The Storm King

“It is time for the games to begin!” the announcer cried, to the ecstatic cheering of the crowd. They were so loud that they just about shook the arena, and Leon in the sealed Royal box thought that the sound could be heard in every corner of the capital.

As the chariots for the opening races began taking the field, the enchanted glass sealing the Royal box retracted, opening it up for the entire arena to see. Instantly, Leon felt the weight of more than a hundred thousand people looking at him and the others in the box.

Being used to this kind of attention, the three Princes stood up, walked over to the edge of the box, and began waving to the crowd and otherwise playing to the crowd, which only grew louder with the reveal of their Princes.

Octavius enjoyed the hell out of the attention, waving, smiling, and even blowing a few kisses to the ladies in the crowds. August was more modest, merely waving and smiling and trying not to make a production out of it. Trajan was even more subdued, only smiling and waving when he made eye contact with one of his knights sitting in the boxes.

Leon remained seated, as did the others in the Royal box, but he was still able to make eye contact with Elise, and the two shared a quick smile. Leon struggled not to look at Valeria or the other ladies sharing Elise’s box, but Asiya was waving at him so energetically that he couldn’t pretend not to notice, so he waved at them.

One thing that piqued his interest was the presence of two ladies who he’d never met before in the same box. One of them had risen to her feet and had buried her face in the snack cabinet, while the other blatantly waved at the Princes with a wide smile on her face. She was beautiful with light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and Leon thought he saw Trajan pause for a moment in shock when his eyes finally made their way in her direction.

During this entire time, the announcer was extolling the virtues of the Royal Family, talking shit about the Talfar Kingdom, and praising the Royal Legions that fended off their invasion. The four chariots that were taking part in the first race were slowly riding around the perimeter of the arena, their passengers hyping up the crowd while their drivers got a feel for the course.

The crowd cheered mostly for the Blue and the Green teams, which Leon knew were the teams that most represented the commoners. The nobility was represented mostly by the Reds and the Whites, whose chariots were obviously much more expensive and durable. The horses pulling the Red and White chariots were also clearly of better quality, being more muscular and having shinier coats.

Once the opening speech by the announcer was over, the Princes returned to their seats.

“Stefania is here,” Trajan said as he slid back into his chair.

“I noticed,” August said. “She’s not required to be in the Royal box, if she wants to spend time with other noble ladies, then who are we to tell her not to?”

“She’s Royalty, she’s above them!” Octavius complained, but he didn’t send anyone to bring Princess Stefania to the Royal box.

A few minutes later, the race began. There were fences, enchanted plates that erupted into flame at set intervals, earth enchantments that created ramps and moving barriers, and even a small artificial river flowing around the track that constantly changed course. All in all, even Leon, who had little investment in the races, could understand why the crowds were so enamored with it, as it was quite the spectacle.

About halfway through the race, the Reds and Whites were predictably in the lead, with the passengers in both chariots constantly hitting each other with training spears and the drivers ramming their chariots into each other, when Leon happened to notice one of the White passengers pause and glance into the Royal box. He then turned back to the Red chariots and stabbed at the wheel, causing the entire chariot to be ripped apart, to the simultaneous cheering and groans of the crowd.

It was an absolutely spectacular crash, though the Red driver, passenger, and horses all seemed to be fine and quickly walked off the field so they wouldn’t be hit by the other three chariots as they went around the track. Still, Leon heard a disappointed sigh come from August and a triumphant chuckle from Octavius.

“That Red chariot came apart with just that love tap?” the Chancellor bemoaned.

“Mm, doubt it,” the Spymaster said.

“What do you mean?” Octavius politely asked as he turned around to face the Spymaster.

Publius simply shrugged in response. Octavius seemed to take a deep breath as if he were getting ready to shout at the Spymaster, but he seemed to think better of it and turned back around to watch the end of the race.

No one else said a word, but Leon felt a current of killing intent come from both the Spymaster and Trajan, and he thought he knew why.

When the White spear made contact with the Red chariot’s wheel, he barely managed to see a brief flash of light, as if the spear had been activating an enchantment. The chariot was then ripped apart by its own horses immediately after, right in front of the Royal box.

Given their reactions, Leon knew that both Trajan and the Spymaster had seen the same thing that he had, though they said nothing about it. It didn’t seem like many others saw what happened, though.

To the surprise of no one, the White team won the race, though the crowd didn’t care. It wasn’t until the Blue team crossed the finish line before the Greens that the crowd began to cheer in victory rather than encouragement.

After that, the obstacles were changed around, with some taken out and others added in. Twenty minutes after the first race ended, the second began with a completely different track. Technically speaking, they were different teams from before, as every city with a racetrack had dozens of chariot teams. However, every team belonged to one of the four national factions.

Despite being a completely different team from a different city on the other side of the Kingdom, the Red chariot broke again under pressure from the White team, and just like before, it happened right in front of the Royal box. As the Red chariot broke apart, the crowd went quiet. The chariot teams kept going, but with the overwhelming pressure of the silent crowd, the other three teams slowed down immensely.

There was no denying foul play at this point. One chariot falling apart could be easily explained away, but two was the beginning of a pattern. And yet, despite this obvious cheating, Octavius only quietly chuckled as the Red team limped off the track with significant injuries; the first Red team had gotten off light with bumps and bruises, but the second suffered broken bones, though they were still at least ambulatory.

“Seems to me like the Reds need better drivers,” the Central Consul said with a shit-eating grin.

August, being a fan of the Reds, had to fight the urge to get up and slap the Consul across the face.

“I hope that nothing like this happens again during the remainder of the games,” Trajan growled. “If there are, then there might be investigations…”

“I’m sure this was nothing, Uncle,” Octavius stated. “Just a poor showing on the part of the Reds.”

“That had better be the case,” Trajan said in a dangerous tone as his killing intent began to leak out more noticeably, causing Octavius to visibly grow paler.

Again, the Whites won the race, with the Reds not finishing and the Greens beating the Blues. While the third race was being set up, Octavius got up and made to get himself something to eat and whispered something to the Earthshaker Paladin as he did so. Earthshaker then left the box for about ten minutes, returning just in time to catch the third race.

There were no more ‘accidents’ involving the Reds, but they were only able to win three races during the rest of the day, out of a total of nine.

Following the races, there was an hour break as the arena was prepared for the naval spectacle. First, pieces of a pair of small war galleys were taken out and assembled in the sands. The arena was then flooded with water about thirty feet deep, rising to just about five feet from the edge of the stone stands.

Given the sheer size of the arena, this was a gargantuan amount of water, and Leon couldn’t help but marvel at the magical engineering required to flood the place so quickly. Since there were gladiator fights happening afterward, it was also clear that the arena would be drained at least as fast, and he was looking forward to seeing it.

The galleys floated in this water quite comfortably, and gladiators began to be ferried over to them in rowboats. There weren’t any rowers among them, though, as the galleys were propelled with weak water enchantments that could only work in such a confined space. If the same enchantments were applied to boats and ships plying the waters of the Gulf of Discord or the Naga River, then they would utterly fail to do their job.

Once the arena filled back up, the naval spectacle began. The two galleys circled the arena once before barreling toward each other at terrific speeds. They rammed into each other again and again until the rams on their prows had been all but destroyed. The galley in better condition then rammed the other again, allowing their gladiators to board the more damaged ship and begin fighting on the deck.

All in all, more than two hundred gladiators took part in the fight, and it was quite the sight to behold. He didn’t have much context for who the combatants were or who they represented, but Leon could at least respect the combat prowess shown, as the gladiators were armed with training weapons so that they didn’t have to hold back to stop from killing the others.

The naval spectacle lasted for about forty-five minutes, and then the water was quickly drained. A drain opened up in the center of the arena, and most of the water was gone within ten minutes. Heat enchantments then dried out the sand while workers disassembled the ships and took them back into storage. Less than an hour after the spectacle was over, it was time for the more traditional gladiator battles.

These started off as large-scale conflicts, with teams of twenty or thirty gladiators pitted against each other. No one stood out all that much, but the crowds ate it up anyway. Throughout these fights, the shenanigans with the chariots were largely forgotten, as Leon and the others lost themselves in the grand display.

After these team battles came individual matches, where more well-known gladiators faced off against each other. For these fights, their nonlethal weapons were taken away, and they could fully let loose with their powers, assuming they were strong enough to do so. Much like the last set of games Leon attended, these fights were carefully choreographed to play on the crowd’s desires, with the gladiator that received more cheering eventually coming out ahead—usually, at least, there was a still a bit of spontaneity if a gladiator just didn’t want to throw the match. But the crowd made their choices well known, and the entire capital seemed to shake whenever the crowd’s favorite won, and that was a hard thing for any gladiator to pass up, making it easy for Leon to predict most of the fights.

Finally, the last fight rolled around as the sun began to set.

“To honor our most noble of Princes, we have arranged for a great match!” the announcer said as he gestured to one end of the arena. His voice was much softer than it had been earlier in the day, and starting to get a bit hoarse, but he was still full of energy. “In one corner, we have Antonius Agrippa, the Golden Man!”

The announcer kept lavishing the gladiator with praise as he took to the sands. Leon recognized the man, with his golden hair and golden armor. He’d seen Antonius Agrippa fight once before, and Leon had a poor impression of the man—the fact that Elise had reacted to his incredible looks hadn’t helped, either.

The crowd erupted in cheers as the gladiator walked out. Antonius Agrippa played right to them, waving, winking at ladies, and smiling at everyone. Leon saw his head turn in the direction of Elise’s box—not that Leon could blame the gladiator since the box had six beautiful women sitting within, including Elise and Princess Stefania, two of the most prominent noblewomen in the capital—and blatantly blow a kiss toward all the ladies within.

Leon almost turned the armrests of his wooden chair into splinters, he was gripping it so hard in irritation. However, when he glanced in Elise’s direction, he saw her looking back at him, and she giggled and winked at him. With a deep breath to keep control over himself, Leon slowly relaxed his grip on the chair.

Antonius Agrippa arrived at the center of the arena, and he turned toward the Royal box and bowed low.

“FOR HIS HIGHNESS, PRINCE OCTAVIUS!” he bellowed, and the crowd only cheered louder.

August managed to prevent himself from grimacing, but he’d had to eat quite a bit of humiliation already when his favored chariot teams had been sabotaged. Still, he managed to keep his Princely demeanor, and he simply smiled down at the gladiator.

The opposing gladiator entered the arena a moment later, dressed from head to toe in thick black armor. In one hand, he wielded a massive black sword, while the other crackled with fire magic. His entrance was not greeted with the same enthusiasm as Antonius Agrippa’s, leading Leon to doubt whether the match would be as spectacular as the announcer claimed.

Antonius Agrippa smiled almost mockingly at his opponent, and as soon as the match began, he swung his sword and launched a beam of light at the other gladiator. This light beam splashed over his armor, pushing him back several feet but failing to penetrate. The black-armored gladiator then charged, hurling a fireball as he did so.

However, he just wasn’t fast enough to pin the Golden Man down. After a five minute chase, Antonius Agrippa managed to trip him up, knock off his helmet, and rest his blade against his throat.

It was a decisive win, and one that was almost quick enough to anger the crowd. But their Golden Man had won, and so the crowd cheered, though perhaps not as enthusiastically as they might have if the match had lasted longer.

Octavius clapped in congratulations, and while August also clapped, he was much less enthusiastic about it. For his part, Leon had wanted to see the Golden Man eat sand, and he was incredibly disappointed.

In the early days of the Kingdom and in the years before the land was united, the final match of games of this scale had been fought to the death. As time went on and long after the First Bull King unified the region, the reigning Bull King would sometimes grant mercy to the defeated gladiator. These acts of mercy were eventually made the norm, and by now, no gladiator had been deliberately killed in the arena in almost a millennium.

But the King wasn’t present to ‘pardon’ the defeated gladiator, so that duty fell to his Regents.

As was, by now, tradition, August gave the signal for life, giving Antonius Agrippa and his defeated opponent a thumbs up. The black-armored gladiator had fought well, even if he had been defeated relatively quickly, and so the crowd cheered in support for his being granted life.

However, the Golden Man did not retract his blade. The gladiator didn’t even look at August. Instead, Agrippa stared at Octavius, his mouth curled in a tight, sinister smile.

Octavius smiled back, extended his arm, and gave the gladiators a thumbs down, the signal for death.