Final Test

‘I remember going out there to fight, the smell of blood, the roar of the crowd, and the warm sun beating on your back. Ahhh, those were the days.’ As L’Beira reminisced out loud, a dreamy expression washed over his face.

‘I can’t enjoy it like you used to.’ Luthar gestured with his chained hands to the scowling guard, eager to be free of his shackles.

They stood in the armoury once more, Luthar’s belly doing somersaults ahead of his final fight for freedom. The number of guards had doubled, but today, L’Beira was allowed to give him some last-minute advice on how to tackle whoever stood in his way. One of the guards undid Luthar’s bindings with a small silver key and snatched them away, not caring that he drew blood from his wrist.

‘Well maybe one day you’ll come to love the beauty of it. Man against man, only one survives. I agree it’s animalistic, but there’s something about it that every man can enjoy, commoner or lord.’ L’Beira was in a particularly gregarious mood this morning, and it did little for Luthar’s nerves.

Luthar grabbed his wrist, a little blood trickled between his trembling fingers and onto the floor. He was still weak from whatever sickness had ailed him this last fortnight, but as soon as he could walk, a spear was thrust in his hand, and he was made to train. His muscles still felt shaky, and he had trouble keeping his food down, this was no way for a warrior to prepare.

Suddenly, and without saying a word, the guards turned about and left the armoury through the door leading into the bowels of the coliseum. Luthar was left alone with L’Beira.

‘A few well-placed coins always helps the situation.’ He smiled at Luthar before rummaging under the table in the centre of the room.

‘What’s happening?’ Asked Luthar, his nerves rising. If he was caught up in anymore trouble, he could spend the rest of his life fighting in the arena.

‘I arranged to give you a little assistance today.’ He straightened up and held out a roughly wrapped bundle to Luthar. ‘You might be needing these.’

Luthar took the parcel from him and set about unwrapping it. Inside, were his two black steel swords that Yan had forged for him.

‘I don’t deserve these, not after what I did.’ Luthar began, before L’Beira cut him off, his voice suddenly turning sharp.

‘You were given them as a gift, they are not yours to give away, no matter what mistakes you make. You wield them with pride and honour to redeem yourself.’

Such a scolding seemed strange coming from L’Beira, his voice was usually so low and calm, almost melodic. Luthar was taken aback and unsure what to say, he settled for a nod to his teacher and began to strap the scabbards about his waist. When he was satisfied they were in position, he added his usual spear and buckler to his arms and stood at the foot of the stairs, primed and ready.

The roar of the gathered crowd met him once more, thousands of voices shouting and screaming for blood. L’Beira slapped him on the back to send him on his way to ascend the stairs for his final battle. Each step he took felt like miles to his weary legs, yet Luthar forced himself onwards, the thought of seeing Elisabeth once more driving him.

Luthar climbed the last few steps into the sunlight and froze at the monstrosity that faced him from the other side of the arena. The only thing he had seen before that bore any resemblance was the painting of a dragon that hung on his wall back at the guild. He guessed from nose to tail it was about fifteen feet long, with spines down its back, and covered in scales. As it watched him with bright yellow eyes, it unfurled black leathery wings and tried to rise. A thick metal chain on each ankle kept it attached to the earth, making the beast scream as it thudded back down.

Luthar stood and stared for a few seconds, the spear in his hand felt little more than a matchstick against the creature ahead of him. He gripped it tighter, hoping the thin, insignificant piece of wood could somehow perform a miracle. The crowd urged him on, less hostile than they once were, leaving him with little option but to oblige.

The sand beneath his feet threatened to trip his tired legs as it yielded to his weight, pure and golden in the midday sun. Luthar stopped as close to the centre of the arena as he dared, trying to keep out of the foul animal’s range. He made an awkward bow, troubled by the two swords hanging at his waist. In response, the High Chancellor got to his feet and addressed the crowds, heralds repeating his lordly words to the assembled masses.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to witness the final trial of Luthar Shoresmith of the Three Kingdoms. For the five crimes committed an honourable jury bestowed a sentence of one gladiatorial fight for each. Luthar has acquitted himself well thus far, being victorious in this arena four times. Today lies the final challenge, shall he redeem himself, or fail and die as a prisoner? Begin!’ He roared the last word to the crowd, and they replied with their own shouts of approval, ready to observe Luthar one last time.

Luthar stood facing the scaly, terrible, creature with his spear in his hand and no clue in his head. He advanced slowly with his buckler raised for all the good it would do him. Inch by inch he crept closer, devilish yellow eyes never leaving him. When he was approaching the range of the beast’s long neck, it spread its wings in a failed attempt at flight once more. Another blood curdling scream escaped its mouth as it crashed down onto the sand.

Luthar backpedalled a few yards, clearly outmatched and unprepared his mind seemed devoid of ideas. He scanned the creature, looking for obvious weak points on its body. Scales thicker than steel plate covered what seemed like every inch of its serpent-like body, with not a gap to be seen. Eyes were obvious, but striking one of them would be beyond lucky. Its mouth was full of hundreds of razor-sharp teeth and would rip his arm off him before he could get anywhere close. He began another slow approach, hoping beyond hope he could spot something.

As before, the beast unfurled its wings and tried to rise as Luthar came close, another failed attempt to take to the air. Its wings were leathery and translucent, obviously very thin, but how to damage them? Luthar assessed his arsenal, buckler, spear, short sword, and arming sword. His spear might work if it didn’t buckle, it was a faint hope, but better than no hope.

Luthar took a throwing grip on his spear and edged forwards, concentrating on the wings and waiting for his moment. Eventually, they rose as they always did, and he hurled the spear as hard as he could manage at the beast’s right wing. It let out a different scream now, high pitched and anguished as the spear perforated the skin and sailed out the other side. Black blood began to drip onto the golden sand from the wound, before being absorbed along with the blood of fallen heroes from history.

Finding his right hand empty, Luthar drew his arming sword, the length of black steel familiar and welcome in his grip. He edged round the side of the animal to retrieve the spear which had stuck into the ground near the far wall. The crowd’s noise grew as he approached, cheering, and stamping their feet, Luthar swore he could hear his name being chanted.

The beast turned and tried to snap at him, but Luthar was just out of reach, dancing slightly further backwards away from those awful teeth. The beast cried out with pain as metal crunched against metal at its ankles. Before Luthar could tell what was happening, it turned quickly in the opposite direction and sent its tail hurtling towards him, a vicious looking stinger at the end. Luthar threw himself to the floor at the last moment, a scale grazing the top of his back.

He picked himself up from the ground just in time to see the tail returning, this time along the ground, sending a shower of sand into the air. Something Chadwick had said to him moons ago suddenly popped into his head “Black steel is far stronger than your normal stuff, the armour will withstand nearly anything that smacks it.” Luthar decided there was no better time to test the theory.

He drove his arming sword into the ground as hard as he could and braced against the grip, in his right hand he drew his short sword, ready to thrust. The tail crashed against the sword, staggering Luthar, but the blade held. A trickle of black blood was just visible at the point of impact where a scale had cracked. Without wasting a second, Luthar drove the short sword into the wound as hard as he could, working around to find a soft spot. He could feel the steel grinding against scale as both he and the beast struggled against each other. Suddenly the scale gave way, allowing the sword to sink into the softer flesh beneath.

The beast let out a noise that was so terrible, Luthar could not even think of a word to describe it. High pitched and louder than anything he had ever experienced in his life, it reverberated around the arena and seemed to multiply over and over again. The beast rose in a final act of desperation and managed to break its shackles, the tail broke free from Luthar’s sword trap, but the stinger that once sat at the end remained on the sand.

The wound in its wing prevented it from full flight, but it had managed to scramble its way up to the lowest level of the seating area, sending bricks falling to the sand, and wooden benches splintering. The crowd screamed in terror, scattering this way and that, searching for an exit. One man was caught in the beast’s jaws and ripped clean in two, blood spraying everywhere. A guard who was frozen in terror took a blow from the stunted tail and ended up skidding along the sand, his crossbow nearly hitting Luthar in its flight.

As the bloody scene unfolded in front of Luthar’s eyes, he sprang into action, snatching up the crossbow on his way. He reached the beast as it crawled across the benches, snapping up any stragglers who had not managed to flee. Crossbow bolts from other guards bounced of its scales, only a few managed to find gaps between them, and stuck out at odd angles. Luthar knew that only a direct hit to its eye could fell the beast.

Luthar levelled the weapon and looked down the sight, waiting for the right shot to put it out of its misery. It let out a roar, this time from obvious anger, but it lacked the strength it once possessed. The beast was injured and weak, Luthar told himself he was being kind as he pulled the trigger. Time seemed to stand still as the bolt sailed through the air, people fled at half speed as the thin piece of metal flew to its target, straight and true.

For an animal of its size, it died quietly and almost peacefully. A great tremor ran along its body before it slumped sideways and lay still. The only motion was the drip drip drip of blood from its wounds. Those of the crowd who still remained stood in stunned silence at the scene before them. As Luthar studied the huge corpse, he became more and more convinced that he was never meant to win this battle.

Someone clapped as the shock wore off, a slow, rhythmic sound that punctured the silence. Then a second and third pair of hands joined. Before Luthar knew what was happening, hundreds of hands pounded together in his honour, he was their saviour. Cries of ‘Yellowhair!’ could be heard as they showed their appreciation.

Unsure what to do, Luthar returned to the centre of the arena, got down on one knee and bowed to the High Chancellor’s empty pavilion, hoping he would re appear. As he looked up from the sand, the High Chancellor emerged, flanked by two guards either side of him, spears at the ready.

‘Luthar Shoresmith!’ He bellowed to the crowd, the heralds had long since fled, leaving him to his own devices to make himself heard. ‘You have emerged victorious in all five of your challenges, and along with that you have proved yourself a hero to the people of Jakai! For your good deeds this day, I pronounce your sentence served and make you a free man once more.’

As soon as he had finished speaking, he retreated to safety with his guards, leaving Luthar kneeling on the sand. Without knowing what to think or do, Luthar stood straight and walked quickly back to the armoury steps, eager to be away from this place. As he walked, cries of Yellowhair followed him, the occasional flower landing at his feet.

L’Beira stood at the top of the steps, relief written all over his face. ‘Well fought today Luthar, not every man of the guild can say they fought a wyvern and won!’