The Storm King

Chapter 643: Blood Sports

“Leon Raime!” Alfonso boomed as everyone filed out onto the balcony, the games set to soon begin. “Please, sit with me!”

The King’s request was polite enough, and if taken at face value, there was the choice to refuse. However, Leon knew that even though it was as polite as a seventh-tier speaking to an eighth should be, it was also a request from a King, which meant it wasn’t exactly a request, either. As good-naturedly as he could, Leon separated himself from his retainers, with whom he’d been speaking for the past half hour or so, held out his arm for Elise, and then walked over to the seats just beside Alfonso’s throne-like seat. With him, too, were Maia and Valeria, whom Leon had silently invited with a look. After all, though Elise was his wife, he didn’t want to neglect either of them in this situation.

Leon slid into the seat just to Alfonso’s right, which the King had been gesturing to. He felt a few jealous stares from the King’s entourage, but he pretended not to notice. Elise then sat to Leon’s right, while Maia and Valeria then sat to her right, leaving only the seats behind the front row for the King’s entourage—far enough back that Leon was sure a few were insulted at being sat so far from the most powerful people in the Alliance.

To Alfonso’s left sat Isabella, and then to her left was Princess Cristina, followed by Emilie, Damien Makedon, and then a couple of the Queen’s most important retainers.

“Leon, have you been introduced to Lady Isabella, here?” Alfonso asked as Leon sat down.

“I haven’t had the pleasure, no,” Leon replied, taking pains to ensure that there wasn’t even a hint of resentment in his voice. His eyes flitted over to the Queen, who despite having to be able to hear them so close to her, was staring out into the rapidly-filling stands as thousands of the city’s people made their way to their seats. Already, Leon estimated that there were at least twenty-thousand people present, and the stands weren’t even halfway full.

“Then allow me the honor of introduction,” Alfonso said, and he launched into a much more grandiose list of titles than those he’d used for himself, only after which did Isabella finally deign to look in Leon’s direction.

“An honor to meet you, Your Majesty,” Leon politely said once Alfonso had finished.

“The honor is mine, Leon Raime,” Isabella stated neutrally, her tone indicating that the platitudes were largely empty, and that she was saying the words out of obligation. “It’s not often that a mage strong enough to evade my senses passes through Andalus.”

“And now there are three!” Alfonso added, his eyes sliding from Leon, to Maia, and then over to Damien for a moment before returning to Leon. “Is the good lady there with you, Leon? May I call you Leon?”

“Call me whatever you please, and yes, Naiad is with me,” Leon said, and Elise, listening in, took Leon’s right hand and Maia’s left, and then brought them together in front of her.

“Ah, I see,” Alfonso replied, the faintest light of hope in his eyes dying as he saw Maia’s fingers instinctively curl around Leon’s palm. “I welcome you two to our little corner of the world. I think you’ll be in for a treat today!”

“Blood sports are hardly treats,” Isabella responded, providing a hint to the root of at least some of her current profoundly disinterested attitude.

“Nonsense!” Alfonso thundered. “Seeing a little blood is good for the soul! If Great Death is far from us, then how can we ever truly appreciate Greatest Life?”

“I appreciate Life just fine, I have no need to be reminded of Death,” Isabella replied, a hint of scorn making its way into her tone.

“Then you won’t mind if I make the announcements?” Alfonso asked, giving his counterpart a provocative smirk.

“You’ll sit there and look tough,” Isabella commanded, though how binding her commands could be, Leon wasn’t sure. “That’s all you’re good for. Keep your mouth shut.”

The Queen’s killing intent began to rise, and Leon began to feel more than a little awkward. It was like watching a married couple fight—it was their business, and seeing this kind of discord made him deeply uncomfortable. It wasn’t his place to interrupt or to offer anything at all, he could only sit there and hope that it would be over soon.

“Now, now,” Alfonso said without a hint of shame, “what kind of show are we putting on for our guests? Certainly not one that anyone would find enjoyable, that’s for sure.” To counter the dropping temperature around the balcony from the Queen’s killing intent, Alfonso waved his hand and caused the fire within a nearby decorative brazier to double in intensity. “I think we need to warm all of this up, don’t you?”

The King gave the Queen a glowing smile, but it was only after several long seconds of what seemed like terribly fierce thought that Isabella restrained herself.

She clicked her tongue and said, “So be it.” She then turned away from Alfonso to engage Cristina in conversation, which the Bull Princess seemed a little hesitant to reciprocate, but after a minute or so, it was almost as if the conflict between the Cortuban Royals had been completely forgotten.

“I apologize for that,” Alfonso whispered to Leon, leaning over as he did, seemingly without care at all that the hordes of common people filing into their seats or the others in their private boxes could see. “Lady Isabella has never been one for these games. Has a fool notion in her head that blood ought to stay in one’s body. Well, I don’t necessarily disagree, but a little bloodletting is good for the soul, don’t you agree?”

Leon shrugged, not feeling like mincing his words before the King since it seemed the King wasn’t mincing his words with him.

“I generally find that violence for its own sake is counter-productive,” Leon stated as he returned the King’s smile.

Alfonso let out a booming laugh. “Ha! I suppose that’s what this might seem like to foreigners. But gladiators exist all over the civilized world, do they not? Have you never seen blood sports before?”

“I’m well familiar with the arts of the arena,” Leon replied as he briefly recalled his own experience preventing one of Octavius’ gladiators from killing one of August’s. “It’s just rare for them to be referred to as ‘blood sports’, in my experience. Makes me think that things are a little more extreme here.”

“Hmm,” Alfonso murmured. “Are you familiar with our ways, Leon Raime?”

“Can’t say that I am,” Leon replied.

“Then allow me to elucidate them a bit, if you don’t mind…”

Leon signaled his assent with a nod of his head.

“Today, we’ll have a short bloodletting—new gladiators will have their first fights here, and compete to first blood. None will die, though a few may be maimed. All for the glory of Cortusis, the Fierce God, though. After that, our healers will see to them, to ensure that they might honor our gods further.

“But once those fights are over, we’ll move on to our bigger fights. Mages with elemental power will enter the arena, honoring our gods with the blood of beasts. Lions, bears, anything strong that we can find or purchase will be pitted against them. In this, they will bring honor not only to themselves, but to Cormellian, the Wild God.

“To finish the games, our strongest gladiators will face each other down, and show our people the divide between Great Death and Greatest Life, watched over by our gods of each: Cordancis, and Cortubus, respectively. Killing each other is not required by any means, though it’s not exactly uncommon.”

“Is all of this willing?” Leon asked. “Your gladiators consent to spill their blood on these sands?”

“For their honor and glory, yes,” Alfonso replied. “Also for a mountain of coin, but coin is honor in its own right—at least, if the priests of Corcilius, the Wealthy God, are to be believed.”

“I heard something about an execution, though,” Leon said.

Alfonso smiled at him. “Yes, that will come after the games. And I believe you had something to do with it, bringing in traitors that we were still getting ready to deal with. My thanks and congratulations, by the way…”

Leon’s smile tightened, but he nodded in acceptance anyway.

“Normally, such traitors would be beheaded, but since we had games today, I decided to have them thrown to wild animals, instead. Ought to entertain the masses, and bring joy to Cortell, the Commanding God.”

Leon wasn’t quite sure what to say at that point. “Will… they at least be armed?” he asked.

Alfonso gave him a look like he was crazy. “They’re traitors being executed. We can’t take away their magic, but we’re not giving them weapons.”

“I see…” Leon muttered.

“You disapprove?” Alfonso asked.

Leon took a long moment to think things over, turning the problem over in his head. “I… suppose I find the concept distasteful,” he finally said, “but I wouldn’t say I completely disapprove. At least, not until I see what the execution entails. I’m not really one for such drawn out death. Were I in your shoes, I think I would’ve just sent the bandits to the headsman and gotten it over with. Feeding them to wild animals just seems… unnecessary and excessive.”

Alfonso hummed appreciatively, frowning with thought.

“What happens,” Leon inquired, “if they survive? If they kill all of your wild animals? Do you just send in more? Send in gladiators instead? Is there any route for them out of this arena?”

“In all practical senses, no,” Alfonso replied. “I suppose Lady Isabella and I could always commute their sentences if they provide a great enough show, though. Such things have been done before—mercy being shown if those to be executed instead prevail against their monstrous executioners. If Cortusis walks with them and Cortell delivers them from their fate, then who are we to overturn that judgment?”

After several moments of silence between the two, Isabella turned back to Alfonso and whispered into his ear. Leon was able to make out a few words, just enough to understand that it was business they were discussing. And he thought he knew what kind of business, for the stands were almost full, now. Somewhere along the lines of fifty thousand people were in the stands, the sonic weight of even their casual conversations hitting Leon’s ears like a stone giant beating upon a drum. And being so prominently seated, Leon could feel a significant number of stares landing upon him, too. He did his best to ignore all of it; to project an air of distance and dignified stoicism that wouldn’t signal any kind of weakness.

He wasn’t trying to impress anyone, but he was still rather uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to show it.

Fortunately, Elise seemed to pick up on it, and she entwined her fingers with his on his armrest, drawing his attention, and giving him a look of radiant joy.

“Smile, husband,” she said, leaning into his ear. “You’ll terrify the children if you don’t.”

Leon, glancing around, was somewhat surprised to see kids as young as ten or so in the stands here and there, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at his wife’s words. He wasn’t much concerned with children seeing violence and ‘blood sports’, as Alfonso had called them—he’d been hunting since he was younger than ten, Artorias having taken pains to ensure that he was comfortable with death.

Still, he supposed Elise had a point; there wasn’t much reason for him to be so glum. This was supposed to be an entertaining show, after all, and he shouldn’t judge it before it was over.

Isabella and Alfonso continued whispering to each other for a few more minutes as the final stragglers made their way to their seats. And then, when it seemed like the arena had filled completely, or at least as completely as it was going to be filled, Isabella rose from her seat. Instantly, as if someone had simply turned off everyone’s vocal cords, all noise within the arena ceased, and all eyes found their way to Isabella.

She didn’t speak in the common tongue, so Leon wasn’t able to follow any of her speech, but what caught his eye—and his ear—was the fact that her voice echoed throughout the entire arena even though she didn’t so much as raise it. There weren’t any visible enchantments working their magic, and her aura remained rather subdued, so he knew she wasn’t her own magic on this trick, but it got him thinking over how he might accomplish something similar.

Finally, she finished, and the crowd erupted in applause. From the other side of the arena, on a small red brick platform built where a private box would’ve otherwise been, a man walked out, and began to, Leon assumed, announce the fights.

As he was speaking, Alfonso turned back to Leon and asked, “Follow any of that?”

Leon gave him an apologetic look and responded, “I’m sorry, but no.”

The King practically physically waved away his apologies. “Don’t worry about it. But the games are about to begin, I hope you enjoy yourself…”

Leon smiled and nodded, hoping that it was sufficient to return the sentiment. It seemed it was, for Alfonso then turned to watch the first pair of gladiators walk into the arena, to polite applause from the stands. There wasn’t much enthusiasm, but Leon recalled that these were relative rookies, with this fight being their first in the enormous arena.

They didn’t seem to be complete novices, though, for they were each of the third-tier, decked out in fairly substantive armor, and played well to the crowd, showing not a single trace of anxiety about being in front of fifty-thousand people.

And then, after what Leon could only assume to be an introduction from the announcer, the two began their fight.

It was over in a matter of minutes, with one getting in a lucky shot that snaked his blade between the steel plates protecting the other’s elbow, drawing blood. The loser then collapsed to the ground, his face one of disbelief and extreme disappointment, the winner raising his arms for the crowd, which while not roaring, was still quite loudly expressing their entertainment. After a moment, the loser then picked up a handful of sand, rubbed it into his bleeding wound, and then rose to his feet, shambling out of the arena.

“A glorious win, and a shameful defeat,” Alfonso brutally remarked, smiling quite widely and leaning forward slightly as the loser departed, an almost predatory look in his eyes. Isabella, on the other hand, Leon noted seemed to be practically ignoring the fight, absorbing herself in a hushed conversation she was having with Cristina.

To Leon’s surprise, the winner stuck around, though he moved to the side as two more gladiators entered hit the sands. These two then fought a blistering battle, which ended when one knocked the other to the ground and delivered a vicious blow against his thigh. The loser then rubbed sand into his wound and hobbled out, while the winner stood by.

Thusly did some forty-eight matches go by in only an hour and a half, leaving the arena with a few streaks of blood, and forty-eight winners standing in the arena. Despite his initial enthusiasm after the first fight, though, Alfonso had leaned back in his chair, his expression growing more and more unsatisfied with every passing fight.

Finally, as the announcer shouted something to the crowd that had them roaring with delight, the King leaned over to Leon and whispered, “So, what are your thoughts so far?”

Leon smiled back at the King and replied, “A lot less bloody than I was expecting. Though, the crowd seems rather…” During the fights, the crowd had been loud enough, but never quite enthusiastic about their new gladiators.

The people in the stands were now going insane as the gladiators assembled into a formation six men across and eight deep, each one far enough from his neighbors that they couldn’t touch the others if they both reached out. Whatever the announcer had proclaimed had seemingly energized the crowd.

“Not enough blood has been spilled,” Alfonso said. “These fights have been too clean. Too safe. Do you see the gladiators down there now? How do they seem?”

Leon took a closer look at each of the winners as they stood stock-still, listening to the announcer, who glared down at them like they were not only ants beneath his boots, but ants that had somehow offended him. The words he spoke to the crowd still worked them up, but the gladiators themselves seemed like chastened children.

“The gods demand more from their people,” Alfonso said with anticipation dripping from his tone, and his words were punctuated with the loud clanging sound of several of the steel gates that hadn’t been used by the gladiators unlocking and slowly lowering into the ground. “When the gods don’t get what they demand, then something must be done…”

The crowd’s fervor grew in intensity, but even with all the noise they were making, Leon could still hear the roar of something within the darkness beyond the gates, something strong enough to emit a fifth-tier aura. Something responded from another gate with an ear-piercing shriek, and Leon could feel another fifth-tier aura emanate from the dark.

The third and final gate remained quiet, but Leon could see something large moving about within.

“Is this a punishment?” Leon asked the King. “They didn’t please you, so the wild animals are released early?”

Alfonso grinned at Leon, and said, “Something like that, I suppose.”

From one gate emerged a massive lion, its coat sparkling like silver. Leon recognized it as a snow lion, though one bigger than the one he’d hunted to awaken his Inherited Bloodline, nearly reaching the size of one of the Heaven’s Eye carriages in his caravan.

From the second gate came something much less familiar: some kind of giant ape, its proportions almost looking human, though covered in coarse black fur. It stood about ten feet tall, and its eyes glowed in its skull like orbs of polished gold that had caught the light of the sun.

From the final gate came something almost alien—a black horse-like creature with six legs, four eyes that burned like hot coals, fangs that dipped below its chin, and small fires blazing about its hooves.

“If they survive, then it will be with the favor of the gods,” Alfonso stated with anticipation. “If they have no favor, then from them will the gods take their due.”

As if on cue, the three beasts surged forward, raking and tearing into the ranks of the third-tier gladiators as they broke from formation and scrambled for cover. But in that first instant, five of the ‘winners’ of the previous matches were ripped open, torn apart, burned, frozen, and smashed into the sand.

And all