cell and meet me back here.”

              By the time Conner returned, most of the others had already started some form of training.  Many were paired up together and were practicing simple moves, but some were going against three or four.  Conner watched them start slowly and then after some time, they performed their moves much faster, almost flawlessly.  The clang of steel on steel quickly escalated until the entire chamber was filled with the song of swords striking one another.  In between there were grunts and the occasional scream when a practiced move went badly.

              After one such death-curdling scream, everyone stopped to look.  A prisoner was on his knees, clutching his arm that had just been hacked off.  Blood was pumping out of the stump and the screaming continued until a merciful prisoner thrust a sword through his chest, killing him instantly.

              “That was disappointing,” Garonk said.  “He was one of our better swordsmen.  He was going to fight at tomorrow’s show against the West Dungeon’s newcomer.”

              “West Dungeon?” Conner asked.

              “Oh, yes.  Did I not tell you there were four dungeons?  Of course I did.  Each one is on one side of the arena.  Ours is on the east side, so we are the East Dungeon.”  He led Conner over the table of swords.  “Which is your best weapon?  The longsword, you use well.  How about something bigger like this broadsword?  Or the short stabbing sword the centurions use?”

              Conner looked around the table and started rifling through the various swords.  He was looking for two of them like the thin Sak’turana’s that he like to used, but he could not find even one that was similar.  He shook his head.  “You do not have my best weapon.”