Fate of an Empire, Part 1: The Gladiator
Being one of the Chronicles of Cyron
The Gladiator | The Lion | The Vagrant Prince
“The lady of the house wishes to speak with you, gladiator.”
Atilius looked up from sharpening his spatha. He sighed, set down the longsword and whetstone, and nodded his assent to the handmaiden. The servant gestured behind her and Sibylla Dorso stepped through the arched doorway and into the gladiator’s dank, stone cell. Sibylla dismissed her attendant with a wave and the young girl retreated demurely back down the hallway.
As always, Sibylla was dazzling. Her reddish blonde hair hung in delicate curls and her gossamer tunic clung to her alluring form, accentuating the slight swell of her pregnant belly. Atilius had been in her presence countless times, yet he was still spellbound at the sight of her.
“Won’t you please reconsider?” She asked softly, breaking the gladiator’s trance. “I cannot bear to lose you.”
“Sibylla, I love you more than life itself, but this was always a temporary arrangement. Even if I survive, you know we cannot be together. Inon is one of the most influential men in all of Noveria. You are his wife. You carry his child.”
“It is not his child,” Sibylla countered fiercely. Atilius motioned for her to hush.
“No one can ever know the child is not his. Regardless of its true parentage, that child will be his legacy and carry his name. That is what we decided.”
“What about what I want? Am I just a broodmare, only to be used by whomever my husband desires?”
Atilius winced. “Do not be so harsh, Sibylla. You know Inon respects you too much for such wanton behavior. We all agreed to this. We all knew that it would come to an end, sooner or later.”
“But it does not have to end! As I’ve already told you, arrangements have been made.”
“You would have me tear the Empire apart with more strife? Noveria has barely recovered from Kelthan’s rampage.”
“You stopped him when no one else could. You saved the Empire, and look at how you have been repaid: declared a traitor, stripped of your freedom, and thrown into the fighting pits. Noveria has taken everything from you. You don’t owe anyone anything.”
“And what better way for me to prove they were right…that I am a traitor…than by stealing away with the wife of one of the Empire’s most powerful senators?”
“You are both heartless bastards!” Sibylla bitterly declared. “I wish nothing more than to be rid of the pair of you.”
Atilius could only watch in woeful silence as she spun on sandaled feet and stormed out.
The Arena stood just outside the geographical center of the city. The colossal structure served as the dividing line between the palatial, marble clad edifices of the wealthy Upper City and the ramshackle sprawl that comprised most of the Low Town. Banners, emblazoned with the Imperial eagle and framed by a cloudless blue sky, snapped in the breeze atop the stadium. Throngs of people filled the seats, clamoring in anticipation of the coming spectacle. The legendary General Atilius, now a mere gladiator, was going to fight his greatest foe in a heroic battle for the victor’s freedom.
Atilius waited in the tunnel for the herald to summon him, mulling over his conversation with Sibylla from hours earlier. What arrangements had she meant? And who could have possibly made them? There was no one with that kind of power in the whole of the Empire who viewed Atilius as anything other than a threat to be neutralized. His musings were interrupted when he heard his name being bellowed in grand fashion.
Atilius jogged out onto the sand of the Arena to thunderous applause and the deafening roar of the crowd, forcing himself to smile and wave. Sibylla sat next to her husband in the Emperor’s box, making a show of affectionately holding his hand. Sunlight danced in her hair, and she appeared more radiant than ever.
Cheers turned to jeers as the herald announced the arrival of Kelthan. The Druid chieftain’s once clean shaven head was covered in shaggy hair down to his shoulders and what had been a neatly trimmed beard was now bushy and unkempt. His tattooed upper body was crisscrossed with scars from his time spent in the fighting pits. However, Kelthan had lost none of his vitality and strength since Atilius had last set eyes on him over a year ago. The Druid nodded curtly as they both turned to face the Emperor.
A hush fell over the crowd.
Atilius drew his spatha, crossed it over his round shield, and declared, “We who are about to die salute you!”
Meanwhile, Kelthan remained silent and impassive. If the Emperor was perturbed by the chieftain’s show of defiance, he kept it well hidden. The Noverian ruler casually motioned for the combatants to begin.
The Druid wielded a long handled axe with a bearded blade. Atilius was surprised to see it was different than Kelthan’s renowned elvish cleaver.
“They took my axe after Caladen,” Kelthan stated matter-of-factly. “Have not seen it since.”
The two warriors began to circle each other warily before Kelthan let out an aggressive growl and charged. He hacked with precise strokes, high then low, but Atilius turned each blow aside with his shield. Kelthan altered his attack with lightning speed and rammed his own shield into the gladiator’s, sending his opponent sprawling into the sand. Atilius recovered quickly and sprang to his feet, narrowly avoiding the Druid’s axe as it hurtled through the air and wedged itself into the ground behind him with a thunk.
Kelthan brandished a longsword, and the two of them spent the next few moments in a vicious exchange of strikes, parries, and blocks. The Druid prepared for another shield bash. Atilius was ready for the attack this time and sidestepped out of the Druid’s path. Kelthan reined in his charge, but not before Atilius’ spatha sliced into his upper back and glanced off his shoulder blade. The crowd, which had remained quiet, let out an enthusiastic roar.
Despite the searing pain, Kelthan stubbornly clung to his sword. However, he dropped his shield, retrieved his axe from where it was still lodged in the earth, and went back on the offensive. He hooked the blade of his axe on the rim of Atilius’ shield and wrenched. Atilius was wise enough to let it go, but he was pulled forward and off balance. He felt a sharp pain and warm blood rush down his leg as Kelthan’s sword pierced his thigh. The crowd went deathly silent again at the sight of their wounded champion.
Out of the corner of his eye, Atilius could see horror etched on Sibylla’s face. Her husband, Inon, whispered in her ear and she visibly composed herself. Disarmed of his shield, Atilius unsheathed a gladius short sword from his belt, and lunged at Kelthan. Compensating for his wounded leg, he attacked with the calculated precision of a disciplined soldier. The open wound on Kelthan’s back hampered his ability to mount an adequate defense, and he was soon bleeding from several minor cuts. Snarling in frustration, Kelthan lashed out at Atilius with a desperate kick, and struck him square in the sternum.
Atilius staggered backwards, momentarily stunned. Kelthan’s axe cut through the gladiator’s leather cuirass and sank into his shoulder. Kelthan smiled with grim satisfaction. Blood leaked from his mouth and into his beard. Confused, he looked down to see Atilius’ gladius protruding from his chest.
Intense agony radiated throughout his body, but Atilius still felt a pang of sadness as he watched his longtime enemy collapse to the sand and succumb to his wounds. They had faced each other on countless battlefields for the better part of a decade. The mighty Druid chieftain deserved better than this inglorious death for the pleasure of a bloodthirsty mob.
Struggling to maintain his composure, Atilius stood in front of the Emperor, awaiting his pronouncement. Sibylla was overcome with despair at the sight of her battered lover, and tears flowed freely down her lovely face. The Emperor regarded her with mild curiosity before turning his attention to the swooning gladiator.
“It is the will of God, and all of Noveria, that you are hereby released from the bonds of servitude and are, once again, a free man. You may go and live out your days as you wish.”
The crowd continued its jubilant racket.
Atilius was escorted from the Arena by several members of the Emperor’s personal bodyguard. Supported on either side, each step was torment, and blood loss made him drift in and out of consciousness.
“It’s time,” he heard a faint voice assert. He was vaguely aware of a sword being drawn nearby. Something flashed in the flickering torchlight and there were cries of dismay as a ghastly wet crunch echoed off the thick stone walls. Atilius was dropped unceremoniously, and the last thing he saw before darkness overtook him was the lithe, shadowy form of a familiar looking she-elf rushing past him.
Atilius awoke with a start as he felt himself being jostled. He recognized the plush interior of Sibylla’s luxurious wagon. She sat across from him, her visage a mask of concern. He sat up with some effort, admiring the skillful bandaging that had been applied to his wounds. Sibylla moved to support him, but Atilius waved her off.
“So,” he began after several moments of heavy silence, “I thought I saw Saria down in the tunnels.”
“Yes…”
“Sibylla, what have you done?”
“Only what was necessary to ensure your survival.”
“What do you mean?”
“Krytas learned that you were to be killed if you survived the fight with Kelthan. He came to Inon to warn him, but my craven husband could not be persuaded to stand up to the Emperor.”
“The Lion of Sparos would risk war with Noveria to save my life? Why?” Atilius could not believe what he was hearing.
“Ever since you defeated Kelthan and his horde at Caladen, there have been rumors that the Emperor is quietly preparing to invade Sparos. He has been recalling legions from all over the Empire.”
“So my men have been ordered to take part in this?”
“Yes, and they have so far refused to budge. The Emperor is sorely vexed, but he has been too consumed with planning his conquest of Sparos to deal with the defiant legions. It seems they await your return in the Lowlands.”
“The loyal bastards,” Atilius marveled.
“Krytas figured that if he could free you and get you back to your men, you would be a powerful ally.”
“I guess that explains why Saria came to my rescue. Lukar has always been like a father to Krytas. He would, of course, send his deadliest Ranger.” He gazed at Sibylla with love and admiration. “I cannot believe you would give up your husband…your position…for me.”
“I told you before: I cannot bear to lose you. In truth, Inon is not a bad man, nor a neglectful husband, but his…ailment…left me starved for intimacy and affection.” Sibylla’s resonant voice was thick with emotion. “That is, until you came along.”
Atilius took Sibylla by the hand and pulled her over to him, wincing slightly as she settled onto his lap. “You should have told me what you and Krytas had planned.”
“Atilius, we both know you would have sooner let Kelthan kill you in the Arena than allow yourself to be murdered by the Emperor’s lackeys.”
“That’s true enough,” he ruefully agreed as Sibylla pouted prettily. “Still, you ought to ask a man's permission before you start a war on his behalf.”
“I shall do all that is within my power to make it up to you.” She ran her fingers affectionately through his dark, close cropped hair and kissed him deeply.
The wagon lumbered on through the forests of Cyron, guarded by Dorso household troops loyal to Sibylla; west to the Caladen Lowlands where Atilius’ legions awaited them, and to a war that would determine the fate of the Empire.
Click below to read more about characters mentioned in this story (Lukar and Saria), as well as Kelthan’s signature axe.
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A good story, not sure about the ending where they end up together but definitely enjoyed it. Very good descriptions, enjoyed the world-building and definitely gonna be reviewing this story as soon as I can.
Just as gripping and entertaining on the second read!