NINE

Put Up Your Dukes

The sun shone brightly as it rose higher into the midday sky. A warm breeze swept over the arena, the only respite available from the heat of the day. The weather was ideal for viewing a sporting event, it’s a shame they couldn’t have picked a sport that didn’t revolve around him brutally dying, Dungar thought.

A hush fell over the crowd. The gate on the far side of the arena slowly began to creep upward. Dungar wasn’t sure if his heart had stopped or was simply beating so fast he could no longer feel it. Even Jimminy appeared to be mildly absorbed in the anticipation. The gate continued to open until finally it revealed a dark entranceway. Dungar began to wonder to himself what he would prefer to deal with. He had never actually seen a redbear in the flesh before; so perhaps if it was his time to go he could at least mark that milestone beforehand.

Finally, at the sound of a tremendous cheer from a crowd, a figure walked through the gate. It was a man, a mountain of a man, several inches taller than Jimminy and roughly three times as wide. His entire body was covered by chain mail except for his head, which was free from any armor whatsoever. His wavy golden hair blew gently in the afternoon breeze as he flashed a winning smile to the crowd making several ladies as well as a few men swoon. Given the confidence with which he wielded his monstrous battle axe, he had clearly done this before; making his feat of an unscathed face all the more impressive for the crowd and ominous for Dungar and Jimminy.

He smirked at Dungar and Jimminy with condescension; clearly he was unimpressed by his opponents. Dungar surmised that could perhaps be used to his advantage. Soldier or not, Dungar still wasn’t entirely sure how much use Jimminy would be in a fight. But perhaps, even if Jimminy were to simply serve as a distraction while Dungar tried to get the jump on the gladiator, they may be able to win this.

“Ladies and gentleman!” A familiar feminine voice rang out from above.

Dungar turned towards the source of it to see Herrow looming over the arena addressing the crowd. The volume of her voice was quite impressive for someone who seemed to be so soft spoken, it was almost inhuman. Her long, wavy brown hair flowed down elegantly past her shoulders, contrasting nicely with the flowing formal white dress she was wearing. As much as Dungar hated her, he had to admit she was quite beautiful.

A hush fell over the crowd as all eyes began to turn to her.

“Thank you again for coming to the preliminary events for the biannual Vthnnqouayey arena blood bath!” Herrow announced triumphantly.

Another loud cheer erupted from the crowd before she continued.

“Ah we’re still in the prelims!” Jimminy pointed out.

“What does that mean?” Dungar asked.

“These are just the battles to warm up the gladiators, mate. We’re just here to be fodder for the handsome gent over there before he does the real competition tomorrow!” Jimminy explained.

Herrow’s voice rang out again in the arena. “In our current match-up we have another returning favorite. He has survived not one, not two, but five Vthnnqouayey arena bloodbaths! And he’s still as handsome as ever. Give it up for Pretty Boy Panin!”

With a smug smile, the man gestured with both arms towards the crowd as they enthusiastically screamed their thunderous approval.

“And here to help him stretch his legs,” Herrow continued, flashing a cold smile towards Dungar and Jimminy, “are two convicts generously donated to us from the infamous dungeons of Jenair. Both were found guilty of trafficking women and children. Let us see how they fare when confronted by an opponent who can fight back!”

Jeers and boos erupted from the crowd. Dungar felt a seething hatred rising in his chest.

“Mista Dungar!” Jimminy exclaimed incredulously. “You never told me you were a trafficker! I never would have agreed to this quest if I knew—”

Jimminy’s spiel was cut short by Dungar backhanding him.

“Shut up, Jimmy.” Dungar said with disgust. “She’s obviously lying.”

“Oh, right.” Jimminy acknowledged as he rubbed his face.

“Are you ready to get this fight started!?” The triumphant voice of Herrow rang out one last time, followed by a final tremendous cheer from the crowd.

Dungar was fuming. If pretty boy over there was looking for a fight then Dungar felt happy to oblige in his current state. But Jimminy tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Relax, mate.” Jimminy mumbled as he leaned in close to Dungar. “I got this!”

Thoroughly confused, but also curious, Dungar decided to see what Jimminy had in mind.

Putting on his signature grin, Jimminy confidently strode towards Pretty Boy Panin as calm as the hush that had settled over the crowd. Dungar wasn’t surprised by his audacity, and was instead surprised at his own lack of surprise at Jimminy’s audacity.

“Hello there, you great brute of a combatant, you!” Jimminy greeted the large man as he continued to walk closer.

Panin tentatively stared Jimminy down as he continued to walk closer, clearly confused. Before long Jimminy was just a few paces away, still confidently strolling towards Panin. Then suddenly, and without warning, Panin drew a deep breath, raised his axe, and moved to lunge at Jimminy.

“Whoa whoa whoa there!” Jimminy admonished his opponent with impressive conviction. “Just what do you think you’re doing, mista gladiator!”

Panin froze.

“Uhh …”

“Don’t you ‘uhh’ me!” Jimminy continued to chastise. “You were actually about to strike an official referee! Why I oughtta disqualify you from the tournament!”

“What are you talking about?!” The gladiator demanded.

“You see that burly gent over there?” Jimminy asked, pointing at Dungar. “He is your opponent, not me!”

“There ain’t no referees …” Panin grunted unsurely.

“Did you not read the official rulebook update that was issued for this tournament!?”

Panin did not respond. Instead he just looked around helplessly.

“Of course you didn’t.” Jimminy exclaimed, exasperated. “I bet you can’t even read!”

Panin still continued to stare at him, stone faced. It was unclear if Jimminy’s words were even registering.

“Blimey …” Jimminy sighed, smacking his palm to his face. “Mista Dungar! Come face your opponent!”

Dungar cautiously began to walk towards them. He had no idea what Jimminy was planning, but if the man was really shoving the burden of fighting this guy entirely onto his shoulders then Jimminy better hope he doesn’t survive.

“’Twas an honest mistake, mate.” Jimminy comforted Panin, slapping him on the back. “Just go do your thing, we’ll chat about this later.”

Confidence regained, Panin lumbered towards Dungar. His shoulders were hunched and his arms were flexed into attack position. Dungar, on the other hand, stood straight and stoically. Even standing up straight he still didn’t come close to matching Pretty Boy’s hunched over height. Nonetheless, Dungar defiantly stared him down. Regardless of whatever conflicting feelings were flying through his mind, his eyes were unfaltering.

“Alright boys!” Jimminy cut in. “I want to see a nice clean fight between ya! No scratching, biting, eye gouging, hooking, facemasking, throwing sand in the face, insensitive slurs regarding your opponent’s mother, or hitting below the belt!”

Dungar continued to stare Panin down. Even in spite of the height difference, he could spot the twinge of trepidation on the pretty boy’s face.

“Let’s get it on!” Jimminy bellowed, clapping his hands and ducking out of the way.

Pretty Boy Panin straightened up and raised his axe high above his head, going for the killing blow early.

Dungar immediately lunged for him, his hands grasping the chain mail, intent on turning this fight into a grappling match.

Then, out of nowhere, there was a sickening thwacking sound. Dungar looked down to see the limp body of Pretty Boy Panin bleeding profusely from the right side of his face and being supported by nothing but Dungar’s firm grip on his chain mail. Dungar then looked up at Jimminy, who was staring down at Panin’s face. He had a large, bloody rock in his hand.

“Hah! He ain’t pretty no more!” Jimminy gleefully exclaimed.

“Jimmy!” Dungar shouted with surprise. “Where did you get that rock?”

“I always keep a large rock on me.” Jimminy said with a shrug, before stuffing the rock down the front of his pants. “Never know when ya might need one!”

Dungar laughed heartily before casually dropping the limp body of Panin to the ground.

“Well that was … Interesting.” The voice of Herrow rang out through the stadium. “In a stunning upset, the child rapists from Jenair managed to pull a fast one on our honorable hero and defeat him using deceit and deception!”

The crowd rang out in more boos and angry yells. As loose objects began to be hurled towards them, Dungar and Jimminy made a dash for the gate they came from. It opened up to reveal several armed guards and Dritungo, the latter having a very sour look on his face. The guards all grabbed Dungar to take him back to his cell while Dritungo stayed behind to pin Jimminy to the wall.

“Alright, wise guy.” Dritungo snarled. “Give me the rock.”

Jimminy laughed at him. “How about you reach in and get it, mate?”

“Unless you want to lose more than the rock, I suggest you hand it over now”

“Here you go, friend!” Jimminy grinned, immediately producing the rock for him.

After that brief exchange, they were led back to their cell. As he walked towards it, Dungar took the opportunity to study the turnstile. Contrary to his suspicions, there was no locking mechanism. The turnstile simply rotated normally. Puzzled as to what kept the gate shut, Dungar looked at the gate itself and that was when he saw it. Affixed to the top of the gate was an enormous rock, the weight of which was surely enough to keep the gate down. It took the efforts of three guards to rotate the turnstile and lift the gate.

Secure in the cell once again, Dungar and Jimminy settled in. Dungar took to pacing while once again Jimminy removed his pants and reclined against a wall.

“You knew Dritungo.” Dungar stated, halting his pacing and turning to Jimminy. “And you knew where we were. Have you been to a one of these before?”

“Before I left the service, me battalion was in these parts during this season one year.” Jimminy explained. “’Tis quite the spectacle. They import great creatures of exotic ferociousness and sic ‘em on a big group of folks. If today was the prelims then tomorrow will probably be the blood bath!”

“What about the gladiators?”

“Oh they have a tournament for them too. It’s a daylong event, mate; can’t expect the lemmings to outrun the beasties all day now.”

Dungar grumbled to himself. It’ll take more than a rock in Jimminy’s pants to save them against whatever monsters awaited them tomorrow. He walked over to the gate and looked through it. Soon as he did, he heard footsteps and saw faint movement far down the dimness of the hallway. Then out of the darkness emerged a detachment of armed guards followed by a large group of assorted individuals in varying forms of restraints. The gate to the cell opened and in stepped Dritungo.

“Get in there, all of ya!”

One by one each prisoner filed into the cell. By the time they had all made it inside, everyone had to rub shoulders in order for everyone to fit. As the gate slammed behind him, Dritungo sneered through the gate at them.

“Hope you lot are comfortable. You have a big day tomorrow.”

A few sharp glances at those within his immediate vicinity allowed Dungar a small buffer zone between him and the crowd. Jimminy, on the other hand, had proceeded to make his way up to everyone to introduce himself and shake each of their hands.

Soon the room was filled with the dull roar of pockets of people talking amongst themselves. Dungar could hear Jimminy interviewing people as he made his rounds.

“Good whatever-time-of-day-it-is, kind sir!” Jimminy greeted a particularly terrified looking man. “No need to be afraid now, we’re all friends in here.”

“I don’t belong here!” The trembling man insisted. “Please! There has been some kind of mistake. I’m just a farmer; I’m not whoever they were after!”

Hearing this, other prisoners began to weigh in.

“I’m a farmer too!” Another man exclaimed. “I was just minding my own business out in the field when I was attacked.”

“I was at the market with my kids.” A small, frail man standing to the side sobbed. “They threatened to harm my children if I called for help.”

A nearby prisoner put his hand on his shoulder to try and console him. At mention of children, other people in the cell began to break down.

“My boys are probably wondering where I am right now.” A woman choked through tears. “My husband was killed in battle; I’m all they have left.”

As he sat secluded in his corner, Dungar spent the next few hours catching snippets of conversations. People’s names, backstories, and how they came to be stuck in this situation. Nearly every one of them was a normal, simple individual not unlike himself. Most were snatched from their homes, their businesses, their families; all doomed to die screaming and hopelessly trying to escape. He had no doubt that Herrow probably fabricated similar incriminating backstories for all of these people as she had for Jimminy and himself to justify their bloodshed.

As he sat seething in the corner for hours, eavesdropping on one heartbreaking story after another, Dungar found himself at the end of his rope. Silently, he rose from the spot where he had remained motionless. Slowly, deliberately, and unstoppably, he moved towards the gate. Anyone who did not step out of his way was thrown aside. He reached the ominous wooden gate that obstructed his freedom. The loathsome gate that was the catalyst to their captivity. Worn and warped by age, but nonetheless imposing and unbreakable still.

With a grip strong enough to slightly conform the wood to the shape of his massive hands, he grabbed a hold of it and heaved. The rebellious door would not give, but Dungar continued to pull. The room had quieted as each pair of eyes began to move in his direction, studying the seemingly delusional man who sought to overpower their instrument of oppression.

Dungar’s mind was focused entirely on his body. He could feel every facet of the pressure of the eyes, the gravity of the situation, and the strain of his muscles. With a guttural and animalistic yell he heaved again. But this time slowly, surely, the gate began to rise. Small gasps and sounds of disbelief could be heard from the group as more light began to creep into the cell from the doorway.

Dungar’s hands were in agony, his arms felt like they may rip right from their sockets, but he could not stop now. He continued his inhuman feat of strength until he was finally standing up straight. The impossibly heavy gate was now almost two feet off the ground, supported by nothing but Dungar’s white fingertips and his unshakeable mental and physical fortitude.

Quickly the residents of the room began to see this for the opportunity this was. They dashed to the gate and began to slide themselves through the opening. Dungar’s face was red. His ears pounded from the sound of blood rushing through his body. He had no idea if he was being thanked or not, he could hear nothing. But still he held on, despite every fiber of his body screaming in protest.

Eventually only Jimminy remained. Every other prisoner had taken off in search of their freedom with nary a backwards glance or attempt to aid Dungar in holding the gate.

“Get out of here, Jimmy!” Dungar ordered.

“But mista Dungar! What about—”

“I DON’T HAVE TIME TO ARGUE WITH YOU!” Dungar screamed into the room. The pain was excruciating. “I can’t hang on!” He spit out in between heavy breaths. “Go! NOW!”

Without a word Jimminy sprinted towards the gate and dove underneath it. As soon as he cleared the room Dungar’s hands gave out sending the gate plummeting to the ground resulting in a thunderous crash. His arms, legs, hands, and back, every muscle that he could have possibly engaged to hold that door, burned like fire. As soon as he let go he collapsed to the ground in crippled heap.

Outside the room Jimminy was trying fruitlessly to work the turnstile. No matter how he heaved or kicked at it, the gate did not so much as shudder.

“Go before they catch you and throw you back in here, Jimmy!” Dungar yelled from his spot on the floor.

“But mate …” Jimminy began. He stood at the gate looking through at Dungar laying on the ground. Even in the dim light the pain on Jimminy’s face was visible. “… Wot are you going to do?”

Using whatever remained of his strength, Dungar got off the floor and met Jimminy at the gate.

“I’m going to marry a princess and live happily ever after.”

Jimminy smiled sheepishly at him, and the two simply stayed where they were for a moment.

“Okay seriously, what in the blazes do you think you’re doing?” Dungar demanded incredulously. “I just freed you, how dare you insult my efforts by sticking around. Get out of here. Go go go go go go.” He continued to repeat go whilst slamming his hand against the gate in rhythm with his demands until Jimminy disappeared into the darkness. As soon as he was alone, Dungar again crumpled to the floor in a wreck.

“Kidnap me, will ya?” Dungar soliloquized from the floor. “Fine, I’ll just ruin your livelihood.” He chuckled to himself for a few moments where he lay before his tiredness overtook him and he nodded off.

His second wake-up call in the cell was very similar to his first one. Only it wasn’t just Dritungo’s voice rousing him this time, but also the feeling of a fist roughly the size of a cannonball being drove into his stomach. Dungar’s eyes opened to the sight of the angriest face he had ever seen nose to nose with his own.

“YOU ARE A DEAD MAN!” Dritungo bellowed at him whilst laying more murderous punches into his midsection.

“Enough, Dritungo.” Herrow’s voice chimed in.

The petite lady entered the room wearing a long black cloak with the hood up. Dritungo dropped his fist, but remained holding Dungar up by the collar of his shirt.

“I’m not entirely sure how you managed it, Dungar.” She addressed him, giving him a cold stare. “But you’ve sabotaged my main event for tomorrow and now you’re going to have to find a way to make it up to me.”

“Well send the ogre outside and I’ll make it up to ya right here.” Dungar sneered, earning him another punch in the face from Dritungo.

Herrow strode over to where Dungar lay and pressed the sharp heel of her boot deep into his neck.

“Not on your life, you disgusting, hairy animal.” She snarled at him. “No, I already have other plans for you. We’ll find more people for the main event before it happens, and until then you are going to entertain the crowd.”

She stepped off of his neck and strode out of the room. Dritungo stayed behind.

“You’re lucky we need you for tomorrow.” Dritungo growled. “Or I’d break you right now.”

Dungar lay where Dritungo dropped him as the henchman stormed out of the room, locking him in there once more. He thought about his aching ribs and the feeling of the sharp boot heel pressed against his neck.

“Totally worth it.” He grunted to himself with a chuckle.