Maxym
MAXYM
The captain forbids any sale of gladiators for pleasure in the week prior to any games. He believes it spoils our performance.
Whether he’s right or not, I currently feel like I could take on an army, let alone a dome of vrexing piss poor challengers who would pose little risk at best and a slight distraction at worst.
My biggest enemy in the dome used to be the Gryn-storm which was Blayn. While Klynn is not to be trusted, I can rely on him not to attempt to kill me, at least while someone else is.
I go through my paces in the training arena. The level of concentration I can put into my moves is intense, and I can feel the power flowing through me. It imbues my muscles with more strength than I think I’ve ever had, so when I throw the sword at the target, the thing embeds itself up to the hilt.
“Gryn and their mates.” The captain leans against the wall next to the entrance to the training arena. He shakes his head. “I never thought I’d be rid of you all, but it turns out a female can draw you further than any pulsar cannon can fire you.”
“What mate?” I growl.
“The little female armorer.” The captain chuckles. “Do you really think an old bull like me can’t see the change in you since she arrived? I’m not immune to the charms of a pretty female, you know.”
I’m in front of him in a wing beat, snarling like I’ve never snarled before. “She is mine.”
The captain holds up his hands, his hooves stamping on the dusty floor.
“She is yours, . I have no intention of getting between the two of you.”
I take a step back, my conscious self asserting over the feral Gryn I have been.
“But the procurator on the other hand—he is bound by the Galactic Council decree, and even if he wasn’t, the chances of him freeing you are…not great.”
“I didn’t do it,” I rasp. “My master was murdered to further the interests of those who take species like mine and enslave them to their own ends. Like the Drahon.”
“The Drahon are a spent force, confined to their planet in the outer quadrants,” the captain responds. “Any reports to the contrary are…” he spreads his hands, knowing it was the Drahon Rych and I battled not so long ago. “Let’s just say they’re not a threat.”
“They are here, on Trefa. They were there in the facility which held me before I was sold,” I growl. “I know why I’m here and so do they. The foul creatures are an advance force for something else.”
“So, the head injury knocked some sense into you after all.” The captain grunts. “About time. Looks like your mate came along at the perfect moment.”
“What would you have me do, if you think it is all for naught?” I growl at him.
“Fight,” he says simply. “The more you fight, the more control you have and the more you can influence everything. The procurator believes one gladiator cannot be bigger than the dome.” He looks me up and down. “It’s your time to prove him wrong.”
I set my wings and glare at him.
“There is no escape from the dome.”
“But there is freedom. If you please the crowd, if you push him to offer it,” the captain says. “An ancient bylaw of Tatatunga.” He grins wryly at me. “This place has been here longer than you, , even if you think it didn’t start until you arrived.”
“I want them all to be free,” I say, hoarsely.
“Even Klynn?”
“Especially that vrexer,” I growl. “If he remains here for much longer, there will be nothing left of the warrior he once was.”
“Then go, fight for your mate, for your freedom, and that of others. I will do the rest,” the captain says, pushing away from the wall and taking a step to the exit.
“Wait.” I touch his shoulder. “Why are you doing this?”
“Unlike the resistance, I have been a gladiator, and I have been free. This place”—he looks up at the darkness above us where the training arena rises towards the dome—“is doomed, as it should be. One way or the other, Tatatunga will be forced to give up its addiction to violence, and about time too.”
Having delivered his cryptic announcement, he walks away from me, his horned head held high.
I stare after him, contemplating my position and the need which rises within me to get back to Cleo.
“Vrexer,” Klynn growls from the shadows of the passage. “You ready?”
“Don’t come any closer,” I warn him.
“I’m saving my claws for the dome,” he responds. “You’re not worth it.”
I shake my head. Klynn is a special case. My rage is born of the injury I suffered. His runs far deeper.
“I’ll see you in the dome, gladiator. And if you attempt to take me, you will regret it,” I growl.
He huffs a hot breath, his eyes glowing unnaturally in the darkness. “I regret nothing,” he says, and with a swish of primaries, he has gone.
I make my way to the ante-chamber. Through the outer doors and the forcefield, I can hear the roar of the crowd. It makes my feathers prick, the thought of the violence seeping into my veins.
All around, the clerks are busy. Those who wish to be armored are having it fitted. Those who require stimulants are getting them. But there’s no sign of the weapons.
“Gak the new armorer!” the head clerk says, hurrying past me. “Where is he?”
A loud clatter at the rear of the chamber announces the arrival of the weapons bots. One after another, the battered square containers judder in, putting me on edge. I see Klynn across the chamber, and he too looks disturbed at their arrival.
Neither of us can stand the things.
Then the scent hits me, pulling my gaze back to the entryway like I’ve had my neck snapped.
Stood, framed in the light, is my mate.
And she is on her own.