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After Earth Went Dark: Chapter 10
The Lion's Claw Battalion moved in tight formation, jogging toward the enemy at a rapid pace. The Norther Raiders surged forward in a mass of disorganization. Elliot held his breath as the lines drew closer. He was no tactician, but the Lion's Claw looked far more impressive and dangerous than the rabble that Tyr led. They all carried uniform heavy short swords, blunted but still potentially deadly, and broad shields that protected one side of their bodies. Only six of the Raiders had shields. Large round and heavy-looking with a big metal stud in the center.
The moment of impact drew nearer, and Elliot almost couldn't watch. When the lines were only about six feet from each other, Elliot heard a sudden shout from Tyr. On cue, the Northern Raiders skidded to a halt. The six men with large shields braced them in a tight wall of wood and metal. The Battalion tried to stop but the men behind pushed the ones in front onward, creating confused stumbling mess. Several tripped and fell. As the first of the Lion's Claw came up against the shield wall, Elliot saw Tyr leap up to get leverage over the shields, bringing his axe down hard on the man's helmet. The man dropped like a stone. Other members of the Raiders repeated the tactic and by the time the Lion's claw was able to pull away, three of their number lay unmoving on the ground, with a fourth scrambling to his feet and rejoining the line.
Elliot cheered as he watched Tyr's plan play out below. The Lion's Claw wouldn't be fooled so easily a second time. They formed up and began to advance again, more slowly this time with their shields ready. Tyr shouted something, and the shield wall collapsed inward, forming a wedge-shape, with one man at the front covered by three shields. The Northern Raiders charge forward quickly, using their new formation like a human battering ram.
The Battalion was able to sidestep the charging screaming warriors, but then found themselves separated from their companions. After that, the battle went downhill quickly for the Lion's Claw. Elliot saw Tyr's lightning fast strokes with his axes bring down three more men, and his teammates neatly dispatched the rest, with the Battalion hardly landing a blow.
The battle was over, and the crowd cheered, although it was somewhat muted. The Northern Raiders had finished the Lion's Claw Battalion in the course of a few minutes. The people had wanted more. Elliot had to admit that, as proud of Tyr as he was, even he felt the situation was a bit anticlimactic.
"The Lion's Claw Battalion is defeated!" Adrian called as attendants helped the injured off the field or dragged the unconscious. "It would seem that our Royal Champion is a strategist as well as a warrior. But I wonder..." He let the statement trail off, leaving the audience hanging on his words. "How would these fierce Northern Raiders care for a real challenge?"
The spectators shouted their enthusiasm, realizing what Adrian was up to. Elliot bit his lip, having mixed feelings about that idea.
"What say you, Tyr? Your men have won the day. Walk away now and revel in your victory. Or..." His voice continued in a dramatic crescendo "Stay the field, and risk it all, down to your very lives, for honor, glory, and wealth!"
The crowd roared, and the Northern Raiders looked at each other with wordless conversation. Tyr looked up to Adrian and slowly raised his twin axes over his head. He began to pound the hafts of his weapons together rhythmically. The Northern Raiders took up the cadence, smashing their weapons against their shields and adding inarticulate chants. The audience took to clapping in time and joined in on the chanting.
"Very well!" Adrian called out over the din. "Warriors, retire to the armory for now. This fight will test your abilities, and..." He paused for effect. "Will be fought with live weapons!"
Elliot bit his lip even harder as the cheering surged louder. Live weapons meant not the heavy blunted ones that they had used up to this point. It meant real sharpened steel, real blood, and real danger.
"Maybe we should go." Their mother said, standing. "You two don't need to see this."
Both Kara and Elliot shook their heads resolutely. "We're not leaving, mom." Elliot told her. "Tyr is our friend, we have to be here."
Pressing her lips together, she finally sighed and threw up her hands. She sat back down between them. Despite his protest, Elliot knew that it would be hard to watch. The three of them unconsciously moved a bit closer together, hoping that Tyr had not bitten off more than he could chew.
Tyr had known about Adrian's little plot twist. He had been informed of it that morning by the attendant assigned to him. The slump-shouldered man had spent the better part of several hours with him, going over details about the match and relaying Adrian's suggestions, or more likely Leah's, to the stylist.
The new hair style felt very odd. Tyr didn't hate it, but the feeling of the cool air on his scalp brought back memories he did not care to relive. Instead, he focused on what the hunched man had to say.
"The Lion's Claw is a crowd favorite, but they're not expected to put up much resistance. Your team, the Northern Raiders, are new to the team battles but all experience fighters, handpicked by Alexander himself."
Tyr nodded. He had come to suspect that parts of the tournament might be weighted, if not rigged outright. It didn't entirely sit well with him, but he was willing to overlook it for now.
"Dispatch them as quickly as possible. Afterwards, if there is still time before the next event, the brothers have a special feature planned, using live weapons.
This had caught Tyr's interest. It had been a while since he had felt the familiar weight of his own weapons in his hands; a while since he had known the rush of a real fight. Now, as the gates rose, and he returned to the pit once more with the Northern Raiders to find thirty armed men waiting for them with ominous grins, he remembered the stooped man's final words to him.
"Remember, all the men in the second fight are convicted criminals from the town and the surrounding area. You don't need to hold back. They will be trying to kill you."
Finally arrayed with his familiar set of axes and knives, Tyr had also elected to take one of the big round shields. All members of the Northern Raiders had shields now, but they were new ones. These were painted with the dripping red symbol of Tyr, to give them uniformity.
Tyr turned to James, a middle-aged man who had, without any conscious decision, naturally taken on the role of second-in-command.
"Stay tight when they rush us." He instructed. "Keep shields high."
"They will flank us." The greying man replied certainly, to which Tyr nodded. "You mean to let them?"
Again, Tyr nodded and watched understanding dawn on the older man's face as he laid out his plan. "Wait for my signal." He told his men when he had finished.
James nodded once, and Tyr motioned with his head for them to follow as he took the field once again.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you once more, the Northern Raiders!" Adrian's voice cut through the noise of the crowd, but Tyr ignored him. His men formed two tight lines behind him and he turned to face them. Tyr didn't give speeches. He had read in the past that they could be inspirational, but it was so far from his style and skillset that he didn't even consider it. His gesture of motivation was simple. He walked the line, looking each man in the eyes and clasping a hand with them tightly. This was not like the battle with the Lion's Claw. Each of these men knew they were risking their lives, and he had to look into their eyes to be sure they had what it took.
Finally satisfied, Tyr took his place in the line just as Adrian was coming to the end of his usual tirade. He looked up in the stands and thought he caught a glimpse of Elliot, seated near the Royal Lounge, but he couldn't be sure. Drawing one axe from his belt, he began to beat it against the rim of his shield rhythmically. The eleven men around him began to do the same, creating an echoing mass of dull thudding all around them. Not only was it an intimidation technique, Tyr knew that it gave his men something to focus on besides their own fear.
For him, there was no fear. The prospect of a real battle met him like an old friend. The adrenaline began to surge through him as the horn blast sounded.
When Elliot saw how many men were lined up against Tyr's small band, more than two to one, his heart sank. He had faith in his friend but there were just so many of them. Surely Adrian wouldn't let Tyr get killed during his first match as the Royal Champion, would he?
The horn sounded again and the thirty wildly dressed fighters charged the tightly packed group with enthusiastic cries. At a command from Tyr, the Northern Raiders squeezed in even tighter and raised their shields on the front and sides. To Elliot's surprise, he saw several of the rushing men stumble and fall, clutching at ankles and legs and howling in pain. Then he remembered the little dart-like knives that Tyr carried and grinned. It was an insignificant number however, and his grin soon faded as the wave of barbarians reached their block.
The men fell on the Northern Raiders' shield wall, but it held firm, opening only at short intervals to allow for a man to bring down an axe on the unsuspecting head of an attacker. Elliot had seen blood before but never like this. It was absolute carnage in the pit below and he very nearly lost his lunch as a man was cleaved at the shoulder by an axe and fell to the ground screaming in agony.
The mob had nearly surrounded the small group now, searching for a weakness in the deadly wall. This meant however that the line assaulting the front of the group had thinned. Suddenly, the shield wall swung open like a set of doors, shoving the men directly in front of it back and stumbling them. Tyr charged through the gap, shield discarded now, with dual axes in hand, his face splashed with blood.
With a mighty war cry the rest of the Northern Raiders followed two at a time, streaming forward and bashing their way through the weakened front line. Tyr dealt death blows to two men at the same time and leapt over them to dispatch a third before their bodies even hit the ground.
Then they were out. They had broken free of the mob of fighters, but not without cost. The Northern Raiders had left three of their own number lying on the ground in the pile of bodies. They formed up again, in two ranks this time. Tyr with three others, and another man with four. With ease they dealt with the stragglers that had hugged the back of the line. Elliot had to guess they had killed or incapacitated almost half of the enemy by now, but another of the Norther Raiders went down, bringing their number to only eight.
Even in the heat of battle, Tyr made sure to keep an approximate head count. Things were not looking good. The Northern Raiders were trading well but Tyr knew it wasn't enough. The two-rank strategy was working as he had planned, with their attackers left unsure of who to target, but it also meant that they were separated. If the enemies organized even a little, they would be able to easily overwhelm the small ranks one at a time.
As Tyr had this thought it seemed that a number of their foes had the same realization. They began to disregard Tyr's rank and focus on the rank commanded by James. Another man fell, leaving only James and two others. Tyr cursed quietly.
"Keep the line together." He ordered his three men. "Move to flank them." Without waiting for a response, Tyr broke rank and made a dash for the flagging second squad.
He moved like a tornado through the battlefield; twisting and turning and hacking and slashing and leaving a trail of bodies behind him. The rabble fell before him like wheat to a scythe. After watching him rip through half a dozen men with ease, the rest stopped coming for him and focused their efforts on James' rank.
Tyr saw James stumble, wounded in several places. A man raised a blade for a killing blow but was met with one of Tyr's axes to the back of his skull, thrown from some distance. Ducking under a whistling sword blade, Tyr yanked one of his knives from his boot and opened the attacker's stomach with it before sending it flying into the throat of another man charging at his Raiders.
With his free hand, Tyr pulled out one of the long knives from his shoulder harness just in time to bat aside a downward stroke from a heavy axe. He brought the haft of his own axe and the palm of his hand up into the man's jaw, feeling bone break under the impact, then whirled to catch another attack on the hard wooden handle and neatly slip the blade of his knife between the perpetrator's ribs.
Finally, Tyr broke through to the second rank, which was no longer much of a rank. It consisted of one grim-faced young man and a badly wounded James. The three of them stood in a triangle with their backs to each other, each battling with three men at a time.
Tyr felt the bite of a blade slice into his left forearm and he growled in anger. Fresh blood washed over his already soaked hands, making his grip even slicker. He stomped on the man's foot, breaking it with his heavy boot then nearly took the man's head off with a swing of his axe. Without looking down, he knew that the injury was not life threatening. That did not make him feel any less foolish for allowing it to happen. They had to end this soon or else little mistakes like that would add up.
With a cacophony of noise, the three men of the first rank crashed through the line of attackers. Tyr half-smiled grimly. The rabble had been so focused on overwhelming the second rank that the first had been able to wreak havoc on them from behind. Judging from the trail of bodies in their wake, they had done so admirably. The tide was turning.
The attackers must have sensed this as well. Seeing their foes reinforced and now facing almost even numbers, their courage began to falter. After Tyr dispatched another three and his men a further two, the remaining ruffians broke. They fled from the battle and threw down their weapons.
The bloody massacre had been difficult to watch at times. Elliot had hidden his face in his hands more than once, only to be drawn out by morbid curiosity and concern for his friend. He had seen Tyr fight before, but never like this. There was a fluidity to his movements like a dance. No motion or effort was wasted. Each step carried deadly purpose. It was a horrifying and beautiful art, and Tyr was a true master.
Elliot cried out in alarm when he saw Tyr get cut, then screamed in excitement when the rest of the men arrived. He was on his feet but wasn't entirely sure when that had happened. When the enemies threw down their weapons, he jumped up in down, crying from both worry and relief.
The crowd loved it as soldiers began to cart away bodies and churn the bloody sand away. Tyr clasped a hand with the wounded man then helped him limp over to one of the soldiers who then aided him out of the pit. Tyr casually began collecting and cleaning his weapons. He cut a strip from a dead man's shirt and wrapped it tight around his arm, wincing as he tied it off.
"Tyr! Tyr! Tyr! Tyr!" The crowd chanted, but he didn't seem to notice.
Adrian stepped forward to give his closing remarks, but their mother stood and pulled Elliot and Kara along with her.
"Come on." She instructed. "Time to go. We'll meet him down below."
Outside the fighters' entrance as there had been the day before there was already a large crowd forming. The three of them had to fight their way to the front only to be stopped by a guard.
"No spectators past this point." He said firmly, holding out an arm.
"We've got to see Tyr." Elliot insisted, but the man didn't move.
"Champions will be available for autographs when the days events are concluded. Tribute boxes can be found in the entryway of the arena."
"We're not fans." Kara said indignantly. "We're with him. He's our family."
The guard rolled his eyes. "Look, it's a mess in there at the moment. I'll have someone let him know you're looking for him. Stand to the side please."
Reluctantly the three of them found a small bench just outside of the crowd to sit down on. Elliot couldn't describe what he was feeling. His relief that Tyr was safe was coupled by revulsion for what he had witnessed. Along with these was a twinge of the same fear he had felt when he had first met Tyr. Seeing his ruthless brutality, it was hard to believe there was a soft heart in there somewhere.
They didn't speak as they sat. Each one was shocked, not only by the extreme gore of the battle, but also by the way the crowd did not seem at all phased by it. All three of them jumped violently when a familiar voice called out to them.
"Hey there!" Rob came trotting out from the throng. "I thought that was you. Your man puts on quite the show, that's for sure!"
Elliot eyed him with disinterest, but their mother stood and stalked over to him angrily. "I thought you said that people didn't usually die in the tournament. What happened to a maximum of thirty deaths?"
Rob balked under her fiery glare. "Well... That's... usually the case." He said sheepishly. "The people want more and more every year though. Adrian is more... open to that than his brother. I wasn't expecting this though. The jails must be overfilled."
"Will there be more, like that?" She demanded. "I would never have agreed to come here if I knew my children would see... that!" She waved her hand in the direction of the arena.
Rob's shoulders slumped as he shrugged. "I don't know." He admitted, then rallied himself. "With due respect though, it's a different world out there now. This is tame compared to what many children younger than them go through on a daily basis."
Elliot could tell that his mother was debating slapping the man. "Not my children though." She said through gritted teeth.
Sensing he had overstepped, Rob was contrite again. "Of course. I meant no offense. I can't say what the brothers have planed this year. Picking the Royal Champion on day one, having a live weapon massacre on day two, things have changed around here. All I can do is try to keep up."
A commotion from the crowd drew their attention. Elliot felt a twist of jealousy as Tyr emerged from the mob surrounded by a troop young women and girls all vying for his attention. He had changed from his armor and now wore loose-fitting pants and an open button-up shirt. His hair was wet, and he had obviously done his best to wash off all the blood, but there was still evidence of it on his face and chest, as well as ominous smears on the clothes he wore.
Elliot's breath caught when he saw the thick bandage wound around Tyr's left arm. Despite his trepidations, he ran over to hug his friend and nearly burst into tears of relief. There was a collective "awe" from the assembled crowd as Tyr awkwardly hugged the small boy and even laid a gentle hand on Kara's shoulder who had come over to join her brother.
"You... fought well." Their mother told him sincerely.
He gave her a nod of thanks. "I'm sorry that you all had to see that. If I'd had a chance I would have warned you to stay away."
"We wouldn't have listened." Elliot said obstinately. "You don't always get to tell us what to do."
Tyr looked down at him and Elliot wondered for a moment if he had maybe overstepped. But Tyr's face split into a smile and he gave a soft chuckle. He shoved Elliot's shoulder gently.
"Listen," Rob put in apologetically. "I'm sorry about all this. I had no idea they'd put you into live matches like that so quickly."
"It's no one's fault." Tyr assured. "I was told that this was new." He and Rob shook hands.
"Well let me at least buy the four of you dinner this evening." Rob insisted. "There's a wonderful restaurant at the hotel. It'll make me feel better. Plus, good company is hard to come by these days."
After some persuading, they agreed that they would meet with Rob at the restaurant later that evening. In the meantime, at Kara's request, they decided to go investigate the tribute boxes they had been hearing about.
It took some time but eventually they were able to evade the crowd. Wearing more simple clothes, Tyr was not instantly recognizable as the Royal Champion, although he did get one or two excited onlookers who pointed at him and whispered to each other.
"You're like a celebrity." Elliot said in awe.
Tyr gave him a tight-lipped smile, obviously not fully comfortable with all the attention. The room with the tribute boxes was off the main entrance to the arena. When they entered, and Tyr gave his name to the attended she laughed and nodded.
"You're going to need a wheelbarrow I think. Your box filled up, and we had to keep some in storage in the back." She shook her head. "I've been doing this for six years and I've never seen a box fill up that fast."
She led them behind the counter to locked room where rows of chests sat. She locked the door behind them. "We keep this room locked at all times." She told them. "We make sure that tribute only leaves with the champion it's meant for."
All the chests had sturdy combination locks on them. She selected one and quickly dialed in the combination, faster than Elliot's eyes could track. Inside was a large stack of packages and papers.
"First time in the tournament?" She asked, and Tyr nodded. She pulled out one stack of papers and handed them to him. "Bank notes. We convert all monetary tribute into these for safety and easier storage. Take them into town and exchange them for cash." She presented the rest of the box with a hand. "The rest are gifts and letters from spectators and fans. Mostly fans anyway. Fair warning, chances are there's some hate mail in there too. There always is."
"How are we gonna carry all of this?" Kara asked. "You said there's even more somewhere?"
The attendant nodded. "Yes. About half this much in our vault."
Tyr thought for a moment. "I should return to the rooms to wash anyway. I'm not needed back until the day's closing ceremonies, so I'll take some now and some later. You all should enjoy the rest of the day. There's some kind of theatre performance as the day's intermission coming up soon."
"I'll help you carry some of it back." Elliot said.
"Why don't you stay with us." His mother said. "I'm sure Tyr doesn't need you getting in his way."
Tyr shrugged. "I don't mind. If it fills up this quickly, it probably would be good to get as much of it out as possible while we can."
She looked about to argue but eventually his mother nodded. "Alright then, we'll meet you for the closing ceremonies and then go to dinner."
"Yes!" Elliot pumped his fist and began gathering up packages and handing them to Tyr. When they were both substantially burdened with tribute, clearing out most of the chest, they gave their thanks to the attendant and she closed the box up again.
Outside, Elliot said goodbye to his mom and sister and headed off with Tyr back to the hotel. He was grateful to have some more time with him. Vaguely he wondered if he should apologize for his behavior the night before, but it seemed awkward to bring up.
"You were... great today." Elliot said quietly as they walked, being careful not to drop and of the boxes or letters.
"Thank you." Tyr looked down at him. "I like the new look. It suits you."
Elliot blushed and beamed. "I like yours too just... without the blood."
Tyr conceded his point.
"Is your arm ok?"
With a nod, Tyr shifted it, so Elliot could see it better. "It's not a bad cut. They stitched it for me after the fight. With injuries like this, as long as you keep it cleaned and bandaged it will heal easily."
They returned to the hotel and piled the boxes on the bed in Elliot's room.
"I'm going to clean up. Why don't you see what's in some of those?" Tyr suggested.
Elliot began to rummage through the pile, opening boxes and reading letters. There were pieces of jewelry and strips of cloth even a small knife. The letters were usually from women making intimate offers or just praising Tyr's looks and skills. At first, they made Elliot jealous, but after a time it became funny to read the desperation in the letters.
Eventually, Tyr stepped out of the bathroom in a towel. Elliot lay on the bed and didn't look up as he emerged.
"Oh Tyr," He read aloud in a dramatic voice. "You're so handsome and strong." He gave Tyr a wicked glance to make sure he was paying attention. "I wish you would come carry me away from my boring husband and make love to me a hundred times." Tyr rolled his eyes as Elliot looked over again with a snicker. "The cloth with this letter is a piece of my... oh ew!" Elliot tossed away the strip of pink fabric he had been holding. Tyr let out a short laugh.
"Oh, you're so hannnnndsome!" Elliot put on an effeminate voice as he jumped off the bed and stalked up to Tyr, enjoying looking at his bare chest and imagining what was underneath the towel. "Please come take me away from my husband!" He giggled and traced a hand along Tyr's abs before walking around behind him.
Tyr quickly whirled and grabbed him up, holding him tight as Elliot continued to giggle. "What's gotten into you?" He asked good-naturedly, squeezing Elliot gently.
"Do you like it?" Elliot asked, suddenly serious. "All the women looking at you like that?"
Tyr thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. "Not really. Gathering attention is usually a bad thing in my line of work."
"There's so many letters!" Elliot pointed to the pile of dozens of love letters scattered across the bed.
"I bet none of them look as good as you do though." Tyr said quietly as he carefully undid the bun on Elliot's head, letting his hair fall.
A mischievous smile crossed Elliot's face. "I could umm... probably get washed up too." He said, taking a meaningful glance down at Tyr's towel.
Tyr raised an eyebrow before cracking a trace of a smile. "Well... I guess a second shower couldn't hurt."
Elliot grinned and kissed Tyr on the cheek as he was carried into the bathroom.