Engraved - The Hunted Warrior

Chapter 16.1 - Games

Tolegan escorted Alam, Tajar, Frost, and Prall past wrestling circles and archery lanes. Even these early days of the games drew thousands of cheering and jeering spectators. As the four prisoners moved through the crowds their colourful clothes captured attention and enticed an ever growing mob to follow them. By the time they reached The Pit hundreds of curious people were in their wake.

"Listen up!" Tolegan shouted while hammering a large bronze bell. The crowd's cacophony ceased.

"King Kirill's champions are weak and need some practice before they face their challenge at the end of the games. There is silver for anyone who can beat them!" He raised a small leather bag high in the air and threw it into the pit. "Paint sticks will mark blows." He pointed to barrels of red paint, with various sized sticks protruding from them, on opposite ends of the pit. "One hit on the head or torso eliminates a warrior. Two hits on legs or arms does as well. Clans can put forward teams of four to battle our champions. Who will be first?"

The crowd burst into voice again as the four prisoners were led into The Pit. It was a naturally occurring, bowl-like depression in the land, surrounded by rocky outcrops. It measured some hundred paces from side to side. The audience crowded on the stone outcrops and looked down upon them. Water pooled in the centre of The Pit before dribbling away between a couple of boulders in a small stream heading south. Within The Pit there were a few rocks here and there, protruding from the earth, but they provided little cover.

The prisoners walked to the barrel of sticks. Alam's heart was pounding and his breathing was shallow. The thought of all the eyes on him was torture. He pulled a long stick out of the barrel and saw that its paint soaked tip had been wrapped in cloth. Not only did the cloth blunt the stick, but it also absorbed more paint.

"Thoughts anyone?" Alam asked.

"You call the formations," said Frost.

"But Prall taught them to us," he argued.

"But you're not crazy," laughed Tajar as he slapped Prall on the back.

"When I get angry I only see death," said Prall.

"See?" Tajar said as if Prall was agreeing with him.

"Fine. Grab your sticks," said Alam. Tajar picked up a long stick and turned to the crowd, spinning it. Paint sprayed all over his companions. The crowd roared with laughter. He bowed in exaggerated humility.

"I think it is made from berries," said Prall licking his stick.

"I don't think it is..." frowned Alam.

The bell rang out, silencing the crowd. "We have some challengers!" Tolegan shouted. "Sufere Clan wants the silver!"

Four men entered on the other side of The Pit joking, pushing and shoving. More than one of them were unsteady on their feet. They chose long sticks, dripping with paint, and advanced in a loose group.

"Damn they're big," said Tajar.

"Just bigger than you, little brother. Let's go meet them." Alam started walking forward. He set his back straight and his chin low - trying to look strong and confident. The truth was he could not get the unease of being watched by the crowd out of his mind. It made his hands shake. Two of their opponents were pointing and sneering at Frost.

"They don't seem to be respecting you, Frost," Alam pointed out. "Shall we change their minds."

"Yes," she replied.

"What formation?" Tajar muttered.

"Patience little brother," said Alam. "Frost. When I say your name, get behind them."