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Chapter Thirty-Seven
Skellhaundar Romax went over the statistics in his mind.
Forty men entered the Maze of Monsters at a minute past nine o'clock this morning. An hour in, twelve of those men were dead, leaving twenty-eight of the prospective recruits to advance to the second ring. Skellhaundar ground his teeth together and watched the magical mirror in front of their luxury box. He'd been standing for an hour, but there was no way he could sit down with all of this nervous energy running through him.
Kian, you must succeed at this, Skellhaundar thought. Taleta, I pray that you grant me this one request: lend aid to Kian Brittain for I cannot see him fail. Not today.
On the far side of the stadium, Makidon appeared with a female cleric of the Queen of Demons in tow. Together, they walked to center field where the priestess cast a spell upon the knight so that his voice could be heard in the now packed Arena of the Flayed Man.
"Quiet please," Makidon's voice echoed. "Contestant forty-two and contestant eleven are approaching the kennels where the hell dogs are kept."
The hell dog kennels (of which there were four in different areas of the maze) were the last challenge the men would face in the Maze of Monsters. Success here meant that the victor would go on to the next stage.
Kian was contestant eleven, and the red-haired elf (who had introduced himself to Kian using the name "Braden") was contestant forty-two. And they were well ahead of the others, having detected and disarmed two deadly traps since they first entered the second ring of the Maze of Monsters.
Just beyond the door that led from the lair of the summer onibaba, the two of them came across a slender bridge that spanned a one-hundred foot chasm filled with fumes from the sewers of the Holy City itself. A decoy made of flint (and dressed up like a sentry) stood on the far side in almost complete darkness. The elf had wanted to shoot an arrow, but Kian had stopped Braden because he correctly identified the smell in the air as being methane gas from below. A single spark would have filled the room with an inferno that might have even blown a hole through the floor of the arena itself.
The second trap lay just beyond the flint decoy: a long hallway with nightingale floors. Each board on the ground was only two inches wide, and between the slats (and running parallel to the floor boards) were embedded razors. If any weight at all were placed on them they would sink revealing a knife's edge so sharp that it could cut an astral cord; even corobidian would have been quick work for an edge that keen.
Kian knew almost instantly that something was amiss with the corridor. Calisto remarked that it was "uncanny" and started swearing to high heaven when Kian halted Braden in his tracks. But Skellhaundar's chest swelled with pride. The crowd had a similar reaction, cheering for Kian and waving banners with his number on them. Kian uncovered the trap by pushing on one board with his metal-clad finger, and though Skellhaundar couldn't see the boy's face, he could tell that Kian learned something about it as it wobbled on the spring. To get beyond the trap, Braden fired all of his arrows into the walls at different points selected by Kian beforehand. Then Kian used those to cross, hopping from arrow shaft to arrow shaft with the grace of an acrobat, snapping several in the process. Once on the far side, he located a switch that froze the floor in place. Half of the elf's arrows got ruined by this trick, but that still left him ten for combat with the hell dogs.
Calisto was so furious that he kicked his chair into kindling. "Your man has been a good athlete, but he'll fail here, Skellhaundar," Calisto taunted (once he calmed down). "There are four monsters in those cells, and they're hungry for man flesh."
The crowd stared at the magic mirror that showed Kian and Braden's progress. A hush fell over the spectators, and Kian crept forward as alert as a cheetah to any noise or change of wind. He sussed out the circular room with four iron doors and no obvious exit.
Something's wrong, Skellhaundar thought. Where's the sound of the barking? Where are the bags of bones the kennel keepers use to feed the dogs?
When Kian got within fifteen feet of the first door, all four started to rise into the ceiling revealing darkness beyond the gaping portals. Suddenly, Kian leapt off the ground as a spiked flail on the end of a long chain slammed into the floor where he'd crouched only a split second before. It had emerged from within that dark first cell, and following it out strode a horror that chilled even Skellhaundar's blood.
Servants of Typhon—the spectral dragon that ruled the First Plane of Hell—the terrible dragonsouls had killed many a Timeron knight under Skellhaundar's watch. One was generally too much for a single "battle-hardened" knight to handle, as they had four arms and could wield the chained flails in each massive claw with perfect ease.
Four of them was impossible.
Skellhaundar glared at Calisto. "This is your doing, isn't it? Dragonsouls? Those should have been four hell dogs!" Skellhaundar slammed his gauntleted fist into the metal rail and left a dent in it. "You've accused him of cheating and all this time it's been you! Who did you pay off, Calisto? Let me guess, the opening Kian took into the maze wasn't random was it? I'll not honor a bet when the challenge is so clearly beyond a recruit's power to handle."
Calisto cackled in glee, even dancing a jig that scattered maggots and bits of rotten flesh about the wooden floor. His glowing eyes narrowed and shot out six inch flames. "Oh, you'll honor it, Skellhaundar. A bet's a bet. Don't be such a sore loser. The only thing that's at stake is Makidon's life, and of course...the respect of your men. Hahahaha!"
He has me there, Skellhaundar thought. He stared at the magical mirror, which (even now) broadcasted Calisto's treachery in full color. He's out-gamed me. I should have seen this coming. Taleta's tears, I won't let him have Makidon. Hearing that boy raped to death by this monster will break me.
Skellhaundar knew what he must do: Calisto must die.
That's the only way Skellhaundar could get out of this foolish bet and keep Makidon alive. As for right now he'd have to endure seeing the most beautiful lad he'd ever laid eyes upon having his skull crushed by a dragonsoul. That's the price of underestimating Calisto, he thought. This resignation left him hollow and empty inside. He steeled himself and looked to the screen to watch Kian's inevitable demise.
At around eight feet tall and weighing in excess of six-hundred pounds, the reptilian dragonsouls looked like a cross between a human and a lizard. Four powerful arms attached to a torso covered in midnight blue scales, and these faded to a pale cream color as they crossed the belly and flowed down to the cloaca. A powerful tail with a ridge of brown spikes along the spine emerged from above its powerful buttocks, and its feet were massive clawed things with seven-inch talons for rending flesh from bone. Each had a pair of yellow eyes, flaring nostrils, and a maw filled with two rows of needle-sharp teeth. And when they spoke, they hissed when pronouncing any word that contained the letter "s."
"We shall feast upon your severed head and suck the blood from your body. We shall eats us some tasty man flesh today. You shall be our pleasure, slender boy. We shall destroy you," the tallest dragonsoul said.
The imposing monster unleashed its furious attack on Kian, swinging both iron flails (which it held in the claws of its upper arms) directly at the boy's head. Skellhaundar half-expected the fight to be over right there, and to hear the sickening "smoosh" that a melon makes when it's bludgeoned by a hammer. However, with the speed of a mongoose, Kian dodged one and parried the other with his gauntleted hand, managing somehow to strike with the side of his palm between the spikes on the incoming ball. The dragonsoul wasted no time in hurtling its second pair of flails at Kian's feet, and he leapt over one and deflected the other with the corobidian sole of his left sabaton, achieving the same feat as he did with his hand, only using the ball of his foot. A dull ring sounded as the metal struck metal and sparks flew. Then two more dragonsouls descended on him.
"Surrender now," the dragonsouls said, craning their necks and hunching their backs. "We'll make your death swift. Fight and you'll suffer...this I promise you."
"Where's the sport in giving up?" Kian asked, breath indicating he was only slightly winded. "Especially when I'm winning."
This taunt made the crowd roar.
Kian blocked one blow on his left with his shield, but the incredible power behind that blow destroyed the armament almost instantly. It fell in four pieces on the sand at Kian's feet. Reacting to that assault, Kian fell backward, dodging two more attacks, and then kicked out with his feet to strike the leg of one of the Dragonsouls attacking him.
"CRAAACK!" went the bone as it snapped in the dragonsoul's upper thigh.
The sound terrified the audience; it sounded like the trunk of a tree detonating into bits.
"Impossible!" Calisto yelled. "That's fucking impossible!"
"Gods is he strong!" Skellhaundar exclaimed, admiring the power in Kian's lean, wiry muscles. "I'll never underestimate him again."
That dragonsoul fell howling into the bloody dirt while another spiked iron ball soared at Kian's head. Dodging left, Kian avoided the blow; it slammed into the granite wall behind him and spread cracks through the stone that resembled a spider's web. Kian wasted no time, somersaulted inside the dragonsoul's reach, and sliced upward with his sword into the monster's guts, disemboweling him from cloaca to sternum. As the thing's guts spilled out on the ground, Kian leapt to the one rolling in the sand from its broken leg and decapitated it with one blow.
"That's two down," Kian said.
The disemboweled dragonsoul groaned in its death throes, fell forward, and lay still upon the dirt. Its face contorted with the effects of spider poison, and a huge puddle of blood spread outward from its body.
Undeterred, the remaining two dragonsouls advanced on Kian, their tails digging furrows in the sand.
Then Braden appeared at the door to the room, firing two arrows on the same string. Both of them sunk into one dragonsoul, who was just now bringing his flail to bear against Kian. Black poison instantly started spreading out from those arrows. This made Skellhaundar smile for he'd missed when Kian had apparently anointed some of Braden's arrows with lethal venom.
The last dragonsoul hurled its weapons at Kian, who managed to dodge one and parry the other using the pommel of his sword to slap the spiked iron ball from its intended trajectory. The monster screamed at him in frustration, acidic saliva falling from its maw to steam on the earth. It dropped its other weapons, breathed fire into its hand (which then formed into a flaming sphere) and hurled it at Kian.
For a split second, it looked like the ball of flame might actually hit. But Kian hurled himself into the air with incredible agility, spinning his body tightly in a circle. This effectively narrowed his profile enough to cause the sphere to miss him by a hair's breadth. The sphere collided with the wall next to Braden and exploded in fire, immolating the elf in an inferno so hot that the flames licked the stone ceiling twelve feet above. Gouts of flame soared outward at Kian, who'd just landed from his successful dodge. Superhuman reflexes took over and he jumped into one of the kennels, glutes and hamstrings flaring and every muscle in his body reaching for the safety of that darkness.
And then flames filled the screen and gasps spread through the crowd.
Screams from Braden dying echoed from every seat in the arena. Horrible and seemingly without end, eventually only the sound of crackling flame remained on the audio.
"Did both of them just die?" many people in the stands asked. Shock and horror gripped the fans in the Arena of the Flayed Man.
A minute later, the flames receded enough for the audience to see the aftermath.
The dragonsoul stepped over and kicked the body of the now dead elf. Half of Braden's body was burned to ash, and what remained glowed red in smoldering coals.
Then a short sword sailed out of the darkness and sunk through the back of the last dragonsoul's head, cutting through its face and spraying blood against the wall. It stumbled forward against the granite, and its claws carved grooves in the radiant stone as it died.
Kian strutted out of the kennel, the remains of his tabard a bit sooty but looking none the worse for wear. He stepped over to the dragonsoul and yanked his sword out. Then he turned to the fallen elf and said, "Rest in peace, warrior. May Taleta make you an Abaddon in hell, and may your spirit survive forever in the service of the Queen of Demons."
The entire crowd lost it at that point and shouted the name "Brittain!" over and over. The deafening roar drowned out even Calisto's furious cursing as he slammed his fist repeatedly into the wall.
"He should be dead!" the death knight screamed.
Kian looked for an exit when an opening appeared above him in this same room, and sunlight flooded in. A rope ladder was dropped for him to climb, which he did in short order. This finished the Maze of Monsters. As he emerged onto the field, Ser Makidon grabbed Kian's hand, raised it to the crowd, and the roars of a completely packed stadium almost deafened Skellhaundar. Then Kian was led off the field for lunch, a washing and boot fitting, and to rest up for his next event.
"I think I'm going to go and greet my champion," Skellhaundar said to Calisto. "Would you care to join?"
Begrudgingly, Calisto fell in beside Skellhaundar. "Don't get too cocky," Calisto said. "There's still two events left in the day. He could fail at any moment."
"Or he could succeed at both," Skellhaundar replied. "Afraid, Calisto? If I were you, I'd be preparing for a life of celibacy."
Skellhaundar didn't wait to decipher Calisto's grumblings but made for the door, dismissing the slave that attended their luxury box as he left. The "clomp clomp" of Calisto's enormous feet alerted Skellhaundar that the general was coming, but he could tell from Calisto's step that much of the exuberance he'd seen only a few minutes before had faded to anger. As for Skellhaundar, he couldn't wait to get across the arena grounds and go down into the Flavium, where the victors of today's contests would be arriving.
It took a minute for Skellhaundar to get to the colosseum floor, brushing past crowds that continued to cheer the men who fought and died before their eyes on gigantic magic mirrors. There were so many people jamming the benches that some perched on both stairs and rails. Skellhaundar looked up, saw three men bitten in half by hell dogs, and next to him (on the right) a group of women fainted at all that blood. Behind him, Calisto just kicked men, women, and children out of the way. One was struck so hard by Calisto's filthy boot that it sent him sailing over the rails and onto the arena floor where he lay for almost a minute before the Blades Acuuarum showed up to cart his body off to the apothecaries for emergency healing.
Calisto eventually caught up with Skellhaundar at about mid-field.
Makidon stood a hundred feet from them on a podium and announced that two more men had finished the contest—a thing wildly celebrated with roars and cheers.
Once on the far side of the stadium, Skellhaundar took the ramp into the Flavium, which was an area where contestants could rest up and get something to eat. The walls were concrete covered in stucco. This was in turn painted over in colorful frescoes depicting warriors battling against fearsome monsters. Skellhaundar walked into the windowless corridor that led underneath the stands. With a packed stadium, the ceiling shook with their stomping feet the same as it would during a thunderstorm. Sconces containing smokeless amber flames were spaced out every ten feet, and they provided a warm glow to these halls packed with sweaty men of every race and physical build. The day's contests were scheduled to end at four o'clock. After that, the Arena of the Flayed Man would continue to entertain with blood sport far into the evening. These people that Skellhaundar saw now were gladiators eager to spill blood in exchange for coin.
Skellhaundar paused, nostrils flaring wide, and Calisto almost bumped into him.
He saw dwarf and Nykoran, elf and human. There were dozens of men and women: some black as burnt pitch, some brown, some yellow, and even some with blue skin. Many were barrel-chested, hairy, scaled, and even diseased. Tattoos were common as were piercings, and bodies ranged from pear-shaped to gangly. He'd never seen so much ugliness in one place. No one here possessed any symmetry at all. Perhaps this was the point, because the arena was a garbage dump for murderers and violent offenders of the worst sort. Even a few giant-kin wandered here and there. The place stunk of sweat, unwashed body, blood, vomit, and shit from the overflowing toilets. But nowhere did he see the flash of white skin or the gleam of a blue eye.
"This place is fucking packed to the gills with losers," Calisto complained. "Where do they take the winners?"
"I'm not sure," Skellhaundar said.
"What do you mean you're not sure?" Calisto asked. "This is your fucking event."
"Would you shut up?" Skellhaundar asked, raising his visor and scratching the stubble on his chin. "It's been four years since we last spurred a knight. That was the last time I came into the Flavium. I've had others managing it for me, the latest of which is out there announcing on that podium."
A door opened about a hundred feet ahead, and sunlight streamed through it as five men from the Maze of Monsters limped in, dripping blood. One of them was missing an arm. A bald and fat eunuch in a white robe greeted the men with a bow, but Skellhaundar was too far away to hear what he said over the din of the Flavium.
"Let's go this way," Skellhaundar said, pointing out the eunuch to Calisto.
He pushed through a cluster of pit fighters. They told harrowing tales of amputations to anyone that listened, and they showed off fearsome prosthetic weapons they'd had surgically installed in their flesh. One particularly grotesque Amserran gladiator with tribal tattoos across his face glowered at Skellhaundar as he sewed up a nasty gash in his stomach while a yellow-skinned Clymarindi poured clear alcohol over the wound. The corridor widened to an area with a vaulted ceiling. Here men sat at worktables, honing swords, and oiling armor. A pair of women who wore the chains of the Embalming Guild worked to tidy up bodies as they were carried in upon stretchers.
Finally, Skellhaundar made it to the white-robed eunuch's side.
The bald man turned and bowed before Skellhaundar Romax. "What a pleasure, my lords," the eunuch said. "May I be of service?"
"Tell me...where can I find the winners of the Maze of Monsters? I wish to congratulate them," Skellhaundar asked.
"All eight are being attended to in the Flavium Consul," the eunuch said, pointing toward an iron-bound door to his left. "It's a lot less crowded in there, and the facilities are more suited to winners."
"Eight survived the maze?" Calisto asked, then laughed. "Typical."
"Yes, my lord," the eunuch said, placing his delicate hands within the sleeves that hung from his wrists. "And it would appear that one's wounds might be so grave that it may be impossible for him to continue. So in fact, there could be only seven to proceed to the next event. It's so sad too, but there is also `the gift.'"
"The gift?" Calisto asked.
"Ah yes, that's what the gamblers are calling him. Contestant eleven seems to have extraordinary abilities, and many believe he'll be the first to win spurs—an event that hasn't happened in years. They've taken to calling him "the gift" because the clerics believe Taleta may have sent him as a favor to the Zandans. Because he was first to finish you'll find him in the steam bath, as is customary for those who might become Timeron knights. For what it's worth, the few Timeron knights I've spoken with really like him, and many have said prayers that he be allowed to join their ranks by day's end. They already see him as one of their own. It's so rare, my lords, to see such enthusiasm from the exclusive boy's club that all the world aspires to belong."
Skellhaundar thanked the eunuch and went to the iron door. Beyond it, he found a corridor tiled in black marble. More smokeless amber sconces cast subdued light about the hallway, and there were four arches on the right side that led into adjoining rooms, each spaced about twenty feet apart. The corridor ended in a huge chamber where the fragrance of cooked bacon intermingled with the scent of fresh-baked bread.
Behind them, Calisto closed the door to the Flavium Consul, instantly dropping the volume down to almost a dead silence. A few voices echoed down the hall, but they were muffled and indistinct.
At each door stood a pair of silver-spurred Timeron knights in full battle armor, spit-polished and shined. They stood at attention and saluted Calisto and Skellhaundar as they approached. Plaques on the walls with raised letters of pure gold stated the purpose of each room. The first was the equipment room, and Skellhaundar noted that it too was tiled in black marble; fine lockers made of varnished oak stored the equipment of the men gathered there now. Four Timeron Knights wearing silver spurs and with helmets and visors down stood at attention and watched over the room. Five gore-drenched recruits fresh off the arena floor stood next to lockers or sat on benches. Each was at some stage of armor removal; they placed their homemade equipment piece by piece into their lockers. Some talked enthusiastically about the scheduled steam bath.
The first was black, had dreadlocks that fell to his back, and was scarred on one side of his body with unsightly burns. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his nose was broken. He limped on a mangled foot that left blood on the marble floor. But he had the most massive muscles Skellhaundar had ever seen. This giant of a warrior, taller than Skellhaundar by a foot at least, probably weighed four-hundred pounds. However, lean he was not. He had no muscular definition aside from biceps and pectorals. He was just bulky...meaty...and massive. But there was no grace to how he moved, even minus the injuries he'd received on the floor of the arena. Skellhaundar even thought that this guy might have trouble wiping his own ass. His locker had the name "Quar" written above it in fine script.
The next man was half-ekthor, and he tossed his shoddy ring mail in his locker that had the name "Mor'Agg" written above it. Standing five-foot-four, this creature had long unsightly tusks jutting up from his wide "pig-like" jaw and his hair (going gray in spots) was tied in braids that fell to his butt crack. His broad, ugly nose was pierced through with a steel hoop. However, Mor'Agg's green leathery skin flowed over wide muscles that men simply didn't have, and his enormous hands belied the dexterity possessed by six short stubby fingers. Skellhaundar took note as the recruit flipped an axe into his locker as if it were a toothpick. Mor'Agg also stunk as bad as Calisto and walked forward on ankles so wide Skellhaundar thought them transplanted from an elephant.
The third man had bright red skin, horns atop his skull, and a pointed chin that ended in a neatly-trimmed black goatee. Skellhaundar judged him to be about six-feet tall, but it was clear this creature was a crossbreed of human and demon. In Zanda, this wasn't unheard of, and they even had a word for it: cambion. Skellhaundar disliked them not only because they were unsightly, but because they possessed little regard for the chain of command.
Thick mats of black fur grew here and there on this thing's body, and the human part of him existed above the waist. Below the waist, this recruit had goat's legs and cloven hooves. Completely naked, the man had genital modifications with a sub-incision to split his penis into two right down the urethra. Skellhaundar imagined how inconvenient this must be when pissing, as it would spray everywhere. And a piece of jewelry dangled from his scrotum. Skellhaundar spotted a jeweled bauble dangling on two chains. These hung from a silver spike that pierced both testicles horizontally. Inside the man's locker, which bore the name "Bune," was a suit of chainmail that looked elvish in origin, modified of course to cover the goat's legs. Bune didn't look particularly fast or strong, but his eyes held an evil cunning to them, accentuated by the six-inch point to his deformed nose.
Another half-demon spawn sat on the bench, removing its chain mail. This grotesquely fat recruit had two pairs of man tits that sagged over a huge belly sheathed in dark brown skin. Numerous tattoos covered his face and neck, and he had an open hole leading to his brain above the left eye. The pannus from this creature completely swallowed any genitalia it possessed, and its face looked made of cookie dough with two black coals for eyes and an almost non-existent nose, visible only because the nostrils gleamed with snot. The thing was easily a thousand pounds and stood about seven feet tall. It was so strong that (when it got to the salmon ladder in the first event) he actually broke the metal columns and threw the whole thing down. Calisto insisted that this contestant be allowed to pass, but Skellhaundar knew it was only to make a mockery of his talent search. Skellhaundar thought there was no way a creature like this would make it to the third round, but here it was. He'd briefly saw the thing fight, and its weapon (and armor) was its rolls of suet which absorbed blows like water (and probably protected his vital organs). That and when it fell atop something, it crushed it to death. The thing's locker bore the name "Zygot."
The last man in the room was an ancient and incredibly scarred kuanni. To have so many wrinkles and scars, he must have participated in many wars. Skellhaundar guessed his age at close to four-hundred, but it was always difficult to be sure when it came to elf-kin. Black skinned and muscular, the recruit's white hair was cut close to the scalp. He had a tall gangly body and his half-plate armor was already hung neatly in the locker that bore the name, "Vorn." His silver-edged scimitar (and his bow with quiver) rested next to his armor. Vorn was missing one ear, torn off during the skirmish with the hell dogs, and the bloody remnants of that flesh dangled on the side of a face so ugly, Skellhaundar thanked Taleta for an empty stomach.
Skellhaundar's eyes roamed the remaining lockers and settled upon the one that contained the black corobidian armor he so admired. Even after the day's two events, it still looked graceful even without its owner. There, neatly on shelves, were all the pieces including the one that Skellhaundar most wanted to touch: the codpiece and butt tasset.
I'd love to sniff that, but there are too many watching, Skellhaundar thought.
The two generals moved down the corridor to the next arch, where the Timeron knights on guard saluted them. The plaque on this room read "Apothecary" in fine script. Inside on a table was a man that looked not long for this world. His right arm had been ripped off by something and the bloody sinews were being tended to by surgeons while he bit down on a piece of wood to keep from screaming. Blood fell upon the floor in thick rivulets. A second surgeon worked at sawing off the man's left leg below the knee. There was no way, even if he finished, that Skellhaundar would allow such a cripple to be knighted.
"Best to put him down now," Calisto said, stepping into the room.
At his order, one of the surgeons reached for the nail they'd drive into the skull of the man to end his misery. But this isn't what Skellhaundar came to see, and he continued down the hall leaving Calisto to deal with the panicked screaming. As he reached the next archway alone, a blood-curdling cry filled the hall and was suddenly silenced.
"Good afternoon, ser," the Timeron knights said, saluting him.
Skellhaundar nodded and gazed upon the plaque at this entrance. It read, "Steam Bath," and Skellhaundar walked inside.
The long room's walls and ceiling were all black marble.
A dozen black iron and circular platforms dominated the chamber, and copper pipes sweated big water droplets creating a kind of rain that fell to the floor here. Three Timeron knights stood in perfect attention in that rain, watching two active pods that had black iron sheeting on one side so as to create half of a cylinder that rose twelve feet to the ceiling. All along the floor, warm water pooled and gathered into rivulets that flowed slowly toward drains sunken into the marble tile. The place reeked of mildew and something else...a witch's brew of stench created by sweat, body oil, and the presence of rusting iron. The two active pods had holes in the iron base which shot out voluminous amounts of steam, concealing anyone that stood on the other side. In fact, steam floated everywhere, obscuring vision and making Skellhaundar's face sweat. Then he heard the giggling coming from one of the two steam baths.
Skellhaundar looked at the three guards in the room and it made him wonder. There should be four Timeron knights on guard, not three, he thought.
Suddenly the steam parted and a Timeron knight helmet landed on the marble.
"I'll get you for that," a boyish voice declared, and Valanthe (one of Skellhaundar's gold-spurred knights) appeared with his helmet off. He was laughing and stepped back out of the steam in full armor and an absolutely soaked cloak and tabard. Valanthe's red hair looked messy, but his fair skin and apple cheeks glowed with the steam which made his brown eyes absolutely sparkle. But the slender, tall knight wasn't looking at Skellhaundar. In fact, he didn't even know Skellhaundar was there. "Oh gods you're funny," Valanthe said, breathing heavily. Then the mist parted again and Kian stepped out, his exquisite nude body shining in the steam. He immediately saw Skellhaundar and motioned to Valanthe who turned and regarded the general with the most embarrassed expression a young man could muster.
"Ser, I-I'm—," he tried to stammer, but Skellhaundar interrupted him.
"—Go take your post over there, Valanthe."
"Yes, ser. I was just...we were just horsing around, ser. I'm to blame," Valanthe said, retrieving his helmet and morosely emptying it of water.
"No one's to blame. Go stand at attention over there. Resume your post, knight. I've yet to converse with Kian Brittain at length, and I can see...that's been a terrible mistake."
Kian, a couple inches taller than Valanthe, was a tantalizing spectacle of flesh. Tall, slender, ropy, fine-boned, and in the full blossom of youth...Skellhaundar used every ounce of his mighty willpower to keep his animal hunger in check. And Kian knew his prurient power, stretching his astonishingly cut arms over his head briefly so that Skellhaundar could see the incredible muscular definition at play on the most beautiful lad the world had ever seen. He got an eyeful of that twenty-eight-inch waist and those sharp-bladed hips and felt lust.
Lechery both primal and carnal boiled Skellhaundar's blood.
Kian's skin was flawlessly white save for the incredible rose tattoo on his left arm that was topped with a silver flower in full bloom right under the ear. Here and there it was blemished with a few bruises but no open cuts. Ribs flared and veins crisscrossed the ridges of fine sinew, bone, and muscle in such profound ways that Kian's skin represented a living tapestry of athletic strength. White-blond hair as fine as corn silk stuck to his scalp, wetted down by the steam. Kian's tapered face looked ageless, and the blond sideburns and dainty ears gave him a look of innocence that was offset by two devilishly intense eyes and the hawkish blade-like nose of a predator. Dew drops glistened from a thatch of white-blond pubic hair that ringed Kian's enormous, yet flaccid, dick and balls. It shocked Skellhaundar to see such a freakish cock; one particularly prominent vein ran the entire length and was thick as his finger.
The thing must be eight inches even now, Skellhaundar thought, gazing at the uncut fibrous monster easily twice the girth of his own prick. Furthermore, it had so much foreskin that the tip drooped to a point of beautiful ivory flesh.
Skellhaundar swallowed his spit, speechless.
His gaze fell to Kian's feet: long, slender, torn...blood vessels, high arches, and fine toes. He couldn't wait to fondle them, to lick them, and place spurs about those heels. It wouldn't matter if they were dirty or covered with shit. He longed to smell them, and wondered how they'd taste. Between his legs, Skellhaundar felt iron. It hurt worse than being kicked in the nuts. But he just couldn't stop staring.
Will he gasp when he feels the slick of my tongue? Skellhaundar wondered. I hope he does.
Kian beamed at Skellhaundar and said, "I beg a moment from you, ser knight, for I need to take a bloody leak." He tiptoed over to a drain, avoiding spots of obvious filth, flashing the general his muscular back and the glistening white globes of an immaculate ass. There, between Kian's absurdly round glutes slept the whitest and most delicate sphincter he'd ever seen on a boy. It looked barely a slit, hairless, and almost indistinguishable from the smooth skin around it.
When he got into place, the planes of Kian's hip bones rose on the underside of his gorgeous flesh, and the boy looked up at the ceiling, letting the warm rain wash down his face and chin, over his sinewy neck and protruding Adam's apple. He even shook his head like a puppy for a moment, throwing droplets from his blond hair everywhere.
"Taleta's tears," Kian said, "I love this place. I love the warm rain on my body. It makes me feel alive!"
Ready to do his business, Kian lifted his horse dick gently from the underside with his index finger, and delicately pulled back the foreskin with his other free hand. Steam swirled around him. Then the dimples to either side of Kian's ass flared as he flexed, lifting himself up and down on the balls of his bare feet. Looking down, he started to whistle the Ballad of the Busy Bee. A stream of urine emerged from the end of his urethra and hit the drain.
That's what Kian did for a full minute.
The stream of yellow splashed and danced in a puddle near Kian's long white toes, mixing with the runoff from the steam bath.
At random times, he stole a glance or two over his shoulder at Skellhaundar; the general stood absolutely transfixed...he watched the performance like a night at the ballet. Kian even shot the other knights in the room a wink; behind his helmet, Valanthe sniggered. When Kian finished, he gave his cock a jiggle or two, and then strutted back over to the general. Fearlessly, he extended his manicured right hand. The commander-in-chief of all the armies in Noremost grasped it in his gauntlet firmly.
Kian didn't blink, not even once.
"Sorry," Kian said, "I'm honored just to meet you, ser. I drank too much earlier and well..." Kian shrugged helplessly. When Skellhaundar remained silent, Kian's pink lips parted, displaying a smile that would shame a shark.
Behind Skellhaundar's shoulder, Calisto entered the room. He could tell because a wave of cold flooded the room like a blast of winter. Kian, however, looked unfazed.
Skellhaundar let go of the teenager's hand. "Do you know who I am?" he asked Kian.
"Of course, my lord" Kian said with all seriousness. "You're Skellhaundar Romax. And that behind you is Ser Calisto Blackmoor. You two are the most powerful men in the world." Kian walked around Skellhaundar and strode over to the undead general, extending his hand in greeting. But Calisto was more reserved and left Kian hanging. Then he took a few steps back from the youth, taking in that absurd body up and down and from every other possible angle.
If Kian was nervous, it never showed. Not even once.
"Pretty," Calisto said after a minute. "You're very pretty." The entire time Calisto uttered these words he circled Kian like a vulture, clenching his fist over and over. "There's not a cut on you. A first, wouldn't you say, Skellhaundar? Has anyone ever made it through the Maze of Monsters without a broken bone or a cut?"
"I've a couple bruises," Kian said, showing the undead general the small red splotches on his stomach and back.
Skellhaundar, however, couldn't see those bruises because the appearance of Kian's raw muscle was so distracting...and so stunning...in its fantastic and shredded state.
"There's no fat on you," Calisto said, voice growing deeper. "What kind of physical regimen do you engage in?"
"How do I work out?" Kian asked. He looked at the other knights in the room and smirked. "I lift weights, jog, watch my diet. I eat a lot of meat."
Calisto slammed his fist into one of the cylindrical iron pods and the sound echoed through the chamber. When he pulled his fist back, it had left an indentation as wide as Kian's head. "You eat a lot of meat..." Calisto said. "How quaint. Hear that boys? Eat meat and you can have a body like this."
"That's enough, Calisto," Skellhaundar said. He reached for Kian's shoulder and pulled the boy back. "Go and finish your steam bath, Kian. I'm sorry we interrupted."
"It's not a problem," Kian said. "Really. After the steam bath, my skin's supposed to be oiled while a cobbler fits my feet for new boots. I seem to have shredded mine in razor grass. Are you the one that does the oiling?"
"No, it's normally done by one of the eunuchs," Skellhaundar replied. Please ask me to oil you down, Skellhaundar thought, and he swallowed hard trying not to drool.
"Ah that's too bad," Kian said. "I'd have loved to have you do it so we could talk about the games today, and maybe you could give me a hint or two."
"Actually—"
"—Skellhaundar's a busy man!" Calisto exclaimed, cutting Skellhaundar off. "He and I just came down to see who survived and to congratulate you! He's going to return with me now to our skybox where we'll see the rest of the events this afternoon play in glorious color. Aren't you, Skellhaundar?"
Skellhaundar turned to look at Calisto, and he'd never felt more angry. Cock block me, will you? That's fine, he thought, but I can still make sure one of my men has some fun. Unlike you, Calisto, I actually care about the morale of my soldiers.
"I suppose there's some truth to that," Skellhaundar replied. "But if it makes a difference, any Timeron knight can give you pointers. Especially ones that wear the gold spurs," he said, motioning at Valanthe. "Perhaps one of them might oil your...naked...body...down... If you ask nicely, of course."
Silence followed that statement, broken only by the "pitter patter" of raindrops and the hiss of steam from the baths.
"Of course," Kian whispered, dropping his hands to his sides.
Valanthe perked up at that and said, "I volunteer, ser. I'd hate to see Kian go into the next event without proper preparation. The oil is important because it neutralizes any poisons contestants might be tempted to bring into the contest."
"People cheat at this?" Kian scoffed. "How awful."
"My sentiments exactly," Calisto said, eyes fixed on Kian's face.
"There you have it," Skellhaundar said.
"Tell me, my lord," Kian said, gracefully backpedaling toward Valanthe. "What privileges do the gold spurs offer over the silver and the bronze?"
"Those were in your contract that you read," Calisto answered for Skellhaundar. "The one you signed to enter the competition."
"Right...," Kian said. "I must confess...I got struck a little hard and it addled my memory just a bit."
"That's funny," Calisto said. "Your head doesn't even look bruised."
"Just lucky I guess," Kian quipped.
"There are four colors of spurs, Kian," Skellhaundar said. "The platinum guard are Calisto's personal retinue. Only he awards them. For the army at large, there are gold, silver, and bronze. Four years ago, a man received bronze spurs. I hope to award at least that today. Mostly, the differences between the colors are indicative of what the church trusts them with. Gold spurs have access to everything. They may interrogate prisoners and may astrally project themselves to attend services in Dek Lek Thukar, our holiest of cities. Gold spurs are our most elite soldiers, and the most physically fit men in the world. From where I stand, it seems apparent that you'd have no problem meeting our athletic standards, right Calisto?"
The undead general chuckled. "A pointless question, Skellhaundar. Is it your intent to rub this champion of yours in my face?"
"Champion?" Kian asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is that unusual? I sensed there was a bit of tension between you too, and I hope I'm not to blame."
"Careful," Skellhaundar said to Kian. "We like you, yes. But you are not a knight yet. You would be wise to mind your own business until a pair of spurs of any color decorate your heels. But to explain, Calisto and I frequently choose recruits from the field to cheer on. It's harmless fun, and makes this competition less about death and more about winning."
"Beyond the third event," Calisto said, "there can only be one who survives. Will it be you? No one can say. But make no mistake, boy, this competition is always about death."
"Then if I'm to die, I salute you," Kian said. With that, he turned to Valanthe, long smile purposeful and gentle, and then slowly lifted his fingers to the young man's visor. "May I?" he asked.
"Of course," Valanthe said. He followed it with, "Yes," as if there were any doubt.
"If you promise to be tender with your hands, ser knight. I accept to being oiled by them. I'm sure it will also help the chafing of the armor, which was quite uncomfortable in the first two events."
Valanthe swallowed and struggled to say, "Chafing may be the difference between life and death. I-I'll be sure to do my best, Kian. I want you in the order."
"I know," Kian replied, staring into Valanthe's eyes.
"Come Skellhaundar," Calisto said. "We have a competition to run, and you haven't eaten a thing. Perhaps we could stop by the cafeteria and grab a sandwich for you?"
Skellhaundar nodded and followed Calisto out.
As the two generals departed, Skellhaundar did glance once over his shoulder. What he saw made him want to trade places with Valanthe...a feeling he hadn't experienced in decades. As expected, Valanthe and Kian kissed heavily, tongue sliding atop tongue, and nose rubbing against nose. Kian's hands gripped Valanthe's metal pauldrons while Valanthe gently stroked Kian's dick with one finger on his free hand and the other strangling the pommel of his sword.
Taleta's tears, Skellhaundar swore, what that must feel like. I bet his mouth tastes of honey and smells of mint.
"I hate you, Calisto," Skellhaundar uttered with complete contempt as they strode for the exit that would dump them back into the crowded Flavium under the Arena of the Flayed Man.
"The feeling's mutual," Calisto replied. "At least I'll outlive you. That boy's cheating, Skellhaundar. I know you don't see it, but there's something awfully suspicious about him. But gods in heaven and hell! What I wouldn't do to fuck that boy right here and now. You'd never get me off him. Skellhaundar Romax...I swear to you that if he dies, I'm going to rape his corpse until it falls apart."
If he dies, Skellhaundar thought, then you will not see another sunrise, Calisto. This I promise you.
The complete novel is now available to read at http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/discussion-board-for.html under the label "The Orb of Winter" if you care to read ahead.
I'm prepping "The Orb of Winter" for publication on Kindle. The cover art for it is done. Anyone that wants to see it can pop over to http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/news.html. It features a new picture of Kian on the cover :).
If you go to my website forum directly from this posting, you will want to begin with "CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT."