Firesign 1 - Wage Slave Rebellion (34 page)

Gavi smiled despite herself. “Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”

Mazik laughed. “Probably. It’s fun though, isn’t it?”

Gavi shook her head, but couldn’t resist a wistful smile. “Yeah, I guess it is. It’s pretty cool.”

“No pressure or anything,” said Raedren.

“Hah!” said Mazik.

Captain Ankt dropped a hand on Mazik’s shoulder. Mazik jumped, almost squealing in surprise.

“Our half of the arena is secure up here,” said Captain Ankt. “We’re going to leave a few people out here to make sure it stays that way, and then the rest of us are going to set up in the stands. We’ll have the maximum allowed number of people out there, as per our agreement.” The last part was added in a mocking tone that showed exactly what he thought of an agreement with a bunch of criminals.

“Sounds good,” said Mazik.

“Just don’t do anything stupid down there,” snapped Captain Ankt. “If anything happens, we’ll try to help you, but we’ll have our hands full keeping the nut jobs on
their
side of the stands from lighting you up, so unless the major can get to you, you’ll be on your own. It’s supposed to be mutually assured destruction if it comes to a fight, so try not to let it come to that.”

“Pffft, I don’t believe that for a second,” said Mazik, and before Captain Ankt could snap at him again, Mazik added: “Not when we have the best damn soldiers in the world our side. Am I right, guys?” He said, and gave the seven soldiers behind him a thumbs-up.

The squad leader saluted, a grin threatening to crack his professional façade. “Yes sir!”

Mazik looked back at Captain Ankt and smiled. “See?”

Captain Ankt leaned close. “But they may die if you do anything unwise.”

“I know, I’m just trying to pump up the people watching my back,” hissed Mazik. “We’ll be careful.”

Captain Ankt gave Mazik a long stare, and then hrumpfh’d and walked away.

“By the way, what was your name again?” asked Mazik, turning to the squad leader. “Sorry, I’m terrible with names.”

“Kolhn, sir,” said the squad leader. Sergeant Kolhn and his squad came highly recommended by Major Rur, who called them “the best soldiers I have who weren’t smart enough to get themselves assigned to some other duty.” You wouldn’t expect it by looking at Kolhn though, with his round cheeks, boyish smile, and fuzzy red soul patch that did everything it could to rob him of his authority.

“I’d tell you not to call me sir since you’re a higher rank than I was, but screw it, I like the sound of it,” said Mazik with a rogue’s grin. “Let’s just try to get out of this alive, Kolhn.”

“Yes, sir,” said Kolhn.

Mazik looked around. “Uh. How do we get down there?”

“I think it’s that way,” said Raedren, pointing. “Over by where the captain is tapping his foot and scowling.”

Mazik, Gavi, Raedren, and the seven soldiers climbed down the thin steps and dropped onto Gladiator’s Way. There they found Major Rur and a group of soldiers waiting for the elevator to the Catacombs.

“Hey. Are you ready for us to head out?” Mazik asked, leading the group over to the major.

“Give us another minute or two,” said Major Rur as the elevator slowly rose to meet them. Far below, soldiers strained at the sophisticated winch and pulley system that powered the elevator’s movement. “We’re already set up and have a nice little standoff going with the cultists on their side, but I need to get down there and establish a command position before we’re ready to go.”

“All right. We’ll just wait then,” said Mazik. He and the others turned to face the Gate of Life as the elevator ground to a stop beside them.

*      *      *

Rynthe briefly meditated on the wisdom of openly challenging a quest-giver’s decisions. He decided it wasn’t wise. To see why, all he had to do was look around.

Despite the rumors, the Catacombs were not a burial place, and they did not house the remains of the gladiators and slaves who died in the arena before it cleaned up its act. It felt like it, though. Cramped and dark, with insufficient ventilation and scant few torches illuminating the tiny rooms and passageways, the Catacombs felt like a crypt crossed with a mine, only not as roomy or hospitable. It was here that the spectacle of the games was created, from quick scenery changes and sudden reinforcements to releasing wild animals or shooting fireworks into the sky.

Rynthe was crouched in one such cramped room, a tiny storage room which, by the smell of things, normally contained animals, explosives, or both. On either side of him were two soldiers dressed in the dark grays and blues of Houkian Special Forces, swords in their hands and loaded crossbows nearby.

Together, the three of them were looking across a short passageway at the three black-robed cultists crouching there. They were staring right back.

Per the city’s agreement with the Cult of Amougourest, the exchange would be made on the arena floor in the middle of The Pit, with the city’s forces occupying the south half of the arena and the Cult of Amougourest occupying the north half. This made the exchange a standoff, where both sides had incentive for it to go off without a hitch, lest they destroy one another. They would face off in the stands and on the arena floor, but they couldn’t ignore the Catacombs, which was why Rynthe and the others were down here now.

Rynthe glanced behind him. The Catacombs were two levels deep, the top of which opened onto the arena floor via four chutes situated equidistantly around its center. Behind Rynthe was one of the two chutes on the city’s side of the arena. If it came to a fight, he would have to rush there and either defend it, or go up into the arena to protect the hostages and the knife.

The two sides continued staring at each other, not moving. All according to plan.

*      *      *

Mazik, Gavi, Raedren, and Sergeant Kolhn’s squad stood looking up at the Gate of Life. It was here through which gladiators entered the arena, and where once upon a time only the victorious ones were allowed to return through. The others had to go through the Gate of Shame, then called the Gate of Death. It was aptly named in those days.

Gavi didn’t know why any of this trivia was going through her mind right now, but she wished it would stop. She had enough on her mind.

Behind the trio, Sergeant Kolhn felt a ringing in his ear. He raised his hand to accept the call. “That was from the captain up top,” he said after a minute. “They’re ready to go.”

Mazik nodded. “All right. And down below?”

Sergeant Kolhn started to answer, but his ear began ringing again. He answered the call. “That was them,” he said after another minute. “They’re ready as well.”

Mazik nodded again, and then took a deep breath. He let it out slowly, and then turned to Gavi and Raedren. “You ready for this?”

Gavi nodded. “I’m ready.”

“As ready as I’m ever going to be,” said Raedren.

Mazik looked over his shoulder. Sergeant Kolhn nodded.

“That’ll have to do,” said Mazik. He took another breath, and then stepped out into the arena. The others followed.

Mazik looked up as they entered the arena. It was an awesome sight. Like any large building The Pit looked larger up close, but it was an entirely different animal from the arena floor. At the top of that nearest wall he could see the four covered emplacements that housed the stadium’s barrier crystals, special focus crystals used to protect the crowd from the havoc of the games
⁵⁴
. The tiny huts were heavily armored, designed to protect the four casters who manned each while events were in progress. They were currently empty and sealed, as per the city’s agreement with the cultists.

Normally Mazik wouldn’t have been able to see any of this, but the cultists had been kind enough to light the multitude of torches The Pit kept on hand for the rare nighttime event. But it was what these flames illuminated that was most striking.

Everyone was staring at them. In the stands ahead, what looked like a hundred or more cultists stared down at them, while from the stands on their side an equal number of guards, soldiers, and adventurers watched their backs. Gavi and Mazik had been right—they were the center of attention.

Mazik took in the details of the arena floor. Aside from all the sand, he could see the promised ten cultists—one standing directly in their path away from his fellows, the others were in the very middle of the arena, one of whom was sitting down—and what looked like fifty or so hostages huddled together off to one side. Other than that, the arena floor was mostly empty, save for a few stone boxes, pillars, and assorted blocky shapes scattered near the walls—the remains of an obstacle course the gladiators had been practicing on earlier. The cultists had just shoved them out of the way.

Mazik’s group stopped in front of the lone cultist.

“Do you have the knife?” asked the cultist. His voice was male, but his robes revealed nothing else.

Mazik pulled the black knife, new sheath and all, out of his robes. “We have it.”

“Show it to me,” said the cultist.

Clearly they had heard about Mazik’s trick by the river. Mazik tugged the first ten centimeters of the blade out of its sheath, and the black metal gleamed in the flickering light. “There. Satisfied?”

“Good,” said the cultist. “Follow me.”

As they passed, Gavi glanced at the metal chutes that led down into the Catacombs. Beneath the sand, the entire arena floor had been plated with magickally tempered steel, to prevent competitors from accidentally blasting down into the rooms below.

The lone cultist waved them to a stop several meters away from the others.

The sitting cultist rose, bones creaking. He hobbled forward with the help of a gnarled walking stick and stopped at the edge of his group.

Compared to the other cultists, this man was a riot of accessories. There were sequins and glitter, arcane stitching and occult runes, and raven’s feathers sewn into every hem. It was impressive in an off-putting way—impressive because he had the confidence to wear such an outfit, but off-putting because he looked so very silly.

The lone cultist stroked his long gray beard, giving the impression that he was appraising them, though it was impossible to tell with his face hidden by his darkened cowl. He spread his arms. “Greetings!”

“Hmm,” said Mazik. “You’re lookin’ real fancy, for a crazy person. I assume that means you’re the big guy around here? Or was that the lady we took out last night?”

“Our Lord is our leading light, of course,” said the bearded man as he clasped his hands inside his voluminous sleeves, “but I am the primary conduit through which our Lord’s will is done, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yeah, what’s what I thought,” said Mazik. “Hey, and this is just a personal note, I hope you die in an excruciatingly painful manner in a gutter somewhere.”

No one said anything. Gavi stared straight forward, though inside she was panicking.
I thought you said you wouldn’t do anything stupid!
Raedren was already readying spells.

The True Head Cultist laughed warmly. Then he became serious. “And I’d like you to know that if you didn’t have something I wanted, I would tear your heart out of your chest right now and show it to you.” Then he went back to being pleasant and happy. “Still, I hear you’ve brought us our knife back! That is excellent news.”

“Yeah, we’re helpers like that,” said Mazik. He pulled the sheathed knife out of his robes. “Here it is.”

“
Fantastic
,” breathed the True Head Cultist, his unseen eyes riveted upon the weapon.

“Release the hostages to us,” said Mazik, waving the knife around.

The True Head Cultist snapped his fingers, and the shackled hostages behind him, led by several cultists, began shuffling forward.

Mazik examined the knife. “What’s this for, anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s a Holy Relic of ours,” said the True Head Cultist. “We can’t perform our god’s greatest ceremony without it.”

“Ah, makes sense,” said Mazik as the hostages drew closer. All but three of the cultists were drawing closer as well. “Tell me, does this ceremony have anything to do with killing a lot of people?”

The True Head Cultist chuckled again. “At this point, I see no reason to lie. Yes, some sacrifices will be required. However, rest assured that we will be leaving this city after we reclaim our Relic. Your people have proven to be…”

“Bastards?” said Raedren, his own voice surprising him.

“Money-grubbing bastards?” said Gavi.

“Wicked, conniving, brilliant, sexy, handsome, and insanely talented money-grubbing bastards?” said Mazik, speaking from experience. Close, personal, and delusional experience.

“I was going to say
difficult
,” said the True Head Cultist, smiling tightly somewhere deep within his cowl, “but your answers could very well be correct. I haven’t been here long enough to know.”

“Good. Keep it that way,” said Mazik. Behind him the soldiers readied themselves to surround the hostages as soon as they were released.

“I intend to,” said the True Head Cultist. He barked a quick word in another language, and the cultists guiding the hostages came to a halt.

“I believe they’re close enough,” said the True Head Cultist. He held out a hand. “The knife, if you would be so kind.”

“Of course,” said Mazik, walking forward. Gavi and Raedren fell into step behind him.

Tension filled the air as they approached. Walking a few meters across the arena floor was like a first date, a public speech, and a marriage proposal all rolled into one, with the added threat of horrible, screaming death if anything went wrong. It was so stressful it made it hard to breathe.

The three passed by the hostages.

“That’s close enough,” said the True Head Cultist, holding up a hand. Mazik stopped in mid-step. They were still several meters away.

The True Head Cultist nodded, and a woman stepped forward. She stopped a step away from Mazik and held out her hand. “The knife.”

Mazik placed the sheathed weapon in the woman’s hand, but did not let go. “Unshackle their legs and release them to us, and then I’ll let go.”