The below entry is the first 1,000 words of The Killing Pit, an origin story for Vladimir Zyce, one of the main characters in my debut novel. I hope you enjoy!
Sweat dripped down his exposed back and under his waistband. Blood trailed down his left arm, dripping in the sand, sizzling in the bright sunlight. The sand of the arena was hot to the touch, as he knelt to catch his breath. The cheers and jeers of the crowd were deafening, but even so, the voice of the High Councilman was louder, almost silencing the crowd. He stood on the balcony overlooking the great sand pit where victors rarely won and losers always died. The leader of the High Council, Aurum’s governing body, covered his dark skin from the sun with silks and a headdress, his eyes painted and ears pierced much in line with the current fashion, but erring on the side of gaudy.
“It seems that the lad is willing to put on a show!” More cheers erupted and the wretched man, swathed in silks and gold from faraway lands, basked in the glory. Glory that belonged to the fighters. It was not this pretentious, goading man fighting for his life, surely not this man with his clean-shaven head and face, his washed and oiled body smelling of lavender and roses. This rich old man was using a cane to get around his balcony because he was so rotund, and he probably asked for assistance when he had to piss. “The show must go on! This is the centennial of these great games, and the prize has not yet been won. To the victor go the spoils! Who is this man, the first winner of two bouts today?” The High Councilman had returned his gaze to the man in the arena.
“I am Vladmir Zyce,” he said, after he stood proudly, leaning on his sword.
“Zyce, you say? Hmmm, that is an old and strong family name. What do we think?” He returned his attention to the crowd who continued in their part of the play. Only in this play, death was real, and the reaper came to collect his toll fast and often.
“It is true that this man has won twice today but the grand winner must win five fights in a row! A feat never accomplished before but today could be the day! Time will tell.”
He opened his hands wide, and the crowd grew silent in anticipation. The gates below the council balcony opened with six armored guards prodding the next poor soul into the arena with halberds and crossbows. While the guards on the council balcony wore gold armor marking them as Mercenaries from Zlatos, the capital city of Aurum, these guards wore roughshod leather cuirasses, battle skirts, and a few wore leather caps. Vlad refocused his attention on the man they were prodding. This new opponent was fresh, eager to strike fast. A plan began to form in Vlad’s mind, one where he would feign being tired and injured to provoke the new warrior into an unbalanced attack, and to be fair, he would not have to try hard to convince anyone.
He was tired. He was injured. It was plain enough for anyone to see. The first fight had been relatively quick by arena standards and had ended with Vlad chopping off his opponent’s hand, and then the top half of his head. The second opponent was, however, more experienced and patient, landing his own blows and drawing blood before he too met his fate, a blade between the shoulder blades. This next fight would be no walk in the park but as his uncle would always tell him, if there is something to be done, you might as well get on with it.
The third opponent was at least a human, and he must have hailed from Northos based on his pale skin. The red stubble on his head was another giveaway of his nationality, known for being strong brutes. It took tough bones to live somewhere that never went a day without snow. He was a long way from home now, but most pit fighters were. Vlad felt sorry for the brute as he shuffled some of the hot sand through his fingers to dry the blood and sweat but he pushed the thought from his head as the man approached fast, spear in hand.
Vlad stood, feigned dizziness, much to the crowd’s pleasure, and smeared blood from his forearm across his forehead in an attempt to clear the sweat from his brow. Vlad knew that spears were useful weapons, though primarily used in combination with a shield, and more even more so when used by a group of assailants rather than in single combat. It was a deadly enough weapon in the arena, but not nearly as versatile as the sword, more specifically, the bastard sword Vlad now gripped. All fighters in the pits could select their own weapon before stepping into the arena; however, only a few had training in more than one weapon type. The man lashed out, swinging the spear in a wide arc, a common tactic to throw one’s foe off balance before landing a lunge attack. Vlad danced, or rather intentionally bumbled his way out of the spear’s radius, before deftly side-stepping the accompanying lunge.
They both reset. The tired ploy was not going to work, so Vlad went on the offensive. The spear broke in two at the first hammer-fisted strike of the sword, and his blade buried itself deep into the man’s shoulder, past the heart and into his rib cage. Blood sprayed down Vlad’s chest and pantaloons. The crowd erupted as Vlad used his foot to push the dead man off his sword. The man slumped backwards with a squelch, his blood already soaking into the sand. Vlad knelt in the sand again, trying to hide his hand as it fumbled about for splinters of the spear. Eventually, two guards showed up to drag the man, and his broken spear, back below the grandstand.
“My heavens, this man may be your champion yet!” The High Councilman’s voice did not betray anything, but the look on his face as he locked eyes with Vlad said everything. He would most likely not be walking out of the pits today. If his next opponent did not beat him, the last would certainly have some trick up the sleeve. “As you all know, these criminals fight to the death for an opportunity to win their freedom!” Jeers from the crowd this time. “Yes, yes. Well, they fight for their freedom, and we have had ninety-nine winners in the past who have earned the right to be called a champion. But today, they do not just fight for their freedom, they fight for their chance to claim fame, fortune, and the envy of all!”