Wake of the Ravager

Farren, eldest of the king’s two dozen heirs, had a plan.

At the Arena, Farren’s eldest daughter would prove the superiority of the Uleisan royalty to those who doubted them. Shelia was a dervish on the battlefield, and through skill and cunning, had achieved Legend status at a very young age, breaking through the numerous barriers their enemies had created for her.

She was sure to present well for the royal family.

But more than that, Kurawe, the leader of the vipers who’d crippled the royal family for two generations, was going to be there, within arm’s length of the people he’d enslaved.

“For the last time,” His father, King Ollust said, rubbing his temple. “It’s a boorish spectacle, a complete waste of our time, and a desecration of our traditions for the sake of entertainment. We are above this.” The gnarled, wispy haired man was a tired husk of the king Farren remembered growing up.

“I don’t believe that’s the case, my king,” Farren said solemnly. “We are kept separate from the rest of the city because they control us, true, but to push ourselves further into isolation willingly because we are offered the chance to refuse? It appears weak at worst or uncaring at best.”

“Measure your words carefully, brother.” Gant, the second eldest brother said. Gant was beginning to show streaks of grey in his beard, and his eyes burned with ambition.

Not unlike Farren himself.

“…But I believe he’s right. Going to the tournament is more beneficial than not going, all things considered.”

“King Ollust’s hand came down from his temple and he glanced between his two sons with rheumy eyes.

“It’s rare thing, for you two to agree on anything. Especially something I oppose.”

King Ollust tapped his fingers on the arm of the throne for a moment.

“Very well. Make the arrangements.”

Farren and Gant bowed and turned to leave.

“But..” their father’s wavery voice carried to them, forcing the brothers to turn back.

“Farren. You’re too ambitious. You’ll not attempt violence at the tournament, or anything else I might consider stupid.”

“No sire.” Farren said, nodding deeply.

“And Gant, You’ve a lot of free time, being the younger boy.” The wrinkled old man said, holding up a finger. “I’d like for Gant to arrange an informal party after the tournament where I can meet my daughters and granddaughters in an informal setting. It’s always been my favorite part of New Years.”

“As you command.” Gant said, bowing.

The two of them silently retreated from the empty court.

Oh, how sweet it will be when the halls are filled with petitioners again, Farren thought, eyeing his brother, who eyed him in turn.

“How are you going to do your typical scheming, Gant, when you have a party to plan?”

Gant shrugged. “Delegate. How are you going to murder your rivals when the king has forbid it?”

Farren shrugged. “Delegate.”

The two brothers eyed each other before they broke into chuckles, the only other sound silk gliding across the immaculate palace floor.

***Baroke***

Baroke was led into a side passage that wound gently up, curving slightly, until he was standing in front of a massive archway. Beyond that archway was…what could only be called a boat.

The glass construction sat in the center of a huge reservoir of water, with a thirty foot tall door sitting in front of the boat, separating them from the arena proper.

Baroke could picture the door falling open and riding the ship across the resulting wave crashing across the arena.

It had four rowers on either side, and four men manning cannons, the whole thing was maybe twenty feet long from end to end. There was a steering wheel near the back with a captain’s hat resting on it.

Baroke’s position.

“Take a minute to get to know your men, then when the door begins to lower, the fight is on.” The official said, motioning for Baroke to enter.

He pointed at the pyramid of cannonballs.

“You’ve got thirty shots. Use them wisely. Sink the other contestant’s ships or take them, be the last man standing on a vessal, and you win. Simple.”

“What if one of the cannons takes off an arm?”

“The cannons aren’t particularly strong, the veterans were chosen because they have high Endurance, and the boats are actually quite brittle. As long as no one takes a cannon directly to the balls, everyone should be alright.”

“Good enough for me,” Baroke said, adjusting the thong digging into his crack.

He was gonna win. And he was gonna get Calvin back for this.

With the Uleisan slingshot on his waist, he had a hell of an advantage…until he used it. That was why he had to get through as much of the tournament as possibly while relying only on his superior strength.

The official left, leaving Baroke standing there in front of the dozen soldiers, their eyes soaking in his outlandish outfit.

“Get a good look now,” Baroke said, flexing as they stared. “Because once we’re in there, I want your heads in the game.” One by one, they began looking at his face rather than the ridiculous pink poof of fabric around his waist.

“Good. Now, My name’s Grabnar the Barbarian, and we’re going to be the winners of this little game as long as you follow my commands.”

Baroke almost faceplanted when he boarded the ship as his heels tried to wobble out from beneath him. He corrected at the last second, his fingers putting grooves in the handholds.

The guy was right. Whatever the boat was made out of made him feel like it would crumble under his grip. Like so many other things.

Baroke walked unsteadily up to the captain position and put his hat on.

“Now there’s two things we have to do. First we have to establish a unified team taking off those uniforms and wrapping the colored shawls around our heads.”

They glanced around at each other.

“You heard me! Off with the shirts and on with the headbands!”

One man began slipping off his uniform, followed by another, until Baroke was facing a group of men in their skivvies with  bright red sashes tied around their heads.

“Now remember your war faces!” Baroke said, grabbing one of the oars out of Its holder, and testing it in his hands. Sturdy. “When we go out there, you aren’t a bunch of guys in your underwear, you’re starving animals that’ve been cooped up in the ship for sixteen months and you’d slit a bastards throat soon as look at him. Roar!”

They glanced at each other.

“I said fucking roar!” Baroke followed by giving his best bellow, listening to it ring off the glass walls.

They echoed him their voces filling the empty space and pounding against his skull.

“That’s why we’re gonna fucking win! Now, kick the cannons overboard.”

“What?”

There was a crash, then the rattling and creaking of metal as the massive door began to slide downward, lowering itself into the ground.

***Farren***

Farren was sitting in his chair, marveling at the size and scope of the arena. This was the first time he’d visited the thing. It was as amazing a construction as it was a disgusting display of Kurawe’s sheer power.

You like my arena? I built it myself in a week. Farren rolled his eyes.

He’d built it to remind people that while he was getting on in years, he was also still a powerful wizard.

The newer additions to the arena though, those seemed like they were made after the fact and welded in place. The waterworks were something he only heard about recently, and the shade and water reclaimers arcing above their heads were similarly new.

The water works were a hideous misuse of water, though. Not having access to the ocean or a river, they’d diverted water from the primary aqueduct for this.

Farren shook his head. Maybe the old giant was finally losing his mind. That would be nice.

Farren was sitting at his father’s right hand, with Gant at his left. One seat over…that was where Kurawe would sit.

“You may sit.” King Ollust said, and everyone in the arena sat. More a formality than anything.

Farren pulled out his itinerary and scanned the contents. Commencement speech, Damn. Naval battle, Greased Horker catching…. What was this, designed by a teenage rube from the sticks?

Faren scanned through the increasingly churlish games and his eyes landed on ‘salute to the royal family’, right in the middle of the day, just after the human cavalry jousting

I’m just going to have to try and stay awake through the commencement speech.

The audience settled into a hush as the ungainly huge man walked up to the stage to give the address. He opened his mouth to speak, and…

It sucked.

What more was there to say?

Kurawe was a master of oration, one who loved to listen to the sound of his own voice, but strangely enough, this time, he’d given a short, sweet speech about remembering the fallen, hope for the future, gratefulness to the citizens of Uleis, then turned tail and waddled off the stage, almost like he didn’t like the attention of thousands of people bearing down on him.

That’s unusual, Farren thought, frowning and sitting up straight in his chair to watch the fat man leave. He shared a glance with his brother across their father’s knees.

What in the abyss was that? His evil brother mouthed.

Farren shrugged, then had a sudden realization.

His Shelia was going to be wrestling with peasants for a greased pig.

Farren put a trembling hand over his brow. That was why he changed the tournament itinerary. To humiliate us. To humiliate me. I’m not going to let this slide.

“Oh hey, Farren, right?” a deep, reverberating voice said. Farren took his hand away from his face and was greeted with the sight of Kurawe, true ruler of the city, looming over him.

The man was wearing some kind of platter attached to his chest that held a huge quantity of fried foods and a massive pitcher of wine.

“My assistant here tells me this is the first time we’ve met, officially.” He said, thumbing at a little Uleisan girl struggling to carry a massive amphora of wine, resorting to rolling it.

“I told you not to shake the contents,” Kurawe said, laying a gentle smack upside the little girl’s head.

Well, if I didn’t like him before, I certainly don’t like him now.

“Nice to meet you.” They shook hands beneath the giant’s enormous plate, then Kurawe carefully sat back in his velvet chair, one step removed from the king’s side.

“So, who are you placing your bets on?”

“Oh…Either Grabnar the barbarian, or Breanne. I don’t know any of these other people. Maybe we’ll get some surprises, eh?” Kurawe grinned at him.

“Did you forget my daughter, the one seeded for the first round?” Farren asked, fuming at the man’s deliberate insult, but keeping his calm to the best of his abilities.

“Oh!” Kurawe blinked, his eyes widening in surprise and confusion. “Ummm… Yes sir, I did. Apologies. Is she technically a princess?”

It was Farren’s turn to be confused. Kurawe didn’t apologize. Kurawe also knew what qualified as a princess, and what did not. Ergo, the man sitting beside him wasn’t Kurawe.

That explains the speech, too. Body double, huh? I guess the assassination is off. Farren took the handkerchief out of his vest pocket and wiped his nose before he put it on the arm of the chair beside him, signaling Borsch that the order was called off.

“No, she is not, until I become king.”

“Huh.”

Now he had to swallow his disappointment and sit through the games, awaiting another chance to take down the bastard who’d kept them Veterans their entire lives.

There was a huge roar and a rumbling that put Farren on edge as water erupted out from beneath the stands, so close to the royal seating that he could feel a fine spray of mist. The crowd began murmuring in surprise as the entire arena filled with fresh water in a matter of minutes.

“Excuse me,” Kurawe said, pulling an Amplifier out of his pocket and standing.

“Let the games begin!”

“So which one’s this Grabnar fellow you mentioned?” Farren asked, not having anything in particular to discuss with a body double, but needing to fill space.

“Oh, he’s in that one over there,” Kurawe pointed at a slowly lower gate across the arena. “If I know him well, he should give us a good show.”

When the gates finally lowered, equalizing the water between the holding areas and the arena itself, all hell broke loose.

Out of the area the body double had pointed out, the boat screamed out at a speed it surely wasn’t built for, sending up a massive spray of water as it moved.

The reason? The cannons were missing and the cannoneers were doubled up on the oars, providing extra muscle to the propulsion. The rowers to a man, had abandoned their uleisan uniforms, and wore the most ferocious snarls they could muster.

The ship darted to the center of the arena while the others were still leaving their ports.

“How is he going to…”

“Wait for it.” the body double said, interrupting him.

Farren almost dropped the façade and murdered the peasant with the audacity to interrupt him. But this was a dance where he couldn’t let the other side realize what he knew, so he swallowed his anger.

Then he felt his jaw drop as the massive man in the thong with the bright pink puff, picked up a cannonball in his huge hand and threw the damned thing.

The entire boat bucked from the force of the throw as the steel ball shot outward and speared through a competitor’s boat while they were still leaving the port, sinking them just outside the gate.

“Oh. I see.”

Grabnar the barbarian whooped and made a hard turn on the boat’s steering, sending up a spray of water as he headed for his next victim.

Macronomicon